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riveredmoon · 2 months ago

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drunk running | s. geto

chapter six: bad thing twice

synopsis: the new year brings in the inevitable. suguru knows he is fucked. yn plays it cool…ish.

warnings/genre: modern au, smau, smut, oral — m receiving, fingering, car (public) sex, kms joke, cursing, partying, implied alcohol use, sukuna (lol), suguru being heavily affected (embarrassingly so), yn pretending, slight angst (i think — my chest hurt writing some parts lmao), some descriptions of religious things.

a/n: chapter six, my beloved! oh, how fun was this — i say as i play forget her by jeff buckley on repeat whenever i wrote from suguru’s pov. (i'm clutching my chest and looking over my shoulder).

*see ya at the end*

suguru is staring back at himself in the bathroom mirror. his pupils blown. hair slicked to his forehead. his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

he could hear the steps of every single person in their apartment. the lights over the mirror look funny, he is so sure he changed them recently, but they look like they’re dimming. the door his back is leaning on is vibrating from the bass of the speaker and he feels like there are too many sensations happening at once.

and you. you’re on your knees in front of him. your head just making the cut off of what could be seen in the reflection.

your mouth is stretched around his cock and he swears he isn’t going to make it to the countdown. not that he cares. not when you’re looking up at him through your lashes — he’ll stay in this year for the rest of his life if he could keep you here. keep you tethered to his body, at least then you can’t really pretend. right?

pretty lips wrapped perfectly around him. hollowed cheeks, your mouth making space just for him, or maybe inviting him back home.

and maybe it’s the way your eyes have not left him that’s making him believe that.

“shit,” he grunts, slowly. but even with the music blasting and everyone yelling over one another — his voice, the sounds coming for your mouth. it’s much louder.

both of his hands are buried in your hair. soft strands that tickle his knuckles, slick with sweat from his palm. everytime he grabs a little harder, he smells your shampoo. it’s still the same.

you hum around him, and he takes everything for him to not jerk his hips forward. the vibration makes his thighs tense in concentration, making his abs twitch. he’s sure he could feel you trying to smile — he’s memorized the curve of your smug grin in whatever avenue it’s in.

your mouth is warm, wet, familiar. spit trickles down from your chin, as you pick up speed. one of your hands pressing your nails into his thigh — he knows they’ll be crescent shaped mementos from you tomorrow. your other hand is curled around the base of his shaft, stroking his cock in the most tantalizing rhythm.

slick sounds — ones coming from your mouth, his shuddered breathing, some sultry song booming into the floorboards fill the air. obscene and sharp. he’s starting to feel overwhelmed.

and then he looks down at you again. watching your throat as you slide down. the way your lashes flutter, like little butterfly kisses on the top of your cheeks — he almost wants to place his pinky right below to feel the softness of the flutter. watches, as your tongue flicks out to tease the underside of his tip — with practiced ease. you remember just what he likes your mouth to do. you sink back down, eyes locked on his — the slurp so loud, he’s sure everyone heard, despite the music being so loud.

he wants to be embarrassed that you’re both here. that he couldn’t fight the tug of his hand twenty minutes into the party. blaming it on the one sip of beer he took right before you walked in. couldn’t ignore the way you sent him that flirty grin. or how easily you fell to your knees — like you’re praying on a pew made just for you.

he chokes on a whimper, and once again another bout of embarrassment courses through.

“fuck,” he hisses lowly. but he knows you heard. sending him a moan of your own — one that sounded more like a tease. teasing him because you like hearing him fall apart. you still know how to help him get there.

you don’t stop. it’s messy and deliberate. you’re bobbing your head a little faster down on him, salvia coating him and strings of it connect your lips to him every time you pull back. bopping a little sloppier. you always liked when he lost his composure first.

he wants to laugh at that now. what a fucking joke.

but he can’t, not when you’re flattening your tongue as you push all the way down. your tongue follows the curve of his protruding vein, like it’s a track just for you to go along. you pull back up fast, your tongue now flicking his tip in tight circles.

