if he, who supposedly is a master at the matter, is unable to ask permission in becoming your valentine … what does it make of him?

what word could, perchance, wrapped this whole thing with a pretty ribbon more secure than the word "loser"? because that word can't suffice this shamefulness he's facing in his incompetency at saying a few words arranged, dedicated for you.

ah, right, there's that one word. failure.

satoru is a failure, if he still can't find it in him to ask for a day spent with you. he's a man who arguably near perfect, so if he by the end of this class still choosing the pride of not wanting to look desperate— he may be referred as "good-for-nothing". it is the title he willingly bear due to how such a bum he is when it comes to you.

then again, it's you. in satoru's defense, anyone should be feeling a little miserable, for even having the thought of wanting to hold your hand during valentine. you're the most enchanting, delicate, woman he has ever come across in his life. and having the honor of breathing your air should've been enough. however, satoru is undoubtedly greedy for a simple brush of your skin against his.

he's more than miserable, he acknowledges it.

you're far divine for this world, he would argue with the mirror. it's a blessing for this earth to have you take a step on it, he swears on his life. every soul should be grateful that you even cast a glance in their way or pay them a little attention. it's a stroke of luck, he might add.

which is why, how is he supposed to not feel his pride crumbling, desperation creeping in, and words scattering around, when you're the target of his attention? it drags him off the cliff at how he keeps hopping between the line of a loser and a failure. you just, exceptionally, drive him crazy!

"suguru, give me a pat on the back," he whispers at the dark-haired man sitting beside him. satoru's gaze is locked at you, surrounded by your friend group at the table far to his right, chattering about one topic to another. "give me some courage to even utter a single word to her," the man added.

suguru, who has been scrolling away at his phone let out a sigh at the absurdity of his best friend. it's just too much for him to bear; the scene of satoru being stupidly down-bad, he lost his way in talking. he was a smooth-talker, all sweet nothing with other girls before the cerulean-eyed man fallen deep into your world. satoru is beyond saving, in his opinion, at the very least.

"you speak as if you're heading to war."

"i might as well."

he was not given the chance to answer. suguru was just about to add another sentence, yet he was three steps behind the man whose fingers were now fidgeting one another. it's almost uncanny how the proud student athlete is now reduced into a soon-to-be-good-for-nothing of a man.

"just talk to her like any other day. weren't you in the same group with her semester one?" suguru asked, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

"yeah, but i haven't liked her at that time! it's a whole different interaction now," satoru grumbled, still watching at how the edge of your eyes would crinkle from how your lips is being painted with a subtle, yet undeniably charming of a smile. "i'm not viewing her as a classmate anymore, you know? it's another side of the world. she's a woman now, to me."

"oh … i get it. still though, didn't you practice everyday? that line of asking to be her valentine?" suguru gaze drifted towards where you and your friends were sitting before his mind struck with an idea, his head turned to satoru. "why don't you ask shoko? they're in the same friend group. i don't see why you can't do that."

the one suguru talked with waves his hand at his face, brushing off the words absent-mindedly, "who do you think gave me the courage to even think about having a date with her?" satoru responded, his tone filled with exasperation. "on second thought, it's a little weird seeing her hanging around with shoko, utahime, and yuki. don't you think they're far off from each other? in personality?"

suguru hummed softly as an answer. somehow agreeing, but at the same time he feels it's just bound to happens. "opposites attract one another, satoru. can't you see? they balanced each other's character." the man let his eyes roam around the group of friends before adding one more thing, "we're the opposite, if you have yet to noticed."

"nah, i know that from a long ago. it's just a little strange looking at their combination—" satoru's words halted the second he saw you letting out a laugh. it's faint, due to the distance between you two, but he can still catch the joy from your laugh lingering in the air before wrapping his heart in a warm blanket of content. "—hah … she really is a hot chocolate in winter season."

both satoru and suguru sat in silence, then. due to many different reasons.

for the blue-eyed man, it's due to his wish to relish in the warmness you let him savor even from some radius. for suguru, on the other hand, is quiet due to how it just hits him now; satoru attraction towards you is far more than a simple infatuation. the man's adoration, or perhaps love, is clearly transcending even the night sky.

all these days, he assumed it was just a lighthearted crush. an excitement that'll only last for a short time— turns out, he's been assuming wrong. satoru is so deep rooted in your world, and you don't even seem to notice the man. it's comically ironic and endearing all at the same time, how this fact unfolds right before his eyes, once for all.

"you'll be fine. nobody is going to boo you if you get rejected, no one would dare to do so. just walk over to her and pop the question," suguru assured. his hand which was holding the phone now raised to pat the back of his loser of a friend. "with the exception of me."

"oh, shut up." satoru let out a low huff at suguru words. his attention is now stolen by the lecturer's arrival to their class. his fidgeting has stopped, although his gaze still wanders back to you.

satoru gojo can't seem to save himself from repeatedly getting lost in you, and everything that sculpted you into the person you are, truly. it's a habit as natural as breathing, it's a routine as repetitive as spraying perfume all over his body; far too engraved in his every fiber.

in today's design graphic class, you got an assignment to make a chosen product a poster, and it's something you've done more than your fingers managed to keep in track. so, like any other day, you'd type away the information on the matter to your to-do-list.

however, no matter how forcefully you try to shrug it off, there's a sense of uneasiness in today's class that keeps on finding its path towards where you are; it's clinging to every trace of you it may grasp, for a while. at first you assumed it was just another day of feeling too exposed to the world— but, now, you're sure it's something more than that.

you feel as if you're being watched.

to be fair, you always do. as someone who's deeply self-conscious, ignoring the slightest change of an emotion becomes something difficult to find in yourself. which is why ignoring the feeling of something about to happen is one of many things which goes beyond your mind, as you don't exactly have the hold to how your inner-self reacts to it.

it's without doubt, that you're a person who's sensitively aware of your surroundings, yet dull at the same time. which is quite the reason behind why you jolted from your seat, when the six-foot-three man greeted you. the man, satoru gojo, your classmate.

"ah, sorry, i didn't intend on startling you—" he quickly spoke to you, oh so gently, as if he's beyond afraid you might slip away from him. satoru seems to glance past you towards your friend group, before collecting himself and clearing his throat, a few times. "—can i have some of your time?"

oh … um, what?

his question truly catches you off-guard. you found yourself blinking a few times, trying to see whether all of this is a reality or an illusion your mind created to throw you off. and being true to yourself, you wished it's the latter. because oh, you have little to no clue at how you should act nor respond if you're to engage in a conversation with him, from out of the blue. or with anyone, really.

"we can talk here, if that's what you feel most comfortable," satoru assured. the way he attentively considered your space, as well as carefully making a move from the hesitancy at how you drifted afar from the dialog, had your breath choke on the back of your throat. he makes it seems like he senses your inside turmoil, and it's untangling your flawless composure in real-time.

it could be self-conclusion, it could be due to how you view it from your perspective. nonetheless, what has you positive satoru is doing this intentionally, are the matter-of-fact at how he examines you as if you're worth pouring his time for. for someone like you, it was almost overwhelming, truthfully. if he were to do another similar gesture, you're convinced you might unravel here and there.

"um, i— sure …?" your fingers mindlessly find each other and start fidgeting. your pair of eyes satoru loves to dive in and wander to look at anything but him, avoiding eye-contact. he learned by watching you from a mile that when you start jiggling your foot, it means you're a second away from detaching with your surroundings.

satoru pressed his lips shut into a thin line. he's mentally patting himself in the back before popping the question the man has practiced longer than his dribbles, shoots, and everything there is related to basketball. you're making him beyond flustered, greater than any victory might capable do. "can i … be your valentine?" he finally asked.

and uh-oh. if only the man understands how your brain stops functioning, the second his question left in-between his lips. it was unexpected, coming from him. you two barely interact with one another, yet he decided to ask if he can be your valentine? well, each other's valentine, to be precise. still, it has you left frozen in your seat as confusion starts to invade your emotions.

"… me? why me?"

of course, you would feel bewildered. it's unprecedented. and everyone that has the privilege of knowing you is deeply aware, at how at this moment, your mind is flooding with scenarios as to why the popular student athlete is asking you, rather than other people who—in your opinion—suits better to stand by his side.

what if he lands on you due to a dare? or a silly joke? worse, just for fun?

the man didn't let you immerse in those negative thoughts longer than a minute, though. when satoru catches how the sparkles in your eyes fades and your gaze reformed into one of discomfort, alongside ghosts of worse-possibilities-imagine crawling inside, he immediately takes one step closer as if he's trying to show you that he's being genuine. in his own silly, fumbling way.

"i was thinking of giving you a ticket to my match tomorrow, then uh …" the man paused for a beat, his hand squeezed into a fist before resting on the back of his neck as he rubs it nervously. "go … on a date? with me?" he continued, tone lower than he intended to. it, adorably, became a whisper instead of solid words spoken; something that's expected from him, out of all people.

"oh."

satoru fingers went to fiddled with the collar of his shirt, looking at you with gleaming hope. "shoko, utahime, and yuki will be there, too." his gaze shifts away towards the ceiling for a minute, before landing back on you. and it almost, almost, feel as if his blue-sky eyes crashes onto you, from how consuming it holds your stare. "you won't be alone there," he assured.

you blink once. the information is known to you, since they had asked some days ago, on whether you wanted to come and see the basketball match between their school to a long-time rival or not. but, hearing it from satoru's mouth somehow relaxed you, even by a bit. your shoulders slumped as the tension built up now slowly but surely uncoil.

for a beat there, you wonder if he had bewitched you; satoru makes it too easy for you to let your guard down, even if it's only for temporary. although he's carefully breaking down your well-crafted walls, this is the first time ever that someone has the courage to ask you out on a date, which is why you're still unsure on how to act on the matter.

and no, it isn't because you're unattractive. you're as beautiful as your other friends, standing side-by-side with them only has you beaming even more. it's due to how much of a closed-off person you are. it's hard for you to open up and take risks, for what seems out of reach from where you're standing— something people can guess about you, with only one look at your way.

so, it's a little baffling for you to even comprehend why he's asking you in the first place.

but … the way he's paying attention to the little things that matter to you, has the proposal being embraced tenderly by your heart, in your own way. his consideration of those invisible stuff, has your heart warming and open itself without throwing another second, as if his existence is already ingrained to your beating heart.

however, doubt is still lingering in the thin air. you don't know the man enough to say yes at the moment, in this place where a few people may peer about. which is why after a few minutes of silence from you, accompanied by overly repeated assurances in your head, you gave him a response that's not what satoru expected, but isn't exactly unwelcome.

"can i, think about it first …? i'll let you know if i, um, decide to go."

your head is slightly bowed, unable to look at him straight in the eyes as his gaze strikes right through you. satoru's icy-blue eyes are as vibrant as the day outside this classroom— it's bright enough to light up the whole place from how much it resembles an angelic, sunny day. and for you? it might as well be a scorching sun because it shines far too bright, for a girl who rather hides beneath the trees.

"yes, of course! i mean—" the man clears his throat a couple times, cheeks tainted with rosy pink at how his voice went an octave higher from excitement. "… yes, no pressure at all. take as much time as you need. no rushing, no nothing. we will go at your pace."

everyone around that's watching couldn't help but snicker at the view of satoru being an open mess for them to gobble at; it's a rare occurrence to see the proud man reduced to a loverboy who can't get a hold of themselves. and you, whose corner lips tilted upward into the faintest, but heart-warming smile, has satoru losing his composure even more like a yarn being untangled.

"okay, then. are you done, gojo? we girls have a place to go to, if you don't mind." yuki slipped through the conversation between you and the man. she had a good laugh seeing you two interact with one another, just a minute before stepping into the whole scene of whatever is happening among you two, since she can't quite name it yet. it's still a gray area to meddle about.

"oh … yeah, for sure. i have a practice with the team, too, so … uh, see you all tomorrow?" he replied. satoru look over his shoulder at suguru who's waiting for him a few steps back. "suguru is waiting as well, i should probably get going. or really get going. same thing."

his face turned to you again, gaze trailing over you as he tries to utter even a single word. "i'll talk to you later? um, uh, have fun with your friends and take care. you three— whatever," he cast a uninterested look towards the women behind you, before sprinting away while utahime tries to throw him her plastic water bottle.

"hey, give us some respect! be grateful we allowed you to speak with her, you narcissist!"

satoru answer came in the form of a mocking facial expression as he leaves the classroom with suguru following behind, laughing at how the air shifted within a second from warmness to chaotic.

well, truthfully, satoru would take hits from utahime's water bottle any other day if it means he finds the courage to speak with you, and is welcome to breathe your air.

the man has really whisked away his pride of not wanting to look desperate, standing in front of you. the man is too far gone to even care about his pride, after having your gaze locked on him even if it only lasts a minute.

he'll be miserable all his life, for you. unashamedly.

you've been staring at your ceiling for approximately two hours now.

it's predicted, of course. however, you didn't think you would actually ponder about the matter this … intently. you're sure it's due to one reason only: you thought you're going to reject his proposal as easy as a child's play.

now it's a matter that has you contemplating your very existence from how it's taking up the spaces inside your head— worse, it sneaks into the gaps of your ribcage. your whole being is infiltrated by whether you should accept him as your valentine, or drown in this foreign emotions which starts to loom over you.

a part of you, in the corner of your soul no one has managed to touch, is tingling with an excitement you can't quite catch, yet.

you roll over in your bed one more time. with your face buried on the fluffy pillow, you let out a scream louder than you thought you can muster about. for a moment there, your surroundings disintegrate into the night breeze. only you, your inner turmoil, and the plushies of yours exist in the stillness at this time of the day.

turning down satoru would stings a little.

accepting his offer, on the other hand, will tug the frightened side of you.

plus, you've never gone on a date with anyone before. if you screw things up, you understand better than anyone how your ability in mingling with other people would reduce back to zero. and preferably, rationally— rejecting satoru is the better path.

building this courage of interacting with someone else took quite a while, you don't wish for anything to crumble this years of dedication and sanity whisked away. and truthfully, if yuki didn't go out of her way to invite you for lunch, you would've never made a close friend. only casual, talk once in a while type of friendship. the present you is credited to the three women who patiently guide you in becoming a more brave person.

earlier, you've asked them about their opinion on the issue mentioned. and they, ever so supportive, encourage you to accept satoru's heartfelt wish in becoming your valentine. the three close friends of yours said it'll be a nice experience for you— which you somewhat agrees. it's the truth which can't be denied; you'll learn something new if you decided to say yes.

you groaned into the covered white bundle, head lifting slightly from the pillow before your gaze fell to the plushies facing you. a feeling of shame washes you for a beat, your mind imagining scenes of the plushies coming to life and mocking your current state.

"this is no fun," you grumble to the serenity of your room. a hint of blush paint your cheeks. even in the darkness of your safe place, hints of it can be seen with a keen pair of eyes.

should you let him be your valentine?

once again, you stare at the plushies. "… what do you all think? should i—" your voice screeches at the end, while your already tomatoes face now turned into an even vibrant red. “—should i accept him?”

no sounds filled the room, then. besides the sound of your quicken heartbeats that noise starts to form a rhythm. your heart is pounding against the ribcage as its way of showing your inner turmoil with no words spoken to the crackling air. it's the only thing keeping you sane in this moment of uncertainty, as you are still deciding which path you should walk into before the time of this day runs out.

thump-thump.

thump-thump.

thump-thump.

"… he's a nice guy. it won't hurt to give this a chance … right?"

your hand, trembling with suspense, stretches out to grasp your phone rested afar on the night table with a feeling of hesitation. understandably so. yet, amidst all of these new waves of emotions you've never experienced first-hand before, a profound fever of excitement is following from behind. albeit its existence as faint as the soft rustling of your sheets beneath you.

a breathy huff left in-between your lips while your fingers carefully arranged words for satoru to read. "just this one time," you heard yourself whispering.

you: i'll see you tomorrow you: good luck for your match 23.45 PM

"stop grinning like an idiot," suguru exasperated.

who is the man referring to? well, it's quite obvious who. there's no other soul which can make him rubbing his forehead as a way to soothe the headache, whilst a deep sigh is let free from his mouth like the satoru gojo can.

no, don't get him wrong. the man is thrilled that satoru proposal to you is accepted with open arms. that six-foot-three man efforts didn't go through the drain, so of course suguru is happy on behalf of the man success. after many seconds whisked away of him listening to satoru practicing his lines to the mirror, he is beyond pleased he won't be going through a phase where satoru is whining and moody from being rejected.

only it costs suguru his hearing sense.

as expected, satoru is all smiley and a total bundle of joy from the message you sent his way last night. hell, the man won't stop peering over his phone while engaging himself in a conversation with the other teammates.

it's a once in a lifetime type of scene, if anyone is brave enough to say it out loud. satoru is a proud man. he loves to taunt everyone—in his own way—at how he is the carrier of the team, which in all truthfulness is the reality, and how his head would be held up high all the time is a side of him everyone is more used to. one that they secretly admire, due to every reason he has the ability and is able to prove his words.

for them, it is justified that satoru acts the way he is.

so, the scenery displayed for them is pretty … odd. bizarre would probably be the word most of them used to describe how satoru is acting right now. it is just way freakier than they thought it would be.

the rumor spreads fast like wildfire. whispers of hot, burning revelation that the rising star, student athlete of the university went ahead of his way to carve a path to your heart is a sensation people absolutely went feral for. it's not everyday they got to see the man make a first move, no. it's a rare occurrence.

most of the time, satoru would receive tons of attention from students across the university, from a variety of majors. whenever satoru has a match, or just practice actually, oceans of human gather to cheers the man on with beverages or snacks in hand to further riled satoru into the "zone". of course they came and gave their support to other athlete on the team— after all, the university basketball team is packed with gorgeous men.

there's suguru geto, the team's small forward who people say is more popular with the girls than satoru. ryomen sukuna, point forward of the team who somehow bestowed upon the title as, 'mr. steal your girl'. and oh, right, choso kamo, the shooting guard is quite well-known among the girls for his awkward, yet gentle personality as well.

everyone has their own charms, for sure. but satoru gojo's appeal is by far the only one who attained even the bits of all souls love. he's the type of man that has someone wanting to build a family with, a fan of the man says. whether it's an opinion or a matter=of-fact buzz from people around him is still undecided. all that matters is that the satoru gojo is loved by many kinds of people.

back to the main topic.

you, who's able to tear down satoru's wall became a huge topic overnight. apparently someone in the same class as you recorded the whole exchange between you and satoru, before posting it on the internet for people to see. it alarms satoru last night— because for all he understand, you aren't that comfortable with the whole 'turned-into-a-huge-deal' matter. he learned of the fact from shoko, ever the so big-hearted.

he was shaking in his boots at the thought that you might despise him for bringing in that much attention to you, something you didn't ask for. however, when satoru frantically messaged you this morning like a kid throwing a rampage, you replied with something that's very you and, well, logical. he should've never underestimated you and he ought to learn for the better.

you: it's alright you: you're a well-known person, it's bound to happen. i already prepared myself for this possibility you: i'm fine, no need to worry 07.30 AM

satoru was half pleased knowing you're doing well and half pissed you told him, "no need to worry." as if there's a single fiber circulating in him with a drop of nonchalance in it. the man is too far gone for you, and you have yet to notice the truth is a trait of yours that's both endearing and maddening.

"gojo!"

the wide-grinning man startled. the sudden yell of his name causes his phone to slip from his hand slightly, and god, satoru let out a roaring scream due to the action. "hey! be mindful, can you?" his eyes narrow at sukuna, before sighing out of exasperation. when, truly, it should be his teammates who're annoyed. not the other way around.

"are you fucking with me? the match is about to start, idiot—" sukuna was just taking one step closer near satoru before stopped by choso's voice. "the coach is waiting."

and ever the self-centered man he is, satoru's eyebrows lifted with his chest puffed in a mannerism of a man overly confident enough to be tripped by himself in near future. everyone in the room can guarantee it. "why didn't anyone tell me since, i don't know, a minute ago?"

dear god … if they're not a second away from the match, sukuna would've strangled him.

"satoru, you're the one who's at fault," suguru commented. the way he gazes at satoru makes it seem as if being in a conversation with that idiotic blue-eyed man reduces his life span. suguru pinched the bridge of her nose. "just … put down your phone and let's went ahead to the court."

"oh, right." satoru placed his phone down, then. the man stood up from where he was sitting, the stupid grin still in-tact to his face. "i have someone to impress in the crowd, gotta make sure i look presentable. let's win this match, my wing men."

satoru threaded a hand through his white locks as he walked out of the locker room, leaving behind his other teammates as if he didn't just utter the most disgusting words arranged to ever be spoken into the day breeze.

"i ought to strangle him," sukuna whispers, eyes twitching out of agitation.

it's currently the second half of the game.

and as expected, your university team is leading. truly a powerhouse in flesh, you heard someone muttering about. well, in all fairness, the basketball team consists of athletes that have been known for their immense talent. each of the players already built up a reputation among those who loves basketball— one which is recognized by anyone who has watched them.

you sat alongside the three women who, excitedly, helped you prepare for today's occasion. shoko, utahime, and yuki all went to your place early in the morning for whatever reason they have for themselves. it was a chaotic mess of you being dressed up by them. even shoko who doesn't talk much fusses over you. for a moment there, you became a doll for them to prettify.

not a single word of protest left in-between your pouty lips that greets them this morning, which truly surprised both them and yourself. it caught them off guard as they expected you to, at the very least, wished for them to not extensively meddle about the whole ordeal. you've always been a person who's adamant of one personal space.

so, when you opened the door with puckered lips that screamed hassled and flustered, the three of your friends couldn't help but feel as if they just took a step into the other side of your world. and funny enough, when they were doing mix and match with your clothes utahime mumbled something along the lines of, "you're way … too compliant right now. it's quite odd to look at." and that got shoko's and yuki's attention.

utahime isn't wrong, of course. the sight of you letting them do whatever they desire with fashioning you is one of those rare moments where you would let down your guard, then let them roam freely as they start to dive deeper into what makes you the person you are. undoubtedly, the time when you unlatch the key to the door of your world is their favorite shared memories with you.

"gojo is the one who scored the most, huh?" utahime hummed. she takes a slow sip to her soda in a cup, while her free hand focuses on the screen of her phone— observing the basketball match on live-stream for a better view and gripping on how the game is unfolding down there.

you've never been to a basketball or any sports event whatsoever in your life. since for the longest time, whenever someone asked you to come watch these tournaments, you would politely turned them down. being in a crowded place where people are either screaming, yelling, or standing and throwing curses at one team is far from your ideal life. it's beyond the comfort zone you've keep secured round the clock.

tainting it with these chaotic athletic events would only bring you an unnecessary headache. dealing with the aftermath is above and beyond fun. for you, it's exceptionally draining. the matter discussed takes way too much space and time from your life. so, logically, you'd rather avoid it, choosing the warmness of your room than the buzzing arena.

if isn't due to satoru's request, you would be whisking away your time on the couch; snuggle up beneath the blanket, tv on display as you lose yourself in your comfort show world, accompanied by the snacks in your lap that change daily on rotation.

an amused snickers left yuki's mouth at utahime's in actuality words. "i bet he's trying harder than usual to impress our pretty baby here," she chatted, her gaze drift towards your way for a beat, then back onto the match a few distance underneath where they're sitting on the bleachers. "he has always been a good player, after all. just probably feels he need to leave an impression to her."

you blushed at her words. suddenly your mind decides to rewind back to yesterday's event when satoru approaches you. that gesture of his alone has colored you into a ripe tomato— yuki's observation on satoru right now is a little unappreciated, since it has you avoid eye-contact with her. whether it's the truth or not.

"he definitely is," shoko mumbled. her fingers rolled around the stick of lollipop she has, before popping them back in her mouth. the brown-haired woman peered at satoru, head tilted to the side as she took in the sight of the man who dribbled past the opponent in front of him. "gojo eyes keep searching the bleachers," she added.

"oh? i didn't notice," yuki responded. as she folded her hands in her lap, the corners of her mouth quirked up when she caught satoru's act that shoko just mentioned. "ah, yeah. he just did it."

it is so obvious for anyone who knows of you and satoru history, one which just starts writing itself, that the reason behind satoru's frequent survey at the bleachers is because he's searching for you; trying to catch the pair of eyes he would love to have a glimpse at right now, in the middle of the game as a way to boost his energy.

the man danced around the court, trying to avoid the challengers who were trying to steal his ball by passing it to another teammate of his. satoru ran fast towards the basket of the opposite team, pivoting his body around to get a hold of the thrown ball headed his way. and when the ball was in his hand, he went his way to do a side-step jump shot which has the team make a basket, earning two points.

"they already secured the victory." utahime turns off her phone after swiping close the live-stream page. she leaned back in her chair, eyes gleamed with astonish at how easy the student athletes paved their way to triumph.

"of course. we're a powerhouse for a reason," yuki said.

you chuckled softly at yuki's words. it's a statement in its own way. the sentence yuki just spoke into the air with dusts of success can be translated as in how glory always trails behind the student athletes steps, securing them their win. of course, all of it is also due to their efforts and focus on aiming for one thing only; accomplishment.

“time remaining is only a minute on the clock,” you mumble, threading a hand to your soft locks.

no one truly needs to pay attention to the seconds that went away, as the winner is already determined, it's true. however, everyone can't help but follow how these student athletes are in their 'zone', and lost in their own world— it's a sight to behold.

and as time runs for their life, disappearing and emerging more with the world, your university athletes keep on passing the ball to another. because even though they've secured their spot to bring home success, the love of the sport keeps them aflame.

shouting from the bleachers roar throughout the arena, everyone is burning hot watching these players fighting for their dignity and pride as an athlete. all with only seconds left, ticking on the clock.

“pass the ball!? oh my god, why did geto hog the ball for too long?!” yuki screams, far too loud. she pointed at suguru who seems like he catches on yuki's words, since he glares her way. "why is he staring? focus on the game!"

“oooh … that doesn't look nice," utahime grimaces at the sight of a player tripping over themselves.

your fingers fiddled with one another, somehow feeling a little stressed at the sight of how down in the arena, everyone is becoming more aggressive. “oh, sukuna lost the ball."

“why didn't he pass it to gojo?! jeez, did something happen in the locker room?!”

“get it, get it, get it— yes, good pass! oh, wow, choso get the ball again! gotta love that man.”

"athletes really are scary," shoko muttered. her hazy pair of eyes blinked, taking in the scenery at how this heated last seconds has everyone standing up. with her lollipop in hand, she gestured at the crowds using the candy's stick. "would you look at that ... most of them root for our team. they have good taste."

as the time on the clock tick-tocking closer to one, whenever a player has the ball on their hand, they would pass the ball to their teammates hastily in order to keep the opponents from making a basket.

five.

"gojo, get that stupid ball!"

four.

"sheesh, did you see how sukuna dodged that player in number six? he's nasty."

three.

"in all realness, the winner is already set. why are we screaming our lungs off?"

two.

"choso is saving the day once again, huh? that man singlehandedly saved the team by staying calculative."

one.

a buzzing sound echoes all over the arena, then. it echoes in a high-pitched noise, signaling the end of today's game as it marks the final score when the clock hits one. each of the athletes who were running across the court, trying to steal the ball from one another, has now stopped in their tracks.

everyone standing on the "battleground" looked over at the scoreboard as they tried to catch their breaths after the intense game— while the winner relishes in their team victory, the losing finalist can only let out a defeated sigh.

satoru gojo, on the other hand, didn't just win a match alongside his teammates on this valentine's day. because in a distance away from where he was standing, when his gaze finally set on the pair of eyes he has been searching for the entire game, the man can feel how his heart skips a beat at the sight of you.

you, who stand at the bleachers among countless other supporters with a small, delighted smile painted on your lips has satoru tripping over himself. with your hands that are far smaller than his, you clapped throughout the whole session of winner announcement and roars of blaring scream.

and truly, the sight of you is all what matters. since from the likes of it, the rising star has just earned a victory right through the door of your heart.

a tiramisu cafe.

satoru brings you to a cafe, specialized in making tiramisu.

"i heard you like tiramisu," he whisper. the man's warmth breathing kisses your skin, ever so sweetly, as he brings his lips close to your ear. one of his hand hold onto the sleeve of your cardigan, gently tugging you closer. "shoko was the one who told me, in case you wanted to know."

you blink a few times, nodding in a slight flustered demeanor. shoko being the one to revealed that side of you to satoru is quite expected, considering how she was the one who has been telling satoru to just go for you and ask to be your valentine.

after the celebration of their university team's success ended, satoru immediately rushes off to wash clean the sweat that lingers to his skin from his body. the man had to make sure he was prepared for his date with you. satoru had one thing in mind when he was choosing his clothes; it has to be a comfortable, yet striking outfit that doesn't scream desperate for compliments.

the man cleared off his throat, "… so, uh, are you— what flavor are you, um, planning on choosing?"satoru takes a step right when the last word left his mouth, creating a distance between you two shortly after realizing he had been too close, and meddling in your personal space.

huft .. get a hold of yourself, satoru chant repeatedly inside.

you let out a soft, low chuckle at his act. his consideration of what you prefer and how it impacts you keeps turning into a mess of a red carnation, as you're still not used to the gesture. it's beyond appreciated by you, though, whenever someone makes sure you're feeling safe and comfortable being around them. always.

"i think i'm going to choose strawberry cheesecake … i never had that one," you replied to him. the two of you move forward after another customer finishes ordering with satoru hand still holding onto your cardigan.

at your answer, satoru nodded. he made a mental note of the flavor to make sure he didn't mess up. a precaution. "okay, i got you."

when the customer standing before them walk away after paying, satoru is in front of the cashier in an instant. he repeated the name of what you wanted and another flavor for himself. of course, as the thoughtful man he is, satoru didn't forget to order a mineral water in case your throat gets itchy in need of hydration. it's what sweet does to you.

both of you settled on a table in the corner of the cafe. it was satoru who chose the spot, taking in deliberation to how the tables are packed with people in the center. you are never that fond of attention, after all.

the order he placed came in less than no time. well, it is tiramisu that has been prepared and chilled. it's not surprising how people come in, taste their dessert, and leave not that long after they finish bit by bit of their tiramisu. this cafe isn't one that is suited for hanging out too long, is what you can only assume.

"how's … your tiramisu?" you started off the conversation, after a few minutes of silence. and did it catch satoru off guard. he was planning on asking you the exact same question after trying his tiramisu. not a single fiber in his was prepared for you to be the one speaking first.

clearing his throat, satoru flashes a smile towards your way. "the matcha taste in this isn't that strong, though i think it's still good." with his eyebrows, the man gestured to your tiramisu plated in front of you, "how's yours? is it to your liking?"

you nodded slightly, heartbeat racing rapidly at the smile laced upon his lips. "um, yeah … i can tell they use a quality cream cheese," you paused for a minute, glancing away for a second as another wave of embarrassment washes over you from how intently he's watching you. "the strawberries taste premium, too. it's pretty sweet," you continued.

"really? well, i suppose from how red and juice the strawberries look, it has to be premium." he let out a soft humming, nodding his head as he inspected your cheesecake. "does it lean more on tiramisu or cheesecake, texture wise?"

"i've never eaten this variant before, so i can't really compare this to other, uh … store? but this one is more on the cheesecake side. it's soft and cheesy like?" your head tilted slightly, lashes batted as you look straight to his pair of cerulean eyes.

satoru blink a few times. the way your lashes fluttered as you try to explain your view on how the tiramisu taste got his brain short-circuiting. the man's brows knitted together as he tried to muster up a reply. "oh. that's— that's cool."

and man, did the way he answered bummed him.

maybe it's due to how you're always closed-off, that you developed a trait of being an observant person. growing up, you can easily tell from people mannerisms about what they're feeling at a certain moment. you've always been perceptive, right into other people soul. and it is pretty clear to see that satoru is disappointed at his reply to you.

which is totally understandable, from your side. ever since the beginning—when he proposed the idea of being your valentine—although the man is confident in his shoes, he has the sparkles of someone that wanted to impress his crush. or maybe you read too many romance stories.

either way, satoru demeanor truly screams one that wished for you to have a great day. so, with all the courage you have in you, you try to brighten up his mood.

"… i have so much fun today," you muttered. your gaze drifted anywhere but him for a beat there, as the whole room suddenly feels too hot for your liking. "thank you for the ticket, um, for the basketball match, as well as this cafe … date."

oh, that has satoru's hearts bursting with adoration. it did a back-flip inside his ribcage, causing the man to tremble slightly for a minute, before blinking his way through to keep himself from doing an actual routine inside the cafe. "i— i, it's good. i mean, you know, that you enjoyed today …"

the two flustered mess of a person stayed silent, then. it's one that's serene and has them filled with content. and even though they're not saying anything else to each other, since they decided that the floor or wall is far better than looking at one another, they both understand the air surrounding them has shifted into something more.

it seems everything that has happened today left a certain impact on both of you. and you're sure that your quicken heartbeat, yet toasty in a way, is trying to tell that today's event overflowed the space in-between your ribcage with a sense of belonging. way different than what one might feel aimed at a friend.

"… you did great at today's game. i'll make sure to watch more. in the future."

may every deities that are listening to the sentence left your lips help the man. because satoru truly can't handle another sweet nothing to be uttered from you, for him and only him to hear.

god, you really have him agreeing that good love feels as if its butterflies suffocating one side. it is beyond him that you're sitting close to him. satoru really shouldn't be allowed to be near you, at all. breathing the same air as you should, genuinely, be forbidden for his own sake. the man is serious, on all certain levels.

well, the words arranged you just let free from your lips conclude one more thing for satoru; he really just won a match and strike opened the door to your heart in a single day.

lucky bastard, he is. no one can argue with that, he's sure of it.

( ✦ ) @besidesjustmyamour @httpskrys @1stmagnoila @vegasbabyyyy @mariteez @babybitchy12 @violetpurplez @scaraslover @ritsatoru @enouche @wh1ms1soul @raendarkfaerie @bakugouswaif @mellyie @angelita-uchiha @vamqyx @luvleixo @iam-souless @taylorissogoofy @liveforkny @cruziival72 @buhchira @jennyistrendy @fushiguroooozzz @sovaintilla @fxckinbreathe @neutralizeeverymaninsight @loowyinsixeyes @withersworld @bunnydoeprincesspink @daddyaremi @whispers-of-aurora @sexykissesss @nanahach1

Maybe he noticed that you returned from the hospital happier than usual. Your softened voice grated on his nerves, and your dreamy gaze only sharpened his. Honed his tongue to the way it left more and more wounds.

As if you weren't berating yourself for even thinking about another man. As if you didn't force your gaze to tear apart from Gojo at first. To keep your mouth shut. To gather your bearings and lock your heart with the key thrown away to the ocean depths. To shut Nitta's and Miwa's whispers with sharp glances. To stand your ground as the endless blue threatened to swallow you whole.

Either way, you were torn between your actual feelings and things you were supposed to feel.

That day wasn't particularly sunshine and rainbows: from a kid with an asthma attack to very vigilant parents, insisting on vaccine shots conspiracy. Your smile turned more strained with every word, and your left eye almost twitched at "how much are you paid per shot?"

And that was only the morning.

"Kao, stop squirming! What will the doctor think of you?"

The boy, a 5-year-old Kao-kun, who was supposed to have his hearing examined, fell on deaf ears to his mother's pleading words (not literally, as you hoped, standing with an otoscope beside the kid).

"I am so sorry, Doc, I don't know what's gotten into him," Kao-kun's mother, Nakata-san, offered you an apologetic, forced smile, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy towards her.

"It's completely fine, Nakata-san. Kids don't usually like these sorts of things," smiling warmly back at the lady, you briefly patted her arm in support. Nakata-san only pressed her lips into a thin line and opened her purse to fish a handkerchief to dab on her forehead.

The sudden April heatwave enveloped Japan in its suffocating embrace. Heat clung to skin in rivulets of sweat, and people fought for every sliver of shade, not to mention the usual humidity — the feeling of your blouse sticking to your back set your overstimulated brain on fire even more, but you didn't have the right to complain.

Poor Nakata-san, meanwhile, murmured in despair and sighed, shaking her head, "He's usually such a nice, smart boy. We started to teach him Hiragana a couple of weeks ago, just like in that handout you gave us, Doc. Oh, I have it, wait a minute, —"

The woman started to browse through her endless purse again, but you interrupted her softly, glancing briefly at the clock. Ten minutes were left before the next appointment, and Kao-kun seemed way more interested in the poster of the giant green cactus Sabo-san, a chair named Kosshi and…Inai Inai Baa.

The corners of your mouth twitched with a bright grin.

Of course.

"Hey, Kao-kun," drawling playfully, you waved at the poster. "Do you like Inai Inai Baa?"

The boy's voice rose to a high-pitched tone as he nodded enthusiastically, "Yes!"

You clapped happily, hoping to match Kao-kun and beamed at the kid, "You want to play Peekaboo?"

The boy practically jumped out of his seat, and Nakata-san hurried to shush him, only for you to gently stop her with a knowing look. She stopped in her tracks, blinking a couple of times; as the realisation dawned on her, the woman sent you a conspiring wink.

