cupidstrace

[cupidstrace]

Once Upon A Time

Summary; You don't fall in love easily. But there was a time.

Pairing; Gojo Satoru x Reader

You sit across from a man in a small diner, watching him drone on and on about the gritty details of corporate as if you yourself don’t deal with it every passing day. The world outside the window speeds by in a blur, just like it always has, ever since three years ago.

He offers a charming smile that has your heart curling in your chest. You smile back.

His lips move, and you have to will yourself to listen. “You’re staring at me. What, have you fallen already?”

You laugh softly.

You don’t fall in love anymore. Or believe in it.

But there was once a time.

You were once a kid, brave enough to chase the impossible. Naive enough to believe you could reach it. A dreamer, full of grand ideas, chasing some sort of utopia in which everything would end up fine, and you would lose nothing in the process.

But that’s not how the world works. There’s give and there’s take. There’s the living and the dead and the fact that nothing will ever remain truly stagnant. Not love. Not even you.

You were once in love.

Gojo Satoru was insufferably cocky. Reckless. Arrogant, even.

But he was brilliant. Brave enough to chase the impossible, and stubborn enough to achieve it. He believed that strength wasn’t about how many enemies you could bring to their knees, but how many people you could keep standing.

And he was good.

He had a penchant for getting in over his head and telling you nothing. He’d come home and curl up with his head in your lap like that made up for all the silences, the half-truths, the lives he lived outside your door. He said he was a teacher. But he never let you visit the school. He never let you all the way in.

He’d watch you drift off fondly and be gone by the time you woke.

And yes, he wasn’t always present. Yes, you never married him, too swept up in arguments over finances and commitment and you never think of me as anything but a way to redeem yourself to realize that he wanted to propose. Yes, you never got any further than small murmurs at 2 am about a white picket fence and two kids in a faraway land where nothing ever mattered.

But you loved him. And he loved you. Very much.

He’d take you out when time allowed, which wasn’t very often. You’d wait late into the night to hand him a bag of sweets and see him beam. He’d whisper names in his sleep that he couldn’t bring himself to say in the daylight, and you never asked. Just held him closer.

He looked at you as if you were some fragile thing, and he was breaking you, ruining you, just by being fragile himself. He held you as if you were worth everything, and his worth was determined by how close he could mold your body to his. As if your warmth might redeem him.

Sometimes, in the quiet of the evening, with the TV humming something forgettable in the background, he’d ask if you thought he was strong enough to protect you. Even though he failed others. Even though the weight of a million could-have-beens pressed into every word he uttered and every action he took.

You used to tell him that strength didn’t mean carrying the world. It meant being vulnerable enough to let others into that world.

And for a while, you believed that.

You believed a lot of things, once.

The man taps your hand softly, and you snap out of it, offering an apologetic look. “Sorry. I was just.. thinking.”

He nods, eyes crinkling. “Do tell.”

You stare at him for a moment, searching his eyes for some flash of blue that you know won’t be there. Searching his smile for the feigned arrogance of the man that held you close all those years ago. “Do you ever wish you could turn back time?”

He hums, taking a sip of his drink before responding. “Is this one of those first date opener questions?”

You muster a soft laugh. “Maybe.”

“Yes,” he responds. “All the time. The past is like.. sand after a long day at the beach. Sometimes you go home and sit in silence and realize there’s still grains left in your asscrack. But they’ll wash away. You can’t keep going back to the beach just to slip more sand in your bathing suit.”

You blink at his metaphor, then tilt your head. “You go to the beach a lot?”

He grins. “All the time. You?”

You nod.

You wish you could turn back time to that day three years ago and ask him to stay. You wish you could stop him at the door, hold his face in your hands, and tell him not to go. Not this time. You wish you’d begged. Screamed. Something. Anything.

Instead, all you have left is a voicemail.

It’s old. Glitchy. You’ve played it so many times the words have started to slur together, like the memory of his voice is disintegrating. Softened by time, warped by grief. You’ve listened to it while staring at the photo frame on your nightstand, as if you could will him back into existence just by refusing to forget.

Hi, baby. I’m helping one of my students, so I might come back late.

..hey.

When I get home, let’s get married.

A weak laugh follows. It hurts to hear it every time, like he knew he’d never get the chance.

Let’s buy that little house on an island somewhere no one knows our names. We’ll build a fence. Two kids. No more work. No more secrets. Just you and me. I promise.

I love you, baby.

I’ll be home soon.

But he never was. Not really.

Not even a body. No final words beyond that message, stuttering through static like some ghost caught on repeat.

All they gave you was an apology. Gutted and formal and not nearly enough of an explanation to excuse the fact that he was gone. And a small, weathered box his subordinate found beneath your shared wardrobe. With a ring inside.

The one you pointed to years ago in a window you passed once and never mentioned again. Still gleaming. Still waiting.

Sometimes, in your lowest moments, you play the message back and whisper that you would’ve said yes. Because you would’ve. A million times over.

But the line’s long dead.

You blink and you’re back to the present, watching the man across from you motion to his bicep. “And that’s where the jellyfish stung me.”

He looks up at you as if waiting for some sort of awestruck look. Or concern. Or maybe both.

You hesitate, then muster a small “oh.”

The man pauses at your reaction, then laughs, sheepish. “It wasn’t a bad sting though. Anyway, yeah.. that was the first time I went to the beach. The real beach, not the metaphorical one. I’ve been hooked ever since.”

You let yourself giggle at his joke, hand coming up to twist at the ring hanging on your necklace. A nervous tic. “..I always wanted to live somewhere tropical. Remote. With shore for miles.”

He grins and nods enthusiastically. “Me too. Somewhere fun, you know? A fresh start.”

“Right,” you whisper, looking down at the ring. “Somewhere peaceful.”

He catches the shift in your tone, and for a brief moment, something unreadable flickers in his eyes. Not suspicion, or pity. Quiet understanding. “..an ex?”

“My boyfriend,” you murmur. “He was – is – somewhere peaceful. I hope.”

You clear your throat and let the silence settle like dust. Let it say everything you won’t. He doesn’t try to sweep it away.

The server comes by with a smile and a check you barely remember asking for. You both reach for it at the same time.

“I’ve got it,” he says, hand brushing yours.

You let him.

Outside, the sky has turned that soft sienna that only comes at the end of a particularly long day. 

You wonder, briefly, if he’s up there.

If the stars twinkle less to mock you for remembering and more to remind you he’s smiling, watching, from somewhere you can no longer reach.

He holds the door open for you. “Want to take a walk?”

You stare at him, then smile softly. “Yes. Thank you.”

You walk side by side through streets you’ve walked before, by a sunset you’ve seen a million times over. But it’s different, somehow. Lighter.

“Do you think people only get one true love?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.

He thinks for a moment, then looks down at you. His hand touches yours, light, then he intertwines your fingers with his when you don’t pull away. “I think if you’re lucky, you get one true love who teaches you something. And if you’re brave, you’ll keep your heart open long enough to find it again.”

You stay quiet. But your shoulders drop, and the words seep through your ribs, somewhere between the neverending ache and something softer.

The ring on your necklace lies warm on your skin. The sun disappears beneath the horizon line, winking out like a bittersweet goodbye.

Maybe you were right. Maybe nothing stays stagnant.

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

You squeeze his hand and keep walking.