his knees buckle. his shoulders feel so heavy. he had to look up at the ceiling because he knows if he stares down at you for one more second, he’s going to fucking lose it. not that he hasn’t already.

one of his hands that were entangled in your hair rushes out to brace himself against the wall closest to him. the hand still in your hair grips tighter, holding you in place. keeping you two together.

his jerks hip forward, on their own. and you lean in a little more, his tip hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. the sound is sharp and wet. and he isn’t sure if the gruttal choke came from you or him — but the sound causes that white heat feeling in his gut to start growing.

he swallows down another sound. you sink down lower. and if he thought he was gone before, he’s not sure where he is right now.

the light over the mirror gets a little brighter. the music is louder. more footsteps stomping into his place. your mouth feels more familiar as your tongue gets more accustomed to his cock. and he thinks you never forget the feeling as well.

his thighs are so tense. his breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling cause broken gasps to leave his lips. he wants to shut his eyes but decides to finally look at you again.

you’re moaning — he feels it, he hears it, he wants to live in them. your thighs are clenched and he gets excited knowing you’re feeling this just as much as he is.

your eyes, still staring back at him. tears threatening to fall on your lash line. lashes still sending those little kisses to your cheeks.

your nails dig a little further into his thighs and he wants to hiss out in pain, but he feels nothing but your body on his. you’re grounding yourself — your mouth gets sloppier, faster, warmer.

he pulls back a bit, not leaving your mouth. and once again, your tongue flicks his head. your hand squeezes the shaft a little tighter. he could almost hear how tight your thighs are clenching together.

he thinks back at gojo’s party how he wanted the dj to record your laugh just to send to him. he wants him to record this as well — the way his cock disappears into your mouth with each thrust, the lewd squelch of spit and suction echoing in the small bathroom.

“don’t stop,” he mutters, and he ignores the whine at the end of his syllables. his fingers gripping together into your hair, he hopes he isn’t hurting you.

you press further down on him, deeper. your hand on his shaft just there to hold him up for you. throat clenched around him, like a warm embrace, drool bubbling at the corners of your lips. you don’t blink away.

he thinks you look absolutely beautiful like this.

“FIVE!”

his fingers curl even tighter around your pomegranate scented hair, gripping hard. you show no sign of discomfort. you’re actually inviting it, with how much further you’re allowing him to enter your mouth.

you hold him in your mouth, your hand pumping what your throat can’t at the moment.

“TWO!”

his eyes roll back. breathing heavy. he feels like he’s in a sauna right fucking now.

“ONE!”

he is spilling in your mouth. fast. a shudder so deep, he feels it in his toes . he has to curl over your head so that he does not fall through the door he’s leaning on. he basically caged you in, and he wants to keep you here — maybe until next year.

he is completely sure that everyone heard just how loud he groaned. and he doesn’t care. because it’s just proof that he had you in some capacity.

you take him all. every single drop. every sound. every grip. not a single flinch.

you don’t move, not even a blink — just swallowing him down and looking up like you’re proud of it. like you’ll swallow him whole after. you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

you pull back, a slick of spit keeping the tip of his cock and your swollen lips connected. you look up at him, cheeks flushed, tongue out — showing him you swallowed. and he feels his knees buckle. he wants to blame it on the aftershock, but he knows that would be a lie.

you watch him, watch you. his chest is still rising rapidly, and he wants to see just how soaked you are. your thighs still clenched. that flirty grin now has the space to be etched on your lips in full.

he wonders if guys could get away just staying in the bathroom for the rest of the night.

you use your hands to lift yourself up from his thighs, he’s surprised he has the strength to even withhold that amount of pressure.

his hand is still threaded in your hair, and your hands placed tightly on his forearm — like you’re both too scared to let go of one another.

suguru could only pay attention to your lips. glossed over, inviting, the gentlest smile ghosting them. he’s surprised a stupid joke hasn’t left them yet.

and he’s leaning down, to finally breathe you in — mouth to mouth. three years of waiting, three years of remembering. he is choosing to ignore your light pull back, your hands still holding on. he knows you like the chase.