"Kao-kun, I am gonna look for Inai Inai Baa in your ears," as you finally had the kid's attention, he looked up and hung on your every word, "Will you help me — "

You barely finished the sentence as the boy shouted happily, his toothy grin on full display:

"Yes, yes, yes!"

The sight dispersed the gloomy clouds in your mind like the brightest sunray.

Kao-kun helped you to spot the dog, Wanwan, every time he barked into the boy's ear, and you discreetly wiped your forehead as you finished the examination and put the data into the kid's medical record.

"Doc, you're the best!" Nakata-san pressed her palm to her chest, thanking you sincerely. Kao-kun eyed the bowl of lollipops on your table as his mother kept talking about the school they were about to choose. Stiffling a warm chuckle, you nodded at the bowl.

"Help yourself, Kao-kun, don't be shy."

The boy beamed and hurriedly thanked you, urged by his mother on the way out of your office. He was already too fascinated with the sweet and colourful cartoon sticker inside, but dutifully listened to his mom. You waved back with a laugh.

"Take care!"

When you finally had two minutes for yourself, you fished a small handy fan. As it always happened in the most inconvenient times, the climate control in your office decided it certainly had enough and retired after a long period of duty. The facility manager grumbled that the equipment hadn't been modernised in a long time, glaring at you as if you were the sole reason for that decision. You highly suspected your beloved fiancé (to be precise, his family) of being in charge of it. Yet, somehow, the one on the receiving blade of occasional pointed glances and hushed whispers was usually you. No wonder: Naoya had a knack for charming everyone under his spell.

And you were just…you. Your presence, so tethered to his, didn't help the situation either. Mostly, that didn't bother you: little patients adored you, while parents paid their respects — after all, that mattered the most.

One of the nurses kindly informed you that the next appointment had been cancelled. That rare occasion had you raise your brows in a mild surprise, which later turned into a fleeting moment of joy: since it was the last appointment before the day hospital's checks, you could go there earlier and later hurry to the little cafe near the hospital. The cold kiwi lemonade had been quietly haunting your mind since the moment you stepped into your office.

"How are you feeling today, Rika-chan?"

"Better now!"

The little girl with two pigtails stilled as you checked her throat and discreetly let out a sigh of relief as you turned to her mother with good news.

"I think Rika-chan is going to be discharged soon," muttering under your breath as you flipped the papers, you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of happy Okami-san. "Cephalexin 20 mg…yeah, that's right. I'll see you tomorrow at the final examination, Rika-chan!"

The girl eagerly nodded, hugging her Kuromi plushie, and your chuckle morphed into a warm laugh.

Walking out of room 626, you hurried to the last patient of the day. Knocking softly at the door, you couldn't help the low roaring of your pulse in your head. Your grip on the chart tightened, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.

Gojo was engrossed in his phone, thumbs flying over the screen, and cast occasional glances at Megumi, who was quietly drawing in the corner. The black crayon wandered over the paper; judging by Megumi's brows, knitted in concentration, and the peeked out tongue, he was more than focused. Your gift, a little plushie dog, alongside a giant toad, guarded Megumi's peace like loyal knights.

Another warm sunray crept through the clouds.

Too absorbed in his own little world, the kid didn't notice you. Contrary to his uncle, whose ears immediately perked up at the sound of the doors creaking. A bright grin spread on Gojo's handsome face at the sight of your slightly hesitant form — you had to blink a couple of times just to reassure yourself that you weren't dreaming — before he sent you a conspiratorial wink with his finger on his mouth and pointed at the boy.

Pressing your lips into a thin line so as not to burst with laughter, you closed the door as quietly as you could. What was a paediatrician without a little whimsy?

"Hey, Megumi-chan," Gojo drawled in an overly obnoxious manner, earning Megumi's unimpressed look. Gojo's grin turned even brighter. "What are you drawing out there?"

Megumi's grip on the crayon tightened, and he mumbled back, finally sneaking a glance at you, "I am not finished yet."

Gojo wasn't quite satisfied with his nephew's answer and leaned over to peek at the table, only for Megumi to snatch the drawing from his uncle's nosy gaze.

"Come on, Gumibear —"

The boy's ears went pink at the humiliation that Gojo was bestowing upon him with a mere nickname, and the glare he sent his uncle was nothing but murderous. "I told you not to call me that!"

"Careful, Megs, your anger level is wa-a-ay above your daily norm, ouch!"

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, but a few chuckles left your lips nonetheless.

Gojo slumped back in his chair with a theatrical groan, resting his palm on his forehead like a damsel in distress; his biceps flexed with each movement in a white t-shirt.

Well, it was really hot.

You allowed yourself a second of gawking before eventually stepping to Megumi's side.

"Can I have a look, Megumi-kun?"

Megumi's eyes briefly flicked between you and the drawing he clutched close to his chest before he shrugged, "I still have to finish it."

Peeking at Gojo, you saw the amusement dancing in his bright blue gaze. So, it was a yes.

"Had a rough day?"

Your hands on the pulse oximeter stilled for a moment. Megumi's eyelashes fluttered with a tiny fractured breath. Gojo's casual words sent your heart stammeting against your ribs like a trapped bird; however, you forced yourself to focus and didn't tear your gaze away until you saw the result.

"Saturation is still not good."

Gojo, who hovered over you, knitted his brows in concern and opened his mouth to ask you something when Megumi's exhausted voice tugged on your heartstrings.

"You put a mask on me, right?"

The movement of your throat was sharp as you swallowed and exchanged glances with Gojo. He pressed his lips in a thin line and gave you a silent nod, urging you to continue.

"It's nothing bad, Megumi-kun." Your hand, warm and pleasant, rested on the boy's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. A deep frown crossed over his features as Megumi murmured in a barely audible voice.

"You are always saying that."

After another worried glance shared with Gojo, you kneeled before the boy's bed and put your mask down, so he could see you better.

"I promise you it won't hurt you. Besides, your uncle and I will be with you all the time." Even turned away from Gojo, you could feel the light grin already tugging on the corner of his mouth. The boy's eyes flicked between you and Gojo, and after seconds of inner debating, his posture relaxed just a tad, and he grumbled.

"I suppose it's okay then."

Your chest suspiciously tightened as you watched Megumi's small fingers twitch in Gojo's hold. His shades were gone, offering you an unobstructed look at the blue of his eyes, simmering with concern, framed by the snow of his lashes.

Casting your gaze back down at the boy, you concentrated on the task.

"He's slowly getting better," a soft, reassuring murmur left your lips as your gaze lingered on Megumi, who dozed off, exhausted after all the procedures. Then it landed on Gojo, driven by some unknown force. His hand hovered over the boy's shoulders — strangely unsure for a man like him — and finally drifted down to tuck Megumi's blanket in clumsily.

"I hope so."

His hesitant whisper stirred something deeply buried. Before the ever-present tentativeness could consume you, your hand settled on Gojo's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The contact made your fingers twitch with an unexpected urge to dig them deeper into the muscled skin. The heat immediately coloured your cheeks; a fleeting thought of yanking your hand away crossed your mind, but it was too late and impolite.

Gojo stilled beneath your touch and slowly turned around. The blue of his eyes held you captive in their waves, but his small, gentle smile gave you a much-needed breath of fresh air.

Only to take it back with a casual brush of the long fingers, subtly grazing your hand. A fragile, aching in its delicateness, flower bloomed quietly between you.

Soon, Gojo's ringtone dispelled the strange air. You discreetly shook your head in a skimpy attempt to get rid of the image of the man beside you, now talking quietly to someone on the phone. His lips widened into a smile so bright and unadulterated, it transformed his face into something…angelic.

Naoya's disdainful scowl from the morning emersed in your exhausted mind, no matter how hard you tried to drown it.

Gojo shot you a sidelong glance — seemingly relentless to decipher a look of somberness on your face — on your way to the elevator.

He couldn't quite put a finger on the sudden feeling the bags under your eyes evoked in him.

Your fingers came to fiddle with your chain as you worried your bottom lip. Then your hand limply fell at the absence.

Yeah. Right.

Gojo's eyes followed your gesture, but you seemed so hollowed out, as the life had been suddenly sucked out of you, that he didn't think of anything better than to blurt out, "Wanna have a coffee?"

Eyes widening, you stilled completely. That man, Gojo, who looked like a secret the morning tentatively shared, a kiss of the rosy sunset on your skin, and a whisper of a mystical night, had asked you out?

Or were you imagining things? Was he just bored? Polite?

At first, a usual thought of waving a man who somehow had his mind hazy enough to look at you immediately crossed your mind. A hot wave of panic flooded you like a strong ocean. The need to flee somewhere, just not to stay under Gojo's piercing blue gaze, ordered a retreat already. You almost opened your mouth to offer a moot excuse, with Naoya's presence looming over you even miles away, and…

Abruptly closed it.

The sparkle of rebellious flame surged high and slowly devoured the gnawing hesitance.

Your silence gave Gojo quite an unambiguous sign. His smile wavered for a moment, taking a bitter edge, and he stepped back, raising his arms in surrender.

"Oh, I am sorry, you might think I want to hit on you or whatever, but it's just so hot —"

You cut him off with a shrug too quick and a grin too sharp. "Sure. Why not?"

Surprised, Gojo blinked before tilting his head as the boyish grin slowly made its way back on his handsome face.

"Lead the way, Doc."

For a moment, you weighed all the options on the inner scales: the hospital cafeteria was immediately off the limits — even the walls had ears there, as well as a popular cafe just around the corner. The possibility of someone grassing you up to Naoya rose tenfold.

Yet, you had something on mind.

"Meet me in ten minutes near the entrance."

A content hum and a theatrical salute were your answers.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Mentally thanking yourself for filling out daycare forms in advance, and the raging flu that knocked Yaga out, which saved you from the lunch meetings, you set the world record for changing out of the scrubs and hurried to the elevator.

The hospital still buzzed with worried patients and exhausted doctors. You craned your neck to see a familiar spark of frosty hair outside, and your pulse roared in your head at the sight of the tall man, leaning on the wall with a casual air of confidence.

Smoothing down your sundress — for some unknown reason — you hurried out.

"Hi!"

Gojo was looking somewhere past the crowd, a melancholic smile playing on his lips, and your words made him abruptly turn to you with a messy white fringe falling over his forehead. His smile dipped into something warm as he took you in.

"You're not in scrubs, it's the first!" An airy chuckle left Gojo as you led the way to the small cafe, nestled between towers of the enormous business centre, and a flower shop. To your surprise, Gojo immediately fell into step with you; Naoya never bothered to wait for you. You had always been expected to catch up to him, no matter what. "Nice dress."

Warm spring air caressed you both with delicate touches. The pink sundress you wore — Naoya raised his brow in the morning and mused whether you were dressed for work or a playground — licked the soft skin of your thighs with every step. Gojo sincerely tried not to gawk at the legs of his nephew's doctor (wait, was it a breach of ethics? He sincerely hoped no), but it became increasingly difficult.

Luckily, you stopped near the small, cosy coffee shop just before his feigned nonchalance would've morphed into something more scorching.

"Here we are!"

The scents of cinnamon and peppermint immediately hit his senses, mixed with the drumming sounds of an espresso machine and the faint hum of the climate control. The sudden temperature difference caused you to blow a lone strand of hair that escaped your ponytail off your face, and a whiff of your fresh perfume (albeit with a strong sense of antiseptic clinging to you like a second skin — once a doctor, always a doctor) sent his pulse drumming quietly.

Just when Gojo wondered if you felt at least something too, your shoulder lightly brushed against his. He didn't know what to do, because even the touch like that was enough for something to stir in his chest. So he just stilled, and let his gaze unabashedly drift over the delicate line of your neck as you studied something through the display.

Perfect.

"Recommendations are accepted," clearing his throat, Gojo waved at the arrays of pastries and rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn. Might as well order everything."

The look of pure confusion and something suspiciously similar to awe on his face earned a quiet laugh from you.

"Uhm, I usually like those chocolate-filled croissants," you murmured, hesitantly pointing at the pastry that looked like it had just descended from the famous French boulangeries. "Sometimes I take a tiramisu or a panacotta. Their strawberry-filled mochis are absolutely to die for!"

Beside you, Gojo went completely rigid. You felt the usual fear that you might've fucked something up — nothing new, but something inside you wished Gojo would be kind enough to let it slide — but then he turned around.

"I love mochis!" He breathed out not even with enthusiasm — a playful reverence coloured his tone. His eyes sparkled even brighter.

You briefly discussed other desserts displayed, and you complimented the ones shaped like fruits ("Actually, very close to Cédric Grolet's!"), before you attempted to grab your wallet from the purse and… met a disappointed nothingness. You sulked a bit and stepped back in the line before the barista would glare daggers at you, giving Gojo an apologetic shrug.

"I forgot my wallet, so this time I am just gonna —" You glanced around the cafe. "Wander around, I guess."

Gojo blinked and shook his head with an airy chuckle, pulling his wallet out, "You're so funny."

Your smile briefly faltered. Nevertheless, you forced it to stay plastered.

"I know, yeah."

A light frown flickered across Gojo's face, but before he could even form a question, the barista, a young, lively girl, greeted him with a joyous chirp.

"Good afternoon, what can I get you today?"

Flashing a charming grin, Gojo slightly leaned over and pointed at the pastry with a low purr, "Hello. I would like to have a caramel latte and that whole set of fruit desserts. A box of strawberry mochi and two — no, wait, three chocolate croissants for takeaway."

"Noted," the girl nodded as the light pink tinged her cheeks at the sight of Gojo. Well, no wonder. "Anything else?"

"Make the latte really sweet. And whatever this lady wants, of course." With that, Gojo finally leaned back and waved at the pastries as if he had baked them all by himself, "My treat, Doc."

Completely stunned, you just huffed an unsure laugh, "No, Gojo, it's okay, I am just —"

"Please," Gojo's voice lost all the cockiness just for a second, offering you a peek of the man beneath the facade. "Do me a favour. You showed me this place, after all."

A strange kind of fog clogged your mind as you watched Gojo casually take out his black card. You murmured something about a kiwi lemonade.

He ended up buying another yearly supply of sweets for you as well.

Gojo flipped his wallet, and a photo tucked inside — him hugging a couple of kids — immediately caught your attention. Judging by a grumpy scowl on one of the children's faces, you successfully deduced the boy to be Megumi. And the girl with a shy grin, showing a peace sign, should've been his sister, Tsumiki.

A flicker of warmth sparkled in your chest as your lips twitched in a smile.

Shifting your gaze just a tad, you noticed Gojo's business card peeking out from the photo. Your best attempt at squinting at it wasn't successful, but the sight of his surname in a bold business font awoke something in your mind.

You certainly heard it. Maybe Naoya once happened to drop it during dinner? Or some hushed pieces of gossip finally reached you at the numerous Zenins' gatherings?

The image of Naoya stubbornly kept surfacing in your mind, no matter how hard you tried to bury it under the pretence of nonchalance towards a certain white-haired man. The mere thought of your future husband finding out about your little detour sent a fresh wave of fear through you.

God. What the hell were you doing?!

Swallowing, you briefly mused about fleeing, but the force that seemed to be stronger than the gravity itself — attraction, blending with recklessness — chained you to the chair right in front of Gojo.

Damn him. You felt like a butterfly pinned to a board by the sharpness of his gaze.

"What's bothering you?"

Forcefully blinking yourself back into reality, you sent Gojo a confused, apologetic smile, "Nothing much."

"Come on, Doc," he prompted, resting his chin on the palm. Almost half of the caramel latte in front of him was gone, as well as a peach-shaped dessert. Yours still rested untouched on the plate. "You've been hypnotising that poor peach for a solid five minutes."

You nervously twirled a straw between your fingers. Shit. You didn't even notice it. And with Gojo staring at you, his brow lazily arched, you decided to opt for a half-truth.

"Your surname. Where could I hear it?"

Gojo's grin withered a little before taking a strained edge. Just a fleeting second for everyone else, but if sharing a roof with Naoya had taught you anything, it was attunement to other people's senses. So, you just waved your hands in surrender.

"I didn't mean to intrude, sorry. Forget it."

The sincerity of your gaze softened the sudden harshness of Gojo's features and the rigidness in his shoulders. You indeed were just… curious.

He shook his head with a light chuckle, "No worries. My family is quite well-known. Limitless, maybe you heard it?"

Eyed widening, you almost spluttered the poor kiwi lemonade.

"Limitless? You mean that big company in advanced robotics and technology?"

Well, that surely explained why he spent so much time with Megumi at the hospital. Nepo babies weren't used to working a lot, judging by Naoya.

Gojo gave you a lazy nod and took a bite of another pastry, looking somewhere past you at the bustling Tokyo streets, and dropped off-handedly.

"Yeah. But I am not a big fan of boring meetings, reports and presentations."

Something in his tone suggested that it wasn't a single reason.

You just prompted gently, "What are you doing then?"

Gojo's smile turned relaxed.

"I am a restaurant owner."

Stunned, you paused with a spoon halfway through, "What? That's so cool!"

Laughing warmly, he confirmed again, "Yep. Three in Tokyo, one in Kyoto, and…," he leaned over with a suspicious look and whispered loudly, sending you a wink, "planning to open in Yokohama as well. But that's a secret just for you."

A light chuckle left you as your face heated up from the sudden proximity. You quickly cast your gaze down on the plate, cutting through a delicious treat.

"So, where are they? Maybe we, sorry, I —," you corrected yourself immediately, earning a slow, curious tilt of Gojo's head, "visited them?"

He only dropped one name, but the mere mention of that restaurant had you staring at him in shock, eyes sparkling with excitement. A dollop of soft cream was smudged over your chin, but in your contagious joy, you never really noticed. The blue of Gojo's gaze softened into a warm breeze, embracing you in a tender gale.

"Really? Is that one in Ginza, a rooftop bar? God, I've been dying to visit it! That grilled red squid with herbs? Damn," gesturing animatedly, you quickly explained at Gojo's curious glance, "I had a bit at a family gathering. And let me tell you," now it was your turn to lean in with a conspirational whisper, "it was the best thing in that evening."

Despite Gojo's attempts to compose himself, his grin widened even more as he asked, "So, why haven't you visited it yet? I mean, you look pretty happy talking about it."

Your own smile slowly faded at Gojo's ask, and the unsure curl of your shoulder that followed immediately didn't go unnoticed.

Naoya's dismissive words sparkled brightly in your mind again, and you waved them as best as you could. Hugging the empty cup with your lemonade, you attempted to joke weakly, "Didn't have enough time. You know, hospital, shifts, meetings."

Gojo's lazy drumming slowed a little before coming to a complete halt. A warm feeling cracked in his chest at the memory of you attending Megumi.

"Ah, of course. Sorry for that. You are the busiest that I will ever be."

You weren't used to it. To someone listening to you with a genuine expression. To someone casually complimenting you. To someone including you in a conversation. As if you were worthy of someone's attention.

And that someone being Gojo caused a warm sun to rise in your hollowed soul.

So you resorted to the only thing familiar to you.

"Ah, it's nothing. I am just a paediatrician," offering a usual downplayed explanation, you didn't even notice the muscle in Gojo's jaw jump. Why were you doing it? "I mean, there are surgeons and — "

"You are joking, right? You are literally a doctor."

Gojo's incredulous tone caught you off guard. Shoulders dropping, your smile curled into a nervous, unsure scowl, while he went on.

"You're doing such a great job. I mean, all of that stuff, checking saturation, temperature, carrying all these charts, and, on top of that, working with kids! This is so cool."

A weird, scorching feeling coloured your cheeks. What was actually the last time you heard someone talking about you like that? All sincere, kind, and…warm?

The lump in your throat started to feel suspicious, and you took a shuddering breath in an attempt to accept Gojo's words with no usual overthinking, "I guess so. Kids are really cool."

Popping a spoonful of panna cotta in his mouth, Gojo hummed in acknowledgement.

"You're cooler. Do you like working with kids?"

For the second time, you were sharing a conversation, your smile widened, tone dipping into an affectionate tenderness, "Of course! I like seeing them smile as they finally get better. I love helping them to navigate through the world, especially knowing I can do that and make a difference! I want to make the start of their life easy and smooth. The rest of it may be shitty, but the childhood…"

Quiet steel crept into your voice, honing your tone.

"…the childhood is sacred."

Your eyes suddenly bore remembrance to black holes — swallowing Gojo in vast expanses of them. He stared, unblinking, and recalled that version of you on the lone evening. Smoking, laughing. Teasing.

Where was the line between that version of you and the shy doctor sitting in front of him, shrinking, lessening herself to fit some image Gojo hadn't deciphered yet? Who were you?

The truth might've hid amongst smiles, sincere, and too stretched to be genuine; glances, soft, and too pointed to offer truth; gestures, secretive, and too deep-seated to bear some meaning.

Gojo recalled your laugh as you talked about the damned grilled red squid. Maybe that version of you, that crept in the cracks of all the conversations you shared, was the real one?

He didn't know yet. But hell, he was determined to solve the mystery that his nephew's doctor was. With those sweet smiles. That sharp tongue. And that contagious laugh.

"Gojo? Are you listening?"

Okay. Perhaps he went into recalling a little bit too much.

He let his gaze wander over your features freely. "Yeah. You mentioned that kids usually don't like their ears checked. But honestly, what kid likes hospitals?"

Your shoulders shook with mirth as you shot him a quick, shy grin. Gojo felt his lips curling into a warm smile as well.

"Do you like working at that hospital?"

Twirling a straw, you stilled at his question. Then a deliberately calm shrug came as you glanced through the window.

"I like working with kids."

"That's not what I asked." Despite the warmth in his tone, you managed to notice an unusual heaviness lurking behind it. Nothing in Gojo, from the curious tilt of his head to the calmness in his blue gaze, revealed his true intentions.

Still. An assessing gleam that flashed in Gojo's eyes told you much more than he probably thought.

His fingers drummed against the table with barely concealed impatience. You mirrored his tilt and drawled hesitantly, "Could've been better, honestly. The department's director is constantly on our ears about financing and modernising the equipment. But, you know. Paediatrics isn't on the priority list."

Gojo hummed — a low, throaty sound that had you casting your gaze immediately down on your plate — and leaned in. His brows furrowed in frustration.

"Really?"

You mumbled something unintelligible as your shoulders curled inwards.

"But that doesn't make any sense," a murmur full of disbelief left him soon, addressing no one in particular, but rather musing aloud. "You're doing such an important thing, taking care of kids. I saw you running around like a Duracel rabbit, and this constant chaos. Yet you're doing such a great job! Especially with Megs. He likes you, you know? And he doesn't like doctors."

You leaned a bit with your chin cradled in your palm, looking out of the windows: some lady hurried to the cafe, barely catching up to her doggie, an adorable Pomeranian. The doorbell soon announced their entrance, followed by a cheerful bark.

"No wonder. He has a long story with them. I am afraid he just has to like me because I am a lady with masks and all that stuff."

"I am serious, Doc. Believe me," a small laugh followed his grin — you would've been damned if you didn't spot bitterness buried in it.

"I know when Megs feels…," Gojo pondered for a moment, looking for the right word. "Acceptable towards someone."

Now it was your turn to smile.

"He's not an easy kid," you murmured to Gojo after some time as you both watched the lady attending to her adorable, lively puppy. Gojo's grin widened for a second before settling back with heaviness too unfitting for the mask he usually wore.

"You can say so. They both went through…a lot."

You could only press your lips in sympathy. No matter how many tragedies you witnessed, each of them had left scars on you. Especially when you found out the reason Gojo adopted Megumi and Tsumiki.

Gojo didn't like to talk about it, but you gathered enough from the bits of conversations, information from Megumi's chart and heavy pauses between the words. Didn't press: one time, you saw Gojo examining the handout on how to help a kid process the grief, and noticed Gojo's gaze hardening into an iceberg.

So, you kept all assumptions safely catalogued in your head.

A heavy silence settled between you, interrupted only by excited yips of the Pomeranian, distant melodies of some indie song coming from the speakers, and the whirring of the cash register.

Hand drifting mindlessly to scratch an old scar, your fingers twitched with an indescribable urge to soothe Gojo's wounds as well. In the end, he lost his sister, too. And as shocked as he might've been, he had two distraught kids to bring up.

Did he have a chance to mourn her at all? Or just poured himself into the life that suddenly felt too enormous to fit into?

Judging by the distant waves of his gaze and the melancholy flickering over his face, too beautiful for all the sorrows, he didn't.

As much as you wanted to console him, to tell him that you hid scars like that as well, you couldn't bring yourself to do this. The lock on your heart was still impenetrable.

A bitter realisation, melting into a sour resentment that you didn't remember the last time you felt like that towards your fiancé, had your chest constricted with the weight of ache.

Instead, you tried not to dwell on it. Lifting your hand, your slightly trembling fingers grazed Gojo's hand across the table. A thick whisper followed.

"I am sorry."

Gojo's head immediately snapped up at the sound of your soft words. His eyes met yours in a moment of shared grief and quiet understanding — something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time.

A silent yearning to be seen hid in the desperate twitch of his fingers as they squeezed your palm in response.

He quickly masked that momentary weakness behind a frantic clearing of throat and a casual, too casual ask.

"You lost your chain?"

Frowning a bit, you shifted your gaze to the dip of your cleavage; a sudden, shaking breath followed as you gently pulled your hand back to touch the bare skin.

Naoya's words, full of malice and icy wrath, flashed behind your closed eyelids just as if he had been throwing them at you now. He was seething with ire that morning.

You just sat there: a silent witness to irritation consuming Naoya more and more. Mentally went through every place you visited, every corner rounded, and every room attended. Still, it had no sense at all.

The ring was gone.

"Yeah."

"It must've been important."

You gritted your teeth until the muscles in your jaws twitched. Slowly, you lifted your gaze and couldn't believe the next words that left your lips, "It's okay. Something that was meant to be mine would make its way back, right?"

Gojo's eyes widened a bit at the sudden declaration. A boyish grin curled on his lips as he just shrugged in response, "I guess so."

Just in time. An alarm on your phone not so kindly informed you that your lunch was over. Oh, how you wished that it could last a small eternity longer.

Did Gojo feel that as well?

Watching his tall figure retreat to a shop nearby, you thought about the warm sea that spilt in his irises, when you reminded him that you would meet again tomorrow.

And then, as the sudden gust of wind threw your hair back into your face, you realised when you heard Gojo's surname. The sound of it had become a frequent guest of all the Zenins' outraged discussions.

But…

What did that mean to you?

ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Darling?"

Your voice sounded hesitant in the car on the way to your parents' house.

Tearing his gaze from the streets of the Denenchofu neighbourhood, adorned with lush greenery, and the rows of houses, draped in elegance and serenity, Naoya quirked his brow at you in a silent question.

With a hasty breath, you twiddled with your bag. The damn binder kept evading you like on a cue. A quiet curse left your lips as you felt Naoya's patience wearing thinner and thinner with each flimsy attempt of yours. You heard the irritated click of his tongue just as you fished the folder. Handed it to your fiancé and watched boredom on his face morphing into vague surprise and… mild interest.

"What is it?"

"It's my — uhm, you know, it's something I am doodling while not busy and —"

Nayoa interrupted you with a sharp glance, "Quit babbling."

"Right. Sorry," forcing an apologetic grin, you folded your hands on your lap. "It's my sort of portfolio. Best of my works. I just — would like to know your opinion about that."

"And why do you want me to do this?"

"One of my patients' parents is an art dealer. He noticed some pictures in my office, and we exchanged a couple of words." Naoya's eyes narrowed at your revelation; you quickly corrected yourself, "That's it, I swear!"

"Quicker," he cut you off with a wave as if you were stealing minutes of his precious time.

Your gaze briefly flicked between your hands and the binder in his hands.

There it was. Something shaping as an opportunity to share with the rest of the world what your soul ached for and your eyes saw.

With a sharp exhale, you concluded, "Anyway, his gallery is searching for some new artists for the opening of a new exhibition. I thought — I thought I might give it a try." Your voice cracked at the last words.

A low, almost indifferent hum was all you got in response.

Breath bated, you intently watched Naoya slowly opening the folder and going through the pictures with deliberate scrupulousness. Head tilted, his gaze wandered over each line and stroke. You examined every minuscule twitch in his expression just to notice the fleeting movement of his eyebrows. Something resembling bewilderment flicked across his face.

A flash of excitement faintly sparkled within you.

Only for Naoya's bewilderment contorting into disbelief, masked by cold indifference.

"You drew it?"

A glance at his face didn't stir anything suspicious in you, so you slowly nodded, lips curling into a nervous smile.

His gaze darted to your makeshift portfolio once again. And then a smirk — a quick twitch of his lips — followed. As cruel as his love for you was.

"Don't you have something more important to do than simply wasting your time?"

The splendour of excitement faded within you into a dim flare. Your smile wavered as you breathed out, "I don't under— understand."

Your distress only fed Nayoa's ego even more. He carelessly tossed the portfolio back on your lap and drawled in mock sympathy, leaning closer.

"Aw, my poor dove. You are not born yesterday, aren't you? Still so innocent and full of naive dreams. You should've known better already."

Your grip on the poor binder tightened. The wrinkled, beaming face of your little patient caught your attention; but despite the usual reluctant acceptance of his words, you felt another match put to a growing flame inside.

Raising your chin a little, you noticed with a grim satisfaction that Naoya was slightly taken aback.

"Should know better what exactly?"

His smirk sharpened into a ruthless blade.

"That the world doesn't care about the wishes of innocent little doves like you, my darling." For all your desperate attempts to stand your ground, your heart sank to your stomach. Disappointment and your own failure buzzed in your tired mind, bearing Naoya's taunting voice.

"You think that guy really wanted these drawings of yours? Oh, darling, please. He probably was just polite. After all, you are the one who can write a slightly wrong prescription for his kid out of spite and —"

Cheeks flaring at the entendre in his voice, you blinked in shock, "What? I would never in my life do that!"

Naoya peacefully hold his hands out.

"Just saying, dove. I only want the best for you." Naoya's hand came to pinch your chin as he let his gaze roam over your face. Then a fake concern flashed on his face — you lifted a heavy gaze on your fiancé. "Saving you from an inevitable disappointment. No need to worry that pretty little head of yours about anything."

And then his tone deceived you into pretending sweetness, "You said you were bored?"

You answered it with an unblinking stare, which Naoya interpreted in his own way. As usual.

"Maybe it's high time for you to step into the wedding preparations. All I hear is endless chirping about napkins and lilies and the size of your obi sash. Why don't you join it? And while musing, maybe at least try to look for your engagement ring."

With that derisive scowl, your future husband leaned over to order something for your driver. And like that, the conversation ended.

Just like your pitiful attempts to become something that you weren't. A sandcastle that you carefully built crumbled in your hands, putting all your dillusions to an end.

Naive, little dove.

That was who you were, right?

Ache travelled down your cheeks in briny tears. They hit the pieces of your heart in lines and sketches, smudging them with sadness.

As the car finally stopped in front of a big house, screaming about quiet luxury, you quickly wiped all the signs of your life quietly falling apart. And when you stepped out of the car with your hand resting leisurely in the crook of Naoya's elbow, your smile only painted the image of a happy fiancée and a nice daughter.

The portfolio in the depths of your bag told another story.

For all the heavy air and weight of disappointment following your every step like an ominous shadow, you still preferred home walls to the bars of the Zenins' cage.

At least, you were in your territory.

Naoya had never been particularly interested in stepping into that place — perhaps he regarded it as settling to your level — but much to your surprise, he always accompanied you.

Deep down, you were well aware of the true reason; it was neither his affection nor understanding. Oh, no. Quite the opposite.

Your home greeted you with polite indifference.

If it had a face, you were sure it would wear the same expressionless look you often witnessed on your parents. A deep-buried bitterness surged inside at the sight of framed photos, depicting your family. The main guest was always their most beloved child — their business, its numerous triumphs and accomplishments. Its presence had always gnawed on you at the dinner table and hovered over, akin to a skilful executioner, with the axe of their expectations behind the back.

It was a competition you could never win.

As wounding as that realisation was, you swallowed it and every sharp remark to come.

After all, those crumbs were better than facing the silence.

Your mother joyously trilled something to Naoya, who listened to her with a mild interest. You were well aware that was the closest to politeness he was able to muster. As a lot of men tended to be, your future husband had never been keen on participating in "women's useless prattle".

But not as your father studied him with a scrutiny too unfitting for someone so blazenly indifferent.

At least, that was what you believed him to be.

Because lately, every time you stole a glance at your father as he talked to Naoya, you couldn't help but notice a mocking sparkle in his eyes. As if Naoya entertained him by the mere fact of his existence. You silently wondered if he was able to sense it, because your fiancé's attempts to earn his future father-in-law's approval were met with a quick grin and a curt nod more and more.

Of course, it wounded Naoya's pride and ego. Everyone had to be enamoured with your fiancé; a few tailored compliments and seemingly soft glances were usually enough. Naoya never bothered himself trying too much, though, just because he initially treated people like someone to use and discard later.

The only exception was you at the start of your relationships. He woven himself into your life with late-night strolls, dinners at the expensive restaurants, attentive gestures, and charming smiles. Until he made sure you were on the hook of his affection and in a constant state of craving more. Playing with you, testing the limits of your obedience and his own vanity, gave him a cruel sense of satisfaction.

Either way, some flattery and asking for business advice didn't fascinate your father into actually accepting Naoya. Sometimes your fiancé's disappointment and anger burst into spiteful remarks directed at you, although they quickly morphed into distant rambles as he understood how pathetic he might've looked. Trying to earn respect from the man who was supposed to give it to him on a silver platter.

If there was one thing you were certain about Naoya, that was his absolute despise to being looked down on.

You didn't know what game your father was playing — it might be just another mind game or whatever it was called in terms of business — but you enjoyed it inwardly nonetheless.

The clink of silvery cutlery followed soon after the usual exchanges among the whispers of pristine tablecloth and rivers of elite alcohol. Nayoa's shoulder brushed against yours every time he reached for whiskey. The gradual rise of his pitch matched the growing annoyance within you. You politely waved the maid every time she walked to your side with a glass.

"Ah, darling," your mother's cheeks were already painted red from numerous portions of Roku gin. Otherwise, she wouldn't be as kind as now. "Why don't you try this Roku gin? Torii-sama sent us the premium Sakura Bloom Edition, might as well try one!"

Your mother paused to pop a cherry in her mouth. Then her eyes comically widened as she shared a few curious glances with your aunties, earning tipsy giggles. Naoya's jaw tightened. "Your fiancé might not like your drinking! Silly me."

Your plastered smile twitched for a moment before you let a fake saccharine chuckle and nodded wordlessly. You knew better after the last gathering in the Zenins' estate.

Unknown to you, not only did Naoya watch you like a master, seeing his doll take the stage for the first time, but so did your father. His calm expression wavered for a moment before a usual mask slotted back into place.

"Darling." All the voices quietened as your father spoke up. Your grip on the fork tightened as you braced yourself and slowly dragged your eyes to meet his gaze, spine involuntarily straightening under its weight.

"Father?"

"Tell us about your…work," the last word left your father rather hesitantly as he absent-mindedly twirled a lavish whiskey glass between his fingers. Saying that surprised you would be an understatement: your work, the path you chose, instead of becoming another cog in their enormous corporate machine, had long been a touchy subject in your family. Your becoming a doctor was acceptable. But a paediatrician? It evoked a couple of arguments, but that was the most you could have ever received. From that moment, your profession hid between the pauses in conversations and was swept under the rug like a useless mention.

The voices around the table came to a complete halt, and even the lone clink of your cousin's spoon against the plate sounded shocked.

Trying to ignore the bewildered glances and especially the pointed glare of your fiancé at the lack of attention to his superb persona, you smiled corteously, "Thank you for asking, father. Everything is going nicely, and the kids are as healthy as they can be. Well, you know them. You don't keep an eye on them, and the next thing you do is blow on their scraped knees."

The table remained ominously silent after your attempted little joke. You cleared your throat and carried on, feeling Naoya piercing daggers into you.

"And, uhm, our department's well-financed, surprisingly! I suppose it's Naoya's achievement. He's on the board of the shareholders, if someone doesn't know," you hastily added. The paediatrics department was buzzing with a new juicy piece of gossip, exchanging knowing looks and conspirational whispers. Just like that, your fiancé once again bathed in the glory and adoration.

Meanwhile, you weren't even completely sure he actually showed up to those meetings.

Naoya straightened a little in his seat, sending a sleazy smirk to one of your distant relatives. Her cheeks went red immediately as she cast her gaze down on the plate.

"Yeah, dove is right." Naoya's speech had long already been slurred from the alcohol, straining his breath. Your jaw twitched with effort not to grimace as it fanned over your cheek. "No wonder they had such a big problem with money. I mean, they are looking after kids. Not even real doctors, if you catch my drift."

You were so shocked and astounded that you couldn't utter a single word.

"What?" Naoya shrugged indifferently as his gaze swept across the table to notice that some people were stunned as well. He quirked a brow at you. "You said it yourself, honey. That you felt so stupid talking to surgeons sometimes."

The humiliation snaked immediately in your chest and sank its teeth into your heart, until you bled quietly on the pristine white in front of you. The silver of the fine clutter caught light, showing you a reflection of smirking Naoya, even more distorted. Your grip on it tightened, but you still played your role, sending your father a jarred grin.

However, he looked past you. His brows knitted together in confusion and something suspiciously looking like seething anger. Shivers ran down your spine as your father finally muttered.

"And who do you consider a real doctor, Naoya?"

Naoya's smirk slowly wavered before vanishing completely; his cheeks went from painfully pale to slightly pink in a span of seconds, and for a death cup like him, it equated to a crimson bloom.

Clearing his throat, your future husband threw pointed glances at you.

You remained indifferent to his silent pleas.

The sight of your fiancé, trying to make his way out of a frying pan, brought a strange kind of contentment. You hid your smirk behind the glass.

He parted his lips to answer, only to be interrupted by the maid. She bowed in an apology, saying someone was calling you,

"That must be some parent. Excuse me," you quickly stood up and hurried to another room. Ah. You wished you could see Naoya humiliating himself in front of your family a bit longer. However, you still managed to mouth "thank you" to your father, who answered you with a quick nod.

Parents' calling you all the time wasn't anything sort of an usual, but seeing Gojo appearing on your screen sent your heart stammering against your ribs. Was something wrong with Megumi? Did he feel bad again? You were just about to discharge him and —

Before the wave of overthinking consumed you, you accepted the call, thumb hesitating over the button for a few seconds longer than needed.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Doc. I am so sorry to interrupt you, really. You must be busy," Gojo chuckled nervously. You noticed with a frown that his low voice had lost its usual smoothness: he sounded genuinely… worried. You had to cut off his words before they would turn into rambling.

"Don't worry. What happened? Is Megumi alright?"

"Megs is fine, it's —," a loud bark interrupted your conversation, earning a distressed groan from Gojo. "Shiro, for the love of God! Stop that!"

The dog's barks — as you presumed, Shiro's — grew even louder, and in a couple of seconds, playful yips followed as well.

"Kuro, no, I can't play with you right now!"

As much as you would've enjoyed that chaos in every other situation, your voice took on an urgent edge, calling for Gojo's attention back.

"Gojo, I need you to focus. What's wrong?"

The sounds of the crisis on the other side of the call quietened a little, and you could finally feel Gojo's voice, coming in a nervous breath, "It's Tsumiki."

"Okay. Is she nauseous? Has a temperature? Diarrhoea? Pale, blotchy skin?"

"She threw up a couple of times. We've been at the new place near their school, and then went to an amusement park. Yeah, wrong move, I know. No diarrhoea, no. A little bit pale, though." Gojo huffed nervously. You briefly imagined him carding fingers through his hair — you picked that habit of his during Megumi's admission.

Shaking your head, you interrupted Gojo again.

"What did she eat? Did you give her some meds?"

"She had a poke bowl with tuna. Pepsi. Sugar-free, if that's important. Cotton candy. I think it's cotton candy. It should be cotton candy, 'cause we all had those damn poke bowls. Honestly, it was too sweet, even for me."

Gojo's voice turned too distant all of a sudden. You figured he was checking on Tsumiki, given the worried edge in his tone. "We went home, and I gave her Pedialyte."

"Oh, that's great. You did right, actually. She should drink a lot and have plenty of rest."

"Dunno, Doc. She's not looking very good, and I —" A deep, sharp exhale that followed twisted something in your heart.

Swallowing nervously, you tightened your grip on the phone. "I'll check on her. Just send your address. I'll be there as soon as possible."

Gojo kept silent for some time, until you heard his quiet, strangely hesitant voice. "You sure? I don't want to interrupt whatever you might have, it's a Friday evening, after all. I can call an ambulance every time."

Already putting on your light coat, you gently murmured, "No, it's okay. Don't worry about it."

"I'll send my assistant after you."

You were already familiar with Gojo's assistant, a driver, and a planner — Ijichi. The poor guy looked perpetually stressed; you genuinely didn't want to cause him even more trouble.

"I'll get a taxi."

"But —"

"By the time he gets to me, I could've already been at yours."

Gojo reluctantly agreed, not capable of fighting your logic, and dropped his address. Your brows raised in a slight surprise.

With a quiet hum, you finally called a taxi, already grimacing at Naoya's possible reaction, as you hastily texted him an apology. His face, contorted in fury, especially after a confrontation with your father, sent shivers down your spine. A thought of backing down briefly crossed your mind, but you quickly shook it away. Not only because you were always keen on keeping your promises and the poor girl involved, but…

Watching the streets of Seijo pass you in quiet green parks, tennis courts, university campuses and elite buildings, you finally admitted to yourself.

That you longed to see Gojo.

His house met you with a daunting gateway and a robotic voice, calmly telling you to proceed further. A quick, examining look around the beautiful, well-tended yard made you wonder how many people worked there, but the sight of water guns scattered over the grass, as well as the picnic blanket on the grass, gave you a much better understanding of the family living there.

After hesitating a couple of seconds, you knocked.

You fully expected Gojo to greet you right that second. Instead, you heard a couple of barks, some intelligible mumbling, and the sound of something being knocked over, until the door finally opened, revealing Gojo and a white Labrador puppy, enthusiastically chewing on the man's trouser leg.

Hardly had you opened your mouth, when another puppy — that time a black one, albeit also a Labrador — jumped on you with a joyous yip. The puppy wiggled its tail with such speed that you sincerely worried about the poor doggie launching itself into space.

A joyful chuckle left you as you petted the puppy, cooing at him, "Hello to you, too!"

Gojo finally managed to get the white one off his leg and craddled it against his chest with a loud sigh. A couple of white strands were plastered to his forehead, and he quickly wiped it with his forearm.

"Hello, Doc. Kuro, come here. Don't jump on ladies like that," he mock scolded the black one, Kuro, and flashed you a tired grin. Kuro trotted back to Gojo. "We're gonna talk about it later, I swear. With you as well, right, little guy?" Gojo murmured to the white puppy, scratching him behind the ears and nodded towards you. "Meet Shiro!"

You beamed back in response and quickly looked around. "Where's Tsumiki?"

Gojo's expression changed in an instant, a frown crossing over his handsome face. "She's upstairs. You can use the bathroom there. Wait a minute, okay?"

Nodding nervously, you found your seat near the cream sofa. A white, fluffy carpet easily swallowed the sound of your footsteps. You sank into the comfort of the armchair nearby and let your gaze drift over the dog toys on the carpet, neatly folded colouring pages on the coffee table, a half-opened pack of coloured crayons, some book about dog breeds, and… wait, was it a pastry book? Nonetheless, Cédric Grolet's? Squinting, you only got convinced more about it: the sight of familiar lemons immediately caught your eye.

Nothing strange. He was a restaurant owner, after all. Broadening a worldview was useful for everyone.

Unless…

He picked it up after you mentioned it at the cafe.

Weird warmth blossomed in your chest, spreading through your veins like sunshine, mellow and bright.

Until a sudden thought of Naoya burnt you.

"Megs, why don't you have the puppies and play with them at the yard? I'll go check on Tsumiki." Gojo's loud voice startled you out of your hazy mind. Blinking, you returned to reality and watched the grumpy kid dragging his feet to Gojo. "Oh, and say hi to Doctor-sensei. She'll look at her too."

His words had Megumi stop mid-rubbing his eyes and stare at you with mild disbelief. Waving at him, you forced a smile. You couldn't let yourself dwell on your future husband and bathe in your misery in front of a kid.

"Hi, Megumi-kun! You feeling better?"

The boy blinked as well and shrugged in response. "I guess."

As driven by the force of gravity, your eyes immediately drifted to Gojo to find him already staring at you with a curious expression. Warmth curled on his lips, but his eyes remained sharp and focused. Your cheeks heated up.

Stuffy. It was stuffy.

One of the puppies barked.

Megumi briefly glanced at the dog, and for the first time, you saw a sincere smile spreading on his face. Then, he dragged his eyes back to you with a pensive, hesitant expression and asked quietly.

"Will Tsumiki be alright?"

Your chest tightened with emotions as you kneeled before the kid. He watched you carefully, but didn't speak up.

"She is alright, from what your uncle told me. Don't worry. He takes care of her." Letting yourself look at Gojo again, you noticed something indescribable flicker over his features before he smiled back, albeit strained. A weird feeling stirred within as you added, "Both of you, actually."

Something twitched behind the stone mask that Megumi's face was. A light pink coloured his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze.

"Alrighty, Megs," Gojo held the door open, and Kuro already jumped happily outside, followed by Shiro, wiggling his tail. "But not too long! You gotta be in bed till ten, and we are going to brush teeth together this time. You're not going to fool me anymore, little punk."

Megumi rolled his eyes, but the sparkle of mischief in them was a dead giveaway. "More like you are not going to fool me like the last time you ditched the irrigator —"

Gojo swiftly cut Megumi off, "Buddy, don't expose all our bonding moments, okay?"

You watched the puppies immediately clinging to Megumi with cheerful yips as he stepped out — and looked at Gojo. Nothing in him, save only for the tension in his broad shoulders, revealed the quiet storm brewing inside.

Swallowing, you hurried to catch up to him.

"Tsumi-chan, how are you now?" Gojo's voice dropped to the gentle warmth you had yet to hear. He quietly closed the doors behind you both and walked to the girl. A little grin tugged at the corner of your lips at the sight of the barrage of meds on the bedside table.

"I feel better now, really. Thank you, Satoru-san. You don't have to worry about me so much."

"Oh, I absolutely do," huffing loudly, Gojo walked over and cleared his throat, telling Tsumiki your name. "Doctor-sensei treats Megumi."

Tsumiki murmured something to greet you, but her last words caught you off guard.

"Nice to meet you, sensei! Satoru-san told us about you."

Eyes widened, you shifted your gaze to Gojo, who was already checking Tsumiki's bunnies. "Really? Did he?"

"Oh, yeah! I know you're really good," she chuckled warmly, but then added hastily, "I don't think there's any need to check on me, I am completely fine!"

But after this, she grimaced quickly and gave up under Gojo's hardened gaze.

Tsumiki got a certain paleness to her skin as you examined her, but nothing unusual for the food poisoning, as you indeed figured it out.

"I think it was cotton candy," the girl murmured, sinking back into the bed. A quiet sigh left her lips. "It's a shame. I liked it."

"Oh, yeah," Gojo grumbled indistinctly from his place. "I'll never let you eat that stuff again, I swear."

The girl's eyes widened as she shared a startled look with you. "But you ate five portions all by yourself! It's not fair!"

Gojo shot her a quick look, though a teasing grin danced on his lips.

"It's not the same. I am an adult, and you are just a teeny tiny girl," he joked lightly, watching a white bunny devouring an applewood stick. "You're such a fatty, fella, I swear."

"Snow is not a fatty!" Tsumiki already jumped in to protect her precious pet. "Just…furry."

"Tsumi-chan, calm down a little. You'd better relax and have a rest," you murmured, while writing down recommendations for Gojo. "Your bunny's name is Snow?"

She nodded carefully, following your words, and twiddled with her fingers.

"Yes. Snow and Ball. The owners wanted to give Snow away, because, you know," she whispered and sniffled quietly. "He was not like other bunnies."

"Albino," Gojo interjected immediately. Almost absent-mindedly: his eyes were focused on the large constellation map on the wall, but you were sure he was listening more than attentively.

"So we took Snow in, and Satoru-san later brought us Ball! He lived on a Bunny Island, but now he's with us."

Your smile wavered, sinking into fragile softness as your hand squeezed Tsumiki's. Then your gaze found Gojo again, who was trying to use Tsumiki's telescope. The sight was quite funny, given Gojo's height and the telescope's design for kids.

Not looking away, you whispered, "Satoru-san is good to you."

"He is," the girl beamed at you, but then grew shy again. Clearing her throat, she asked whether you had some pets.

The bitterness instantly rose in your chest, flooding all the warmth.

Naoya didn't understand the concept of pets and anything that could steal your attention away.

That was your first big fight.

You were just a year together.

With gaze cast down, you shrugged, not aware that Gojo was watching you all the time. "Uhm, no, unfortunately, no. With my work…not quite possible."

"Oh. It's a shame," she sighed again. "But if you want to, you can come and play with my bunnies. And I am sure Megumi won't be against you playing with Kuro and Shiro. Right, Satoru-san?"

"Yeah." He answered without missing a beat. Your heart did a treacherous flip, slamming against your ribcage, and you breathed out with a weak grin.

"Thank you, Tsumi-chan. Get better soon, okay?"

"Make sure she's well-rested. I think she should feel better before Monday. A lot of drinks," you nodded at the paper in Gojo's hand. "Watch the vomit too, and basically just keep an eye on her. If there's a sudden tummy ache, call an ambulance. And call me just in case."

"Sure will do," Gojo murmured tiredly, carefully folding your note and tucking it into his notebook. A sharp pang of something you weren't ready to name yet shot through your heart. Quietly watching Gojo's brows furrow in thought as he turned the pages of his planner — probably filled with dozens of meetings, visits and even dates — you muttered your goodbyes with a full intention to slip quietly out of that lovely home.

Only to be stopped by a warm hand on your elbow.

"Where are you going to? It's late. Ijichi will drive you home."

Your phone was already buzzing with dozens of irritated texts from Naoya, and the thought of him seeing you leave another man's car made your insides churn.

Waving, you huffed a chuckle, "Ah, it's nothing, I'll take a taxi, and it's late!"

"He will be there in five minutes." Gojo casually shrugged your words off, already on its way to hold a door for you. "Come on, I'll walk you out."

The gusts of wind under the veil of tranquil twilight didn't bite you as usual; perhaps, it was Gojo's warmth shielding you from its coldness. Standing right beside him as you waited outside, you couldn't help but reminisce that evening with the British lighter.

An airy chuckle cut through the serenity between you. Gojo tore his gaze away from the star-spilt sky above, and his gentle murmur caressed the expanse of your skin. Even though he was standing a foot apart.

"What are you thinking about?"

Your smile deepened, but you shook your head in response. "Nothing much."

"Hey. Don't go shy on me, Doctor-sensei."

Despite the coldness of the evening, your cheeks flared up. "Telling about me to your kids?"

A soft smile spread on his face as he chuckled.

"Couldn't help. You're really a nice doctor."

"Well, thank you then."

He basked in a response you gave him — a widened gaze, a pink tint to your cheeks, and a little smile — until you went silent again.

Gojo tilted his head in a silent question — the harsh wind threw his white bangs all over his forehead. He didn't make any effort to brush them away; instead, he kept looking at you as if you were the only star gracing the heavens above. Beautiful. Observing.

Mysterious.

"I don't have the lighter on me now."

Startled, you abruptly burned and blinked, your huff dissolving into a light laugh. "And I don't have any cigs."

Gojo's smile deepened almost imperceptibly. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his warmth enveloping you tighter in its embrace. Nervously, you tucked the lone hair strand behind your ear. Glanced at the sky above, glimmering indifferently.

"Tsumiki likes stars, doesn't she? A whole map and a telescope in her room?" You murmured absent-mindedly, eyes lazily wandering from one celestial body to another.

Naoya didn't like stargazing.

"Ah, yes. A little scientist. She dreams about space and visiting some planets." At the mention of his niece, Gojo's gaze turned melancholic, albeit full of tenderness. "She's a nice girl. Kind and gentle."

At the sudden pensiveness, colouring his voice, you turned around. The wind threw your hair into your face, but you chose not to see anything but Gojo. Your voice came surprisingly steady.

"And you are a nice uncle. When I said to Megumi that you took good care of them, I didn't joke."

Your words clearly stunned Gojo; his eyes widened, and the dark blue of them shone so brightly under the lamplight that you let yourself drown in them all over again.

"You think so, Doc?"

Despite the lightness in his tone, you picked up the strained edge, the hesitance, and something weirdly resembling hope.

His hand twitched a little as you stepped closer and let your fingers tentatively brush against his. Gojo went still, and your quiet yet sure words nearly undid him.

"I know, Gojo."

His chest expanded with a sharp exhale. There was no way he could contain the overwhelming fullness in his chest that came with your presence. And as the honk of Ijichi's car erupted through the silence, he finally managed to find his words again.

"Thank you for coming. I… really appreciate that."

You just shook your head with a warm smile you wore so often. A strange gleam flashed in your gaze.

"No worries. I am glad to help."

For some reason, he couldn't tear his gaze away, and just watched the lonebeam caressing your features in a way he longed to.

The black car finally stopped in front of you. Gojo stepped to open the door for you and murmured.

"Good night. See you soon, right?"

"Right. Bye, Gojo."

And seeing the car slowly disappearing into the dark, Gojo let out a breath, carding his fingers through the hair as the realisation that had been hovering over him like a sword of Damocles finally hit him.

He was so fucked.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

The clock in your office almost struck two, marking your possible fifteen minutes for a break, but you were focused on a baby on the examination table. Softly pressing on the belly, you checked for any enlarged organs, only to give the parents an assuring nod.

"No signs of a hernia as well."

Your light tickles earned soft gurgles from the kid, and you couldn't help but lean down and coo, "Aw, you're such a little talker tonight, aren't you? Looking so happy out here."

The baby babbled something again, flailing their pudgy arms, and gave you a little grin. Your hands softly brushed over the kid's legs to move them over.

"No problems with hip joints! Your baby is completely healthy." A relaxed smile made its way on your face as well, seeing the little girl's parents breathe out in relief.

"Doctor-sensei, we were thinking about introducing Kiki-chan to solid foods," Kiki-chan's mother squirmed in her seat, while her father attempted to put a pacifier in her mouth. The baby protested with a huff.

Humming under your breath, you went through the baby's medical record. "Honestly, it's better you wait a little. I will give you proper recommendations when the time comes. It's usually around 6 months. Meanwhile, remember to have the vitamin D supplement I was talking about."

"Ah, yes. I wanted to ask if 400 IU daily is alright?" Ito-san's voice sounded a bit strained, as Kiki-chan curiously attempted to tug on her mom's hair.

"Totally fine."

Shortly after answering a couple of questions more and reminding the parents to call you in case something suspicious arises, you bid your goodbyes to the family.

Exhausted, you massaged your temples and decided to take a quick nap before a meeting, only to be interrupted by the knock. No urgency, though. No hesitation.

Frowning, you called out to come in, already straightening in your seat. Might've been another emergency, since you didn't have anything more scheduled before the endless Yaga's droning.

The door opened, revealing the emergency himself. The emergency bore a smile, able to disperse any signs of an impending grimness; his hair flashed bright white under the light, and the blue of his gaze pulled you into its ripples just like the day that emergency walked into your life.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, pulse roared in your temples with deafening force, as you stared back at Gojo. Megumi had been charged some time ago, but the lie would've tasted sour if you said Gojo didn't cross your mind. Maybe something happened to Tsumiki?

Sometimes, when the evenings pinned you down with their weight of loneliness, as you stared at Naoya's back blanky, the memories flushed in your mind. You kept every smile, every glance, every bruf of fingers and every word close to your heart, akin to the precious gems.

Then, as Naoya's lips would press a claim on your skin and his fingertips would burn another into your soul, you pulled them out with the utmost care.

Somehow managing to compose yourself, you forced a grin that Gojo would find a pleasant one, at least, "Hi! What are you doing here? Oh, have a seat, would you?"

Gojo's grin deepened, and he sank into the chair in front of you.

"Long time no see, Doc. No-no, everything is okay with kids, don't worry," he hastily added, seeing concern immediately taking over your face.

"Oh." You blinked in surprise. Cleared your throat. Tried not to look as nosy as you felt. Twiddled with a kitten figurine on your table. Finally breathed out.

"Not to be rude or anything, but…what are you doing here then?"

His white brows knitted together as he managed to huff a chuckle. It slowly died under your inquiring gaze.

"You don't know?"

Briefly closing your eyes at the sense of migraine slowly crawling back to make your life even more miserable, you murmured, "Know what?"

The bright grin on Gojo's face wavered, but his voice came out surprisingly soft. As if he were trying to soothe you by the mere tone alone.

"I am on the board of shareholders now. I thought you might've known by now. But it's even better! I am telling you myself."

Brows flying to your hairline in surprise, you breathed out a quiet, shocked chuckle. The gentle sun — as bright as Gojo's radiant grin — warmed your soul in hesitant rays of fondness.

"Really? That's so great! I didn't even hear —"

Naoya didn't bother to mention it to you.

Your smile slowly vanished as the clouds of despair slowly fogged that very sun.

Gojo, who had already helped himself to a candy, suddenly looked up. "Didn't even hear…?"

If you were a lot more braver, you wouldn't let hesitance shake you to the very core. Expose you for who you truly were.

A dove. A naive, frightened dove.

The knife of Naoya's disdainful whisper slowly twisted between your ribs once again, leaving the droplets of something that used to be your affection spilling in crimson paths of sorrow and ache.

"Doc? You good?"

You would've told Gojo everything.

Instead, you gave him a jarred grin.

"Doesn't matter. So, what's the thing for you here?"

His gaze narrowed suspiciously, but he decided not to press further.

"I thought it was a good opportunity. Non-profit management, something like that. You took good care of Megumi, and I was already thinking about," his gaze swept across your room, pausing at the sweets, the examination table, the posters on the walls and the box with toys. The very same you fished Megumi's plushie from. "Contributing to society, all that jazz."

Something in his deliberately light tone told you that you weren't the one to have secrets. With a curious hum, you leaned over, tapping on your chin in mock thoughtfulness.

"Weren't you the one saying that you didn't like meetings and everything?"

Gojo paused, his eyes briefly flicking to your face to gauge your reaction; he saw none, besides an intrigue, dancing in your gaze.

Oh. That was how you wanted to play, huh?

He slowly mirrored your grin, lazily tilting his head. "I am okay if that's for the good."

"It's for the good, then?"

His smile widened, giving you a good look at his dimples.

Giving Gojo the last suspicious glance, you leaned back.

He cleared his throat.

"So, if you have something to say or ask for... you can tell me. Within reasonable limits, of course."

"I'll keep it in mind."

Your pager beeped loudly again, putting your conversation to a halt. With a heavy sigh, you hid it and rose from your seat.

"Did something happen?" Gojo inquired with the same curious, albeit soft gaze that had been silently caressing you the entire conversation.

Stifling a sigh and your urge to ditch the whole thing, you admitted begrudgingly, "No, not at all. Just the department's meeting."

"Oh," he hummed incredulously, but his gaze was still firmly set on you. You decided to get through your notes just not to feel its weight. It never failed to send shivers down your spine.

"You've already met Yaga-san, the department's director, I suppose?"

An attempt to briefly switch the topic and the nervous tone didn't go unnoticed by Gojo.

As well as the slightest twitch of your fingers, when you meticulously tucked all the notes into one neat pile.

"Yeah. He's...an interesting guy. I would say more like a businessman type. Talks about the financing and the sponsor's attraction."

Gojo's words earned an airy chuckle from you.

"Oh, he can talk about it day and night, I swear."

"That he can," he agreed, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Still, I think he cares about all of you. The finances topic is surely one of the hottest on the board meeting."

"That's why I am not really sure why you decided to join it — ah, shit!"

One clumsy turn and a misguided step — god, sometimes Naoya was right: you really felt like having two left feet — and the carefully arranged notes went scattered on your floor like birds trying to escape.

"Damn, I am so clumsy." Kneeling immediately, you murmured under your breath and stilled, feeling Gojo's finger brush gingerly against yours as he handed you one of the vaccination reports. The time completely paused around you: the thick, heavy substance enveloping both of you.

The world closed in on the blue in his eyes. Spilt heavens, simmering waves of an ocean, June sky, when the world's radiance blinded with its brightness, merged into the tint that dulled every other colour for you. Took you to another world, even just for a fleeting moment.

"Oh, look at that. Is that...wait, is that yours?"

Your head immediately snapped towards Gojo, and you saw him holding that small, pathetic makeshift portfolio — the one you probably pulled out just to throw away, but the thought slipped away from your tired mind just like usual.

The heat of humiliation, mixed with embarrassment, exploded within you in a painful red. Helplessly blinking, you forced a pathetic chuckle.

"Oh, that? No, it's — "

And then why did you carry that binder around, huh? Think, think, think!

Your mind desperately scrambled for a plausible explanation, but after some debating, you surrendered to his gaze.

"Yes. These are mine. It's nothing special, though. Some lazy, stupid doodles."

Gojo frowned instantly at the belittlement curling in your voice like a berated animal. He slowly rose to his height and murmured in bewilderment.

"You're joking, right?"

You blinked. Blinked again. Didn't think of anything better than to stare at Gojo as you had seen him for the first time. Stare at him carefully going through the binder. Stare at the light wrinkle between his brows, knitted in concentration. Stare at his lips until they parted and uttered the words that knocked all the air from your lungs.

"These are wonderful!"

The pager beeped again to remind you about the upcoming meeting, but all your being shrinked to the little folder in Gojo's hands.

Naoya's words about wasting your time immediately flared up, and you straightened as well to make a grab for the photos.

"It's nothing special. Really. Just a bunch of stuff."

Gojo dragged his shocked gaze from the portfolio back to you and let you have the damn binder. You would throw it away the first thing after the meeting.

To which, in fact, you should've hurried long ago.

"I have to go."

Gojo watched your figure moving around with the newly acquired urgency. As if you had been trying to shake any remnants of the intimacy that had just unfolded around you.

His eyes searched your face with a quiet, almost aching attention, until he finally muttered.

"Did I say something wrong?"

No.

No.

Don't say that.

Don't do that to me.

A cruel beast crawled up your veins to clutch your insides in a freezing grip, while fear and regret trapped your lone heartbeat.

Gojo didn't say anything, instead letting his eyes talk, but you were too occupied with your own thoughts to hear him.

Eventually, he stepped back with a quiet sigh, and the thinly veiled frustration in his voice caused your heart to sink.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to go overboard in any way. I'll leave you alone."

The sight of Gojo's broad shoulders slumped in the slightest bitterness cracked something in your chest.

The pager went off again with a loud beep.

"I really have to go."

Gojo only gave you a curt nod, and all the time you were closing your office, you felt the weight of his gaze pinning you down.

A hundred words rested just on the tip of your tongue. Instead, you settled on a quiet, hesitant apology, gently grazing his elbow.

"I am sorry. It's not this. You haven't done anything wrong."

He turned almost immediately at your words, but as much as he wanted to ask more — so, so much more than you were ready to offer — he stilled. And prompted gently.

"Then what is it?"

You sucked in a sharp exhale, just to —

"Dove? There you are!"

For the reason to appear himself.

The look of pure panic on your face the second the voice reached you made Gojo frown. Then your frightened gaze flicked to him.

The crowd around you parted slightly, revealing a man. Gojo caught a couple of fond gazes shared between the nurses, but that couldn't bother him less.

The immediate self-conscious curve of your shoulders, paired with the stiffness of your moves, when the guy pulled you closer without any words, concerned Gojo way more.

"Dove. What did I say about answering my calls? I don't want to look around for you all over the hospital. I am way too busy for this."

The arrogant, disdainful voice of that prick immediately grated on Gojo's nerves. The tone was not suitable even for berating a pet, let alone talking to a human being. Someone supposedly beloved.

Gojo's jaw tightened. He was about to step in when you swiftly interjected with a grin too wide to be sincere. Your hand on the man's arm didn't promise any good.

The guy turned to Gojo's side and stilled for a moment, quirking a brow.

"Darling," your tone sounded so weird, Gojo barely recognised it — something like the plea to an executioner to give you the last glimpses of freedom. "This is Gojo Satoru. He's on the board of the shareholders as well."

The prick slowly tilted his head, dragging his gaze over Gojo in silent yet sharp examination. Then a weird gleam flushed in his eyes as they slightly widened in recognition.

That scowl and barely masked derision on his face had stirred something distant in Gojo's memory, but the whole image remained blurry. Until you introduced him as well, piercing all the pieces.

"This is Zenin Naoya. My..."

Naoya didn't appreciate your pause and flashed an arrogant smirk.

"Her fiancé."

Zenin.

Right. Of course.

The surname that was such a frequent guest at all the gatherings Gojo used to attend. He felt an immediate wave of repulsion towards that prick, but managed to mask it with a slightly narrowed gaze, simply out of respect for you.

Gojo heard a lot about the Zenins back then, when his piece carried some value in his parents' game. Even now, some rumours still managed to reach him, despite all the efforts.

If any of them were true about the young Zenin heir…

Fiancé.

Gods. He put all the details — your empty stares, self-deprecating jokes, occasional flinches, even the earlier reaction to his compliment to your drawing — with terrifying clarity.

Puzzles finally slotted into the frame that your fiancé forced you into. Everything made sense now.

Quickly closing his eyes to compose himself, Gojo immediately opened them, forced by the hesitance in your tone.

"You should've met at the board's meeting, I suppose," your gaze flickered nervously between Gojo and Naoya in an attempt to quickly assess the surroundings. The air was growing thicker with each passing second: the whispers around rose in frequency, while Gojo's gaze narrowed even more deadly, and Naoya's smirk turned maliciously sharper.

The muscle in Gojo's jaw tightened.

"It's always a great opportunity to meet another member of the respected clan," Naoya tilted his head just a tad, but the harsh look in his eyes didn't melt even for a second. "Even though he somehow busied my little dove so much, she forgot to check her phone, huh?"

The scene he would certainly cause you later flashed before your eyes. You managed to offer some apologetic murmur before Naoya cut you off with a single word.

"Quiet."

Wordlessly, you dropped your gaze. One word shaped you into a person so meek that you barely resembled the woman Gojo slowly came to know.

His blood boiled at the sight, but the look he gave Naoya was enough to freeze hell.

"Can't say the same, Zenin."

Naoya stilled. His smirk slowly wavered, but then a low, amused chuckle left him, followed by the words dipped in poison.

"Oh? I suppose other respected clans didn't care about teaching their heirs proper manners, did they, Satoru-kun?"

The crowd around went completely silent, as if someone stole their voices. Even the sounds of pagers and rhythmic taps on the keyboard quietened. A few glares landed on you, and you could already hear your colleagues clicking their tongues in annoyance.

Again, never directed at Naoya.

Nothing changed in Gojo's face as he simply raised his chin and drawled with an infuriating smirk, "Have you learnt any before talking to your future wife, huh?"

Your head snapped immediately at the sound of his voice. Your lips parted to force some excuse.

You had none.

As well as Naoya.

His cheeks paled in an instant, but the tips of his ears blushed pink. No wonder — another humiliation from a man, let alone a man, defending you.

That act of disgrace Naoya couldn't bear.

Seething inside, he surprisingly gently tugged you closer and whispered, "We'll talk about it later, sweetheart."

As Gojo watched your figures retreat, he caught the wide-eyed gaze you sent him over your shoulder, full of so much remorse, that it twisted something violently in his chest.

@alygator77 @man1cslut @p3talswayingindesun @xunquish-blog @mitchskiii @anothergojostan @cridtiins @gyarujo @aurievalley @alebrasil0101 @nanahach1 @renfangirls247 @secretsofchance @kranktruther @megumuro @angierb05 @wgucigu @erenyeagerflatass @dazaisdogsblog @sauraaaa @tbzzluvr @ayookeikooo @kanekisheart @fisusaurus @yoonmindds @anujah9 @ikeirrr @little-precious-baby

a/n: ik this part is not very big on events, still i like it :) comments and reblogs are appreciated, let me know your thoughts!

shoko’s perched at her desk, her posture rigid as she color-codes her notes, not really paying attention to you while utahime is sitting cross-legged on the floor, peering up at you with a mixture of disbelief and disgust, “have some shame, genuinely”

“i wish she would” shoko mutters, not even bothering to look up from her notebook. “she’s supposed to be making him fall in love, not lust but i don’t expect her to know the difference”

( she’s been in a foul mood since you told her about ijichi’s crush on her. which is unfair. because it’s not like you were the one who developed feelings for her. you’re merely the messenger. historically speaking, messengers are not supposed to get shot. )

“are you still mad about the ijichi thing ?” you ask cautiously as you hold the black tank up to your chest again. “because i feel like you’re still mad about the ijichi thing and can i just say that i think it’s really cute that he likes you even though—”

“sleep with one eye open tonight” shoko slowly looks up, her expression sour enough to curdle milk. “or don’t even sleep at all because i think i might actually kill you.”

( you know she’s joking. probably. but there’s an edge to her voice that makes you wonder. shoko’s always been protective of her heart, wrapping it in layers of indifference and sarcasm. maybe ijichi’s crush hit closer to home than you thought. or maybe she’s just tired of being tangled up in your schemes. )

you gulp, instinctively taking a step back.

 “what’s the ijichi thing ?”  utahime asks, brown eyes blazing with morbid curiosity

“well,” you say, deciding on the black tank and tossing the grey one onto the mountain of clothes on your sheets. ”satoru’s roommate, ijichi, has this massive crush on shoko and he asked me to introduce them if he agreed to tutor me. it’s not even that deep i don’t know why she’s so mad at me”

“i’m mad at you because i’m not a fan of getting people’s hopes up or hurting their feelings” shoko grumbles. she finally tears her attention away from her notes long enough to level you with a withering look.

“you don’t even know if he’s gonna ask you out,” you point out. 

“and i'd like to keep it that way.” she takes a long sip of her coffee. “i don’t have time for this. yaga’s on my ass about choosing a topic for my thesis”

“i know” you sigh, “you’re acting like i sold your hand in marriage and your wedding’s tomorrow. satoru never gave me a deadline, so you can talk to ijichi next year for all i care”

“when you die i call dibs on your brain,” shoko mumbles, her brows knitting together as she tries to wrap her head around what you’ve just said. “i need to study it in detail because the way your thought process jumps from point a to point q is genuinely unlike anything i’ve ever seen”

“thank you but. . .” you glance at her over your shoulder and pout, “i’m not sure i’m donating my brain to science . . . sorry !”

“you know damn well that wasn’t a compliment.” she’s practically glaring at you now. 

( if you had a dollar for every time you successfully rage baited shoko, you’d be a millionaire ) 

“i have free will” you quip, “ i’m choosing to receive it as one anyway.”

“see ?” shoko points at you with the end of her highlighter. “that. that’s exactly what i’m talking about.”

you stick your tongue out at her before padding towards the bathroom, black tank top dangling from your fingertips. you slip into the tank top and smooth over the slightly wrinkled fabric. fluorescent lights hum overhead as you catch your reflection in the mirror. it looks good. casual. effortless.

which is ironic considering you’ve spent the better part of twenty minutes trying to look effortless. you tilt your head, adjust a strap, tilt your head the other way. the tank top looks almost identical to the grey one. suguru was right about that. you hate when suguru is right. it unfortunately happens more often than you’d like.

you fish a tube of lip gloss out of your pocket and swipe it across your lips before giving yourself one final once-over. good enough. if you spend any more time staring at yourself, you’ll be late. and showing up late definitely won’t score you any brownie points with satoru.

you leave the bathroom and immediately have to sidestep the pile of clothes you'd abandoned outside the door. future you can deal with that. present you has more important things to worry about. namely the fact that you’re supposed to be at the library in– you check your phone – ten minutes. shit.

“be honest. how do i look ?” you ask, spreading your arms slightly. your phone remains clutched in your hand, the blinking numbers on the lockscreen reminding you that you’re rapidly running out of time.

utahime glances up first. her gaze travels over your outfit before she gives a small shrug and returns her attention to the document on her screen. “good,” she hums. “you always look good.”

finally. somebody in this room is being nice to you “thank you.” your attention shifts towards shoko next. she’s still hunched over her notebook, one hand wrapped around a highlighter while the other cups a mug of coffee. she doesn’t seem remotely interested in participating in this conversation. which means you’re obviously going to drag her into it anyway.

“shoko ?” you prompt hopefully.

“you have clothes on,” she replies , reluctantly looking up from her notes, her voice flat enough to make it clear that this is the extent of the feedback she’s willing to provide. your jaw falls slack in disbelief. “you asked,” 

“yeah but i was hoping for a better answer” 

“that’s the only one you’re getting.” rude. so rude. with shoko proving herself entirely useless, your gaze finally lands on suguru. the second your eyes meet, the corner of his mouth twitches.

“you can still back down y’know,” he pipes up, finally sitting up and running a hand through his messy hair. “save yourself the stress and embarrassment and we can grab some ice cream. my treat. i’ll let you be passenger princess and everything”

you snicker, grabbing your tote bag from where it’s slung over your desk chair. “nice try emo. i’ll have satoru eating out of my palm by the weekend. he’ll be writing my name in his little physics notebook surrounded by tiny hearts. and then you can be passenger princess” 

“over my dead body” suguru scoffs, “have you spoken to your therapist about you and toji breaking up yet ? if you haven’t i think you should.”

“you must be in love with nitta because you bring her up more than i do,” you snap, shoving a pack of nerds gummy clusters – no pun intended – into your bag. you follow it with a cascade of jolly ranchers and warheads. 

suguru raises a brow, and it’s somehow more infuriating than him making a witty comeback. “i’ll be gone for an hour and a half at most,” you say, turning to shoko. “do you want me to grab you some coffee from the cafe on my way back ? i know we’re running low on coffee grounds” it’s a peace offering. an olive branch. a desperate attempt to ensure she doesn’t murder you in your sleep. if there’s one thing she loves just as much as alcohol and cigarettes, it’s coffee.