“where the FUCK is suguru?” he hears gojo right outside the bathroom door. and something in you snaps. like you just realized you’re here, with him. lips inches away. eyes sharing the same space between you both.

you swiftly pull back, your hands still holding on, his hand still threaded in your hair. and you turn your head to the left, placing the softest kiss on the pulse point of his wrist.

and he swallows down the way his heart lunges, like it’s jumping out to be placed in your palm. to have your lips give it the same chaste kiss you gave his wrist.

your cheeks are burning, your eyes wide like you are just realizing what you did. he studies you as much as he can. he doesn’t think you’ve ever done something so soft.

“happy new year, suguru,” you whisper, pulling away from him completely. and like that, the softness is physically gone, but it’s there. his fingers still feel your hair tickling his knuckles. he hopes the strands recognized him.

your eyes are dodging his. you must know what he’s thinking — or you’re trying not to find out.

the softness is in your voice and in the way you're trying not to look up at him. in the ghost of your lips on his pulse — he feels it beating a little faster.

he feels like he’s waiting for everyone to surprise him at his own party. he knows where everyone is. he knows why everyone is here. he’s been here before. its supposed to feel exhilarating.

this, just isn’t as fun.

suguru lets out a breath, one that he wasn’t aware was lodged in his chest. like he’s trying to huff out the last three years into the toilet, making space for this new year. one with you, possibly.

he swears those lights above the mirror are as bright as they’ve ever been. almost matching the light in your eyes. the ones looking over him, narrowing at the doorknob right behind him.

“you should go kiss your boyfriend,” you’re laughing, taking a few steps towards him to be within his breathing room. and he smiles quickly, the joke he knew was waiting, kissing him softly.

“he’ll be okay,” his voice is low, hungry. and the way you’re licking your bottom lip, he knows that you’re fully aware of what you’re doing. of what he wants.

his eyes are watching you as you pull your dress down to where it should be. quickly smoothing your hair. your lashes damp. your cheeks tinted. his cum on the tip of your tongue.

he almost feels possessive.

you smile, dodging his eyes. your hand grazes his hip and he leans into the touch like a dog leaning its head in its owner’s lap. but your hands lightly push him away, finding the doorknob to slip out of the bathroom.

you don’t look back. the door clicks shut. suguru’s belt buckle clinks on the floor. and the overhead lights are dimming again.

he doesn’t bother fixing himself. he believes if he moves too fast, the memory of your mouth on him would vanish. like how everyone believes the new year magically banishes the grime from the year before.

you feel him — as much as you feel the coolness from the car door’s handle in your palm. his catlike eyes are dragging along your spine, inching their way into your skin.

“are you following me?” you ask. tilting your head so that you could glance at him from over your shoulder. your palm on the handle pulling, inviting you into the safety of the car. warmth cascading out and kissing your cheeks.

however, the warmth from the car is no match for the warmth of knowing. knowing that suguru is walking towards you. knowing that he wants what you’re willing to give.

his quiet footsteps following you, dangerously close. comfortably welcoming. his steps, this idling car — toying a line that was crossed weeks ago at gojo’s party. the new year just brought in the finality of it, like how it brings in cheers and new outlooks on the days ahead.

“don’t act like you don’t want me to,” he says, low enough that you want to roll your eyes at how easily it was for your ears to train on him instantly.

“mhm… your words, not mine,” you mumble, excitement clinging onto the cold chill the new year is bringing.

your body is halfway in the car, and you’re trying your hardest to not pay attention to a couple things.

one, just how badly you want to stay here with suguru. even if it’s just out here, bringing in the new year. a wind wrapping you both. you’ll even forget about what transpired in the bathroom. you just kind of like having him here. watching you leave.

you’ll walk all the way home if that means his steps would be nipping at yours from behind.

and the fact that suguru’s steps aren’t stopping. you want to look back at him, but you don’t want to see whatever emotion he’s trying to hide. you know he is rotating what suguru to present to you. he’s trying to be strong. and as much as you want his hands on your body, his breath hitched into your neck — you don’t want to touch that right now.

that’s why you dodged his eyes as soon as you swallowed everything he gave you. the bathroom lights were shining a little too brightly, you could make out the emotions he’s had since he was born with how wide and willing they were.