“you can’t bribe me. . .” shoko narrows her eyes. “but i’ll need energy to kill you so get me an americano from the cafe. three extra shots.”

“consider it done,” you grin. with that settled, you weave through the obstacle course of clothes littering your floor and head for the door before anybody can find another reason to delay you. you’re already cutting it close. eight minutes isn’t a lot of time when the engineering library is practically on the other side of campus.

the walk to the engineering library isn’t too long. a six-minute trudge through the heart of campus that gives you just enough time to mentally prepare yourself for round two with satoru gojo. .

the engineering library is quiet as always when you arrive. the air thick with the scent of old books and academic despair. you spot him almost immediately, he’s wearing a grey hoodie today, the hood pushed back to reveal his snowy hair that seems to glow in the dim light, tucked away in his usual corner behind the stacks, already hunching over his laptop. his fingers moving across the keyboard with a speed that’s almost inhuman, his entire being completely focused on the glowing screen in front of him.

( you shouldn’t find it attractive. you really shouldn’t. it should be boring. it should be intimidating. but there’s something about it, something about the way he’s always completely lost in his own world, that’s oddly compelling. )

you hover for a moment, your hand hovering over his shoulder. you can hear the faint, tinny sound of classical music leaking from his headphones. you clear your throat. nothing. you tap on his shoulder and he jumps slightly before glancing over his shoulder. “oh. you again” he murmurs, his cadence flat. he sighs, a sound of profound irritation, and slowly, as if every movement costs him a precious second of his life, he pulls his headphones down to rest around his neck.

“oh don’t sound so excited to see me,” you say sarcastically, sliding into the chair beside him and dropping your heavy tote bag on the polished floor with a thud that earns you a dirty look from the students at the next table over “i might start to think you enjoy my company.”

“i’m indifferent,” he murmurs, pushing his glasses up his nose. “let’s just get this over with, i’m hoping to move on to quantum physics today”

“eager aren’t we ?” you lean forward, propping your chin in your palm, “can’t wait to spend some quality time with me ? i’m flattered, truly”

he doesn’t even dignify that with a response. without wasting any time, he pulls out a brand new notebook – jet black with a rainbow digimon spiral – and begins to write. his handwriting is infuriatingly, perfect. a clean, blocky print that looks like it was typed up on a computer. he’s written out ‘quantum physics for dummies’ at the top of the page and looks up at you. glasses sliding down his nose ever so slightly, “we’re going to start with wave particle duality and superposition ? how proficient are you with differential equations ?”

“proficient ?” you echo, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “i barely passed the test”

he just stares at you, his expression unchanging. “so, not proficient at all.”

“not even a little bit,” you confirm cheerfully. “you’re going to have to explain this to me like i’ve never taken a physics lecture before” you haven’t obviously. but he doesn’t know that.

a muscle in his jaw twitches, he looks like he wants to scream at you but he just nods, turning back to his notebook. “right. okay. wave-particle duality. think of it like this. light, and matter in general, can behave like a wave, or it can behave like a particle. it’s not one or the other. it’s both, depending on how you look at it. ”

he draws a simple diagram, a wave and a small ball, side by side. “superposition is the idea that a quantum system can exist in multiple states at once. until you measure it. and then it collapses into a single, definitive state. this is represented mathematically by a wave function that encodes the probability of finding a particle in a specific state. the wave function is the solution to the schrödinger equation” 

you just stare at him, the words washing over you. “so you’re telling me. . . that something can be two completely different things at once, and the only reason it’s not one or the other is because we’re not looking at it ? i fear that doesn’t make any sense” 

“it’s the fundamental principle of quantum mechanics. it doesn’t have to ‘make any sense’” he mutters, his voice tight with frustration, “quantum physics, doesn’t make sense to human intuition because it’s theoretical and centered on the subatomic world. i’m well aware that  it sounds absurd because it defies our day-to-day macroscopic experiences but thanks to mathematics we can make extremely accurate predictions regarding the behavior of atoms and light”

you blink, trying to process the mini-lecture. “so, what you’re saying is, it’s a ‘because i said so’ situation . . ?”

he lets out a sound that's half-sigh, half-groan, dropping his head into his hands for a moment. “no. it’s not a ‘because i said so’ situation. it’s a ‘this is how reality works at its most fundamental level, whether you like it or not’ situation. the math isn’t just an explanation, it’s the proof.”

“right. the differential equations,” you say, nodding slowly. “so, if i can’t do the math, then i can’t understand it. is that what you’re saying ?”

he lifts his head from his hands, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief. he looks at you for a long moment, before murmuring, “not quite, you can understand the concepts, the ideas, without being able to solve the equations. but if you want to pass then you need to be able to do both.” he flips to a fresh page in his notebook, “let’s start with something simple. forget the math for a second.” he pushes the glasses up his nose, a gesture you’re starting to find annoyingly endearing. “we’ll start from the beginning. . okay ? quantum physics is the study of how things behave at the tiniest scales, like atoms and subatomic particles. it’s a strange world where the usual rules of physics don’t always apply.”

you nod, trying to look attentive before he grows tired of tutoring you. “first, quantization,” he says, tapping his pen on the desk. “in our world, energy seems continuous, but in the quantum world, it comes in discrete packets, or ‘quanta.’ think of it like a staircase versus a ramp. on a ramp, you can be at any height, but on a staircase, you can only be on one step or the next, never in between. at the quantum level, energy, works like that staircase.”

“okay, so energy at the quantum isn’t smooth and straightforward ,” you murmur, trying to wrap your head around the concept. you’re starting to wish you’d picked shiu as your target instead. it would’ve made your life so much easier.

“exactly,” he nods, a flicker of approval sparking in his sapphire eyes. “so back to wave-particle duality. it’s where things get confusing. tiny particles like electrons can act as both solid particles, like a tiny ball, and spread-out waves at the same time. whether you see a particle or a wave depends on how you look at it. it’s like those ambiguous images where you can either see a duck or a rabbit depending on your perspective”

“that actually makes sense” you huff out a sigh of relief

“good” he says, a genuine smile breaking through his usual serious expression. making his blue eyes seem even brighter. “now, superposition. before you measure a quantum particle, it can exist in multiple states at once. a famous example is schrödinger’s cat, a thought experiment where a cat in a box is theoretically both alive and dead simultaneously until you open the box to check. quantum particles are like that unobserved cat – they exist in all their possible states at once until you observe them.”

“so it’s only one thing when we look at it,” you say, trying to follow along. your brain is really starting to hurt “but before that it can be anything ?”

“precisely,” he grins “another important thing to know is the observer effect. it encompasses everything we’ve talked about so far. the act of measuring or observing a quantum system forces it to ‘choose’ a state. when you look at an electron in its superposition of multiple places, it instantly ‘collapses’ into one definite location. the very act of looking changes the outcome.”

“the next concept is quantum entanglement. this is what einstein called ‘spooky action at a distance.’ two particles can become linked in such a way that the state of one is instantly connected to the other, no matter how far apart they are. if you measure one and find it’s spinning ‘up,’ you know immediately that the other is spinning ‘down,’ even if it’s on the other side of the universe. and the final principle is quantum tunneling. particles can sometimes pass through barriers they shouldn’t be able to. imagine you throw a tennis ball at a wall and it just appears on the other side without breaking the wall. i know it’s a lot to take in and most of it doesn’t align with the the rules we’re used to but that’s the foundation of quantum mechanics”

“who’s the asshole that came up with all of this ?” you splutter, dropping your head into your hands. your brain feels like it’s been scrambled. it’s no wonder why stem students often look so tortured.

he actually laughs at that, which makes you peek through your fingers. it’s a nice sound. “it wasn’t just one person. it was a collection of some of the most brilliant, and probably most confused, minds of the twentieth century. planck started it with the whole quantization idea, then einstein with the photoelectric effect, bohr with his atomic model, schrödinger with his . . . well, his cat, and heisenberg with his uncertainty principle. they were all basically arguing with each other and stumbled across the truth. they saw things that didn’t make sense, made up concepts and built a new kind of math to explain them. it’s why i said it doesn’t have to ‘make sense’ in the way we’re used to.”

you nod slowly, letting that sink in. it’s a lot. it’s too much. “okay,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “i think my brain just short-circuited. i need a break.”

“that’s fair,” he says, his expression softening. “why don’t you read the textbook and make notes on what you understand ? it’ll help you process it. take your time.” 

“like right now ?” you ask, your eyes widening.

“yes, right now,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “i need to work on my models. but i’ll check your notes when you’re done.” with that, he turns back to his laptop, effectively dismissing you. you pull the heavy textbook out of your bag, opening it to the chapter on quantum mechanics. you try to read, but your eyes keep drifting over to his screen, where he’s working on a complex three-dimensional model of what looks like some kind of medical device. curiosity gets the better of you. “what’s that ?”

he pauses, his fingers hovering over the keys. “it’s a prototype. for an internship i’m applying for. biomedical engineering. it’s a low-cost prosthetic with sensory feedback.” he talks about actuators and neural interfaces and the potential to restore a sense of touch.he talks about synapses and signals, about creating a bridge between machine and mind, and you’re captivated, hanging on his every word. he talks for a solid six minutes before trailing off, suddenly aware of your rapt attention. most people’s eyes glaze over after thirty seconds. most people just nod and smile. but you seem genuinely interested. it’s . . . unnerving. and strangely . . . nice.  

“wow,” you sound genuinely impressed. and surprised by how much you enjoyed listening to him “that’s amazing.”

“it’s still a work in progress,” he says, but you can tell he’s proud of it. “i need to perfect it before the final interview. biomedical engineering is a competitive field.”

“i bet you’ll get it,” you say, and you mean it. “you’re really smart.”

he seems taken aback by your sincerity, his cheeks flushing slightly. “thanks,” he mumbles, turning back to his screen. he clears his throat. “anyway . . . back to your notes.”

“right. . . my notes.” you open your textbook, the dense, intimidating text staring back at you. you take a deep breath and start to read, your pen hovering over a fresh page in your own notebook. you’re not sure how you’re going to do this – make decent notes on quantum physics when you barely understand the basics – but you’re determined to try. for him. for you. for the sake of this bet

you spend the next hour reading and writing, your hand cramping up from time to time. you try to translate the complex scientific jargon into your own words, simplifying the concepts as much as you can. it’s slow going, but you’re making progress. you think . . . 

after what feels like eternity, you finally close your textbook, a sense of accomplishment washing over you. “i’m done," you say, holding your notebook out to him.

satoru looks up from his laptop, his eyes scanning your notes. he’s quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “you’re writing down too much filler” he says, pointing at a paragraph you’d spent at least ten minutes on. “focus on the core principles. most of the information in the textbook is pretty insignificant.”

“filler ?” you gasp, snatching the notebook back. “i spent ten minutes writing that ‘filler’. “maybe you should write these notes yourself if you think mine suck so bad,” it comes out a little more harshly than you intended.

( you’re not sure why it bothers you so much. it’s just criticism. it’s just him being. . . him. for some reason it feels like he’s not just criticizing your notes, it feels like he’s criticizing you. and you hate it. you hate how much his opinion suddenly matters to you. )

he looks up, surprised by your sudden irritation. “i’m just trying to help.”

“sorry,” you say quickly, a wave of guilt washing over you and quelling the heat coursing through your veins “my brain hurts. all this quantum stuff is . . .a lot.”

“mental fatigue is normal after intensive studying. take a break and let your brain recover.” he says, his tone softening.

“if you say so,” you murmur, diving into your tote bag. your fingers close around the familiar shape of a jolly rancher. you pull it out – green-apple – and unwrap it with a crinkle that sounds obscenely loud in the quiet library. you pop the hard candy into your mouth, tucking the wrapper in your pocket like a secret.

he raises a brow. “do you have a whole candy store in there ?”

“maybe,” you say, holding up the bag. “ want one ?”

“if you insist,” he says, and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a way that makes your stomach do a weird little flip-flop. “but anything but green-apple or grape.”

“how can you not like green-apple,” you scoff. “what do you like then . .? blue raspberry ? of course you like the most popular flavor like every other basic person on the planet”

“technically speaking,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “the hershey company’s market research indicates that watermelon is the most popular flavor. it’s a solid choice, but blue raspberry has a superior tang-to-sweet ratio.”

“rank the classic flavors. right now.” you tilt your head ever so slightly

“blue raspberry, cherry, watermelon, green apple, and grape,” he says without missing a beat.

“green-apple being that low is actually criminal ,” you grimace, you deserve to be tried for that opinion.”

“we can at least agree that grape is the worst, right ?” he says, and he’s actually smiling now, a real, genuine smile that transforms his whole face. “but how can you possibly put cherry that low ?”

“i have amazing tastebuds and i’m right about everything,” you say, popping another green apple jolly rancher in your mouth.

“technically, food opinions are subjective.” he counters, leaning back in his chair. 

“they shouldn’t be.” you shake your head. 

“yeah, because we have people like you walking around saying watermelon is better than cherry.

“you’re walking around saying cherry’s better than green apple, that’s blasphemy,” you retort

he can only shake his head and laugh. “i’m scared what’s next. you put milk before cereal?” you look away and he gasps. “there’s no way. there’s actually no way.” he sits up straighter, looking genuinely horrified. “cereal goes first. it has to. the entire bowl is built around the cereal. you pour the cereal, assess the volume, and then add the appropriate amount of milk. if you pour the milk first, you don’t know how much cereal you need, so you end up trapped in an endless cycle of adding cereal, then milk, then cereal again. and don’t even get me started on texture. with cereal first, every piece gets an equal chance to absorb milk. with milk first, some pieces get soggy immediately while others stay dry. society functions because we agree on a few basic rules, and cereal before milk is one of them.”

“in my defense i only use powdered milk” you sigh, “and cereal’s better without milk anyway”

“you know . . . i can’t argue with that” he says after a moment, leaning back in his chair as if the fight has been drained out of him. “but you’re not off the hook yet. . which do you think is better . . . dc or marvel?”

“woah, woah, why am i being interrogated ?” you ask, laughter spilling from your lips

“i’m gauging our compatibility,” he deadpans. “if you give the wrong answer, i might have to drop you as a student.”

( satoru having a sense of humor is. . . unexpected. you were so sure he wasn’t programmed with one because he always seems so strictly academic, like the kind of person who probably spends his free time reading research papers for fun. the version of him you've built in your head doesn’t quite match the guy arguing with you over jolly rancher flavors and threatening to revoke your tutoring sessions over cereal and media preferences. every time you think you’ve got him figured out, he throws you off completely )

“if i say that i love the marvel franchise, especially spider-man and black panther, but i also genuinely enjoy dc movies and series, are you going to revoke my tutoring privileges ?”

“nope,” he says, nodding. “that’s the correct answer. they both have their merits. pretending otherwise is just childish. i’ll keep tutoring you, but i’m watching you. very closely.”

( is he actually suspicious of you ? the thought sends a jolt of panic through your chest. rationally, you know he’s joking, but that doesn’t stop the guilt from creeping in. it’s ridiculous – there’s no way he could know about the bet – but the longer you spend around him, the more you wonder what he’d think if he knew the real reason you were here. )

the rest of the session passes in a blur of equations and easy conversation. you take notes, your handwriting still a mess but more focused this time. you pass him a blue raspberry jolly rancher, and he takes it without comment, his eyes never leaving his work. he explains the concept of schrödinger’s cat and you actually manage to follow along. he’s satisfied.

“okay,” he hums, closing his laptop with a soft click. “let’s call it a day before your brain melts”

“it’s already melted,” you murmur, leaning back in your chair and stretching. “but i appreciate your concern”

“can i have your notebook ?” he holds out his hand. you raise a brow but hand it over anyway. 

“how long are you gonna be here for ?” you query. he sighs, already opening your notebook to a fresh page, “until the librarian kicks me out . . . i’ve got a couple hours until that happens”

“well have fun with your . . . models and stuff,” you say, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder. you turn to leave, but a wide, uncontrollable smile spreads across your face before you even take a step. it’s a stupid, giddy smile, the kind you can’t wipe off, and you’re glad he can’t see it as you walk away.

he watches you retreat through the stacks, shaking his head slightly before turning back to the open notebook. he hadn’t expected this. hadn’t expected to actually enjoy talking to you. he’s so used to being on his own, to being in his own head, that he’d forgotten what it was like to just talk to someone. to share a joke. to argue about something as trivial as cereal. he’s enjoying your company too much and that’s a problem. because he’s not supposed to be enjoying this. he’s supposed to be tutoring you. that’s all. he’s not supposed to get used to being around you. yet, he finds himself looking forward to your next session despite his brain telling him he shouldn’t. 

with a quiet sigh, he pushes the thought aside and picks up his pen, focusing on the clean, empty page. he’s rewriting his physics notes for you so you can use them to study. he doesn’t typically do this for people, not even when they beg him to. but he’s determined to see you succeed even if it means you’ll walk away and no longer need him sooner rather than later.

masterlist day two ⇆ day three ⇆ day four

── ✦ mimi’s notes: green-apple jolly ranchers are superior argue with a wall. also please rmbr the importance of fandom etiquette. i appreciate all the love but rushing me for updates won’t make them come any sooner i’m just a girl 😓

Maybe he noticed that you returned from the hospital happier than usual. Your softened voice grated on his nerves, and your dreamy gaze only sharpened his. Honed his tongue to the way it left more and more wounds.

As if you weren't berating yourself for even thinking about another man. As if you didn't force your gaze to tear apart from Gojo at first. To keep your mouth shut. To gather your bearings and lock your heart with the key thrown away to the ocean depths. To shut Nitta's and Miwa's whispers with sharp glances. To stand your ground as the endless blue threatened to swallow you whole.

Either way, you were torn between your actual feelings and things you were supposed to feel.

That day wasn't particularly sunshine and rainbows: from a kid with an asthma attack to very vigilant parents, insisting on vaccine shots conspiracy. Your smile turned more strained with every word, and your left eye almost twitched at "how much are you paid per shot?"

And that was only the morning.

"Kao, stop squirming! What will the doctor think of you?"

The boy, a 5-year-old Kao-kun, who was supposed to have his hearing examined, fell on deaf ears to his mother's pleading words (not literally, as you hoped, standing with an otoscope beside the kid).

"I am so sorry, Doc, I don't know what's gotten into him," Kao-kun's mother, Nakata-san, offered you an apologetic, forced smile, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy towards her.

"It's completely fine, Nakata-san. Kids don't usually like these sorts of things," smiling warmly back at the lady, you briefly patted her arm in support. Nakata-san only pressed her lips into a thin line and opened her purse to fish a handkerchief to dab on her forehead.

The sudden April heatwave enveloped Japan in its suffocating embrace. Heat clung to skin in rivulets of sweat, and people fought for every sliver of shade, not to mention the usual humidity — the feeling of your blouse sticking to your back set your overstimulated brain on fire even more, but you didn't have the right to complain.

Poor Nakata-san, meanwhile, murmured in despair and sighed, shaking her head, "He's usually such a nice, smart boy. We started to teach him Hiragana a couple of weeks ago, just like in that handout you gave us, Doc. Oh, I have it, wait a minute, —"

The woman started to browse through her endless purse again, but you interrupted her softly, glancing briefly at the clock. Ten minutes were left before the next appointment, and Kao-kun seemed way more interested in the poster of the giant green cactus Sabo-san, a chair named Kosshi and…Inai Inai Baa.

The corners of your mouth twitched with a bright grin.

Of course.

"Hey, Kao-kun," drawling playfully, you waved at the poster. "Do you like Inai Inai Baa?"

The boy's voice rose to a high-pitched tone as he nodded enthusiastically, "Yes!"

You clapped happily, hoping to match Kao-kun and beamed at the kid, "You want to play Peekaboo?"

The boy practically jumped out of his seat, and Nakata-san hurried to shush him, only for you to gently stop her with a knowing look. She stopped in her tracks, blinking a couple of times; as the realisation dawned on her, the woman sent you a conspiring wink.

"Kao-kun, I am gonna look for Inai Inai Baa in your ears," as you finally had the kid's attention, he looked up and hung on your every word, "Will you help me — "

You barely finished the sentence as the boy shouted happily, his toothy grin on full display:

"Yes, yes, yes!"

The sight dispersed the gloomy clouds in your mind like the brightest sunray.

Kao-kun helped you to spot the dog, Wanwan, every time he barked into the boy's ear, and you discreetly wiped your forehead as you finished the examination and put the data into the kid's medical record.

"Doc, you're the best!" Nakata-san pressed her palm to her chest, thanking you sincerely. Kao-kun eyed the bowl of lollipops on your table as his mother kept talking about the school they were about to choose. Stiffling a warm chuckle, you nodded at the bowl.

"Help yourself, Kao-kun, don't be shy."

The boy beamed and hurriedly thanked you, urged by his mother on the way out of your office. He was already too fascinated with the sweet and colourful cartoon sticker inside, but dutifully listened to his mom. You waved back with a laugh.

"Take care!"

When you finally had two minutes for yourself, you fished a small handy fan. As it always happened in the most inconvenient times, the climate control in your office decided it certainly had enough and retired after a long period of duty. The facility manager grumbled that the equipment hadn't been modernised in a long time, glaring at you as if you were the sole reason for that decision. You highly suspected your beloved fiancé (to be precise, his family) of being in charge of it. Yet, somehow, the one on the receiving blade of occasional pointed glances and hushed whispers was usually you. No wonder: Naoya had a knack for charming everyone under his spell.

And you were just…you. Your presence, so tethered to his, didn't help the situation either. Mostly, that didn't bother you: little patients adored you, while parents paid their respects — after all, that mattered the most.

One of the nurses kindly informed you that the next appointment had been cancelled. That rare occasion had you raise your brows in a mild surprise, which later turned into a fleeting moment of joy: since it was the last appointment before the day hospital's checks, you could go there earlier and later hurry to the little cafe near the hospital. The cold kiwi lemonade had been quietly haunting your mind since the moment you stepped into your office.

"How are you feeling today, Rika-chan?"

"Better now!"

The little girl with two pigtails stilled as you checked her throat and discreetly let out a sigh of relief as you turned to her mother with good news.

"I think Rika-chan is going to be discharged soon," muttering under your breath as you flipped the papers, you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of happy Okami-san. "Cephalexin 20 mg…yeah, that's right. I'll see you tomorrow at the final examination, Rika-chan!"

The girl eagerly nodded, hugging her Kuromi plushie, and your chuckle morphed into a warm laugh.

Walking out of room 626, you hurried to the last patient of the day. Knocking softly at the door, you couldn't help the low roaring of your pulse in your head. Your grip on the chart tightened, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.

Gojo was engrossed in his phone, thumbs flying over the screen, and cast occasional glances at Megumi, who was quietly drawing in the corner. The black crayon wandered over the paper; judging by Megumi's brows, knitted in concentration, and the peeked out tongue, he was more than focused. Your gift, a little plushie dog, alongside a giant toad, guarded Megumi's peace like loyal knights.

Another warm sunray crept through the clouds.

Too absorbed in his own little world, the kid didn't notice you. Contrary to his uncle, whose ears immediately perked up at the sound of the doors creaking. A bright grin spread on Gojo's handsome face at the sight of your slightly hesitant form — you had to blink a couple of times just to reassure yourself that you weren't dreaming — before he sent you a conspiratorial wink with his finger on his mouth and pointed at the boy.

Pressing your lips into a thin line so as not to burst with laughter, you closed the door as quietly as you could. What was a paediatrician without a little whimsy?

"Hey, Megumi-chan," Gojo drawled in an overly obnoxious manner, earning Megumi's unimpressed look. Gojo's grin turned even brighter. "What are you drawing out there?"

Megumi's grip on the crayon tightened, and he mumbled back, finally sneaking a glance at you, "I am not finished yet."

Gojo wasn't quite satisfied with his nephew's answer and leaned over to peek at the table, only for Megumi to snatch the drawing from his uncle's nosy gaze.

"Come on, Gumibear —"

The boy's ears went pink at the humiliation that Gojo was bestowing upon him with a mere nickname, and the glare he sent his uncle was nothing but murderous. "I told you not to call me that!"

"Careful, Megs, your anger level is wa-a-ay above your daily norm, ouch!"

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, but a few chuckles left your lips nonetheless.

Gojo slumped back in his chair with a theatrical groan, resting his palm on his forehead like a damsel in distress; his biceps flexed with each movement in a white t-shirt.

Well, it was really hot.

You allowed yourself a second of gawking before eventually stepping to Megumi's side.

"Can I have a look, Megumi-kun?"

Megumi's eyes briefly flicked between you and the drawing he clutched close to his chest before he shrugged, "I still have to finish it."

Peeking at Gojo, you saw the amusement dancing in his bright blue gaze. So, it was a yes.

"Had a rough day?"

Your hands on the pulse oximeter stilled for a moment. Megumi's eyelashes fluttered with a tiny fractured breath. Gojo's casual words sent your heart stammeting against your ribs like a trapped bird; however, you forced yourself to focus and didn't tear your gaze away until you saw the result.

"Saturation is still not good."

Gojo, who hovered over you, knitted his brows in concern and opened his mouth to ask you something when Megumi's exhausted voice tugged on your heartstrings.

"You put a mask on me, right?"

The movement of your throat was sharp as you swallowed and exchanged glances with Gojo. He pressed his lips in a thin line and gave you a silent nod, urging you to continue.

"It's nothing bad, Megumi-kun." Your hand, warm and pleasant, rested on the boy's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. A deep frown crossed over his features as Megumi murmured in a barely audible voice.

"You are always saying that."

After another worried glance shared with Gojo, you kneeled before the boy's bed and put your mask down, so he could see you better.

"I promise you it won't hurt you. Besides, your uncle and I will be with you all the time." Even turned away from Gojo, you could feel the light grin already tugging on the corner of his mouth. The boy's eyes flicked between you and Gojo, and after seconds of inner debating, his posture relaxed just a tad, and he grumbled.

"I suppose it's okay then."

Your chest suspiciously tightened as you watched Megumi's small fingers twitch in Gojo's hold. His shades were gone, offering you an unobstructed look at the blue of his eyes, simmering with concern, framed by the snow of his lashes.

Casting your gaze back down at the boy, you concentrated on the task.

"He's slowly getting better," a soft, reassuring murmur left your lips as your gaze lingered on Megumi, who dozed off, exhausted after all the procedures. Then it landed on Gojo, driven by some unknown force. His hand hovered over the boy's shoulders — strangely unsure for a man like him — and finally drifted down to tuck Megumi's blanket in clumsily.

"I hope so."

His hesitant whisper stirred something deeply buried. Before the ever-present tentativeness could consume you, your hand settled on Gojo's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The contact made your fingers twitch with an unexpected urge to dig them deeper into the muscled skin. The heat immediately coloured your cheeks; a fleeting thought of yanking your hand away crossed your mind, but it was too late and impolite.

Gojo stilled beneath your touch and slowly turned around. The blue of his eyes held you captive in their waves, but his small, gentle smile gave you a much-needed breath of fresh air.

Only to take it back with a casual brush of the long fingers, subtly grazing your hand. A fragile, aching in its delicateness, flower bloomed quietly between you.

Soon, Gojo's ringtone dispelled the strange air. You discreetly shook your head in a skimpy attempt to get rid of the image of the man beside you, now talking quietly to someone on the phone. His lips widened into a smile so bright and unadulterated, it transformed his face into something…angelic.

Naoya's disdainful scowl from the morning emersed in your exhausted mind, no matter how hard you tried to drown it.

Gojo shot you a sidelong glance — seemingly relentless to decipher a look of somberness on your face — on your way to the elevator.

He couldn't quite put a finger on the sudden feeling the bags under your eyes evoked in him.

Your fingers came to fiddle with your chain as you worried your bottom lip. Then your hand limply fell at the absence.

Yeah. Right.

Gojo's eyes followed your gesture, but you seemed so hollowed out, as the life had been suddenly sucked out of you, that he didn't think of anything better than to blurt out, "Wanna have a coffee?"

Eyes widening, you stilled completely. That man, Gojo, who looked like a secret the morning tentatively shared, a kiss of the rosy sunset on your skin, and a whisper of a mystical night, had asked you out?

Or were you imagining things? Was he just bored? Polite?

At first, a usual thought of waving a man who somehow had his mind hazy enough to look at you immediately crossed your mind. A hot wave of panic flooded you like a strong ocean. The need to flee somewhere, just not to stay under Gojo's piercing blue gaze, ordered a retreat already. You almost opened your mouth to offer a moot excuse, with Naoya's presence looming over you even miles away, and…

Abruptly closed it.

The sparkle of rebellious flame surged high and slowly devoured the gnawing hesitance.

Your silence gave Gojo quite an unambiguous sign. His smile wavered for a moment, taking a bitter edge, and he stepped back, raising his arms in surrender.

"Oh, I am sorry, you might think I want to hit on you or whatever, but it's just so hot —"

You cut him off with a shrug too quick and a grin too sharp. "Sure. Why not?"

Surprised, Gojo blinked before tilting his head as the boyish grin slowly made its way back on his handsome face.

"Lead the way, Doc."

For a moment, you weighed all the options on the inner scales: the hospital cafeteria was immediately off the limits — even the walls had ears there, as well as a popular cafe just around the corner. The possibility of someone grassing you up to Naoya rose tenfold.

Yet, you had something on mind.

"Meet me in ten minutes near the entrance."

A content hum and a theatrical salute were your answers.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Mentally thanking yourself for filling out daycare forms in advance, and the raging flu that knocked Yaga out, which saved you from the lunch meetings, you set the world record for changing out of the scrubs and hurried to the elevator.

The hospital still buzzed with worried patients and exhausted doctors. You craned your neck to see a familiar spark of frosty hair outside, and your pulse roared in your head at the sight of the tall man, leaning on the wall with a casual air of confidence.

Smoothing down your sundress — for some unknown reason — you hurried out.

"Hi!"

Gojo was looking somewhere past the crowd, a melancholic smile playing on his lips, and your words made him abruptly turn to you with a messy white fringe falling over his forehead. His smile dipped into something warm as he took you in.

"You're not in scrubs, it's the first!" An airy chuckle left Gojo as you led the way to the small cafe, nestled between towers of the enormous business centre, and a flower shop. To your surprise, Gojo immediately fell into step with you; Naoya never bothered to wait for you. You had always been expected to catch up to him, no matter what. "Nice dress."

Warm spring air caressed you both with delicate touches. The pink sundress you wore — Naoya raised his brow in the morning and mused whether you were dressed for work or a playground — licked the soft skin of your thighs with every step. Gojo sincerely tried not to gawk at the legs of his nephew's doctor (wait, was it a breach of ethics? He sincerely hoped no), but it became increasingly difficult.

Luckily, you stopped near the small, cosy coffee shop just before his feigned nonchalance would've morphed into something more scorching.

"Here we are!"

The scents of cinnamon and peppermint immediately hit his senses, mixed with the drumming sounds of an espresso machine and the faint hum of the climate control. The sudden temperature difference caused you to blow a lone strand of hair that escaped your ponytail off your face, and a whiff of your fresh perfume (albeit with a strong sense of antiseptic clinging to you like a second skin — once a doctor, always a doctor) sent his pulse drumming quietly.

Just when Gojo wondered if you felt at least something too, your shoulder lightly brushed against his. He didn't know what to do, because even the touch like that was enough for something to stir in his chest. So he just stilled, and let his gaze unabashedly drift over the delicate line of your neck as you studied something through the display.

Perfect.

"Recommendations are accepted," clearing his throat, Gojo waved at the arrays of pastries and rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn. Might as well order everything."

The look of pure confusion and something suspiciously similar to awe on his face earned a quiet laugh from you.

"Uhm, I usually like those chocolate-filled croissants," you murmured, hesitantly pointing at the pastry that looked like it had just descended from the famous French boulangeries. "Sometimes I take a tiramisu or a panacotta. Their strawberry-filled mochis are absolutely to die for!"

Beside you, Gojo went completely rigid. You felt the usual fear that you might've fucked something up — nothing new, but something inside you wished Gojo would be kind enough to let it slide — but then he turned around.

"I love mochis!" He breathed out not even with enthusiasm — a playful reverence coloured his tone. His eyes sparkled even brighter.

You briefly discussed other desserts displayed, and you complimented the ones shaped like fruits ("Actually, very close to Cédric Grolet's!"), before you attempted to grab your wallet from the purse and… met a disappointed nothingness. You sulked a bit and stepped back in the line before the barista would glare daggers at you, giving Gojo an apologetic shrug.

"I forgot my wallet, so this time I am just gonna —" You glanced around the cafe. "Wander around, I guess."

Gojo blinked and shook his head with an airy chuckle, pulling his wallet out, "You're so funny."

Your smile briefly faltered. Nevertheless, you forced it to stay plastered.

"I know, yeah."

A light frown flickered across Gojo's face, but before he could even form a question, the barista, a young, lively girl, greeted him with a joyous chirp.

"Good afternoon, what can I get you today?"

Flashing a charming grin, Gojo slightly leaned over and pointed at the pastry with a low purr, "Hello. I would like to have a caramel latte and that whole set of fruit desserts. A box of strawberry mochi and two — no, wait, three chocolate croissants for takeaway."

"Noted," the girl nodded as the light pink tinged her cheeks at the sight of Gojo. Well, no wonder. "Anything else?"

"Make the latte really sweet. And whatever this lady wants, of course." With that, Gojo finally leaned back and waved at the pastries as if he had baked them all by himself, "My treat, Doc."

Completely stunned, you just huffed an unsure laugh, "No, Gojo, it's okay, I am just —"

"Please," Gojo's voice lost all the cockiness just for a second, offering you a peek of the man beneath the facade. "Do me a favour. You showed me this place, after all."

A strange kind of fog clogged your mind as you watched Gojo casually take out his black card. You murmured something about a kiwi lemonade.

He ended up buying another yearly supply of sweets for you as well.

Gojo flipped his wallet, and a photo tucked inside — him hugging a couple of kids — immediately caught your attention. Judging by a grumpy scowl on one of the children's faces, you successfully deduced the boy to be Megumi. And the girl with a shy grin, showing a peace sign, should've been his sister, Tsumiki.

A flicker of warmth sparkled in your chest as your lips twitched in a smile.

Shifting your gaze just a tad, you noticed Gojo's business card peeking out from the photo. Your best attempt at squinting at it wasn't successful, but the sight of his surname in a bold business font awoke something in your mind.

You certainly heard it. Maybe Naoya once happened to drop it during dinner? Or some hushed pieces of gossip finally reached you at the numerous Zenins' gatherings?

The image of Naoya stubbornly kept surfacing in your mind, no matter how hard you tried to bury it under the pretence of nonchalance towards a certain white-haired man. The mere thought of your future husband finding out about your little detour sent a fresh wave of fear through you.

God. What the hell were you doing?!

Swallowing, you briefly mused about fleeing, but the force that seemed to be stronger than the gravity itself — attraction, blending with recklessness — chained you to the chair right in front of Gojo.

Damn him. You felt like a butterfly pinned to a board by the sharpness of his gaze.

"What's bothering you?"

Forcefully blinking yourself back into reality, you sent Gojo a confused, apologetic smile, "Nothing much."

"Come on, Doc," he prompted, resting his chin on the palm. Almost half of the caramel latte in front of him was gone, as well as a peach-shaped dessert. Yours still rested untouched on the plate. "You've been hypnotising that poor peach for a solid five minutes."

You nervously twirled a straw between your fingers. Shit. You didn't even notice it. And with Gojo staring at you, his brow lazily arched, you decided to opt for a half-truth.

"Your surname. Where could I hear it?"

Gojo's grin withered a little before taking a strained edge. Just a fleeting second for everyone else, but if sharing a roof with Naoya had taught you anything, it was attunement to other people's senses. So, you just waved your hands in surrender.

"I didn't mean to intrude, sorry. Forget it."

The sincerity of your gaze softened the sudden harshness of Gojo's features and the rigidness in his shoulders. You indeed were just… curious.

He shook his head with a light chuckle, "No worries. My family is quite well-known. Limitless, maybe you heard it?"

Eyed widening, you almost spluttered the poor kiwi lemonade.

"Limitless? You mean that big company in advanced robotics and technology?"

Well, that surely explained why he spent so much time with Megumi at the hospital. Nepo babies weren't used to working a lot, judging by Naoya.

Gojo gave you a lazy nod and took a bite of another pastry, looking somewhere past you at the bustling Tokyo streets, and dropped off-handedly.

"Yeah. But I am not a big fan of boring meetings, reports and presentations."

Something in his tone suggested that it wasn't a single reason.

You just prompted gently, "What are you doing then?"

Gojo's smile turned relaxed.

"I am a restaurant owner."

Stunned, you paused with a spoon halfway through, "What? That's so cool!"

Laughing warmly, he confirmed again, "Yep. Three in Tokyo, one in Kyoto, and…," he leaned over with a suspicious look and whispered loudly, sending you a wink, "planning to open in Yokohama as well. But that's a secret just for you."

A light chuckle left you as your face heated up from the sudden proximity. You quickly cast your gaze down on the plate, cutting through a delicious treat.

"So, where are they? Maybe we, sorry, I —," you corrected yourself immediately, earning a slow, curious tilt of Gojo's head, "visited them?"