his hands in your hair, your lips pressing to his heartbeat… yeah, that was enough feelings for the next three years.

especially with the new year on the horizon and his cum coating your tongue. you think you had enough.

you know it, actually. because this would end one way. and you don’t know if you’re willing to slip out of his reach this time. and that terrifies you.

you slip into the car. the driver paying you no mind, as he argues into his phone.

harsh and final tone. it brings you back to that night three years ago. the one you don’t want to bring up — no matter how cathartic it may be for both of you.

it happened. you ignored it the best you could. you’re still walking away now.

you’re reaching out to close the door behind you. locking you away from suguru before he gets to you.

however, he had other plans and you forgot just how persistent he could be. his arm reaching out to stop the door from closing — giving him just enough room to slip in.

his thigh meeting yours. his cologne washing over. the door clicking behind him. your chest tightening. the drip in your panties persisting. you almost let out a groan.

it’s even warmer now. your driver looking back to nod his head at you two, his foot meeting the gas and starting the drive to your house.

you ignore suguru’s eyes on the side of your face. your body betraying you and leaning slightly into his — your knees pressed together, jumping you back to that dinner a couple weeks ago.

the feeling never leaving, just morphing into the pure heat in this car.

the driver is still angrily whispering into his phone and you want to ask for a headphone, so that you could hear the other side of the argument. weigh in your decision, continue to ignore the weight of suguru’s stare.

“you weren’t going to say goodbye?” he leans down a bit. you feel his breath on your cheek.

“i think i did enough with my mouth.” you shrug, trying to find balance in your voice.

he chuckles lowly, and you almost believe you hear the shiver of nervousness etched into it. like he sees what’s about to happen, and he’s going to get the short end of the stick again.

his hand finds its place on your bare thigh and you shiver at the contact. his calloused fingers pressing. your panties are dampening even more. you roll your eyes at the quick escape you were trying to do — what a stupid fucking plan.

you clench your thighs, involuntarily of course. you see suguru grin from the corner of your eyes. you swallow your own grin down.

“fuckin’ idiot,” the driver mutters. shouts heard coming from the other end of the phone.

you’re sure he’s talking about you. actually, maybe suguru. you pray he is talking about him.

you suck in a breath, not looking at the pretty boy who knows your body so well. this should be exciting. a psychiatrist would probably tell you that you’re finally getting what you’ve been trying to find in the geto juniors.

you can’t help but feel like you’re skiing down lava instead of snow. what is going to happen this time?

you should have thought of that on your knees. yeah, you’re the idiot.

you know you guys don’t need to talk. words aren’t needed when your bodies are the validators. and that’s the problem — you speak fluency in body movements. suguru hangs on to words. gripping on to the meaning of things — despite knowing he’ll get hurt. that you’ll hurt him.

his fingers continue to creep up. his other arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. you’re practically leaning into his chest.

you feel the shudder of his breath. you smell his cologne, it’s the same one from college. you feel his heart trip over itself and you want to push him out of the car for his own safety.

everything is happening quietly but quickly. you feel like the driver is driving thirty miles over the speed limit and he’s about to miss your exit — and that comes with mixed feelings. more time with suguru’s fingers making its way to your cunt (who’s missed him so dearly). more time with his heart punching you because it’s beating so hard. more time with the drivers nasty tone, sounding like suguru three years ago.

you finally glance over to suguru, his eyes dark and narrowed.

“here?” your eyes jumping to the driver. he’s still oblivious, still angry. you want to pat him on the shoulder and tell him it’ll be okay — just have him look back at you two now. but, you barely know what the fuck is happening back here.

“i don’t really want to wait,” he mumbles. “i don't think you want me to either.”

you kind of want to laugh because he isn’t lying and that invisible line is gone. done. no such thing as doing new things to bring the new year in with you two.

instead, you mentally say “fuck it,”. shifting in your seat, letting your legs fall open a little more. like having access to your most private parts is his god given right. you almost think it is.

he hums like he’s greeting an old friend — taking your invitation with full confidence. his fingers gently dragging the soaked fabric of your panties to the side.

cold air hits your heat immediately, it doesn’t last though. not when the rough pads of suguru’s fingers slide through your folds.

you let out that groan you’d been holding in. quiet, barely restrained.

your hand finds his wrist, not stopping him — grounding yourself to him. keeping you here, in this seat, his fingers finding their way back into you like they’ve never forgotten their way around.

his fingers drag slow, teasing lines through your slick. the noise not protected by a door or loud music. the sounds of wet and shamelessness mixing with the sound of the car’s engine, the driver’s muffled cursing, you and suguru’s hitched breaths.

he dips one finger in, slow and deliberate. you clench around him, like you’re welcoming said old friend.

“fuck,” he whispers. more to himself than to you. “you still feel the same.”

before you could respond, another finger joined and you bite your lower lip, hard. making sure a sound doesn’t slip out. you’re eyeing the back of the driver, praying that the person in his headphone is screaming at him so loudly he won’t be able to make out that you're unraveling behind him.

his fingers curl, just right, and of course suguru remembers what your body likes. you’ll be shocked if he didn’t.

you’re trying to stay upright, but you feel yourself melting into the leather seat, into his shoulder. your hand not on suguru clenching the seat below you. suguru’s hand on your waist pulling you even closer.

you’re training your eyes in the rear view mirror. trying to keep a composed face. watching the driver for any sign of knowing.

“sugur-“ you’re cut off by his thumb finding your clit.

you swallow a moan. squeezing your eyes shut. his thumb starts its clockwise rotation on your bundle of nerves.

he chuckles when you buck your hips up, the fingers in you burrowing further.

his fingers sink into you further, with an ease that makes his breath hitch. like he too didn’t expect you to be this wet — not for him. not after the three years of silence.

your grip on his wrist tightens even more, you almost feel his pulse matching yours. you remember how his pulse felt on your lips some time ago.

you finally look back at him and he is watching you. eyes hooded, lips parted — like he’s studying what ruins you best, as if he does not know.

you know suguru is enjoying this. the way he is huffing through his nostrils to compose himself. the way his thumb just so happens to know where your clit is, no matter how long it’s been. whatever words spilling out his mouth are spoken in that very specific tone, heavy and gruff. the way his left foot is bouncing like a jack rabbit. you want to tease him about it, remind him that you know him almost better than he thinks he knows you.

you lean closer into him, his thumb on your waist rubbing soft circles. you want to tell him to stop that, but it’s in perfect rhythm with the thumb circling on your clit.

your lips are so close. noses brushing against each other. a gasp about to leave your lips and emerge into his mouth, that has some deceleration wanting to be spilled from it. you’re about to ignore it for tonight, just to feel his lips on yours.

“ma’am,” suguru’s fingers freeze and your head snaps up, you’re looking at how wide your eyes are from the rearview mirror. “do i turn up this street?”

you’re quickly looking out the window. tons of people with party hats and streamers are walking the streets. you feel like you were dropped into a different place, shocked that you heard someone from it. your heavy breathing, suguru’s tapping left foot, and your wetness the only things your ears picked up on.

“yes, that’ll be great,” your voice is shaky and you’re choosing to ignore both the driver’s questioning stare and suguru’s amused one.

his fingers haven’t moved again, like they’re content just being in you. the car shifts with the turn, and you’re pushed into his side.

“i get to make sure you make it home safely,” with how close you are, he’s basically whispering into your hair. “you know, crazy people are out at this time of night.”

“says the man with his hand in my pu-“

“here!” the driver yells, and with how flushed he seems — you know you were caught.

suguru’s fingers leave quickly and you almost whine at how much you miss them. you slide away from his grip, pulling your dress down as much as you can. ignoring the driver's eyes.

you jump out first, looking at suguru shuffle out behind you. and because yeah, you’re a bearer of stupid fucking ideas and and libido that could only be matched with his — you jump at the bait.

“for old times sake?” you ask. wiggling your eyebrows to make him laugh.