He only dropped one name, but the mere mention of that restaurant had you staring at him in shock, eyes sparkling with excitement. A dollop of soft cream was smudged over your chin, but in your contagious joy, you never really noticed. The blue of Gojo's gaze softened into a warm breeze, embracing you in a tender gale.

"Really? Is that one in Ginza, a rooftop bar? God, I've been dying to visit it! That grilled red squid with herbs? Damn," gesturing animatedly, you quickly explained at Gojo's curious glance, "I had a bit at a family gathering. And let me tell you," now it was your turn to lean in with a conspirational whisper, "it was the best thing in that evening."

Despite Gojo's attempts to compose himself, his grin widened even more as he asked, "So, why haven't you visited it yet? I mean, you look pretty happy talking about it."

Your own smile slowly faded at Gojo's ask, and the unsure curl of your shoulder that followed immediately didn't go unnoticed.

Naoya's dismissive words sparkled brightly in your mind again, and you waved them as best as you could. Hugging the empty cup with your lemonade, you attempted to joke weakly, "Didn't have enough time. You know, hospital, shifts, meetings."

Gojo's lazy drumming slowed a little before coming to a complete halt. A warm feeling cracked in his chest at the memory of you attending Megumi.

"Ah, of course. Sorry for that. You are the busiest that I will ever be."

You weren't used to it. To someone listening to you with a genuine expression. To someone casually complimenting you. To someone including you in a conversation. As if you were worthy of someone's attention.

And that someone being Gojo caused a warm sun to rise in your hollowed soul.

So you resorted to the only thing familiar to you.

"Ah, it's nothing. I am just a paediatrician," offering a usual downplayed explanation, you didn't even notice the muscle in Gojo's jaw jump. Why were you doing it? "I mean, there are surgeons and — "

"You are joking, right? You are literally a doctor."

Gojo's incredulous tone caught you off guard. Shoulders dropping, your smile curled into a nervous, unsure scowl, while he went on.

"You're doing such a great job. I mean, all of that stuff, checking saturation, temperature, carrying all these charts, and, on top of that, working with kids! This is so cool."

A weird, scorching feeling coloured your cheeks. What was actually the last time you heard someone talking about you like that? All sincere, kind, and…warm?

The lump in your throat started to feel suspicious, and you took a shuddering breath in an attempt to accept Gojo's words with no usual overthinking, "I guess so. Kids are really cool."

Popping a spoonful of panna cotta in his mouth, Gojo hummed in acknowledgement.

"You're cooler. Do you like working with kids?"

For the second time, you were sharing a conversation, your smile widened, tone dipping into an affectionate tenderness, "Of course! I like seeing them smile as they finally get better. I love helping them to navigate through the world, especially knowing I can do that and make a difference! I want to make the start of their life easy and smooth. The rest of it may be shitty, but the childhood…"

Quiet steel crept into your voice, honing your tone.

"…the childhood is sacred."

Your eyes suddenly bore remembrance to black holes — swallowing Gojo in vast expanses of them. He stared, unblinking, and recalled that version of you on the lone evening. Smoking, laughing. Teasing.

Where was the line between that version of you and the shy doctor sitting in front of him, shrinking, lessening herself to fit some image Gojo hadn't deciphered yet? Who were you?

The truth might've hid amongst smiles, sincere, and too stretched to be genuine; glances, soft, and too pointed to offer truth; gestures, secretive, and too deep-seated to bear some meaning.

Gojo recalled your laugh as you talked about the damned grilled red squid. Maybe that version of you, that crept in the cracks of all the conversations you shared, was the real one?

He didn't know yet. But hell, he was determined to solve the mystery that his nephew's doctor was. With those sweet smiles. That sharp tongue. And that contagious laugh.

"Gojo? Are you listening?"

Okay. Perhaps he went into recalling a little bit too much.

He let his gaze wander over your features freely. "Yeah. You mentioned that kids usually don't like their ears checked. But honestly, what kid likes hospitals?"

Your shoulders shook with mirth as you shot him a quick, shy grin. Gojo felt his lips curling into a warm smile as well.

"Do you like working at that hospital?"

Twirling a straw, you stilled at his question. Then a deliberately calm shrug came as you glanced through the window.

"I like working with kids."

"That's not what I asked." Despite the warmth in his tone, you managed to notice an unusual heaviness lurking behind it. Nothing in Gojo, from the curious tilt of his head to the calmness in his blue gaze, revealed his true intentions.

Still. An assessing gleam that flashed in Gojo's eyes told you much more than he probably thought.

His fingers drummed against the table with barely concealed impatience. You mirrored his tilt and drawled hesitantly, "Could've been better, honestly. The department's director is constantly on our ears about financing and modernising the equipment. But, you know. Paediatrics isn't on the priority list."

Gojo hummed — a low, throaty sound that had you casting your gaze immediately down on your plate — and leaned in. His brows furrowed in frustration.

"Really?"

You mumbled something unintelligible as your shoulders curled inwards.

"But that doesn't make any sense," a murmur full of disbelief left him soon, addressing no one in particular, but rather musing aloud. "You're doing such an important thing, taking care of kids. I saw you running around like a Duracel rabbit, and this constant chaos. Yet you're doing such a great job! Especially with Megs. He likes you, you know? And he doesn't like doctors."

You leaned a bit with your chin cradled in your palm, looking out of the windows: some lady hurried to the cafe, barely catching up to her doggie, an adorable Pomeranian. The doorbell soon announced their entrance, followed by a cheerful bark.

"No wonder. He has a long story with them. I am afraid he just has to like me because I am a lady with masks and all that stuff."

"I am serious, Doc. Believe me," a small laugh followed his grin — you would've been damned if you didn't spot bitterness buried in it.

"I know when Megs feels…," Gojo pondered for a moment, looking for the right word. "Acceptable towards someone."

Now it was your turn to smile.

"He's not an easy kid," you murmured to Gojo after some time as you both watched the lady attending to her adorable, lively puppy. Gojo's grin widened for a second before settling back with heaviness too unfitting for the mask he usually wore.

"You can say so. They both went through…a lot."

You could only press your lips in sympathy. No matter how many tragedies you witnessed, each of them had left scars on you. Especially when you found out the reason Gojo adopted Megumi and Tsumiki.

Gojo didn't like to talk about it, but you gathered enough from the bits of conversations, information from Megumi's chart and heavy pauses between the words. Didn't press: one time, you saw Gojo examining the handout on how to help a kid process the grief, and noticed Gojo's gaze hardening into an iceberg.

So, you kept all assumptions safely catalogued in your head.

A heavy silence settled between you, interrupted only by excited yips of the Pomeranian, distant melodies of some indie song coming from the speakers, and the whirring of the cash register.

Hand drifting mindlessly to scratch an old scar, your fingers twitched with an indescribable urge to soothe Gojo's wounds as well. In the end, he lost his sister, too. And as shocked as he might've been, he had two distraught kids to bring up.

Did he have a chance to mourn her at all? Or just poured himself into the life that suddenly felt too enormous to fit into?

Judging by the distant waves of his gaze and the melancholy flickering over his face, too beautiful for all the sorrows, he didn't.

As much as you wanted to console him, to tell him that you hid scars like that as well, you couldn't bring yourself to do this. The lock on your heart was still impenetrable.

A bitter realisation, melting into a sour resentment that you didn't remember the last time you felt like that towards your fiancé, had your chest constricted with the weight of ache.

Instead, you tried not to dwell on it. Lifting your hand, your slightly trembling fingers grazed Gojo's hand across the table. A thick whisper followed.

"I am sorry."

Gojo's head immediately snapped up at the sound of your soft words. His eyes met yours in a moment of shared grief and quiet understanding — something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time.

A silent yearning to be seen hid in the desperate twitch of his fingers as they squeezed your palm in response.

He quickly masked that momentary weakness behind a frantic clearing of throat and a casual, too casual ask.

"You lost your chain?"

Frowning a bit, you shifted your gaze to the dip of your cleavage; a sudden, shaking breath followed as you gently pulled your hand back to touch the bare skin.

Naoya's words, full of malice and icy wrath, flashed behind your closed eyelids just as if he had been throwing them at you now. He was seething with ire that morning.

You just sat there: a silent witness to irritation consuming Naoya more and more. Mentally went through every place you visited, every corner rounded, and every room attended. Still, it had no sense at all.

The ring was gone.

"Yeah."

"It must've been important."

You gritted your teeth until the muscles in your jaws twitched. Slowly, you lifted your gaze and couldn't believe the next words that left your lips, "It's okay. Something that was meant to be mine would make its way back, right?"

Gojo's eyes widened a bit at the sudden declaration. A boyish grin curled on his lips as he just shrugged in response, "I guess so."

Just in time. An alarm on your phone not so kindly informed you that your lunch was over. Oh, how you wished that it could last a small eternity longer.

Did Gojo feel that as well?

Watching his tall figure retreat to a shop nearby, you thought about the warm sea that spilt in his irises, when you reminded him that you would meet again tomorrow.

And then, as the sudden gust of wind threw your hair back into your face, you realised when you heard Gojo's surname. The sound of it had become a frequent guest of all the Zenins' outraged discussions.

But…

What did that mean to you?

ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Darling?"

Your voice sounded hesitant in the car on the way to your parents' house.

Tearing his gaze from the streets of the Denenchofu neighbourhood, adorned with lush greenery, and the rows of houses, draped in elegance and serenity, Naoya quirked his brow at you in a silent question.

With a hasty breath, you twiddled with your bag. The damn binder kept evading you like on a cue. A quiet curse left your lips as you felt Naoya's patience wearing thinner and thinner with each flimsy attempt of yours. You heard the irritated click of his tongue just as you fished the folder. Handed it to your fiancé and watched boredom on his face morphing into vague surprise and… mild interest.

"What is it?"

"It's my — uhm, you know, it's something I am doodling while not busy and —"

Nayoa interrupted you with a sharp glance, "Quit babbling."

"Right. Sorry," forcing an apologetic grin, you folded your hands on your lap. "It's my sort of portfolio. Best of my works. I just — would like to know your opinion about that."

"And why do you want me to do this?"

"One of my patients' parents is an art dealer. He noticed some pictures in my office, and we exchanged a couple of words." Naoya's eyes narrowed at your revelation; you quickly corrected yourself, "That's it, I swear!"

"Quicker," he cut you off with a wave as if you were stealing minutes of his precious time.

Your gaze briefly flicked between your hands and the binder in his hands.

There it was. Something shaping as an opportunity to share with the rest of the world what your soul ached for and your eyes saw.

With a sharp exhale, you concluded, "Anyway, his gallery is searching for some new artists for the opening of a new exhibition. I thought — I thought I might give it a try." Your voice cracked at the last words.

A low, almost indifferent hum was all you got in response.

Breath bated, you intently watched Naoya slowly opening the folder and going through the pictures with deliberate scrupulousness. Head tilted, his gaze wandered over each line and stroke. You examined every minuscule twitch in his expression just to notice the fleeting movement of his eyebrows. Something resembling bewilderment flicked across his face.

A flash of excitement faintly sparkled within you.

Only for Naoya's bewilderment contorting into disbelief, masked by cold indifference.

"You drew it?"

A glance at his face didn't stir anything suspicious in you, so you slowly nodded, lips curling into a nervous smile.

His gaze darted to your makeshift portfolio once again. And then a smirk — a quick twitch of his lips — followed. As cruel as his love for you was.

"Don't you have something more important to do than simply wasting your time?"

The splendour of excitement faded within you into a dim flare. Your smile wavered as you breathed out, "I don't under— understand."

Your distress only fed Nayoa's ego even more. He carelessly tossed the portfolio back on your lap and drawled in mock sympathy, leaning closer.

"Aw, my poor dove. You are not born yesterday, aren't you? Still so innocent and full of naive dreams. You should've known better already."

Your grip on the poor binder tightened. The wrinkled, beaming face of your little patient caught your attention; but despite the usual reluctant acceptance of his words, you felt another match put to a growing flame inside.

Raising your chin a little, you noticed with a grim satisfaction that Naoya was slightly taken aback.

"Should know better what exactly?"

His smirk sharpened into a ruthless blade.

"That the world doesn't care about the wishes of innocent little doves like you, my darling." For all your desperate attempts to stand your ground, your heart sank to your stomach. Disappointment and your own failure buzzed in your tired mind, bearing Naoya's taunting voice.

"You think that guy really wanted these drawings of yours? Oh, darling, please. He probably was just polite. After all, you are the one who can write a slightly wrong prescription for his kid out of spite and —"

Cheeks flaring at the entendre in his voice, you blinked in shock, "What? I would never in my life do that!"

Naoya peacefully hold his hands out.

"Just saying, dove. I only want the best for you." Naoya's hand came to pinch your chin as he let his gaze roam over your face. Then a fake concern flashed on his face — you lifted a heavy gaze on your fiancé. "Saving you from an inevitable disappointment. No need to worry that pretty little head of yours about anything."

And then his tone deceived you into pretending sweetness, "You said you were bored?"

You answered it with an unblinking stare, which Naoya interpreted in his own way. As usual.

"Maybe it's high time for you to step into the wedding preparations. All I hear is endless chirping about napkins and lilies and the size of your obi sash. Why don't you join it? And while musing, maybe at least try to look for your engagement ring."

With that derisive scowl, your future husband leaned over to order something for your driver. And like that, the conversation ended.

Just like your pitiful attempts to become something that you weren't. A sandcastle that you carefully built crumbled in your hands, putting all your dillusions to an end.

Naive, little dove.

That was who you were, right?

Ache travelled down your cheeks in briny tears. They hit the pieces of your heart in lines and sketches, smudging them with sadness.

As the car finally stopped in front of a big house, screaming about quiet luxury, you quickly wiped all the signs of your life quietly falling apart. And when you stepped out of the car with your hand resting leisurely in the crook of Naoya's elbow, your smile only painted the image of a happy fiancée and a nice daughter.

The portfolio in the depths of your bag told another story.

For all the heavy air and weight of disappointment following your every step like an ominous shadow, you still preferred home walls to the bars of the Zenins' cage.

At least, you were in your territory.

Naoya had never been particularly interested in stepping into that place — perhaps he regarded it as settling to your level — but much to your surprise, he always accompanied you.

Deep down, you were well aware of the true reason; it was neither his affection nor understanding. Oh, no. Quite the opposite.

Your home greeted you with polite indifference.

If it had a face, you were sure it would wear the same expressionless look you often witnessed on your parents. A deep-buried bitterness surged inside at the sight of framed photos, depicting your family. The main guest was always their most beloved child — their business, its numerous triumphs and accomplishments. Its presence had always gnawed on you at the dinner table and hovered over, akin to a skilful executioner, with the axe of their expectations behind the back.

It was a competition you could never win.

As wounding as that realisation was, you swallowed it and every sharp remark to come.

After all, those crumbs were better than facing the silence.

Your mother joyously trilled something to Naoya, who listened to her with a mild interest. You were well aware that was the closest to politeness he was able to muster. As a lot of men tended to be, your future husband had never been keen on participating in "women's useless prattle".

But not as your father studied him with a scrutiny too unfitting for someone so blazenly indifferent.

At least, that was what you believed him to be.

Because lately, every time you stole a glance at your father as he talked to Naoya, you couldn't help but notice a mocking sparkle in his eyes. As if Naoya entertained him by the mere fact of his existence. You silently wondered if he was able to sense it, because your fiancé's attempts to earn his future father-in-law's approval were met with a quick grin and a curt nod more and more.

Of course, it wounded Naoya's pride and ego. Everyone had to be enamoured with your fiancé; a few tailored compliments and seemingly soft glances were usually enough. Naoya never bothered himself trying too much, though, just because he initially treated people like someone to use and discard later.

The only exception was you at the start of your relationships. He woven himself into your life with late-night strolls, dinners at the expensive restaurants, attentive gestures, and charming smiles. Until he made sure you were on the hook of his affection and in a constant state of craving more. Playing with you, testing the limits of your obedience and his own vanity, gave him a cruel sense of satisfaction.

Either way, some flattery and asking for business advice didn't fascinate your father into actually accepting Naoya. Sometimes your fiancé's disappointment and anger burst into spiteful remarks directed at you, although they quickly morphed into distant rambles as he understood how pathetic he might've looked. Trying to earn respect from the man who was supposed to give it to him on a silver platter.

If there was one thing you were certain about Naoya, that was his absolute despise to being looked down on.

You didn't know what game your father was playing — it might be just another mind game or whatever it was called in terms of business — but you enjoyed it inwardly nonetheless.

The clink of silvery cutlery followed soon after the usual exchanges among the whispers of pristine tablecloth and rivers of elite alcohol. Nayoa's shoulder brushed against yours every time he reached for whiskey. The gradual rise of his pitch matched the growing annoyance within you. You politely waved the maid every time she walked to your side with a glass.

"Ah, darling," your mother's cheeks were already painted red from numerous portions of Roku gin. Otherwise, she wouldn't be as kind as now. "Why don't you try this Roku gin? Torii-sama sent us the premium Sakura Bloom Edition, might as well try one!"

Your mother paused to pop a cherry in her mouth. Then her eyes comically widened as she shared a few curious glances with your aunties, earning tipsy giggles. Naoya's jaw tightened. "Your fiancé might not like your drinking! Silly me."

Your plastered smile twitched for a moment before you let a fake saccharine chuckle and nodded wordlessly. You knew better after the last gathering in the Zenins' estate.

Unknown to you, not only did Naoya watch you like a master, seeing his doll take the stage for the first time, but so did your father. His calm expression wavered for a moment before a usual mask slotted back into place.

"Darling." All the voices quietened as your father spoke up. Your grip on the fork tightened as you braced yourself and slowly dragged your eyes to meet his gaze, spine involuntarily straightening under its weight.

"Father?"

"Tell us about your…work," the last word left your father rather hesitantly as he absent-mindedly twirled a lavish whiskey glass between his fingers. Saying that surprised you would be an understatement: your work, the path you chose, instead of becoming another cog in their enormous corporate machine, had long been a touchy subject in your family. Your becoming a doctor was acceptable. But a paediatrician? It evoked a couple of arguments, but that was the most you could have ever received. From that moment, your profession hid between the pauses in conversations and was swept under the rug like a useless mention.

The voices around the table came to a complete halt, and even the lone clink of your cousin's spoon against the plate sounded shocked.

Trying to ignore the bewildered glances and especially the pointed glare of your fiancé at the lack of attention to his superb persona, you smiled corteously, "Thank you for asking, father. Everything is going nicely, and the kids are as healthy as they can be. Well, you know them. You don't keep an eye on them, and the next thing you do is blow on their scraped knees."

The table remained ominously silent after your attempted little joke. You cleared your throat and carried on, feeling Naoya piercing daggers into you.

"And, uhm, our department's well-financed, surprisingly! I suppose it's Naoya's achievement. He's on the board of the shareholders, if someone doesn't know," you hastily added. The paediatrics department was buzzing with a new juicy piece of gossip, exchanging knowing looks and conspirational whispers. Just like that, your fiancé once again bathed in the glory and adoration.

Meanwhile, you weren't even completely sure he actually showed up to those meetings.

Naoya straightened a little in his seat, sending a sleazy smirk to one of your distant relatives. Her cheeks went red immediately as she cast her gaze down on the plate.

"Yeah, dove is right." Naoya's speech had long already been slurred from the alcohol, straining his breath. Your jaw twitched with effort not to grimace as it fanned over your cheek. "No wonder they had such a big problem with money. I mean, they are looking after kids. Not even real doctors, if you catch my drift."

You were so shocked and astounded that you couldn't utter a single word.

"What?" Naoya shrugged indifferently as his gaze swept across the table to notice that some people were stunned as well. He quirked a brow at you. "You said it yourself, honey. That you felt so stupid talking to surgeons sometimes."

The humiliation snaked immediately in your chest and sank its teeth into your heart, until you bled quietly on the pristine white in front of you. The silver of the fine clutter caught light, showing you a reflection of smirking Naoya, even more distorted. Your grip on it tightened, but you still played your role, sending your father a jarred grin.

However, he looked past you. His brows knitted together in confusion and something suspiciously looking like seething anger. Shivers ran down your spine as your father finally muttered.

"And who do you consider a real doctor, Naoya?"

Naoya's smirk slowly wavered before vanishing completely; his cheeks went from painfully pale to slightly pink in a span of seconds, and for a death cup like him, it equated to a crimson bloom.

Clearing his throat, your future husband threw pointed glances at you.

You remained indifferent to his silent pleas.

The sight of your fiancé, trying to make his way out of a frying pan, brought a strange kind of contentment. You hid your smirk behind the glass.

He parted his lips to answer, only to be interrupted by the maid. She bowed in an apology, saying someone was calling you,

"That must be some parent. Excuse me," you quickly stood up and hurried to another room. Ah. You wished you could see Naoya humiliating himself in front of your family a bit longer. However, you still managed to mouth "thank you" to your father, who answered you with a quick nod.

Parents' calling you all the time wasn't anything sort of an usual, but seeing Gojo appearing on your screen sent your heart stammering against your ribs. Was something wrong with Megumi? Did he feel bad again? You were just about to discharge him and —

Before the wave of overthinking consumed you, you accepted the call, thumb hesitating over the button for a few seconds longer than needed.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Doc. I am so sorry to interrupt you, really. You must be busy," Gojo chuckled nervously. You noticed with a frown that his low voice had lost its usual smoothness: he sounded genuinely… worried. You had to cut off his words before they would turn into rambling.

"Don't worry. What happened? Is Megumi alright?"

"Megs is fine, it's —," a loud bark interrupted your conversation, earning a distressed groan from Gojo. "Shiro, for the love of God! Stop that!"

The dog's barks — as you presumed, Shiro's — grew even louder, and in a couple of seconds, playful yips followed as well.

"Kuro, no, I can't play with you right now!"

As much as you would've enjoyed that chaos in every other situation, your voice took on an urgent edge, calling for Gojo's attention back.

"Gojo, I need you to focus. What's wrong?"

The sounds of the crisis on the other side of the call quietened a little, and you could finally feel Gojo's voice, coming in a nervous breath, "It's Tsumiki."

"Okay. Is she nauseous? Has a temperature? Diarrhoea? Pale, blotchy skin?"

"She threw up a couple of times. We've been at the new place near their school, and then went to an amusement park. Yeah, wrong move, I know. No diarrhoea, no. A little bit pale, though." Gojo huffed nervously. You briefly imagined him carding fingers through his hair — you picked that habit of his during Megumi's admission.

Shaking your head, you interrupted Gojo again.

"What did she eat? Did you give her some meds?"

"She had a poke bowl with tuna. Pepsi. Sugar-free, if that's important. Cotton candy. I think it's cotton candy. It should be cotton candy, 'cause we all had those damn poke bowls. Honestly, it was too sweet, even for me."

Gojo's voice turned too distant all of a sudden. You figured he was checking on Tsumiki, given the worried edge in his tone. "We went home, and I gave her Pedialyte."

"Oh, that's great. You did right, actually. She should drink a lot and have plenty of rest."

"Dunno, Doc. She's not looking very good, and I —" A deep, sharp exhale that followed twisted something in your heart.

Swallowing nervously, you tightened your grip on the phone. "I'll check on her. Just send your address. I'll be there as soon as possible."

Gojo kept silent for some time, until you heard his quiet, strangely hesitant voice. "You sure? I don't want to interrupt whatever you might have, it's a Friday evening, after all. I can call an ambulance every time."

Already putting on your light coat, you gently murmured, "No, it's okay. Don't worry about it."

"I'll send my assistant after you."

You were already familiar with Gojo's assistant, a driver, and a planner — Ijichi. The poor guy looked perpetually stressed; you genuinely didn't want to cause him even more trouble.

"I'll get a taxi."

"But —"

"By the time he gets to me, I could've already been at yours."

Gojo reluctantly agreed, not capable of fighting your logic, and dropped his address. Your brows raised in a slight surprise.

With a quiet hum, you finally called a taxi, already grimacing at Naoya's possible reaction, as you hastily texted him an apology. His face, contorted in fury, especially after a confrontation with your father, sent shivers down your spine. A thought of backing down briefly crossed your mind, but you quickly shook it away. Not only because you were always keen on keeping your promises and the poor girl involved, but…

Watching the streets of Seijo pass you in quiet green parks, tennis courts, university campuses and elite buildings, you finally admitted to yourself.

That you longed to see Gojo.

His house met you with a daunting gateway and a robotic voice, calmly telling you to proceed further. A quick, examining look around the beautiful, well-tended yard made you wonder how many people worked there, but the sight of water guns scattered over the grass, as well as the picnic blanket on the grass, gave you a much better understanding of the family living there.

After hesitating a couple of seconds, you knocked.

You fully expected Gojo to greet you right that second. Instead, you heard a couple of barks, some intelligible mumbling, and the sound of something being knocked over, until the door finally opened, revealing Gojo and a white Labrador puppy, enthusiastically chewing on the man's trouser leg.

Hardly had you opened your mouth, when another puppy — that time a black one, albeit also a Labrador — jumped on you with a joyous yip. The puppy wiggled its tail with such speed that you sincerely worried about the poor doggie launching itself into space.

A joyful chuckle left you as you petted the puppy, cooing at him, "Hello to you, too!"

Gojo finally managed to get the white one off his leg and craddled it against his chest with a loud sigh. A couple of white strands were plastered to his forehead, and he quickly wiped it with his forearm.

"Hello, Doc. Kuro, come here. Don't jump on ladies like that," he mock scolded the black one, Kuro, and flashed you a tired grin. Kuro trotted back to Gojo. "We're gonna talk about it later, I swear. With you as well, right, little guy?" Gojo murmured to the white puppy, scratching him behind the ears and nodded towards you. "Meet Shiro!"

You beamed back in response and quickly looked around. "Where's Tsumiki?"

Gojo's expression changed in an instant, a frown crossing over his handsome face. "She's upstairs. You can use the bathroom there. Wait a minute, okay?"

Nodding nervously, you found your seat near the cream sofa. A white, fluffy carpet easily swallowed the sound of your footsteps. You sank into the comfort of the armchair nearby and let your gaze drift over the dog toys on the carpet, neatly folded colouring pages on the coffee table, a half-opened pack of coloured crayons, some book about dog breeds, and… wait, was it a pastry book? Nonetheless, Cédric Grolet's? Squinting, you only got convinced more about it: the sight of familiar lemons immediately caught your eye.

Nothing strange. He was a restaurant owner, after all. Broadening a worldview was useful for everyone.

Unless…

He picked it up after you mentioned it at the cafe.

Weird warmth blossomed in your chest, spreading through your veins like sunshine, mellow and bright.

Until a sudden thought of Naoya burnt you.

"Megs, why don't you have the puppies and play with them at the yard? I'll go check on Tsumiki." Gojo's loud voice startled you out of your hazy mind. Blinking, you returned to reality and watched the grumpy kid dragging his feet to Gojo. "Oh, and say hi to Doctor-sensei. She'll look at her too."

His words had Megumi stop mid-rubbing his eyes and stare at you with mild disbelief. Waving at him, you forced a smile. You couldn't let yourself dwell on your future husband and bathe in your misery in front of a kid.

"Hi, Megumi-kun! You feeling better?"

The boy blinked as well and shrugged in response. "I guess."

As driven by the force of gravity, your eyes immediately drifted to Gojo to find him already staring at you with a curious expression. Warmth curled on his lips, but his eyes remained sharp and focused. Your cheeks heated up.

Stuffy. It was stuffy.

One of the puppies barked.

Megumi briefly glanced at the dog, and for the first time, you saw a sincere smile spreading on his face. Then, he dragged his eyes back to you with a pensive, hesitant expression and asked quietly.

"Will Tsumiki be alright?"

Your chest tightened with emotions as you kneeled before the kid. He watched you carefully, but didn't speak up.

"She is alright, from what your uncle told me. Don't worry. He takes care of her." Letting yourself look at Gojo again, you noticed something indescribable flicker over his features before he smiled back, albeit strained. A weird feeling stirred within as you added, "Both of you, actually."

Something twitched behind the stone mask that Megumi's face was. A light pink coloured his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze.

"Alrighty, Megs," Gojo held the door open, and Kuro already jumped happily outside, followed by Shiro, wiggling his tail. "But not too long! You gotta be in bed till ten, and we are going to brush teeth together this time. You're not going to fool me anymore, little punk."

Megumi rolled his eyes, but the sparkle of mischief in them was a dead giveaway. "More like you are not going to fool me like the last time you ditched the irrigator —"

Gojo swiftly cut Megumi off, "Buddy, don't expose all our bonding moments, okay?"

You watched the puppies immediately clinging to Megumi with cheerful yips as he stepped out — and looked at Gojo. Nothing in him, save only for the tension in his broad shoulders, revealed the quiet storm brewing inside.

Swallowing, you hurried to catch up to him.

"Tsumi-chan, how are you now?" Gojo's voice dropped to the gentle warmth you had yet to hear. He quietly closed the doors behind you both and walked to the girl. A little grin tugged at the corner of your lips at the sight of the barrage of meds on the bedside table.

"I feel better now, really. Thank you, Satoru-san. You don't have to worry about me so much."

"Oh, I absolutely do," huffing loudly, Gojo walked over and cleared his throat, telling Tsumiki your name. "Doctor-sensei treats Megumi."

Tsumiki murmured something to greet you, but her last words caught you off guard.

"Nice to meet you, sensei! Satoru-san told us about you."

Eyes widened, you shifted your gaze to Gojo, who was already checking Tsumiki's bunnies. "Really? Did he?"

"Oh, yeah! I know you're really good," she chuckled warmly, but then added hastily, "I don't think there's any need to check on me, I am completely fine!"

But after this, she grimaced quickly and gave up under Gojo's hardened gaze.

Tsumiki got a certain paleness to her skin as you examined her, but nothing unusual for the food poisoning, as you indeed figured it out.

"I think it was cotton candy," the girl murmured, sinking back into the bed. A quiet sigh left her lips. "It's a shame. I liked it."

"Oh, yeah," Gojo grumbled indistinctly from his place. "I'll never let you eat that stuff again, I swear."

The girl's eyes widened as she shared a startled look with you. "But you ate five portions all by yourself! It's not fair!"

Gojo shot her a quick look, though a teasing grin danced on his lips.

"It's not the same. I am an adult, and you are just a teeny tiny girl," he joked lightly, watching a white bunny devouring an applewood stick. "You're such a fatty, fella, I swear."

"Snow is not a fatty!" Tsumiki already jumped in to protect her precious pet. "Just…furry."

"Tsumi-chan, calm down a little. You'd better relax and have a rest," you murmured, while writing down recommendations for Gojo. "Your bunny's name is Snow?"

She nodded carefully, following your words, and twiddled with her fingers.

"Yes. Snow and Ball. The owners wanted to give Snow away, because, you know," she whispered and sniffled quietly. "He was not like other bunnies."

"Albino," Gojo interjected immediately. Almost absent-mindedly: his eyes were focused on the large constellation map on the wall, but you were sure he was listening more than attentively.

"So we took Snow in, and Satoru-san later brought us Ball! He lived on a Bunny Island, but now he's with us."

Your smile wavered, sinking into fragile softness as your hand squeezed Tsumiki's. Then your gaze found Gojo again, who was trying to use Tsumiki's telescope. The sight was quite funny, given Gojo's height and the telescope's design for kids.

Not looking away, you whispered, "Satoru-san is good to you."

"He is," the girl beamed at you, but then grew shy again. Clearing her throat, she asked whether you had some pets.

The bitterness instantly rose in your chest, flooding all the warmth.

Naoya didn't understand the concept of pets and anything that could steal your attention away.

That was your first big fight.

You were just a year together.

With gaze cast down, you shrugged, not aware that Gojo was watching you all the time. "Uhm, no, unfortunately, no. With my work…not quite possible."

"Oh. It's a shame," she sighed again. "But if you want to, you can come and play with my bunnies. And I am sure Megumi won't be against you playing with Kuro and Shiro. Right, Satoru-san?"

"Yeah." He answered without missing a beat. Your heart did a treacherous flip, slamming against your ribcage, and you breathed out with a weak grin.

"Thank you, Tsumi-chan. Get better soon, okay?"

"Make sure she's well-rested. I think she should feel better before Monday. A lot of drinks," you nodded at the paper in Gojo's hand. "Watch the vomit too, and basically just keep an eye on her. If there's a sudden tummy ache, call an ambulance. And call me just in case."

"Sure will do," Gojo murmured tiredly, carefully folding your note and tucking it into his notebook. A sharp pang of something you weren't ready to name yet shot through your heart. Quietly watching Gojo's brows furrow in thought as he turned the pages of his planner — probably filled with dozens of meetings, visits and even dates — you muttered your goodbyes with a full intention to slip quietly out of that lovely home.

Only to be stopped by a warm hand on your elbow.

"Where are you going to? It's late. Ijichi will drive you home."

Your phone was already buzzing with dozens of irritated texts from Naoya, and the thought of him seeing you leave another man's car made your insides churn.

Waving, you huffed a chuckle, "Ah, it's nothing, I'll take a taxi, and it's late!"

"He will be there in five minutes." Gojo casually shrugged your words off, already on its way to hold a door for you. "Come on, I'll walk you out."

The gusts of wind under the veil of tranquil twilight didn't bite you as usual; perhaps, it was Gojo's warmth shielding you from its coldness. Standing right beside him as you waited outside, you couldn't help but reminisce that evening with the British lighter.

An airy chuckle cut through the serenity between you. Gojo tore his gaze away from the star-spilt sky above, and his gentle murmur caressed the expanse of your skin. Even though he was standing a foot apart.

"What are you thinking about?"

Your smile deepened, but you shook your head in response. "Nothing much."

"Hey. Don't go shy on me, Doctor-sensei."

Despite the coldness of the evening, your cheeks flared up. "Telling about me to your kids?"

A soft smile spread on his face as he chuckled.

"Couldn't help. You're really a nice doctor."

"Well, thank you then."

He basked in a response you gave him — a widened gaze, a pink tint to your cheeks, and a little smile — until you went silent again.

Gojo tilted his head in a silent question — the harsh wind threw his white bangs all over his forehead. He didn't make any effort to brush them away; instead, he kept looking at you as if you were the only star gracing the heavens above. Beautiful. Observing.

Mysterious.

"I don't have the lighter on me now."

Startled, you abruptly burned and blinked, your huff dissolving into a light laugh. "And I don't have any cigs."

Gojo's smile deepened almost imperceptibly. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his warmth enveloping you tighter in its embrace. Nervously, you tucked the lone hair strand behind your ear. Glanced at the sky above, glimmering indifferently.

"Tsumiki likes stars, doesn't she? A whole map and a telescope in her room?" You murmured absent-mindedly, eyes lazily wandering from one celestial body to another.

Naoya didn't like stargazing.

"Ah, yes. A little scientist. She dreams about space and visiting some planets." At the mention of his niece, Gojo's gaze turned melancholic, albeit full of tenderness. "She's a nice girl. Kind and gentle."

At the sudden pensiveness, colouring his voice, you turned around. The wind threw your hair into your face, but you chose not to see anything but Gojo. Your voice came surprisingly steady.

"And you are a nice uncle. When I said to Megumi that you took good care of them, I didn't joke."

Your words clearly stunned Gojo; his eyes widened, and the dark blue of them shone so brightly under the lamplight that you let yourself drown in them all over again.

"You think so, Doc?"

Despite the lightness in his tone, you picked up the strained edge, the hesitance, and something weirdly resembling hope.

His hand twitched a little as you stepped closer and let your fingers tentatively brush against his. Gojo went still, and your quiet yet sure words nearly undid him.

"I know, Gojo."

His chest expanded with a sharp exhale. There was no way he could contain the overwhelming fullness in his chest that came with your presence. And as the honk of Ijichi's car erupted through the silence, he finally managed to find his words again.

"Thank you for coming. I… really appreciate that."

You just shook your head with a warm smile you wore so often. A strange gleam flashed in your gaze.

"No worries. I am glad to help."

For some reason, he couldn't tear his gaze away, and just watched the lonebeam caressing your features in a way he longed to.

The black car finally stopped in front of you. Gojo stepped to open the door for you and murmured.

"Good night. See you soon, right?"

"Right. Bye, Gojo."

And seeing the car slowly disappearing into the dark, Gojo let out a breath, carding his fingers through the hair as the realisation that had been hovering over him like a sword of Damocles finally hit him.

He was so fucked.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

The clock in your office almost struck two, marking your possible fifteen minutes for a break, but you were focused on a baby on the examination table. Softly pressing on the belly, you checked for any enlarged organs, only to give the parents an assuring nod.

"No signs of a hernia as well."

Your light tickles earned soft gurgles from the kid, and you couldn't help but lean down and coo, "Aw, you're such a little talker tonight, aren't you? Looking so happy out here."

The baby babbled something again, flailing their pudgy arms, and gave you a little grin. Your hands softly brushed over the kid's legs to move them over.

"No problems with hip joints! Your baby is completely healthy." A relaxed smile made its way on your face as well, seeing the little girl's parents breathe out in relief.

"Doctor-sensei, we were thinking about introducing Kiki-chan to solid foods," Kiki-chan's mother squirmed in her seat, while her father attempted to put a pacifier in her mouth. The baby protested with a huff.

Humming under your breath, you went through the baby's medical record. "Honestly, it's better you wait a little. I will give you proper recommendations when the time comes. It's usually around 6 months. Meanwhile, remember to have the vitamin D supplement I was talking about."

"Ah, yes. I wanted to ask if 400 IU daily is alright?" Ito-san's voice sounded a bit strained, as Kiki-chan curiously attempted to tug on her mom's hair.

"Totally fine."

Shortly after answering a couple of questions more and reminding the parents to call you in case something suspicious arises, you bid your goodbyes to the family.

Exhausted, you massaged your temples and decided to take a quick nap before a meeting, only to be interrupted by the knock. No urgency, though. No hesitation.

Frowning, you called out to come in, already straightening in your seat. Might've been another emergency, since you didn't have anything more scheduled before the endless Yaga's droning.

The door opened, revealing the emergency himself. The emergency bore a smile, able to disperse any signs of an impending grimness; his hair flashed bright white under the light, and the blue of his gaze pulled you into its ripples just like the day that emergency walked into your life.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, pulse roared in your temples with deafening force, as you stared back at Gojo. Megumi had been charged some time ago, but the lie would've tasted sour if you said Gojo didn't cross your mind. Maybe something happened to Tsumiki?

Sometimes, when the evenings pinned you down with their weight of loneliness, as you stared at Naoya's back blanky, the memories flushed in your mind. You kept every smile, every glance, every bruf of fingers and every word close to your heart, akin to the precious gems.

Then, as Naoya's lips would press a claim on your skin and his fingertips would burn another into your soul, you pulled them out with the utmost care.

Somehow managing to compose yourself, you forced a grin that Gojo would find a pleasant one, at least, "Hi! What are you doing here? Oh, have a seat, would you?"

Gojo's grin deepened, and he sank into the chair in front of you.

"Long time no see, Doc. No-no, everything is okay with kids, don't worry," he hastily added, seeing concern immediately taking over your face.

"Oh." You blinked in surprise. Cleared your throat. Tried not to look as nosy as you felt. Twiddled with a kitten figurine on your table. Finally breathed out.

"Not to be rude or anything, but…what are you doing here then?"

His white brows knitted together as he managed to huff a chuckle. It slowly died under your inquiring gaze.

"You don't know?"

Briefly closing your eyes at the sense of migraine slowly crawling back to make your life even more miserable, you murmured, "Know what?"

The bright grin on Gojo's face wavered, but his voice came out surprisingly soft. As if he were trying to soothe you by the mere tone alone.

"I am on the board of shareholders now. I thought you might've known by now. But it's even better! I am telling you myself."

Brows flying to your hairline in surprise, you breathed out a quiet, shocked chuckle. The gentle sun — as bright as Gojo's radiant grin — warmed your soul in hesitant rays of fondness.

"Really? That's so great! I didn't even hear —"

Naoya didn't bother to mention it to you.

Your smile slowly vanished as the clouds of despair slowly fogged that very sun.

Gojo, who had already helped himself to a candy, suddenly looked up. "Didn't even hear…?"

If you were a lot more braver, you wouldn't let hesitance shake you to the very core. Expose you for who you truly were.

A dove. A naive, frightened dove.

The knife of Naoya's disdainful whisper slowly twisted between your ribs once again, leaving the droplets of something that used to be your affection spilling in crimson paths of sorrow and ache.

"Doc? You good?"

You would've told Gojo everything.

Instead, you gave him a jarred grin.

"Doesn't matter. So, what's the thing for you here?"

His gaze narrowed suspiciously, but he decided not to press further.

"I thought it was a good opportunity. Non-profit management, something like that. You took good care of Megumi, and I was already thinking about," his gaze swept across your room, pausing at the sweets, the examination table, the posters on the walls and the box with toys. The very same you fished Megumi's plushie from. "Contributing to society, all that jazz."

Something in his deliberately light tone told you that you weren't the one to have secrets. With a curious hum, you leaned over, tapping on your chin in mock thoughtfulness.

"Weren't you the one saying that you didn't like meetings and everything?"

Gojo paused, his eyes briefly flicking to your face to gauge your reaction; he saw none, besides an intrigue, dancing in your gaze.

Oh. That was how you wanted to play, huh?

He slowly mirrored your grin, lazily tilting his head. "I am okay if that's for the good."

"It's for the good, then?"

His smile widened, giving you a good look at his dimples.

Giving Gojo the last suspicious glance, you leaned back.

He cleared his throat.

"So, if you have something to say or ask for... you can tell me. Within reasonable limits, of course."

"I'll keep it in mind."

Your pager beeped loudly again, putting your conversation to a halt. With a heavy sigh, you hid it and rose from your seat.

"Did something happen?" Gojo inquired with the same curious, albeit soft gaze that had been silently caressing you the entire conversation.

Stifling a sigh and your urge to ditch the whole thing, you admitted begrudgingly, "No, not at all. Just the department's meeting."

"Oh," he hummed incredulously, but his gaze was still firmly set on you. You decided to get through your notes just not to feel its weight. It never failed to send shivers down your spine.

"You've already met Yaga-san, the department's director, I suppose?"

An attempt to briefly switch the topic and the nervous tone didn't go unnoticed by Gojo.

As well as the slightest twitch of your fingers, when you meticulously tucked all the notes into one neat pile.

"Yeah. He's...an interesting guy. I would say more like a businessman type. Talks about the financing and the sponsor's attraction."

Gojo's words earned an airy chuckle from you.

"Oh, he can talk about it day and night, I swear."

"That he can," he agreed, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Still, I think he cares about all of you. The finances topic is surely one of the hottest on the board meeting."

"That's why I am not really sure why you decided to join it — ah, shit!"

One clumsy turn and a misguided step — god, sometimes Naoya was right: you really felt like having two left feet — and the carefully arranged notes went scattered on your floor like birds trying to escape.

"Damn, I am so clumsy." Kneeling immediately, you murmured under your breath and stilled, feeling Gojo's finger brush gingerly against yours as he handed you one of the vaccination reports. The time completely paused around you: the thick, heavy substance enveloping both of you.

The world closed in on the blue in his eyes. Spilt heavens, simmering waves of an ocean, June sky, when the world's radiance blinded with its brightness, merged into the tint that dulled every other colour for you. Took you to another world, even just for a fleeting moment.

"Oh, look at that. Is that...wait, is that yours?"

Your head immediately snapped towards Gojo, and you saw him holding that small, pathetic makeshift portfolio — the one you probably pulled out just to throw away, but the thought slipped away from your tired mind just like usual.

The heat of humiliation, mixed with embarrassment, exploded within you in a painful red. Helplessly blinking, you forced a pathetic chuckle.

"Oh, that? No, it's — "

And then why did you carry that binder around, huh? Think, think, think!

Your mind desperately scrambled for a plausible explanation, but after some debating, you surrendered to his gaze.

"Yes. These are mine. It's nothing special, though. Some lazy, stupid doodles."

Gojo frowned instantly at the belittlement curling in your voice like a berated animal. He slowly rose to his height and murmured in bewilderment.

"You're joking, right?"

You blinked. Blinked again. Didn't think of anything better than to stare at Gojo as you had seen him for the first time. Stare at him carefully going through the binder. Stare at the light wrinkle between his brows, knitted in concentration. Stare at his lips until they parted and uttered the words that knocked all the air from your lungs.

"These are wonderful!"

The pager beeped again to remind you about the upcoming meeting, but all your being shrinked to the little folder in Gojo's hands.

Naoya's words about wasting your time immediately flared up, and you straightened as well to make a grab for the photos.

"It's nothing special. Really. Just a bunch of stuff."

Gojo dragged his shocked gaze from the portfolio back to you and let you have the damn binder. You would throw it away the first thing after the meeting.

To which, in fact, you should've hurried long ago.

"I have to go."

Gojo watched your figure moving around with the newly acquired urgency. As if you had been trying to shake any remnants of the intimacy that had just unfolded around you.

His eyes searched your face with a quiet, almost aching attention, until he finally muttered.

"Did I say something wrong?"

No.

No.

Don't say that.

Don't do that to me.

A cruel beast crawled up your veins to clutch your insides in a freezing grip, while fear and regret trapped your lone heartbeat.

Gojo didn't say anything, instead letting his eyes talk, but you were too occupied with your own thoughts to hear him.

Eventually, he stepped back with a quiet sigh, and the thinly veiled frustration in his voice caused your heart to sink.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to go overboard in any way. I'll leave you alone."

The sight of Gojo's broad shoulders slumped in the slightest bitterness cracked something in your chest.

The pager went off again with a loud beep.

"I really have to go."

Gojo only gave you a curt nod, and all the time you were closing your office, you felt the weight of his gaze pinning you down.

A hundred words rested just on the tip of your tongue. Instead, you settled on a quiet, hesitant apology, gently grazing his elbow.

"I am sorry. It's not this. You haven't done anything wrong."

He turned almost immediately at your words, but as much as he wanted to ask more — so, so much more than you were ready to offer — he stilled. And prompted gently.

"Then what is it?"

You sucked in a sharp exhale, just to —

"Dove? There you are!"

For the reason to appear himself.

The look of pure panic on your face the second the voice reached you made Gojo frown. Then your frightened gaze flicked to him.

The crowd around you parted slightly, revealing a man. Gojo caught a couple of fond gazes shared between the nurses, but that couldn't bother him less.

The immediate self-conscious curve of your shoulders, paired with the stiffness of your moves, when the guy pulled you closer without any words, concerned Gojo way more.

"Dove. What did I say about answering my calls? I don't want to look around for you all over the hospital. I am way too busy for this."

The arrogant, disdainful voice of that prick immediately grated on Gojo's nerves. The tone was not suitable even for berating a pet, let alone talking to a human being. Someone supposedly beloved.

Gojo's jaw tightened. He was about to step in when you swiftly interjected with a grin too wide to be sincere. Your hand on the man's arm didn't promise any good.

The guy turned to Gojo's side and stilled for a moment, quirking a brow.

"Darling," your tone sounded so weird, Gojo barely recognised it — something like the plea to an executioner to give you the last glimpses of freedom. "This is Gojo Satoru. He's on the board of the shareholders as well."

The prick slowly tilted his head, dragging his gaze over Gojo in silent yet sharp examination. Then a weird gleam flushed in his eyes as they slightly widened in recognition.

That scowl and barely masked derision on his face had stirred something distant in Gojo's memory, but the whole image remained blurry. Until you introduced him as well, piercing all the pieces.

"This is Zenin Naoya. My..."

Naoya didn't appreciate your pause and flashed an arrogant smirk.

"Her fiancé."

Zenin.

Right. Of course.

The surname that was such a frequent guest at all the gatherings Gojo used to attend. He felt an immediate wave of repulsion towards that prick, but managed to mask it with a slightly narrowed gaze, simply out of respect for you.

Gojo heard a lot about the Zenins back then, when his piece carried some value in his parents' game. Even now, some rumours still managed to reach him, despite all the efforts.

If any of them were true about the young Zenin heir…

Fiancé.

Gods. He put all the details — your empty stares, self-deprecating jokes, occasional flinches, even the earlier reaction to his compliment to your drawing — with terrifying clarity.

Puzzles finally slotted into the frame that your fiancé forced you into. Everything made sense now.

Quickly closing his eyes to compose himself, Gojo immediately opened them, forced by the hesitance in your tone.

"You should've met at the board's meeting, I suppose," your gaze flickered nervously between Gojo and Naoya in an attempt to quickly assess the surroundings. The air was growing thicker with each passing second: the whispers around rose in frequency, while Gojo's gaze narrowed even more deadly, and Naoya's smirk turned maliciously sharper.

The muscle in Gojo's jaw tightened.

"It's always a great opportunity to meet another member of the respected clan," Naoya tilted his head just a tad, but the harsh look in his eyes didn't melt even for a second. "Even though he somehow busied my little dove so much, she forgot to check her phone, huh?"

The scene he would certainly cause you later flashed before your eyes. You managed to offer some apologetic murmur before Naoya cut you off with a single word.

"Quiet."

Wordlessly, you dropped your gaze. One word shaped you into a person so meek that you barely resembled the woman Gojo slowly came to know.

His blood boiled at the sight, but the look he gave Naoya was enough to freeze hell.

"Can't say the same, Zenin."

Naoya stilled. His smirk slowly wavered, but then a low, amused chuckle left him, followed by the words dipped in poison.

"Oh? I suppose other respected clans didn't care about teaching their heirs proper manners, did they, Satoru-kun?"

The crowd around went completely silent, as if someone stole their voices. Even the sounds of pagers and rhythmic taps on the keyboard quietened. A few glares landed on you, and you could already hear your colleagues clicking their tongues in annoyance.

Again, never directed at Naoya.

Nothing changed in Gojo's face as he simply raised his chin and drawled with an infuriating smirk, "Have you learnt any before talking to your future wife, huh?"

Your head snapped immediately at the sound of his voice. Your lips parted to force some excuse.

You had none.

As well as Naoya.

His cheeks paled in an instant, but the tips of his ears blushed pink. No wonder — another humiliation from a man, let alone a man, defending you.

That act of disgrace Naoya couldn't bear.

Seething inside, he surprisingly gently tugged you closer and whispered, "We'll talk about it later, sweetheart."

As Gojo watched your figures retreat, he caught the wide-eyed gaze you sent him over your shoulder, full of so much remorse, that it twisted something violently in his chest.

@alygator77 @man1cslut @p3talswayingindesun @xunquish-blog @mitchskiii @anothergojostan @cridtiins @gyarujo @aurievalley @alebrasil0101 @nanahach1 @renfangirls247 @secretsofchance @kranktruther @megumuro @angierb05 @wgucigu @erenyeagerflatass @dazaisdogsblog @sauraaaa @tbzzluvr @ayookeikooo @kanekisheart @fisusaurus @yoonmindds @anujah9 @ikeirrr @little-precious-baby

a/n: ik this part is not very big on events, still i like it :) comments and reblogs are appreciated, let me know your thoughts!

Maybe he noticed that you returned from the hospital happier than usual. Your softened voice grated on his nerves, and your dreamy gaze only sharpened his. Honed his tongue to the way it left more and more wounds.

As if you weren't berating yourself for even thinking about another man. As if you didn't force your gaze to tear apart from Gojo at first. To keep your mouth shut. To gather your bearings and lock your heart with the key thrown away to the ocean depths. To shut Nitta's and Miwa's whispers with sharp glances. To stand your ground as the endless blue threatened to swallow you whole.

Either way, you were torn between your actual feelings and things you were supposed to feel.

That day wasn't particularly sunshine and rainbows: from a kid with an asthma attack to very vigilant parents, insisting on vaccine shots conspiracy. Your smile turned more strained with every word, and your left eye almost twitched at "how much are you paid per shot?"

And that was only the morning.

"Kao, stop squirming! What will the doctor think of you?"

The boy, a 5-year-old Kao-kun, who was supposed to have his hearing examined, fell on deaf ears to his mother's pleading words (not literally, as you hoped, standing with an otoscope beside the kid).

"I am so sorry, Doc, I don't know what's gotten into him," Kao-kun's mother, Nakata-san, offered you an apologetic, forced smile, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy towards her.

"It's completely fine, Nakata-san. Kids don't usually like these sorts of things," smiling warmly back at the lady, you briefly patted her arm in support. Nakata-san only pressed her lips into a thin line and opened her purse to fish a handkerchief to dab on her forehead.

The sudden April heatwave enveloped Japan in its suffocating embrace. Heat clung to skin in rivulets of sweat, and people fought for every sliver of shade, not to mention the usual humidity — the feeling of your blouse sticking to your back set your overstimulated brain on fire even more, but you didn't have the right to complain.

Poor Nakata-san, meanwhile, murmured in despair and sighed, shaking her head, "He's usually such a nice, smart boy. We started to teach him Hiragana a couple of weeks ago, just like in that handout you gave us, Doc. Oh, I have it, wait a minute, —"

The woman started to browse through her endless purse again, but you interrupted her softly, glancing briefly at the clock. Ten minutes were left before the next appointment, and Kao-kun seemed way more interested in the poster of the giant green cactus Sabo-san, a chair named Kosshi and…Inai Inai Baa.

The corners of your mouth twitched with a bright grin.

Of course.

"Hey, Kao-kun," drawling playfully, you waved at the poster. "Do you like Inai Inai Baa?"

The boy's voice rose to a high-pitched tone as he nodded enthusiastically, "Yes!"

You clapped happily, hoping to match Kao-kun and beamed at the kid, "You want to play Peekaboo?"

The boy practically jumped out of his seat, and Nakata-san hurried to shush him, only for you to gently stop her with a knowing look. She stopped in her tracks, blinking a couple of times; as the realisation dawned on her, the woman sent you a conspiring wink.

"Kao-kun, I am gonna look for Inai Inai Baa in your ears," as you finally had the kid's attention, he looked up and hung on your every word, "Will you help me — "

You barely finished the sentence as the boy shouted happily, his toothy grin on full display:

"Yes, yes, yes!"

The sight dispersed the gloomy clouds in your mind like the brightest sunray.

Kao-kun helped you to spot the dog, Wanwan, every time he barked into the boy's ear, and you discreetly wiped your forehead as you finished the examination and put the data into the kid's medical record.

"Doc, you're the best!" Nakata-san pressed her palm to her chest, thanking you sincerely. Kao-kun eyed the bowl of lollipops on your table as his mother kept talking about the school they were about to choose. Stiffling a warm chuckle, you nodded at the bowl.

"Help yourself, Kao-kun, don't be shy."

The boy beamed and hurriedly thanked you, urged by his mother on the way out of your office. He was already too fascinated with the sweet and colourful cartoon sticker inside, but dutifully listened to his mom. You waved back with a laugh.

"Take care!"

When you finally had two minutes for yourself, you fished a small handy fan. As it always happened in the most inconvenient times, the climate control in your office decided it certainly had enough and retired after a long period of duty. The facility manager grumbled that the equipment hadn't been modernised in a long time, glaring at you as if you were the sole reason for that decision. You highly suspected your beloved fiancé (to be precise, his family) of being in charge of it. Yet, somehow, the one on the receiving blade of occasional pointed glances and hushed whispers was usually you. No wonder: Naoya had a knack for charming everyone under his spell.

And you were just…you. Your presence, so tethered to his, didn't help the situation either. Mostly, that didn't bother you: little patients adored you, while parents paid their respects — after all, that mattered the most.

One of the nurses kindly informed you that the next appointment had been cancelled. That rare occasion had you raise your brows in a mild surprise, which later turned into a fleeting moment of joy: since it was the last appointment before the day hospital's checks, you could go there earlier and later hurry to the little cafe near the hospital. The cold kiwi lemonade had been quietly haunting your mind since the moment you stepped into your office.

"How are you feeling today, Rika-chan?"

"Better now!"

The little girl with two pigtails stilled as you checked her throat and discreetly let out a sigh of relief as you turned to her mother with good news.

"I think Rika-chan is going to be discharged soon," muttering under your breath as you flipped the papers, you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of happy Okami-san. "Cephalexin 20 mg…yeah, that's right. I'll see you tomorrow at the final examination, Rika-chan!"

The girl eagerly nodded, hugging her Kuromi plushie, and your chuckle morphed into a warm laugh.

Walking out of room 626, you hurried to the last patient of the day. Knocking softly at the door, you couldn't help the low roaring of your pulse in your head. Your grip on the chart tightened, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.

Gojo was engrossed in his phone, thumbs flying over the screen, and cast occasional glances at Megumi, who was quietly drawing in the corner. The black crayon wandered over the paper; judging by Megumi's brows, knitted in concentration, and the peeked out tongue, he was more than focused. Your gift, a little plushie dog, alongside a giant toad, guarded Megumi's peace like loyal knights.

Another warm sunray crept through the clouds.

Too absorbed in his own little world, the kid didn't notice you. Contrary to his uncle, whose ears immediately perked up at the sound of the doors creaking. A bright grin spread on Gojo's handsome face at the sight of your slightly hesitant form — you had to blink a couple of times just to reassure yourself that you weren't dreaming — before he sent you a conspiratorial wink with his finger on his mouth and pointed at the boy.

Pressing your lips into a thin line so as not to burst with laughter, you closed the door as quietly as you could. What was a paediatrician without a little whimsy?

"Hey, Megumi-chan," Gojo drawled in an overly obnoxious manner, earning Megumi's unimpressed look. Gojo's grin turned even brighter. "What are you drawing out there?"

Megumi's grip on the crayon tightened, and he mumbled back, finally sneaking a glance at you, "I am not finished yet."

Gojo wasn't quite satisfied with his nephew's answer and leaned over to peek at the table, only for Megumi to snatch the drawing from his uncle's nosy gaze.

"Come on, Gumibear —"

The boy's ears went pink at the humiliation that Gojo was bestowing upon him with a mere nickname, and the glare he sent his uncle was nothing but murderous. "I told you not to call me that!"

"Careful, Megs, your anger level is wa-a-ay above your daily norm, ouch!"

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, but a few chuckles left your lips nonetheless.

Gojo slumped back in his chair with a theatrical groan, resting his palm on his forehead like a damsel in distress; his biceps flexed with each movement in a white t-shirt.

Well, it was really hot.

You allowed yourself a second of gawking before eventually stepping to Megumi's side.

"Can I have a look, Megumi-kun?"

Megumi's eyes briefly flicked between you and the drawing he clutched close to his chest before he shrugged, "I still have to finish it."

Peeking at Gojo, you saw the amusement dancing in his bright blue gaze. So, it was a yes.

"Had a rough day?"

Your hands on the pulse oximeter stilled for a moment. Megumi's eyelashes fluttered with a tiny fractured breath. Gojo's casual words sent your heart stammeting against your ribs like a trapped bird; however, you forced yourself to focus and didn't tear your gaze away until you saw the result.

"Saturation is still not good."

Gojo, who hovered over you, knitted his brows in concern and opened his mouth to ask you something when Megumi's exhausted voice tugged on your heartstrings.

"You put a mask on me, right?"

The movement of your throat was sharp as you swallowed and exchanged glances with Gojo. He pressed his lips in a thin line and gave you a silent nod, urging you to continue.

"It's nothing bad, Megumi-kun." Your hand, warm and pleasant, rested on the boy's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. A deep frown crossed over his features as Megumi murmured in a barely audible voice.

"You are always saying that."

After another worried glance shared with Gojo, you kneeled before the boy's bed and put your mask down, so he could see you better.

"I promise you it won't hurt you. Besides, your uncle and I will be with you all the time." Even turned away from Gojo, you could feel the light grin already tugging on the corner of his mouth. The boy's eyes flicked between you and Gojo, and after seconds of inner debating, his posture relaxed just a tad, and he grumbled.

"I suppose it's okay then."

Your chest suspiciously tightened as you watched Megumi's small fingers twitch in Gojo's hold. His shades were gone, offering you an unobstructed look at the blue of his eyes, simmering with concern, framed by the snow of his lashes.

Casting your gaze back down at the boy, you concentrated on the task.

"He's slowly getting better," a soft, reassuring murmur left your lips as your gaze lingered on Megumi, who dozed off, exhausted after all the procedures. Then it landed on Gojo, driven by some unknown force. His hand hovered over the boy's shoulders — strangely unsure for a man like him — and finally drifted down to tuck Megumi's blanket in clumsily.

"I hope so."

His hesitant whisper stirred something deeply buried. Before the ever-present tentativeness could consume you, your hand settled on Gojo's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The contact made your fingers twitch with an unexpected urge to dig them deeper into the muscled skin. The heat immediately coloured your cheeks; a fleeting thought of yanking your hand away crossed your mind, but it was too late and impolite.

Gojo stilled beneath your touch and slowly turned around. The blue of his eyes held you captive in their waves, but his small, gentle smile gave you a much-needed breath of fresh air.

Only to take it back with a casual brush of the long fingers, subtly grazing your hand. A fragile, aching in its delicateness, flower bloomed quietly between you.

Soon, Gojo's ringtone dispelled the strange air. You discreetly shook your head in a skimpy attempt to get rid of the image of the man beside you, now talking quietly to someone on the phone. His lips widened into a smile so bright and unadulterated, it transformed his face into something…angelic.

Naoya's disdainful scowl from the morning emersed in your exhausted mind, no matter how hard you tried to drown it.

Gojo shot you a sidelong glance — seemingly relentless to decipher a look of somberness on your face — on your way to the elevator.

He couldn't quite put a finger on the sudden feeling the bags under your eyes evoked in him.

Your fingers came to fiddle with your chain as you worried your bottom lip. Then your hand limply fell at the absence.

Yeah. Right.

Gojo's eyes followed your gesture, but you seemed so hollowed out, as the life had been suddenly sucked out of you, that he didn't think of anything better than to blurt out, "Wanna have a coffee?"

Eyes widening, you stilled completely. That man, Gojo, who looked like a secret the morning tentatively shared, a kiss of the rosy sunset on your skin, and a whisper of a mystical night, had asked you out?

Or were you imagining things? Was he just bored? Polite?

At first, a usual thought of waving a man who somehow had his mind hazy enough to look at you immediately crossed your mind. A hot wave of panic flooded you like a strong ocean. The need to flee somewhere, just not to stay under Gojo's piercing blue gaze, ordered a retreat already. You almost opened your mouth to offer a moot excuse, with Naoya's presence looming over you even miles away, and…

Abruptly closed it.

The sparkle of rebellious flame surged high and slowly devoured the gnawing hesitance.

Your silence gave Gojo quite an unambiguous sign. His smile wavered for a moment, taking a bitter edge, and he stepped back, raising his arms in surrender.

"Oh, I am sorry, you might think I want to hit on you or whatever, but it's just so hot —"

You cut him off with a shrug too quick and a grin too sharp. "Sure. Why not?"

Surprised, Gojo blinked before tilting his head as the boyish grin slowly made its way back on his handsome face.

"Lead the way, Doc."

For a moment, you weighed all the options on the inner scales: the hospital cafeteria was immediately off the limits — even the walls had ears there, as well as a popular cafe just around the corner. The possibility of someone grassing you up to Naoya rose tenfold.

Yet, you had something on mind.

"Meet me in ten minutes near the entrance."

A content hum and a theatrical salute were your answers.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Mentally thanking yourself for filling out daycare forms in advance, and the raging flu that knocked Yaga out, which saved you from the lunch meetings, you set the world record for changing out of the scrubs and hurried to the elevator.

The hospital still buzzed with worried patients and exhausted doctors. You craned your neck to see a familiar spark of frosty hair outside, and your pulse roared in your head at the sight of the tall man, leaning on the wall with a casual air of confidence.

Smoothing down your sundress — for some unknown reason — you hurried out.

"Hi!"

Gojo was looking somewhere past the crowd, a melancholic smile playing on his lips, and your words made him abruptly turn to you with a messy white fringe falling over his forehead. His smile dipped into something warm as he took you in.

"You're not in scrubs, it's the first!" An airy chuckle left Gojo as you led the way to the small cafe, nestled between towers of the enormous business centre, and a flower shop. To your surprise, Gojo immediately fell into step with you; Naoya never bothered to wait for you. You had always been expected to catch up to him, no matter what. "Nice dress."

Warm spring air caressed you both with delicate touches. The pink sundress you wore — Naoya raised his brow in the morning and mused whether you were dressed for work or a playground — licked the soft skin of your thighs with every step. Gojo sincerely tried not to gawk at the legs of his nephew's doctor (wait, was it a breach of ethics? He sincerely hoped no), but it became increasingly difficult.

Luckily, you stopped near the small, cosy coffee shop just before his feigned nonchalance would've morphed into something more scorching.

"Here we are!"

The scents of cinnamon and peppermint immediately hit his senses, mixed with the drumming sounds of an espresso machine and the faint hum of the climate control. The sudden temperature difference caused you to blow a lone strand of hair that escaped your ponytail off your face, and a whiff of your fresh perfume (albeit with a strong sense of antiseptic clinging to you like a second skin — once a doctor, always a doctor) sent his pulse drumming quietly.

Just when Gojo wondered if you felt at least something too, your shoulder lightly brushed against his. He didn't know what to do, because even the touch like that was enough for something to stir in his chest. So he just stilled, and let his gaze unabashedly drift over the delicate line of your neck as you studied something through the display.

Perfect.

"Recommendations are accepted," clearing his throat, Gojo waved at the arrays of pastries and rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn. Might as well order everything."

The look of pure confusion and something suspiciously similar to awe on his face earned a quiet laugh from you.

"Uhm, I usually like those chocolate-filled croissants," you murmured, hesitantly pointing at the pastry that looked like it had just descended from the famous French boulangeries. "Sometimes I take a tiramisu or a panacotta. Their strawberry-filled mochis are absolutely to die for!"

Beside you, Gojo went completely rigid. You felt the usual fear that you might've fucked something up — nothing new, but something inside you wished Gojo would be kind enough to let it slide — but then he turned around.

"I love mochis!" He breathed out not even with enthusiasm — a playful reverence coloured his tone. His eyes sparkled even brighter.

You briefly discussed other desserts displayed, and you complimented the ones shaped like fruits ("Actually, very close to Cédric Grolet's!"), before you attempted to grab your wallet from the purse and… met a disappointed nothingness. You sulked a bit and stepped back in the line before the barista would glare daggers at you, giving Gojo an apologetic shrug.

"I forgot my wallet, so this time I am just gonna —" You glanced around the cafe. "Wander around, I guess."

Gojo blinked and shook his head with an airy chuckle, pulling his wallet out, "You're so funny."

Your smile briefly faltered. Nevertheless, you forced it to stay plastered.

"I know, yeah."

A light frown flickered across Gojo's face, but before he could even form a question, the barista, a young, lively girl, greeted him with a joyous chirp.

"Good afternoon, what can I get you today?"

Flashing a charming grin, Gojo slightly leaned over and pointed at the pastry with a low purr, "Hello. I would like to have a caramel latte and that whole set of fruit desserts. A box of strawberry mochi and two — no, wait, three chocolate croissants for takeaway."

"Noted," the girl nodded as the light pink tinged her cheeks at the sight of Gojo. Well, no wonder. "Anything else?"

"Make the latte really sweet. And whatever this lady wants, of course." With that, Gojo finally leaned back and waved at the pastries as if he had baked them all by himself, "My treat, Doc."

Completely stunned, you just huffed an unsure laugh, "No, Gojo, it's okay, I am just —"

"Please," Gojo's voice lost all the cockiness just for a second, offering you a peek of the man beneath the facade. "Do me a favour. You showed me this place, after all."

A strange kind of fog clogged your mind as you watched Gojo casually take out his black card. You murmured something about a kiwi lemonade.

He ended up buying another yearly supply of sweets for you as well.

Gojo flipped his wallet, and a photo tucked inside — him hugging a couple of kids — immediately caught your attention. Judging by a grumpy scowl on one of the children's faces, you successfully deduced the boy to be Megumi. And the girl with a shy grin, showing a peace sign, should've been his sister, Tsumiki.

A flicker of warmth sparkled in your chest as your lips twitched in a smile.

Shifting your gaze just a tad, you noticed Gojo's business card peeking out from the photo. Your best attempt at squinting at it wasn't successful, but the sight of his surname in a bold business font awoke something in your mind.

You certainly heard it. Maybe Naoya once happened to drop it during dinner? Or some hushed pieces of gossip finally reached you at the numerous Zenins' gatherings?

The image of Naoya stubbornly kept surfacing in your mind, no matter how hard you tried to bury it under the pretence of nonchalance towards a certain white-haired man. The mere thought of your future husband finding out about your little detour sent a fresh wave of fear through you.

God. What the hell were you doing?!

Swallowing, you briefly mused about fleeing, but the force that seemed to be stronger than the gravity itself — attraction, blending with recklessness — chained you to the chair right in front of Gojo.

Damn him. You felt like a butterfly pinned to a board by the sharpness of his gaze.

"What's bothering you?"

Forcefully blinking yourself back into reality, you sent Gojo a confused, apologetic smile, "Nothing much."

"Come on, Doc," he prompted, resting his chin on the palm. Almost half of the caramel latte in front of him was gone, as well as a peach-shaped dessert. Yours still rested untouched on the plate. "You've been hypnotising that poor peach for a solid five minutes."

You nervously twirled a straw between your fingers. Shit. You didn't even notice it. And with Gojo staring at you, his brow lazily arched, you decided to opt for a half-truth.

"Your surname. Where could I hear it?"

Gojo's grin withered a little before taking a strained edge. Just a fleeting second for everyone else, but if sharing a roof with Naoya had taught you anything, it was attunement to other people's senses. So, you just waved your hands in surrender.

"I didn't mean to intrude, sorry. Forget it."

The sincerity of your gaze softened the sudden harshness of Gojo's features and the rigidness in his shoulders. You indeed were just… curious.

He shook his head with a light chuckle, "No worries. My family is quite well-known. Limitless, maybe you heard it?"

Eyed widening, you almost spluttered the poor kiwi lemonade.

"Limitless? You mean that big company in advanced robotics and technology?"

Well, that surely explained why he spent so much time with Megumi at the hospital. Nepo babies weren't used to working a lot, judging by Naoya.

Gojo gave you a lazy nod and took a bite of another pastry, looking somewhere past you at the bustling Tokyo streets, and dropped off-handedly.

"Yeah. But I am not a big fan of boring meetings, reports and presentations."

Something in his tone suggested that it wasn't a single reason.

You just prompted gently, "What are you doing then?"

Gojo's smile turned relaxed.

"I am a restaurant owner."

Stunned, you paused with a spoon halfway through, "What? That's so cool!"

Laughing warmly, he confirmed again, "Yep. Three in Tokyo, one in Kyoto, and…," he leaned over with a suspicious look and whispered loudly, sending you a wink, "planning to open in Yokohama as well. But that's a secret just for you."

A light chuckle left you as your face heated up from the sudden proximity. You quickly cast your gaze down on the plate, cutting through a delicious treat.

"So, where are they? Maybe we, sorry, I —," you corrected yourself immediately, earning a slow, curious tilt of Gojo's head, "visited them?"

He only dropped one name, but the mere mention of that restaurant had you staring at him in shock, eyes sparkling with excitement. A dollop of soft cream was smudged over your chin, but in your contagious joy, you never really noticed. The blue of Gojo's gaze softened into a warm breeze, embracing you in a tender gale.

"Really? Is that one in Ginza, a rooftop bar? God, I've been dying to visit it! That grilled red squid with herbs? Damn," gesturing animatedly, you quickly explained at Gojo's curious glance, "I had a bit at a family gathering. And let me tell you," now it was your turn to lean in with a conspirational whisper, "it was the best thing in that evening."

Despite Gojo's attempts to compose himself, his grin widened even more as he asked, "So, why haven't you visited it yet? I mean, you look pretty happy talking about it."

Your own smile slowly faded at Gojo's ask, and the unsure curl of your shoulder that followed immediately didn't go unnoticed.

Naoya's dismissive words sparkled brightly in your mind again, and you waved them as best as you could. Hugging the empty cup with your lemonade, you attempted to joke weakly, "Didn't have enough time. You know, hospital, shifts, meetings."

Gojo's lazy drumming slowed a little before coming to a complete halt. A warm feeling cracked in his chest at the memory of you attending Megumi.

"Ah, of course. Sorry for that. You are the busiest that I will ever be."

You weren't used to it. To someone listening to you with a genuine expression. To someone casually complimenting you. To someone including you in a conversation. As if you were worthy of someone's attention.

And that someone being Gojo caused a warm sun to rise in your hollowed soul.

So you resorted to the only thing familiar to you.

"Ah, it's nothing. I am just a paediatrician," offering a usual downplayed explanation, you didn't even notice the muscle in Gojo's jaw jump. Why were you doing it? "I mean, there are surgeons and — "

"You are joking, right? You are literally a doctor."

Gojo's incredulous tone caught you off guard. Shoulders dropping, your smile curled into a nervous, unsure scowl, while he went on.

"You're doing such a great job. I mean, all of that stuff, checking saturation, temperature, carrying all these charts, and, on top of that, working with kids! This is so cool."

A weird, scorching feeling coloured your cheeks. What was actually the last time you heard someone talking about you like that? All sincere, kind, and…warm?

The lump in your throat started to feel suspicious, and you took a shuddering breath in an attempt to accept Gojo's words with no usual overthinking, "I guess so. Kids are really cool."

Popping a spoonful of panna cotta in his mouth, Gojo hummed in acknowledgement.

"You're cooler. Do you like working with kids?"

For the second time, you were sharing a conversation, your smile widened, tone dipping into an affectionate tenderness, "Of course! I like seeing them smile as they finally get better. I love helping them to navigate through the world, especially knowing I can do that and make a difference! I want to make the start of their life easy and smooth. The rest of it may be shitty, but the childhood…"

Quiet steel crept into your voice, honing your tone.

"…the childhood is sacred."

Your eyes suddenly bore remembrance to black holes — swallowing Gojo in vast expanses of them. He stared, unblinking, and recalled that version of you on the lone evening. Smoking, laughing. Teasing.

Where was the line between that version of you and the shy doctor sitting in front of him, shrinking, lessening herself to fit some image Gojo hadn't deciphered yet? Who were you?

The truth might've hid amongst smiles, sincere, and too stretched to be genuine; glances, soft, and too pointed to offer truth; gestures, secretive, and too deep-seated to bear some meaning.