“as friends?” he says, a grin etched onto his lips. you hear the nervous quiver though.

and for some reason, the nervous twitch in his shoulder as he slides out the car, his question, the easy grin placed so delicately on his lips — you feel annoyed. almost angry. you almost want to turn around and slam the door before he even has the chance to watch you go.

you’re brought back to the conversation from three years ago. you guys could have still been friends, if he didn’t fall. if he didn’t feel sorry for you. whatever the fuck that means. you like to pretend that specific line doesn’t stay with you. the heaviness of it creeping up when you’re touching a situation you’re sure has qualms that would ruin every single thing you’ve put up to protect yourself, protect others. and funnily enough, suguru is always the leader in those situations.

what great fucking luck you two have with each other.

“of course, geto,” you reply, trying to keep the joke in your voice. keep the welcoming tone. you’re doing this for your body, for the things you know only he could do. “i wouldn’t want you to catch feelings again.”

he is out of the car, his hand on the door to close is shut. his back to you, tense. like he’s entering a room where he just heard everyone talking about him. you’re not sure if he’s tense at his last name, or the feelings comment.

you let out a quiet, nervous laugh. it’s met with the shutting of the car door. you don’t think you could hide how shocked you are.

“ah, what the hell,” suguru huffs. turning around to look at you, his hands coming up to rub his hands through his hair. like he’s trying to hide from you, or grip onto the ends of his hair as an anchor – remind him that he could stay here and not go up to you.

his grin isn’t as easy, but it’s there — forced or not.

“happy new year,” the driver calls out. his voice was as harsh as when he was arguing with whoever that was on the oblong.

and there on the first step up towards your apartment, you watch him. you want to run up the stairs first — give you some much needed space, relish in the fact that he’s going to run after you. maybe ask the driver to put him back into the car and drive him around the city. give him a pretty show while he thinks about what he’s doing. maybe they could share some argument tips so the next time this fails, suguru can hurt you with his words even more

you don’t. you shake your head, shaking that conversation out your head. shaking any sign or those puppy dog eyes from suguru away.

you stay on the stoop and watch him walk to you.

you’re laying on your side, naked — cheek pressed into the bed like you’re trying to become one with it. the sheet wrapped lazily around your waist. your hair trickling down on to the pillowcase, like it knows where it belongs. that beauty mark on your left shoulder watching him, watch you.

the shouts welcoming the new year have since ceased. the only things suguru could hear are the sounds of your light snoring and his brain screaming at him to get the fuck out of here.

“fuck,” he groans, quietly. not to wake you.

with the amount of space between you two, he’s sure you wouldn’t have heard anyways.

he feels uncomfortable — and not because he’s in your space. but, that you’re allowing him to be here. yes, you rolled over as far as you can. yes, you’re one movement from falling off the bed. yes, the darkness of the early morning is shrouding your back — the light kissing your cheeks and the bruises he made sure to leave on your chest. but, he’s here. and you know that.

he runs his hands down his face, hoping he rubs some sense into himself.

the window your body is facing is letting in the very early winter sunrise. still dark and gloomy. cold. outside the window there is a flickering light, one that suguru can’t figure out what it is. in his mind, he’s using it as an alarm. a calling sign that he’s in too deep. warning, warning — suguru is going to get ruined. again.

he thinks about the lights in his bathroom earlier. there had to be some connection? or whenever he’s around you, lights just start to fuck around with him.

he flicks his eyes away from the light, not liking the sense of urgency it has. he doesn’t know what it means. he doesn’t care — especially when you’re here. a body away. he has your scent drifting around him like fireflies in the summer evening.

he knows the implications. there is no need to rush away now. he never left in the first place. the three years were just a little hiatus — one that meant nothing in the long run.

with some light creeping in, he uses it to train his eyes to finally look. have full access to your space, without you knowing. and so many things, even after three years, screams you.

the nail polish you always use on your toes, lays on its side on the dresser in front of the bed. he genuinely shocked that it's closed, you’ve had many instances where you have forgotten. that dark lavender color staining whatever it laid on.

books scatter on your bedside table, on the dresser ahead, the ones not neatly lined on the bookshelf lay haphazardly on their spines. he knows you haven’t finished them. you’ve always had an issue with finishing things all the way.