Gojo recalled your laugh as you talked about the damned grilled red squid. Maybe that version of you, that crept in the cracks of all the conversations you shared, was the real one?

He didn't know yet. But hell, he was determined to solve the mystery that his nephew's doctor was. With those sweet smiles. That sharp tongue. And that contagious laugh.

"Gojo? Are you listening?"

Okay. Perhaps he went into recalling a little bit too much.

He let his gaze wander over your features freely. "Yeah. You mentioned that kids usually don't like their ears checked. But honestly, what kid likes hospitals?"

Your shoulders shook with mirth as you shot him a quick, shy grin. Gojo felt his lips curling into a warm smile as well.

"Do you like working at that hospital?"

Twirling a straw, you stilled at his question. Then a deliberately calm shrug came as you glanced through the window.

"I like working with kids."

"That's not what I asked." Despite the warmth in his tone, you managed to notice an unusual heaviness lurking behind it. Nothing in Gojo, from the curious tilt of his head to the calmness in his blue gaze, revealed his true intentions.

Still. An assessing gleam that flashed in Gojo's eyes told you much more than he probably thought.

His fingers drummed against the table with barely concealed impatience. You mirrored his tilt and drawled hesitantly, "Could've been better, honestly. The department's director is constantly on our ears about financing and modernising the equipment. But, you know. Paediatrics isn't on the priority list."

Gojo hummed — a low, throaty sound that had you casting your gaze immediately down on your plate — and leaned in. His brows furrowed in frustration.

"Really?"

You mumbled something unintelligible as your shoulders curled inwards.

"But that doesn't make any sense," a murmur full of disbelief left him soon, addressing no one in particular, but rather musing aloud. "You're doing such an important thing, taking care of kids. I saw you running around like a Duracel rabbit, and this constant chaos. Yet you're doing such a great job! Especially with Megs. He likes you, you know? And he doesn't like doctors."

You leaned a bit with your chin cradled in your palm, looking out of the windows: some lady hurried to the cafe, barely catching up to her doggie, an adorable Pomeranian. The doorbell soon announced their entrance, followed by a cheerful bark.

"No wonder. He has a long story with them. I am afraid he just has to like me because I am a lady with masks and all that stuff."

"I am serious, Doc. Believe me," a small laugh followed his grin — you would've been damned if you didn't spot bitterness buried in it.

"I know when Megs feels…," Gojo pondered for a moment, looking for the right word. "Acceptable towards someone."

Now it was your turn to smile.

"He's not an easy kid," you murmured to Gojo after some time as you both watched the lady attending to her adorable, lively puppy. Gojo's grin widened for a second before settling back with heaviness too unfitting for the mask he usually wore.

"You can say so. They both went through…a lot."

You could only press your lips in sympathy. No matter how many tragedies you witnessed, each of them had left scars on you. Especially when you found out the reason Gojo adopted Megumi and Tsumiki.

Gojo didn't like to talk about it, but you gathered enough from the bits of conversations, information from Megumi's chart and heavy pauses between the words. Didn't press: one time, you saw Gojo examining the handout on how to help a kid process the grief, and noticed Gojo's gaze hardening into an iceberg.

So, you kept all assumptions safely catalogued in your head.

A heavy silence settled between you, interrupted only by excited yips of the Pomeranian, distant melodies of some indie song coming from the speakers, and the whirring of the cash register.

Hand drifting mindlessly to scratch an old scar, your fingers twitched with an indescribable urge to soothe Gojo's wounds as well. In the end, he lost his sister, too. And as shocked as he might've been, he had two distraught kids to bring up.

Did he have a chance to mourn her at all? Or just poured himself into the life that suddenly felt too enormous to fit into?

Judging by the distant waves of his gaze and the melancholy flickering over his face, too beautiful for all the sorrows, he didn't.

As much as you wanted to console him, to tell him that you hid scars like that as well, you couldn't bring yourself to do this. The lock on your heart was still impenetrable.

A bitter realisation, melting into a sour resentment that you didn't remember the last time you felt like that towards your fiancé, had your chest constricted with the weight of ache.

Instead, you tried not to dwell on it. Lifting your hand, your slightly trembling fingers grazed Gojo's hand across the table. A thick whisper followed.

"I am sorry."

Gojo's head immediately snapped up at the sound of your soft words. His eyes met yours in a moment of shared grief and quiet understanding — something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time.

A silent yearning to be seen hid in the desperate twitch of his fingers as they squeezed your palm in response.

He quickly masked that momentary weakness behind a frantic clearing of throat and a casual, too casual ask.

"You lost your chain?"

Frowning a bit, you shifted your gaze to the dip of your cleavage; a sudden, shaking breath followed as you gently pulled your hand back to touch the bare skin.

Naoya's words, full of malice and icy wrath, flashed behind your closed eyelids just as if he had been throwing them at you now. He was seething with ire that morning.

You just sat there: a silent witness to irritation consuming Naoya more and more. Mentally went through every place you visited, every corner rounded, and every room attended. Still, it had no sense at all.

The ring was gone.

"Yeah."

"It must've been important."

You gritted your teeth until the muscles in your jaws twitched. Slowly, you lifted your gaze and couldn't believe the next words that left your lips, "It's okay. Something that was meant to be mine would make its way back, right?"

Gojo's eyes widened a bit at the sudden declaration. A boyish grin curled on his lips as he just shrugged in response, "I guess so."

Just in time. An alarm on your phone not so kindly informed you that your lunch was over. Oh, how you wished that it could last a small eternity longer.

Did Gojo feel that as well?

Watching his tall figure retreat to a shop nearby, you thought about the warm sea that spilt in his irises, when you reminded him that you would meet again tomorrow.

And then, as the sudden gust of wind threw your hair back into your face, you realised when you heard Gojo's surname. The sound of it had become a frequent guest of all the Zenins' outraged discussions.

But…

What did that mean to you?

ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Darling?"

Your voice sounded hesitant in the car on the way to your parents' house.

Tearing his gaze from the streets of the Denenchofu neighbourhood, adorned with lush greenery, and the rows of houses, draped in elegance and serenity, Naoya quirked his brow at you in a silent question.

With a hasty breath, you twiddled with your bag. The damn binder kept evading you like on a cue. A quiet curse left your lips as you felt Naoya's patience wearing thinner and thinner with each flimsy attempt of yours. You heard the irritated click of his tongue just as you fished the folder. Handed it to your fiancé and watched boredom on his face morphing into vague surprise and… mild interest.

"What is it?"

"It's my — uhm, you know, it's something I am doodling while not busy and —"

Nayoa interrupted you with a sharp glance, "Quit babbling."

"Right. Sorry," forcing an apologetic grin, you folded your hands on your lap. "It's my sort of portfolio. Best of my works. I just — would like to know your opinion about that."

"And why do you want me to do this?"

"One of my patients' parents is an art dealer. He noticed some pictures in my office, and we exchanged a couple of words." Naoya's eyes narrowed at your revelation; you quickly corrected yourself, "That's it, I swear!"

"Quicker," he cut you off with a wave as if you were stealing minutes of his precious time.

Your gaze briefly flicked between your hands and the binder in his hands.

There it was. Something shaping as an opportunity to share with the rest of the world what your soul ached for and your eyes saw.

With a sharp exhale, you concluded, "Anyway, his gallery is searching for some new artists for the opening of a new exhibition. I thought — I thought I might give it a try." Your voice cracked at the last words.

A low, almost indifferent hum was all you got in response.

Breath bated, you intently watched Naoya slowly opening the folder and going through the pictures with deliberate scrupulousness. Head tilted, his gaze wandered over each line and stroke. You examined every minuscule twitch in his expression just to notice the fleeting movement of his eyebrows. Something resembling bewilderment flicked across his face.

A flash of excitement faintly sparkled within you.

Only for Naoya's bewilderment contorting into disbelief, masked by cold indifference.

"You drew it?"

A glance at his face didn't stir anything suspicious in you, so you slowly nodded, lips curling into a nervous smile.

His gaze darted to your makeshift portfolio once again. And then a smirk — a quick twitch of his lips — followed. As cruel as his love for you was.

"Don't you have something more important to do than simply wasting your time?"

The splendour of excitement faded within you into a dim flare. Your smile wavered as you breathed out, "I don't under— understand."

Your distress only fed Nayoa's ego even more. He carelessly tossed the portfolio back on your lap and drawled in mock sympathy, leaning closer.

"Aw, my poor dove. You are not born yesterday, aren't you? Still so innocent and full of naive dreams. You should've known better already."

Your grip on the poor binder tightened. The wrinkled, beaming face of your little patient caught your attention; but despite the usual reluctant acceptance of his words, you felt another match put to a growing flame inside.

Raising your chin a little, you noticed with a grim satisfaction that Naoya was slightly taken aback.

"Should know better what exactly?"

His smirk sharpened into a ruthless blade.

"That the world doesn't care about the wishes of innocent little doves like you, my darling." For all your desperate attempts to stand your ground, your heart sank to your stomach. Disappointment and your own failure buzzed in your tired mind, bearing Naoya's taunting voice.

"You think that guy really wanted these drawings of yours? Oh, darling, please. He probably was just polite. After all, you are the one who can write a slightly wrong prescription for his kid out of spite and —"

Cheeks flaring at the entendre in his voice, you blinked in shock, "What? I would never in my life do that!"

Naoya peacefully hold his hands out.

"Just saying, dove. I only want the best for you." Naoya's hand came to pinch your chin as he let his gaze roam over your face. Then a fake concern flashed on his face — you lifted a heavy gaze on your fiancé. "Saving you from an inevitable disappointment. No need to worry that pretty little head of yours about anything."

And then his tone deceived you into pretending sweetness, "You said you were bored?"

You answered it with an unblinking stare, which Naoya interpreted in his own way. As usual.

"Maybe it's high time for you to step into the wedding preparations. All I hear is endless chirping about napkins and lilies and the size of your obi sash. Why don't you join it? And while musing, maybe at least try to look for your engagement ring."

With that derisive scowl, your future husband leaned over to order something for your driver. And like that, the conversation ended.

Just like your pitiful attempts to become something that you weren't. A sandcastle that you carefully built crumbled in your hands, putting all your dillusions to an end.

Naive, little dove.

That was who you were, right?

Ache travelled down your cheeks in briny tears. They hit the pieces of your heart in lines and sketches, smudging them with sadness.

As the car finally stopped in front of a big house, screaming about quiet luxury, you quickly wiped all the signs of your life quietly falling apart. And when you stepped out of the car with your hand resting leisurely in the crook of Naoya's elbow, your smile only painted the image of a happy fiancée and a nice daughter.

The portfolio in the depths of your bag told another story.

For all the heavy air and weight of disappointment following your every step like an ominous shadow, you still preferred home walls to the bars of the Zenins' cage.

At least, you were in your territory.

Naoya had never been particularly interested in stepping into that place — perhaps he regarded it as settling to your level — but much to your surprise, he always accompanied you.

Deep down, you were well aware of the true reason; it was neither his affection nor understanding. Oh, no. Quite the opposite.

Your home greeted you with polite indifference.

If it had a face, you were sure it would wear the same expressionless look you often witnessed on your parents. A deep-buried bitterness surged inside at the sight of framed photos, depicting your family. The main guest was always their most beloved child — their business, its numerous triumphs and accomplishments. Its presence had always gnawed on you at the dinner table and hovered over, akin to a skilful executioner, with the axe of their expectations behind the back.

It was a competition you could never win.

As wounding as that realisation was, you swallowed it and every sharp remark to come.

After all, those crumbs were better than facing the silence.

Your mother joyously trilled something to Naoya, who listened to her with a mild interest. You were well aware that was the closest to politeness he was able to muster. As a lot of men tended to be, your future husband had never been keen on participating in "women's useless prattle".

But not as your father studied him with a scrutiny too unfitting for someone so blazenly indifferent.

At least, that was what you believed him to be.

Because lately, every time you stole a glance at your father as he talked to Naoya, you couldn't help but notice a mocking sparkle in his eyes. As if Naoya entertained him by the mere fact of his existence. You silently wondered if he was able to sense it, because your fiancé's attempts to earn his future father-in-law's approval were met with a quick grin and a curt nod more and more.

Of course, it wounded Naoya's pride and ego. Everyone had to be enamoured with your fiancé; a few tailored compliments and seemingly soft glances were usually enough. Naoya never bothered himself trying too much, though, just because he initially treated people like someone to use and discard later.

The only exception was you at the start of your relationships. He woven himself into your life with late-night strolls, dinners at the expensive restaurants, attentive gestures, and charming smiles. Until he made sure you were on the hook of his affection and in a constant state of craving more. Playing with you, testing the limits of your obedience and his own vanity, gave him a cruel sense of satisfaction.

Either way, some flattery and asking for business advice didn't fascinate your father into actually accepting Naoya. Sometimes your fiancé's disappointment and anger burst into spiteful remarks directed at you, although they quickly morphed into distant rambles as he understood how pathetic he might've looked. Trying to earn respect from the man who was supposed to give it to him on a silver platter.

If there was one thing you were certain about Naoya, that was his absolute despise to being looked down on.

You didn't know what game your father was playing — it might be just another mind game or whatever it was called in terms of business — but you enjoyed it inwardly nonetheless.

The clink of silvery cutlery followed soon after the usual exchanges among the whispers of pristine tablecloth and rivers of elite alcohol. Nayoa's shoulder brushed against yours every time he reached for whiskey. The gradual rise of his pitch matched the growing annoyance within you. You politely waved the maid every time she walked to your side with a glass.

"Ah, darling," your mother's cheeks were already painted red from numerous portions of Roku gin. Otherwise, she wouldn't be as kind as now. "Why don't you try this Roku gin? Torii-sama sent us the premium Sakura Bloom Edition, might as well try one!"

Your mother paused to pop a cherry in her mouth. Then her eyes comically widened as she shared a few curious glances with your aunties, earning tipsy giggles. Naoya's jaw tightened. "Your fiancé might not like your drinking! Silly me."

Your plastered smile twitched for a moment before you let a fake saccharine chuckle and nodded wordlessly. You knew better after the last gathering in the Zenins' estate.

Unknown to you, not only did Naoya watch you like a master, seeing his doll take the stage for the first time, but so did your father. His calm expression wavered for a moment before a usual mask slotted back into place.

"Darling." All the voices quietened as your father spoke up. Your grip on the fork tightened as you braced yourself and slowly dragged your eyes to meet his gaze, spine involuntarily straightening under its weight.

"Father?"

"Tell us about your…work," the last word left your father rather hesitantly as he absent-mindedly twirled a lavish whiskey glass between his fingers. Saying that surprised you would be an understatement: your work, the path you chose, instead of becoming another cog in their enormous corporate machine, had long been a touchy subject in your family. Your becoming a doctor was acceptable. But a paediatrician? It evoked a couple of arguments, but that was the most you could have ever received. From that moment, your profession hid between the pauses in conversations and was swept under the rug like a useless mention.

The voices around the table came to a complete halt, and even the lone clink of your cousin's spoon against the plate sounded shocked.

Trying to ignore the bewildered glances and especially the pointed glare of your fiancé at the lack of attention to his superb persona, you smiled corteously, "Thank you for asking, father. Everything is going nicely, and the kids are as healthy as they can be. Well, you know them. You don't keep an eye on them, and the next thing you do is blow on their scraped knees."

The table remained ominously silent after your attempted little joke. You cleared your throat and carried on, feeling Naoya piercing daggers into you.

"And, uhm, our department's well-financed, surprisingly! I suppose it's Naoya's achievement. He's on the board of the shareholders, if someone doesn't know," you hastily added. The paediatrics department was buzzing with a new juicy piece of gossip, exchanging knowing looks and conspirational whispers. Just like that, your fiancé once again bathed in the glory and adoration.

Meanwhile, you weren't even completely sure he actually showed up to those meetings.

Naoya straightened a little in his seat, sending a sleazy smirk to one of your distant relatives. Her cheeks went red immediately as she cast her gaze down on the plate.

"Yeah, dove is right." Naoya's speech had long already been slurred from the alcohol, straining his breath. Your jaw twitched with effort not to grimace as it fanned over your cheek. "No wonder they had such a big problem with money. I mean, they are looking after kids. Not even real doctors, if you catch my drift."

You were so shocked and astounded that you couldn't utter a single word.

"What?" Naoya shrugged indifferently as his gaze swept across the table to notice that some people were stunned as well. He quirked a brow at you. "You said it yourself, honey. That you felt so stupid talking to surgeons sometimes."

The humiliation snaked immediately in your chest and sank its teeth into your heart, until you bled quietly on the pristine white in front of you. The silver of the fine clutter caught light, showing you a reflection of smirking Naoya, even more distorted. Your grip on it tightened, but you still played your role, sending your father a jarred grin.

However, he looked past you. His brows knitted together in confusion and something suspiciously looking like seething anger. Shivers ran down your spine as your father finally muttered.

"And who do you consider a real doctor, Naoya?"

Naoya's smirk slowly wavered before vanishing completely; his cheeks went from painfully pale to slightly pink in a span of seconds, and for a death cup like him, it equated to a crimson bloom.

Clearing his throat, your future husband threw pointed glances at you.

You remained indifferent to his silent pleas.

The sight of your fiancé, trying to make his way out of a frying pan, brought a strange kind of contentment. You hid your smirk behind the glass.

He parted his lips to answer, only to be interrupted by the maid. She bowed in an apology, saying someone was calling you,

"That must be some parent. Excuse me," you quickly stood up and hurried to another room. Ah. You wished you could see Naoya humiliating himself in front of your family a bit longer. However, you still managed to mouth "thank you" to your father, who answered you with a quick nod.

Parents' calling you all the time wasn't anything sort of an usual, but seeing Gojo appearing on your screen sent your heart stammering against your ribs. Was something wrong with Megumi? Did he feel bad again? You were just about to discharge him and —

Before the wave of overthinking consumed you, you accepted the call, thumb hesitating over the button for a few seconds longer than needed.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Doc. I am so sorry to interrupt you, really. You must be busy," Gojo chuckled nervously. You noticed with a frown that his low voice had lost its usual smoothness: he sounded genuinely… worried. You had to cut off his words before they would turn into rambling.

"Don't worry. What happened? Is Megumi alright?"

"Megs is fine, it's —," a loud bark interrupted your conversation, earning a distressed groan from Gojo. "Shiro, for the love of God! Stop that!"

The dog's barks — as you presumed, Shiro's — grew even louder, and in a couple of seconds, playful yips followed as well.

"Kuro, no, I can't play with you right now!"

As much as you would've enjoyed that chaos in every other situation, your voice took on an urgent edge, calling for Gojo's attention back.

"Gojo, I need you to focus. What's wrong?"

The sounds of the crisis on the other side of the call quietened a little, and you could finally feel Gojo's voice, coming in a nervous breath, "It's Tsumiki."

"Okay. Is she nauseous? Has a temperature? Diarrhoea? Pale, blotchy skin?"

"She threw up a couple of times. We've been at the new place near their school, and then went to an amusement park. Yeah, wrong move, I know. No diarrhoea, no. A little bit pale, though." Gojo huffed nervously. You briefly imagined him carding fingers through his hair — you picked that habit of his during Megumi's admission.

Shaking your head, you interrupted Gojo again.

"What did she eat? Did you give her some meds?"

"She had a poke bowl with tuna. Pepsi. Sugar-free, if that's important. Cotton candy. I think it's cotton candy. It should be cotton candy, 'cause we all had those damn poke bowls. Honestly, it was too sweet, even for me."

Gojo's voice turned too distant all of a sudden. You figured he was checking on Tsumiki, given the worried edge in his tone. "We went home, and I gave her Pedialyte."

"Oh, that's great. You did right, actually. She should drink a lot and have plenty of rest."

"Dunno, Doc. She's not looking very good, and I —" A deep, sharp exhale that followed twisted something in your heart.

Swallowing nervously, you tightened your grip on the phone. "I'll check on her. Just send your address. I'll be there as soon as possible."

Gojo kept silent for some time, until you heard his quiet, strangely hesitant voice. "You sure? I don't want to interrupt whatever you might have, it's a Friday evening, after all. I can call an ambulance every time."

Already putting on your light coat, you gently murmured, "No, it's okay. Don't worry about it."

"I'll send my assistant after you."

You were already familiar with Gojo's assistant, a driver, and a planner — Ijichi. The poor guy looked perpetually stressed; you genuinely didn't want to cause him even more trouble.

"I'll get a taxi."

"But —"

"By the time he gets to me, I could've already been at yours."

Gojo reluctantly agreed, not capable of fighting your logic, and dropped his address. Your brows raised in a slight surprise.

With a quiet hum, you finally called a taxi, already grimacing at Naoya's possible reaction, as you hastily texted him an apology. His face, contorted in fury, especially after a confrontation with your father, sent shivers down your spine. A thought of backing down briefly crossed your mind, but you quickly shook it away. Not only because you were always keen on keeping your promises and the poor girl involved, but…

Watching the streets of Seijo pass you in quiet green parks, tennis courts, university campuses and elite buildings, you finally admitted to yourself.

That you longed to see Gojo.

His house met you with a daunting gateway and a robotic voice, calmly telling you to proceed further. A quick, examining look around the beautiful, well-tended yard made you wonder how many people worked there, but the sight of water guns scattered over the grass, as well as the picnic blanket on the grass, gave you a much better understanding of the family living there.

After hesitating a couple of seconds, you knocked.

You fully expected Gojo to greet you right that second. Instead, you heard a couple of barks, some intelligible mumbling, and the sound of something being knocked over, until the door finally opened, revealing Gojo and a white Labrador puppy, enthusiastically chewing on the man's trouser leg.

Hardly had you opened your mouth, when another puppy — that time a black one, albeit also a Labrador — jumped on you with a joyous yip. The puppy wiggled its tail with such speed that you sincerely worried about the poor doggie launching itself into space.

A joyful chuckle left you as you petted the puppy, cooing at him, "Hello to you, too!"

Gojo finally managed to get the white one off his leg and craddled it against his chest with a loud sigh. A couple of white strands were plastered to his forehead, and he quickly wiped it with his forearm.

"Hello, Doc. Kuro, come here. Don't jump on ladies like that," he mock scolded the black one, Kuro, and flashed you a tired grin. Kuro trotted back to Gojo. "We're gonna talk about it later, I swear. With you as well, right, little guy?" Gojo murmured to the white puppy, scratching him behind the ears and nodded towards you. "Meet Shiro!"

You beamed back in response and quickly looked around. "Where's Tsumiki?"

Gojo's expression changed in an instant, a frown crossing over his handsome face. "She's upstairs. You can use the bathroom there. Wait a minute, okay?"

Nodding nervously, you found your seat near the cream sofa. A white, fluffy carpet easily swallowed the sound of your footsteps. You sank into the comfort of the armchair nearby and let your gaze drift over the dog toys on the carpet, neatly folded colouring pages on the coffee table, a half-opened pack of coloured crayons, some book about dog breeds, and… wait, was it a pastry book? Nonetheless, Cédric Grolet's? Squinting, you only got convinced more about it: the sight of familiar lemons immediately caught your eye.

Nothing strange. He was a restaurant owner, after all. Broadening a worldview was useful for everyone.

Unless…

He picked it up after you mentioned it at the cafe.

Weird warmth blossomed in your chest, spreading through your veins like sunshine, mellow and bright.

Until a sudden thought of Naoya burnt you.

"Megs, why don't you have the puppies and play with them at the yard? I'll go check on Tsumiki." Gojo's loud voice startled you out of your hazy mind. Blinking, you returned to reality and watched the grumpy kid dragging his feet to Gojo. "Oh, and say hi to Doctor-sensei. She'll look at her too."

His words had Megumi stop mid-rubbing his eyes and stare at you with mild disbelief. Waving at him, you forced a smile. You couldn't let yourself dwell on your future husband and bathe in your misery in front of a kid.

"Hi, Megumi-kun! You feeling better?"

The boy blinked as well and shrugged in response. "I guess."

As driven by the force of gravity, your eyes immediately drifted to Gojo to find him already staring at you with a curious expression. Warmth curled on his lips, but his eyes remained sharp and focused. Your cheeks heated up.

Stuffy. It was stuffy.

One of the puppies barked.

Megumi briefly glanced at the dog, and for the first time, you saw a sincere smile spreading on his face. Then, he dragged his eyes back to you with a pensive, hesitant expression and asked quietly.

"Will Tsumiki be alright?"

Your chest tightened with emotions as you kneeled before the kid. He watched you carefully, but didn't speak up.

"She is alright, from what your uncle told me. Don't worry. He takes care of her." Letting yourself look at Gojo again, you noticed something indescribable flicker over his features before he smiled back, albeit strained. A weird feeling stirred within as you added, "Both of you, actually."

Something twitched behind the stone mask that Megumi's face was. A light pink coloured his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze.

"Alrighty, Megs," Gojo held the door open, and Kuro already jumped happily outside, followed by Shiro, wiggling his tail. "But not too long! You gotta be in bed till ten, and we are going to brush teeth together this time. You're not going to fool me anymore, little punk."

Megumi rolled his eyes, but the sparkle of mischief in them was a dead giveaway. "More like you are not going to fool me like the last time you ditched the irrigator —"

Gojo swiftly cut Megumi off, "Buddy, don't expose all our bonding moments, okay?"

You watched the puppies immediately clinging to Megumi with cheerful yips as he stepped out — and looked at Gojo. Nothing in him, save only for the tension in his broad shoulders, revealed the quiet storm brewing inside.

Swallowing, you hurried to catch up to him.

"Tsumi-chan, how are you now?" Gojo's voice dropped to the gentle warmth you had yet to hear. He quietly closed the doors behind you both and walked to the girl. A little grin tugged at the corner of your lips at the sight of the barrage of meds on the bedside table.

"I feel better now, really. Thank you, Satoru-san. You don't have to worry about me so much."

"Oh, I absolutely do," huffing loudly, Gojo walked over and cleared his throat, telling Tsumiki your name. "Doctor-sensei treats Megumi."

Tsumiki murmured something to greet you, but her last words caught you off guard.

"Nice to meet you, sensei! Satoru-san told us about you."

Eyes widened, you shifted your gaze to Gojo, who was already checking Tsumiki's bunnies. "Really? Did he?"

"Oh, yeah! I know you're really good," she chuckled warmly, but then added hastily, "I don't think there's any need to check on me, I am completely fine!"

But after this, she grimaced quickly and gave up under Gojo's hardened gaze.

Tsumiki got a certain paleness to her skin as you examined her, but nothing unusual for the food poisoning, as you indeed figured it out.

"I think it was cotton candy," the girl murmured, sinking back into the bed. A quiet sigh left her lips. "It's a shame. I liked it."

"Oh, yeah," Gojo grumbled indistinctly from his place. "I'll never let you eat that stuff again, I swear."

The girl's eyes widened as she shared a startled look with you. "But you ate five portions all by yourself! It's not fair!"

Gojo shot her a quick look, though a teasing grin danced on his lips.

"It's not the same. I am an adult, and you are just a teeny tiny girl," he joked lightly, watching a white bunny devouring an applewood stick. "You're such a fatty, fella, I swear."

"Snow is not a fatty!" Tsumiki already jumped in to protect her precious pet. "Just…furry."

"Tsumi-chan, calm down a little. You'd better relax and have a rest," you murmured, while writing down recommendations for Gojo. "Your bunny's name is Snow?"

She nodded carefully, following your words, and twiddled with her fingers.

"Yes. Snow and Ball. The owners wanted to give Snow away, because, you know," she whispered and sniffled quietly. "He was not like other bunnies."

"Albino," Gojo interjected immediately. Almost absent-mindedly: his eyes were focused on the large constellation map on the wall, but you were sure he was listening more than attentively.

"So we took Snow in, and Satoru-san later brought us Ball! He lived on a Bunny Island, but now he's with us."

Your smile wavered, sinking into fragile softness as your hand squeezed Tsumiki's. Then your gaze found Gojo again, who was trying to use Tsumiki's telescope. The sight was quite funny, given Gojo's height and the telescope's design for kids.

Not looking away, you whispered, "Satoru-san is good to you."

"He is," the girl beamed at you, but then grew shy again. Clearing her throat, she asked whether you had some pets.

The bitterness instantly rose in your chest, flooding all the warmth.

Naoya didn't understand the concept of pets and anything that could steal your attention away.

That was your first big fight.

You were just a year together.

With gaze cast down, you shrugged, not aware that Gojo was watching you all the time. "Uhm, no, unfortunately, no. With my work…not quite possible."

"Oh. It's a shame," she sighed again. "But if you want to, you can come and play with my bunnies. And I am sure Megumi won't be against you playing with Kuro and Shiro. Right, Satoru-san?"

"Yeah." He answered without missing a beat. Your heart did a treacherous flip, slamming against your ribcage, and you breathed out with a weak grin.

"Thank you, Tsumi-chan. Get better soon, okay?"

"Make sure she's well-rested. I think she should feel better before Monday. A lot of drinks," you nodded at the paper in Gojo's hand. "Watch the vomit too, and basically just keep an eye on her. If there's a sudden tummy ache, call an ambulance. And call me just in case."

"Sure will do," Gojo murmured tiredly, carefully folding your note and tucking it into his notebook. A sharp pang of something you weren't ready to name yet shot through your heart. Quietly watching Gojo's brows furrow in thought as he turned the pages of his planner — probably filled with dozens of meetings, visits and even dates — you muttered your goodbyes with a full intention to slip quietly out of that lovely home.

Only to be stopped by a warm hand on your elbow.

"Where are you going to? It's late. Ijichi will drive you home."

Your phone was already buzzing with dozens of irritated texts from Naoya, and the thought of him seeing you leave another man's car made your insides churn.

Waving, you huffed a chuckle, "Ah, it's nothing, I'll take a taxi, and it's late!"

"He will be there in five minutes." Gojo casually shrugged your words off, already on its way to hold a door for you. "Come on, I'll walk you out."

The gusts of wind under the veil of tranquil twilight didn't bite you as usual; perhaps, it was Gojo's warmth shielding you from its coldness. Standing right beside him as you waited outside, you couldn't help but reminisce that evening with the British lighter.

An airy chuckle cut through the serenity between you. Gojo tore his gaze away from the star-spilt sky above, and his gentle murmur caressed the expanse of your skin. Even though he was standing a foot apart.

"What are you thinking about?"

Your smile deepened, but you shook your head in response. "Nothing much."

"Hey. Don't go shy on me, Doctor-sensei."

Despite the coldness of the evening, your cheeks flared up. "Telling about me to your kids?"

A soft smile spread on his face as he chuckled.

"Couldn't help. You're really a nice doctor."

"Well, thank you then."

He basked in a response you gave him — a widened gaze, a pink tint to your cheeks, and a little smile — until you went silent again.

Gojo tilted his head in a silent question — the harsh wind threw his white bangs all over his forehead. He didn't make any effort to brush them away; instead, he kept looking at you as if you were the only star gracing the heavens above. Beautiful. Observing.

Mysterious.

"I don't have the lighter on me now."

Startled, you abruptly burned and blinked, your huff dissolving into a light laugh. "And I don't have any cigs."

Gojo's smile deepened almost imperceptibly. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his warmth enveloping you tighter in its embrace. Nervously, you tucked the lone hair strand behind your ear. Glanced at the sky above, glimmering indifferently.

"Tsumiki likes stars, doesn't she? A whole map and a telescope in her room?" You murmured absent-mindedly, eyes lazily wandering from one celestial body to another.

Naoya didn't like stargazing.

"Ah, yes. A little scientist. She dreams about space and visiting some planets." At the mention of his niece, Gojo's gaze turned melancholic, albeit full of tenderness. "She's a nice girl. Kind and gentle."

At the sudden pensiveness, colouring his voice, you turned around. The wind threw your hair into your face, but you chose not to see anything but Gojo. Your voice came surprisingly steady.

"And you are a nice uncle. When I said to Megumi that you took good care of them, I didn't joke."

Your words clearly stunned Gojo; his eyes widened, and the dark blue of them shone so brightly under the lamplight that you let yourself drown in them all over again.

"You think so, Doc?"

Despite the lightness in his tone, you picked up the strained edge, the hesitance, and something weirdly resembling hope.

His hand twitched a little as you stepped closer and let your fingers tentatively brush against his. Gojo went still, and your quiet yet sure words nearly undid him.

"I know, Gojo."

His chest expanded with a sharp exhale. There was no way he could contain the overwhelming fullness in his chest that came with your presence. And as the honk of Ijichi's car erupted through the silence, he finally managed to find his words again.

"Thank you for coming. I… really appreciate that."

You just shook your head with a warm smile you wore so often. A strange gleam flashed in your gaze.

"No worries. I am glad to help."

For some reason, he couldn't tear his gaze away, and just watched the lonebeam caressing your features in a way he longed to.

The black car finally stopped in front of you. Gojo stepped to open the door for you and murmured.

"Good night. See you soon, right?"

"Right. Bye, Gojo."

And seeing the car slowly disappearing into the dark, Gojo let out a breath, carding his fingers through the hair as the realisation that had been hovering over him like a sword of Damocles finally hit him.

He was so fucked.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

The clock in your office almost struck two, marking your possible fifteen minutes for a break, but you were focused on a baby on the examination table. Softly pressing on the belly, you checked for any enlarged organs, only to give the parents an assuring nod.

"No signs of a hernia as well."

Your light tickles earned soft gurgles from the kid, and you couldn't help but lean down and coo, "Aw, you're such a little talker tonight, aren't you? Looking so happy out here."

The baby babbled something again, flailing their pudgy arms, and gave you a little grin. Your hands softly brushed over the kid's legs to move them over.

"No problems with hip joints! Your baby is completely healthy." A relaxed smile made its way on your face as well, seeing the little girl's parents breathe out in relief.

"Doctor-sensei, we were thinking about introducing Kiki-chan to solid foods," Kiki-chan's mother squirmed in her seat, while her father attempted to put a pacifier in her mouth. The baby protested with a huff.

Humming under your breath, you went through the baby's medical record. "Honestly, it's better you wait a little. I will give you proper recommendations when the time comes. It's usually around 6 months. Meanwhile, remember to have the vitamin D supplement I was talking about."

"Ah, yes. I wanted to ask if 400 IU daily is alright?" Ito-san's voice sounded a bit strained, as Kiki-chan curiously attempted to tug on her mom's hair.

"Totally fine."

Shortly after answering a couple of questions more and reminding the parents to call you in case something suspicious arises, you bid your goodbyes to the family.

Exhausted, you massaged your temples and decided to take a quick nap before a meeting, only to be interrupted by the knock. No urgency, though. No hesitation.

Frowning, you called out to come in, already straightening in your seat. Might've been another emergency, since you didn't have anything more scheduled before the endless Yaga's droning.

The door opened, revealing the emergency himself. The emergency bore a smile, able to disperse any signs of an impending grimness; his hair flashed bright white under the light, and the blue of his gaze pulled you into its ripples just like the day that emergency walked into your life.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, pulse roared in your temples with deafening force, as you stared back at Gojo. Megumi had been charged some time ago, but the lie would've tasted sour if you said Gojo didn't cross your mind. Maybe something happened to Tsumiki?

Sometimes, when the evenings pinned you down with their weight of loneliness, as you stared at Naoya's back blanky, the memories flushed in your mind. You kept every smile, every glance, every bruf of fingers and every word close to your heart, akin to the precious gems.

Then, as Naoya's lips would press a claim on your skin and his fingertips would burn another into your soul, you pulled them out with the utmost care.

Somehow managing to compose yourself, you forced a grin that Gojo would find a pleasant one, at least, "Hi! What are you doing here? Oh, have a seat, would you?"

Gojo's grin deepened, and he sank into the chair in front of you.

"Long time no see, Doc. No-no, everything is okay with kids, don't worry," he hastily added, seeing concern immediately taking over your face.

"Oh." You blinked in surprise. Cleared your throat. Tried not to look as nosy as you felt. Twiddled with a kitten figurine on your table. Finally breathed out.

"Not to be rude or anything, but…what are you doing here then?"

His white brows knitted together as he managed to huff a chuckle. It slowly died under your inquiring gaze.

"You don't know?"

Briefly closing your eyes at the sense of migraine slowly crawling back to make your life even more miserable, you murmured, "Know what?"

The bright grin on Gojo's face wavered, but his voice came out surprisingly soft. As if he were trying to soothe you by the mere tone alone.

"I am on the board of shareholders now. I thought you might've known by now. But it's even better! I am telling you myself."

Brows flying to your hairline in surprise, you breathed out a quiet, shocked chuckle. The gentle sun — as bright as Gojo's radiant grin — warmed your soul in hesitant rays of fondness.

"Really? That's so great! I didn't even hear —"

Naoya didn't bother to mention it to you.

Your smile slowly vanished as the clouds of despair slowly fogged that very sun.

Gojo, who had already helped himself to a candy, suddenly looked up. "Didn't even hear…?"

If you were a lot more braver, you wouldn't let hesitance shake you to the very core. Expose you for who you truly were.

A dove. A naive, frightened dove.

The knife of Naoya's disdainful whisper slowly twisted between your ribs once again, leaving the droplets of something that used to be your affection spilling in crimson paths of sorrow and ache.

"Doc? You good?"

You would've told Gojo everything.

Instead, you gave him a jarred grin.

"Doesn't matter. So, what's the thing for you here?"

His gaze narrowed suspiciously, but he decided not to press further.

"I thought it was a good opportunity. Non-profit management, something like that. You took good care of Megumi, and I was already thinking about," his gaze swept across your room, pausing at the sweets, the examination table, the posters on the walls and the box with toys. The very same you fished Megumi's plushie from. "Contributing to society, all that jazz."

Something in his deliberately light tone told you that you weren't the one to have secrets. With a curious hum, you leaned over, tapping on your chin in mock thoughtfulness.

"Weren't you the one saying that you didn't like meetings and everything?"

Gojo paused, his eyes briefly flicking to your face to gauge your reaction; he saw none, besides an intrigue, dancing in your gaze.

Oh. That was how you wanted to play, huh?

He slowly mirrored your grin, lazily tilting his head. "I am okay if that's for the good."

"It's for the good, then?"

His smile widened, giving you a good look at his dimples.

Giving Gojo the last suspicious glance, you leaned back.

He cleared his throat.

"So, if you have something to say or ask for... you can tell me. Within reasonable limits, of course."

"I'll keep it in mind."

Your pager beeped loudly again, putting your conversation to a halt. With a heavy sigh, you hid it and rose from your seat.

"Did something happen?" Gojo inquired with the same curious, albeit soft gaze that had been silently caressing you the entire conversation.

Stifling a sigh and your urge to ditch the whole thing, you admitted begrudgingly, "No, not at all. Just the department's meeting."

"Oh," he hummed incredulously, but his gaze was still firmly set on you. You decided to get through your notes just not to feel its weight. It never failed to send shivers down your spine.

"You've already met Yaga-san, the department's director, I suppose?"

An attempt to briefly switch the topic and the nervous tone didn't go unnoticed by Gojo.

As well as the slightest twitch of your fingers, when you meticulously tucked all the notes into one neat pile.

"Yeah. He's...an interesting guy. I would say more like a businessman type. Talks about the financing and the sponsor's attraction."

Gojo's words earned an airy chuckle from you.

"Oh, he can talk about it day and night, I swear."

"That he can," he agreed, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Still, I think he cares about all of you. The finances topic is surely one of the hottest on the board meeting."

"That's why I am not really sure why you decided to join it — ah, shit!"

One clumsy turn and a misguided step — god, sometimes Naoya was right: you really felt like having two left feet — and the carefully arranged notes went scattered on your floor like birds trying to escape.

"Damn, I am so clumsy." Kneeling immediately, you murmured under your breath and stilled, feeling Gojo's finger brush gingerly against yours as he handed you one of the vaccination reports. The time completely paused around you: the thick, heavy substance enveloping both of you.

The world closed in on the blue in his eyes. Spilt heavens, simmering waves of an ocean, June sky, when the world's radiance blinded with its brightness, merged into the tint that dulled every other colour for you. Took you to another world, even just for a fleeting moment.

"Oh, look at that. Is that...wait, is that yours?"

Your head immediately snapped towards Gojo, and you saw him holding that small, pathetic makeshift portfolio — the one you probably pulled out just to throw away, but the thought slipped away from your tired mind just like usual.

The heat of humiliation, mixed with embarrassment, exploded within you in a painful red. Helplessly blinking, you forced a pathetic chuckle.

"Oh, that? No, it's — "

And then why did you carry that binder around, huh? Think, think, think!

Your mind desperately scrambled for a plausible explanation, but after some debating, you surrendered to his gaze.

"Yes. These are mine. It's nothing special, though. Some lazy, stupid doodles."

Gojo frowned instantly at the belittlement curling in your voice like a berated animal. He slowly rose to his height and murmured in bewilderment.

"You're joking, right?"

You blinked. Blinked again. Didn't think of anything better than to stare at Gojo as you had seen him for the first time. Stare at him carefully going through the binder. Stare at the light wrinkle between his brows, knitted in concentration. Stare at his lips until they parted and uttered the words that knocked all the air from your lungs.

"These are wonderful!"

The pager beeped again to remind you about the upcoming meeting, but all your being shrinked to the little folder in Gojo's hands.

Naoya's words about wasting your time immediately flared up, and you straightened as well to make a grab for the photos.

"It's nothing special. Really. Just a bunch of stuff."

Gojo dragged his shocked gaze from the portfolio back to you and let you have the damn binder. You would throw it away the first thing after the meeting.

To which, in fact, you should've hurried long ago.

"I have to go."

Gojo watched your figure moving around with the newly acquired urgency. As if you had been trying to shake any remnants of the intimacy that had just unfolded around you.

His eyes searched your face with a quiet, almost aching attention, until he finally muttered.

"Did I say something wrong?"

No.

No.

Don't say that.

Don't do that to me.

A cruel beast crawled up your veins to clutch your insides in a freezing grip, while fear and regret trapped your lone heartbeat.

Gojo didn't say anything, instead letting his eyes talk, but you were too occupied with your own thoughts to hear him.

Eventually, he stepped back with a quiet sigh, and the thinly veiled frustration in his voice caused your heart to sink.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to go overboard in any way. I'll leave you alone."

The sight of Gojo's broad shoulders slumped in the slightest bitterness cracked something in your chest.

The pager went off again with a loud beep.

"I really have to go."

Gojo only gave you a curt nod, and all the time you were closing your office, you felt the weight of his gaze pinning you down.

A hundred words rested just on the tip of your tongue. Instead, you settled on a quiet, hesitant apology, gently grazing his elbow.

"I am sorry. It's not this. You haven't done anything wrong."

He turned almost immediately at your words, but as much as he wanted to ask more — so, so much more than you were ready to offer — he stilled. And prompted gently.

"Then what is it?"

You sucked in a sharp exhale, just to —

"Dove? There you are!"

For the reason to appear himself.

The look of pure panic on your face the second the voice reached you made Gojo frown. Then your frightened gaze flicked to him.

The crowd around you parted slightly, revealing a man. Gojo caught a couple of fond gazes shared between the nurses, but that couldn't bother him less.

The immediate self-conscious curve of your shoulders, paired with the stiffness of your moves, when the guy pulled you closer without any words, concerned Gojo way more.

"Dove. What did I say about answering my calls? I don't want to look around for you all over the hospital. I am way too busy for this."

The arrogant, disdainful voice of that prick immediately grated on Gojo's nerves. The tone was not suitable even for berating a pet, let alone talking to a human being. Someone supposedly beloved.

Gojo's jaw tightened. He was about to step in when you swiftly interjected with a grin too wide to be sincere. Your hand on the man's arm didn't promise any good.

The guy turned to Gojo's side and stilled for a moment, quirking a brow.

"Darling," your tone sounded so weird, Gojo barely recognised it — something like the plea to an executioner to give you the last glimpses of freedom. "This is Gojo Satoru. He's on the board of the shareholders as well."

The prick slowly tilted his head, dragging his gaze over Gojo in silent yet sharp examination. Then a weird gleam flushed in his eyes as they slightly widened in recognition.

That scowl and barely masked derision on his face had stirred something distant in Gojo's memory, but the whole image remained blurry. Until you introduced him as well, piercing all the pieces.

"This is Zenin Naoya. My..."

Naoya didn't appreciate your pause and flashed an arrogant smirk.

"Her fiancé."

Zenin.

Right. Of course.

The surname that was such a frequent guest at all the gatherings Gojo used to attend. He felt an immediate wave of repulsion towards that prick, but managed to mask it with a slightly narrowed gaze, simply out of respect for you.

Gojo heard a lot about the Zenins back then, when his piece carried some value in his parents' game. Even now, some rumours still managed to reach him, despite all the efforts.

If any of them were true about the young Zenin heir…

Fiancé.

Gods. He put all the details — your empty stares, self-deprecating jokes, occasional flinches, even the earlier reaction to his compliment to your drawing — with terrifying clarity.

Puzzles finally slotted into the frame that your fiancé forced you into. Everything made sense now.

Quickly closing his eyes to compose himself, Gojo immediately opened them, forced by the hesitance in your tone.

"You should've met at the board's meeting, I suppose," your gaze flickered nervously between Gojo and Naoya in an attempt to quickly assess the surroundings. The air was growing thicker with each passing second: the whispers around rose in frequency, while Gojo's gaze narrowed even more deadly, and Naoya's smirk turned maliciously sharper.

The muscle in Gojo's jaw tightened.

"It's always a great opportunity to meet another member of the respected clan," Naoya tilted his head just a tad, but the harsh look in his eyes didn't melt even for a second. "Even though he somehow busied my little dove so much, she forgot to check her phone, huh?"

The scene he would certainly cause you later flashed before your eyes. You managed to offer some apologetic murmur before Naoya cut you off with a single word.

"Quiet."

Wordlessly, you dropped your gaze. One word shaped you into a person so meek that you barely resembled the woman Gojo slowly came to know.

His blood boiled at the sight, but the look he gave Naoya was enough to freeze hell.

"Can't say the same, Zenin."

Naoya stilled. His smirk slowly wavered, but then a low, amused chuckle left him, followed by the words dipped in poison.

"Oh? I suppose other respected clans didn't care about teaching their heirs proper manners, did they, Satoru-kun?"

The crowd around went completely silent, as if someone stole their voices. Even the sounds of pagers and rhythmic taps on the keyboard quietened. A few glares landed on you, and you could already hear your colleagues clicking their tongues in annoyance.

Again, never directed at Naoya.

Nothing changed in Gojo's face as he simply raised his chin and drawled with an infuriating smirk, "Have you learnt any before talking to your future wife, huh?"

Your head snapped immediately at the sound of his voice. Your lips parted to force some excuse.

You had none.

As well as Naoya.

His cheeks paled in an instant, but the tips of his ears blushed pink. No wonder — another humiliation from a man, let alone a man, defending you.

That act of disgrace Naoya couldn't bear.

Seething inside, he surprisingly gently tugged you closer and whispered, "We'll talk about it later, sweetheart."

As Gojo watched your figures retreat, he caught the wide-eyed gaze you sent him over your shoulder, full of so much remorse, that it twisted something violently in his chest.

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a/n: ik this part is not very big on events, still i like it :) comments and reblogs are appreciated, let me know your thoughts!

Your apartment pool could never.

Thankfully, Satoru was willing to lounge around on floaties with you, his presence comforting despite his tendency to be annoying about fifty percent of the time. The other fifty percent makes it worth it, and today, that fifty percent is in full effect.

The sun beams down towards you, warming your backside as you lie flat on the clear inflatable that Satoru insists is "the superior floatie" because it lets you see the water beneath you.

Not that there's much to see besides the occasional leaf or the faint shimmer of the pool's blue iridescent tiles, but he seems to take great pride in his floatie collection.

Occasionally, Satoru will push your floatie towards the waterfalls that cascade into the pool, claiming he's just "helping you cool off" before splashing your hair to get it wet.

He tricked you once, claiming he was improving the angle so you could tan better, his voice full of faux sincerity—which you naively believed— only for cold, hard water to be dumped on your face from the waterfall.

You should have seen it coming from a mile away. His laugh echoed across the pool, and you craved revenge, but the free pool was too good to give up, so you let it slide. For now.

Anything for the free pool.

You could hear the water splashing as Satoru swam, his movements creating gentle ripples that disturbed your peaceful float.

Your floatie shifted, your body being pulled away from your perfect tanning spot, catching the optimal amount of rays without frying you to a crisp.

"Satoru, swear to god, if I feel a single drop of water, you're dead," you warned, lifting your head and pulling the sunglasses over your eyes so you weren't blinded by the sun.

"You're so scary," he laughed, elbows resting on the edge of your inflatable, his chin propped up on his arms. "You want a bomb pop?" he asked lightly. His tongue was already dyed purple, a telltale sign he seemed to have indulged himself in one already while you were busy sunbathing.

You were craving something sweet, your mouth watering at the thought of that icy, sugary goodness, so this was perfect timing.

His hair was tousled and wet with water, the white strands darkened to a soft silver where they were soaked through, and his skin was even a little tanned from the sun, a rare sight that made him look like a surfer from California.

The contrast was pretty on his white hair and cerulean eyes. You hummed, nodding your head, "Pull me back."

Obliging, Satoru pulled you with him to the pool's edge, his hands gripping the sides of your floatie with surprising care. Your floatie had traveled quite the distance across his expansive pool, and as you moved, you took in the sheer scale of his pool deck.

His home was beautiful; your own family's wealth wasn't anything to laugh at, but Gojo's was on a different planet entirely. He even had his own golf course named after him back home, a fact he brought up too casually.

You would jokingly call his family the Crazy Rich Gojo's when you found out how wealthy he was.

Your pool at home was nice, sure, but Satoru's was pretty damn close—if not better. The carefully curated landscaping that surrounded it, the infinity edge that made it look like the water went on forever. It was picturesque, residing in someone's dream home pinterest board.

Rolling over, you let the coolness of the floaty cool the warm skin on your back, the plastic slightly sticky from the heat but still refreshing. It felt nice, relaxing you further onto the floatie as you surrendered to the heat.

You kept your hand pressed to the ledge so you wouldn't float away again, your fingers gripping the edge.

You watched as Satoru climbed out of the pool, his body dripping wet from the chlorinated water, droplets cascading down his back in rivulets that caught the light. Even though you were in the deeper end, he didn't need to take the ladder; the pros of being tall meant he could just hoist himself up like it was nothing, muscles flexing with the effort.

It took a minute for him to come back with your sweet relief, his footsteps padding against the stone tiles as he made his way to the outdoor fridge. He carefully unwrapped the red, white, and blue bomb pop, holding two others in his hand.

Crouching down in front of you, his strong calves bending towards you, he waved the cold treat over your lips, the cool air touching your lips ever so slightly. You reached out to snatch it away, your fingers grazing the white wrapper, but he happened to be faster, pulling it back with a grin.

Holding the popsicle in the air, his arms reached higher than where you could grab it comfortably, his height advantage making this game incredibly unfair. He waved it back and forth, and you felt that familiar irritation prickle at your skin once again.

"Satoru, stop," you groaned, sitting up from the floatie to take it out of his hand, the movement causing water to slosh around you. You were planning on playing nice with him today, being the bigger person and all that, but he always found a way to scratch your nerves, pulling them taut until you snapped. Nevertheless, you enjoyed his company.

Knowing Satoru since your freshman year, through friends of friends who had somehow dragged both of you to the same party, you happened to become friends with Satoru; it felt practically inevitable.

When you first met him, you thought he was an egotistical prick. But the more you got to know him, the more you realized he wasn't that bad. He was there for you during breakups, letting you cry on his shoulders while he fed you ice cream and told you that your ex was "a shit loser anyway."

He was there for rough hangovers, making you drink water and bone broth even when you insisted you would die if you moved. He was there for late-night drives, windows down, music blasting, the two of you screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs like you were the only people on the quiet streets. The plentiful noise complaints proved you definitely weren't.

And you were there for him, even when he drunkenly threw up on your vintage Kelly, a bag you had gotten for your sixteenth birthday—She will be missed. He ended up buying you two more as an apology, one in the original color and one in a shade that matched your eyes, but still, Satoru was a great friend.

Even if the lines are blurred in the friend portion.

"Satoru, stop!" he mocked in a high-pitched voice, his impression of you absolutely terrible. You definitely didn't sound like that, and you snatched the already melting popsicle from his hands before he could pull it away again.

Your tongue hurriedly reached out to lick the melted juices, the sweet flavor exploding on your taste buds as you started from the base to the top, not wanting to waste a single drop. The UV was making it melt faster, so you took a bite out of the tip, crunching through the icy layers. Might as well eat it before the sun does first, you thought, chewing happily.

You hadn't noticed Satoru's gaze as he watched, his eyes fixed on your mouth, wincing slightly as you bit the bomb pop with more force than necessary.

"Don't look at me like that, you're double-fisting bomb pops over there," you rolled your eyes, lifting your glasses to the top of your head to get a better look at his face. His face was crunched up with a look of amusement.

"You're the freaky one," he mused, licking both of the popsicles at the same time, his tongue darting out to catch the melting drips with practiced ease.

You were tempted to bring up the time you found him and Suguru passed out on his bed with two other girls, a scene that had been burned into your memory forever, but you decided to let it slide. But you're the freaky one, right..

"Whatever," you said instead of bringing up his freak escapades, taking another bite of your bomb pop. You wouldn't let Satoru live that one down, but you'll live past his greed, saving that ammunition for a later date when you really need to win an argument.

"I feel bad for any of your victims," he said, his eyebrows furrowed in mock sadness, kissing up to the sky like he was praying for the souls of your hypothetical head receivers.

He sat down on the ledge, his legs dangling into the water, the ripples spreading outward from his movements.

"Luckily, there are none," you said, the words coming out louder than you intended.

He paused dramatically, his entire body freezing as he stared at your face to see if you were serious. Realizing you weren't lying, a smirk twitched at his lips, one that usually preceded with more irritating and unnecessary comments.

Much to the dismay of your many hookups, you had never given head before. Too nervous to mess up and bite someone's appendage off, you never tried. It was a confession you rarely made, one that usually got you a mix of shock and pity, but with Satoru, it felt different.

"Not even-" he started until you shook your head firmly, cutting him off. He thought for a second, his expression contemplative, before asking, "You want to practice?"

It's not like you haven't tried to practice before, using fruit and various objects in an attempt to gain some semblance of skill, but a banana is much different than a real dick. The texture, the shape, the way it moves—or lack thereof. It's just not the same.

You stared at him momentarily, thinking about his offer, your brain running through all the possible outcomes. It's not like neither of you had crossed lines before; you're the one who taught him how to make out with someone after he claimed he didn't know how.

A claim you still weren't sure was true or just an elaborate excuse to get you to kiss him.

Once, led to twice, and whenever either of you was feeling lonely enough, your lips would find his. It was convenient, and a line you had long since stopped pretending existed.

This wasn't much different, right?

"You'd really show me?" you questioned hesitantly. If you wanted to practice on a real person, you might as well do it with Satoru. He nodded, leaning closer to the edge, looking down towards you. His gaze was almost eager, excited maybe.

"Of course, I mean, what are friends for, right?" he tilted his head slightly, the sun catching the water droplets in his hair. He looked pretty, glittery even. "The same way you were eating that, just less biting, more sucking, and inside action." You nodded, taking in what he said patiently.

Lifting from your floatie, you climbed onto the sun-warm pool deck. Swallowing the rest of the bomb pop, you sat next to Satoru, ready on the ledge, your eyes hinting at the lounge chairs. He stared at you for a moment. "Oh- I see, yeah, over there m-might be better," he stuttered, getting up to go to the chairs.

He sat down on the much cooler chairs, shaded by the umbrellas from the sun. "Do I sit here?" You knelt on the pool deck's smooth concrete, your body kneeling between his spread legs.

He looked down at you, confused and partially nervous. "Don't tell me you're getting nervous about me, Satoru," you teased, laying your head on his knee.

"N-nervous? No, I was just… surprised," he muttered, clearing his throat, "Didn't think you meant practice on me." he paused for a moment, his empty hand carding through his hair.

"Not that I am opposed, practice makes perfect, you know?" he smiled, licking the remainder of his bomb pop.

"You expected me to practice on a bomb pop?" you chuckled. "I need to practice on something real," you sighed. By the hardness growing in Satoru's swim shorts, he definitely didn't seem opposed.

"Why? Tried before?" he half-joked, but you only glared at him; he didn't need to hear how you embarrassingly choked on a banana after it broke in your throat. "Well, first, you need to set the tone; it's better if the little guy is awake first," he instructed, handing you a pillow.

"Doesn't seem like you need any help with that," you murmured, getting more comfortable on the pillow.

"What can I say, I'm a healthy guy," he commented nonchalantly, the pink tinging his ears telling a different story. "You want to take it out," you followed, your hands nervously pulling at his trunks.

His breath hitched the second your fingers brushed against the waistband of his swim trunks, the fabric damp from the pool water he'd been lounging in moments before.

The bomb pop had long since melted down his hand, sticky sweetness dripping onto his knuckles, but he made no move to clean it off. His focus was entirely on you.

"There you go," he murmured, voice dropping as he lifted his hips just enough for you to tug the trunks down his thighs. His cock sprang free, already half-hard and flushed pink at the tip, curving slightly to the left. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the slit, catching the sunlight like a tiny pearl.

"Very healthy guy," you joked, trying to distract yourself from being too nervous. You swallowed, staring at it with wide eyes. It was big. Thick and long, veined and heavy, resting against his lower stomach with an almost casual weight.

Not really what would be your first as a beginner. You wouldn't boost his ego any further, or he might explode.

Your hand hovered over it, fingers trembling slightly, and Satoru's lips curled into that familiar smirk. "Don't just admire it, babe," he teased, reaching down to wrap his sticky fingers around yours, guiding your palm to wrap around his shaft. The heat of him seared against your skin, velvety smooth over rigid hardness. "You gotta touch it. Get familiar with it. Not gonna bite."

"Says you," you mumbled, but your fingers tightened experimentally, and his breath caught in his throat, a tiny, almost imperceptible hitch that made your confidence bloom.

"Start slow," he instructed, his voice a little rougher now, the playful edge sharpening. "Just... wrap your hand around it. Feel the weight. Get it, wet, get a rhythm going. Don't just-" You nodded, spitting onto the tip. You stroked him, once, clumsily, your grip too tight and your angle wrong. He winced, but the sound that escaped him wasn't entirely pained.

"Okay, okay," he laughed breathlessly, his head falling back against the lounge chair. "That's-that's a start. But loosen up. It's not a weapon, alright? Gentle. Like you're holding a baby bird."

"I've held birds; this does not feel like a bird," you shot back, but you adjusted, lightening your grip, letting your fingers slide down to his base and then back up. His hips twitched involuntarily, and you grinned at the reaction.

"There you go," he breathed, his hand coming up to card through his wet white hair, pushing it back from his forehead, his gaze making you even hotter. "Now, use your mouth. Just the tip, first. Get used to it."

You leaned forward, pressing a tentative kiss to the head of his cock. He tasted salty, like chlorine and sweat, and you found yourself licking your lips before you even realized what you were doing.

"Don't overthink it," he murmured, his hand dropping to rest gently on the back of your head, not pushing, just there. "Just take it slow. Let it- ah-"

You parted your lips and took him in, just the head at first, your tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge. His hips buckled up involuntarily, and you gagged, pulling off with a wet pop.

"Sorry, sorry," he panted, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink beneath the shade. "Fuck, you just-your mouth is really cold, okay? Give a guy some warning."

"Maybe you should give me some warning," you snorted.

"Fair enough," he conceded, "How about this, you get back down there, and I'll return the favor. Make it fair."

"Fair?" you echoed, your hand still wrapped around him, feeling the steady pulse of his heartbeat through the velvety skin. "You think you can keep quiet while I'm down here?"

Satoru's laugh was low, almost a purr, as he settled back into the lounge chair. His white lashes fluttered half-closed, those piercing blue eyes watching you through the slits. "I've kept quiet through worse."

Your thumb traced the ridge of his tip, spreading the glistening bead of pre-cum across the sensitive skin. His stomach muscles flinched, and you felt a surge of power at the small reaction. "Yeah, sure."

"Attagirl," he breathed, one large hand coming to rest on the back of your head again. His fingers resting gently in your hair. "Now, take a breath. Relax your jaw. You're thinking too much."

"How do you-"

"You're clenching your teeth," he interrupted, "I can feel it." You exhaled slowly, forcing your shoulders to drop, and leaned forward again. This time, when you took him into your mouth, you focused on the weight of him on your tongue. Your lips stretched around the head, and you hollowed your cheeks experimentally.

"Fuck," Satoru hissed, his fingers tightening in your hair. "Yeah, that's-that's good. Just like that. Don't try to take it all at once. Work your tongue."

You obeyed, swirling your tongue around the sensitive underside of his tip, tracing the little vein that ran along his shaft. His hips twitched again, but he held himself still, letting you explore at your own pace. His hand stayed heavy on your head, occasionally stroking your hair in a way that felt almost encouraging.

"Breathe through your nose," he instructed, his voice growing rougher. "And, mmngh- use your hand on what you can't fit in your mouth. Make it part of the same rhythm."

You pulled off with a wet sound, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his flushed tip. "You're a lot better than a tiktok video."

Satoru's laugh was breathless, his chest heaving. "What am I not good at? Now get back down here before I get lonely." You rolled your eyes but complied, taking him back into your mouth with renewed determination. You wrapped your hand around the base and pumped in time with your bobbing head.

The angle was awkward, your neck starting to ache, but the way Satoru's breath hitched every time you took him deeper made it worth it.

"Sloppy," he murmured, his thumb stroking the shell of your ear. "Get sloppy. Use more spit. You're not trying to make it pretty, you're trying to make me come." You pulled off just long enough to gather a generous amount of saliva in your mouth, letting it drool down your chin and onto his shaft. The sight of it, the way his cock glistened in the dappled sunlight, made something hot curl in your belly.

You licked a stripe up the underside, from base to tip, and Satoru groaned, deep and guttural. You were starting to understand when your friends would remark that their mouths were watering.

"Fuck, okay, okay," he panted, his composure finally cracking. "You're a fast learner. That's—yeah, right there-"

You took him back into your mouth, deeper this time, pushing past the resistance in your throat. Your eyes watered, but you forced yourself to relax, just like he'd said. You focused on the sounds he was making: the broken moans, the way his breath stuttered, and the feedback loop of pleasure and power it created.

"That's it, baby," he crooned, his voice dropping into something silkier. "That's my good girl. Taking me so well, you're a natural, shit-" His hips bucked upward, and you gagged, pulling off with a cough. Saliva dripped down your chin, and you wiped at it with the back of your hand, glaring at him through watery eyes.

"Warning?" you croaked.

"Sorry, sorry," he panted, but he wasn't sorry at all. The smug look on his face was a dead giveaway, even as his chest heaved and his flush spread down to his collarbones. "You just got me excited."

"Asshole," you muttered, but you were already leaning back in, licking a slow, teasing stripe across his tip.

Satoru's hand tightened in your hair. "Watch your mouth, princess. Or I'll make you." The challenge in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

You took him back into your mouth, sinking farther than before, feeling him hit the back of your throat. You held there for a moment, breathing through your nose, before pulling back and repeating the motion.

"That's it," he groaned, and his control was sliding, melting away with each bob of your head. "Just like that. You're doing so good, so good for me-" His grip tightened, guiding your pace faster, and you let him. You wanted this, wanted to push him over the edge, wanted to taste the proof of your progress.

His cock twitched in your mouth, opening your throat to take him deeper. "Fuuck-" he moaned loudly. He motioned for you to pull off, but you kept your head still. His seed sputtered onto your tongue. You held there for a moment as he caught his breath above you.

His cum didn't taste horrible, just foreign, a bit salty. Nevertheless, you swallowed. Wiping the outside of your mouth of spit.

"Did I do well?" You asked slowly, pulling his cock from your mouth.

"You- yeah, you did great," he breathed. Tossing the melted popsicle into the trash, licking his hand clean of the popsicle. "Since you did so well, let's make it fair."

Before you could ask what he meant, he was shifting, grabbing you by the hips and manhandling you with surprising strength, flipping you around until you were positioned over him, your knees on either side of his head, your face hovering above his already hard cock.

"Pretty skilled here too," he announced cheerfully, his voice muffled by the fact that he was already pressing his mouth to the inside of your thigh. "Best way to learn. You get to focus on your technique while I keep you...distracted."

"Distracted?" you squeaked, but the word dissolved into a moan as his tongue licked a broad stripe up your slit, through the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms. He hooked a finger under the material, pulling it aside, and the first real taste of you seemed to make him groan.

"Shit," he breathed against your cunt, his nose nudging your clit. "You taste better than those bomb pops."

"Focus, Satoru," you managed, your voice shaky as you lowered your head back down to his cock. "You're supposed to be teaching me."

"Right, right," he chuckled, the vibration of his laughter against your pussy making you jolt. "Then get to work, pretty girl. And remember-"He licked into you, slow and deliberate, "-tongue's your best friend. Use it."

You moaned, the sound vibrating around his shaft, and he groaned in response, his hips twitching up to meet your mouth.

You tried to remember his instructions: gentle, start slow, don't overthink it. It was hard when his tongue was doing that, curling inside you, tasting every inch of your slick heat.

"You're-" you gasped, pulling off his cock for a breath, "-you're not making this easy."

"Not supposed to be easy," he murmured against your folds, his lips brushing your clit with each word. "Supposed to be fun."

His thumb found your clit, rubbing lazy circles while his tongue dipped back inside you, and you cried out, your hips grinding down against his face without your permission.

He let out a pleased hum, his free hand coming up to grip your ass, squeezing the flesh hard enough to leave marks.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a low rumble. "Use those pretty hips. Ride my face." You took him back into your mouth, deeper this time, your head bobbing in a clumsy rhythm.

Your teeth scraped against him, and he hissed sharply. "Teeth, angel," he reminded you, his voice strained. "No teeth. Just lips and tongue."

You sucked hard, and his hips bucked, pushing himself deeper into your throat. You gagged, tears pricking at your eyes, but you didn't pull off. You were determined. "Good," he praised, his voice dripping with approval. "That's my girl. Taking it like a pro."

His tongue speared into you, and you moaned around his cock, the vibration making him shudder beneath you. His grip on your ass tightened, his hips thrusting up into your mouth in shallow, desperate little movements.

"Just like that," he breathed, his words muffled by your pussy. "Fuck, you're so beautiful. Suck it- yeah, just like that." You were drooling, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft, your jaw aching, but you didn't care.

He pulled his mouth away from you for just a moment, his breath hot against your slick folds. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. Gonna make me cum again if you keep that up-" You doubled your efforts, taking him deeper, your hand pumping what your mouth couldn't reach. His hips bucked erratically, his fingers digging into your ass, his whole body tensing beneath you. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

He came with a choked cry, hot and thick down your throat, and you swallowed instinctively. He kept twitching in your mouth, his hips still jerking as you milked him through it, not pulling off until he went limp beneath you.

Although he had just come, he didn't let off. His moans vibrated against your cunt, pulling you closer and closer.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before Satoru's tongue was back on you, lapping at your dripping folds like a man starved. His grip on your ass tightened, spreading you wider, and you felt the cool air against your slick skin before his mouth descended again.

"F-fuck, Satoru-" you gasped, your forehead dropping against his thigh. His cock was starting to grow half-hard beneath you, twitching against your cheek, and you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat through the velvet skin.

His tongue circled your clit, slow and deliberate, and your hips stuttered against his face. He laughed, the sound vibrating through you. "You're so responsive," he breathed, pulling back just enough to speak. "I can feel every little noise you make-" He licked a broad stripe up your slit. "-Don't think I can stop after this."

You cried out, your hips grinding down against his face without permission, and he groaned in approval. His hands gripped your ass harder, pulling you closer, and you could feel the wet sounds of his mouth against you; it was obscene. "'Toru-" you gasped, your hand tightening around his thighs.

His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles while his tongue plunged back inside you, and you shattered. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, your body convulsing above him, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

You could feel him smiling against you, his tongue still working you through it, drawing out every last tremor.

"That's it," he cooed, his voice soft, almost tender. "That's my girl. Let go for me."

Your hips rocked against his face involuntarily, riding out the aftershocks, and he let you take what you needed. When you finally stilled, trembling and breathless, he pressed one last kiss to your clit before gently nudging you off him.

"Okay?" he asked, sitting up to wrap his arms around you. His voice was rough, but his eyes were soft as he looked at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Yeah," you managed, your voice hoarse. Turning towards him, you positioned your body over his lap. Your hips were still trembling from the aftershocks as you settled over his lap, the wet heat of your cunt sliding along the thick length of him. Satoru's hands found your waist immediately, fingers digging into the soft flesh there like he was grounding himself. His chest was heaving beneath you, that stupidly pretty face.

His grip on your waist tightens the moment you settle over him, fingers pressing bruises into your skin before he's even inside you. "Fuck," he breathes, the word coming out almost reverent. "You're gonna kill me, you know that?"

You don't answer with words, just roll your hips forward, letting the slick heat of your cunt drag along the underside of his cock. The sensation makes him hiss through his teeth, his head falling back against the lounge chair.

"Look at you," he murmurs, one hand leaving your waist to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His thumb traces along your bottom lip, and you part your mouth instinctively, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. He groans.

"So fuckin' eager. That mouth of yours-" He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale as you sink down, just the tip, just enough to make him see stars. "Shit, baby. Don't tease."

"Thought you wanted me to take what I needed," you counter, voice breathy but carrying an edge of defiance. You lift your hips again, letting him slip out, watching the way his jaw tightens. "You said I could-"

"Sassy," he cuts you off, but there's a grin splitting his face, all teeth and mischief. His hands find your hips again, and this time he doesn't ask; he just guides you down, slow and steady, watching your face as he fills you inch by inch.

Your breath catches in your throat, fingers curling into his shoulders. The stretch is obscene, almost too much, but you take it, sinking down until you're flush against him, his cock buried to the hilt.

You moaned, feeling every ridge and vein of him inside you. Your hips start to move on their own, small, experimental circles that make him groan low in his chest.

His eyes flutter shut for a moment, and you take the opportunity to lean in, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth. "Thank you," you murmur against his skin, and his eyes snap open. "Satoru-"

"Don't." His grip on your hips is almost bruising now. "Don't thank me, not when you're-" He bucks his hips up, just once, and the sudden jolt steals the breath from your lungs. "Not when you're doing this."

You laugh, breathless, and it dissolves into a moan as you start to move in earnest. Up and down, slow and deep, letting him watch the way your body takes him. His eyes are glued to where you're joined, watching the way your cunt glistens around his cock with every slide.

His thumbs trace patterns into your hips, not guiding, just feeling— like he can't get enough of the way your skin feels under his palms.

"Faster," he says after a moment. His voice is thick, almost strained, and there's a flush creeping up his neck. "Come on, pretty girl."

You raise an eyebrow, even as you pick up the pace. "What, you want me to-"

"I want you to ride me like you mean it." His hand comes down on your ass, sharp and sudden, and you jolt forward, a squeak escaping your throat. He grins, satisfied. "That's more like it. Now come on. Don't make me ask again."

You plant your hands on his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath your palms, and you move. Hips rolling, thighs burning, you find a rhythm that has both of you gasping.

His head falls back again, his hands gripping your waist as you might disappear, and you feel it, the way his breathing quickens, his hips start to meet your thrusts with increasing urgency.

"Yeah," he breathes, and his voice is ragged now, all pretense of control gone. "Just like that. Fuck, baby, you feel so good-"

You lean down, pressing your forehead to his, your breath mingling. The position changes the angle, and you feel him hit something deep inside you that makes your vision white out for a second. Your nails dig into his chest, and he groans, snapping his hips up harder.

"Right there," you gasp, and he grins, that infuriatingly beautiful grin, because he knows. He knows exactly where you need him, and he's gonna give it to you. His hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with practiced precision, and you cry out, your rhythm faltering.

"Don't stop," he commands, and his voice is a low growl now. "Don't you fucking stop, baby. You're so close, I can feel it. Just let go."

You're shaking, trembling, every muscle in your body tense as he works you higher and higher. He's watching your face, eyes dark and hungry, like he's memorizing every expression you make." 'Toru," you gasp, "I can't-"

"Yes, you can." His fingers on your clit are relentless, his hips driving up into you with a pace that's almost punishing. "You're gonna cum for me, aren't you? Gonna soak my cock like the good girl you are."

The words break you. Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, your whole body seizing as you cry out his name. Your walls clenched around him, milking him, and he groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge.

You feel the heat of him filling you, pulse after pulse, and the sensation sends another ripple of pleasure through your oversensitive body.

When you come back to yourself, you're collapsed against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like you're something precious. His heart is pounding against your ear, and you can feel his breath ruffling your hair.

"Fuck," he murmurs, and his voice is soft now, almost sleepy. "That was-"

"Stop talking," you mumble against his skin, but you're smiling. "You'll ruin the moment."

He laughs, and it's warm, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. "I just saved some lucky guy from getting his dick cut off, thanks to me." Smugness filling his tone.

You smacked his chest, playfully, your palm connecting with his pectoral in a light thump. "I would not do that," you rolled your eyes, but your hand stayed resting on his chest, your fingers splayed across the firm muscle.

It was soft, the skin warm and slightly damp, and you didn't feel like moving it. He didn't mind either, his fingers finding the strings of your bikini top and toying with them absently, twisting and untwisting the fabric.

"Let me use your shower. I feel disgusting," you groaned, the words muffled against his skin.

The chlorine and sweat had dried on your body, leaving you sticky and uncomfortable, your skin tight and pulling with every movement. The heat didn't make it any better, the sun still bearing down even as the afternoon wore on.

He nodded, his chin brushing against the top of your head as he played with strands of your hair, twirling them around his finger.

You missed his shower; the water pressure was perfect, hitting your shoulders with just the right amount of force.

You'd even set up the same one in your own apartment after the first time you used it, but it never quite felt the same. You were staying the night here anyway, not like Satoru was going to say no. He never did.

"Sure, what are friends for, right?"

​