you shift a bit and he almost reaches his arm out to make sure you don’t fall out of the bed. but he’s too far, he wouldn’t have reached if you fell anyways.

you’re okay, nuzzling into the pillow deeper. finding a home in it, while suguru is looking for a way out.

he looks away from you. your beauty mark still staring, that flickering alarm light still calling for him to escape now.

he moves his eyes around the room again. an old college shirt thrown over the closet door. that bookshelf that isn’t lined with books, but with the actual pockets of your life. framed pictures of you and friends.

you’re smiling in most of them — big and bright. like it’s easy for you, and suguru had to remind himself that it is. some of them, you’re making silly faces, or you’re mid movement, your body and face blur — but your eyes still shine and that smile is still memorized on your face.

and with the precision of a hawk, his eyes narrow in on himself. in the back of those snapshots of your life, there’s a picture collecting dust. you’re not mid dance or pretending — he would know.

suguru is staring back at himself. he squints harder and all the way in the back, as if you were trying to tuck him away — picture form and physically.

it’s a picture of him. well, a picture that includes him. it’s from his junior year, your sophomore year. he knows because he remembers the exact hair length you had every year.

it’s a group picture — shoko in between you and him, nanami to your other side. and with how nanami looks, he is sure it’s gojo who took the picture. haibara is to the side of him. all of you young, all of you happy.

no i love yous driving someone way. the taste of you foreign to his tongue.

his arm finding some way to be looped around your shoulders, even with shoko in between. and because he truly does not remember this picture — he never noticed how in this snapshot, you’re staring at him. a real smile etched on your lips, your head tilted to look over at him.

he sucks in a breath. long and deep, like he’s coming up from swimming at the deep end of a pool. he almost wants to wake you up, finally reach his arm out and tap that beauty mark as if it’s a power button that would start you up.

instead he smiles to himself. the smile not matching the actual fire burning in his gut. he wants to corner you and ask if that waiter that looks like him, looks up at suguru’s picture, whenever he enters you.

but then he knows he has to corner himself too. ask this version of himself how it has been to be privy to these private moments with you? watching you sleep, get dressed and undressed, maybe think of him?

he didn’t know he could be jealous of himself, but he is. because why does he get that treatment?

was it easier to pretend then?

suguru slides out of your bed. his brain racing and tiredness creeping up his shoulders like a shawl.

his back towards the door, his eyes still roaming your body. narrowing in on the space that was between you both — a perfect calling place for where he wants to vomit his feelings and leave everything involving you there. maybe he’ll place that picture you have of him up there in that place. since even you know, he’ll always be around.

he doesn’t want to leave you the mess or the confusion though. so, he quietly grabs his clothes. he rattles with the game plan of sneaking your pillow and that framed picture of you both. the one that has been watching this ordeal, in the crotch of his pants. like a low-level robber — clusmy, desperate, a joke.

he decides against it, he’s sure the smell of your shampoo would dance around him like the entrails of those new year resolutions that no one follows through with. he wants the suguru in the frame to stay perched there, collecting dust, collecting memories with you that he doubts will have come to fruition — even though he will kill to swap places.

he continues his quiet backward trek, walking around like he knows the soul of your space. and maybe he does. because he knows he’ll end up back here.

he knows he’ll continue to pretend. following you along as far as you’ll let him.

he makes it to the door, tiptoeing out — and he is almost sure he hears you let out a huff of relief when he closes the door behind him. or maybe that's just the sound of him leaving himself behind, again.

taglist: @re-tired-succubus, @luvvcho, @iluvujt, @smolcooki33, @candy-s72, @starmapz, @shokosbunny, @emlient, @loveyislost, @whatismatildethinkingabout, @shibataimu, @11thlife02, @se-phi-roth, @frootloopscos, @risagichi, @sttaejoon-blog, @vampshxde, @corvid007, @marsavie, @vorfreudevortex, @bubblegumcat229, @fairygardenprincesss, @lily-isalittlegirl, @sukunasrealgf, @vimzya, @sexylexy12

extra a/n: hi! if you would be so kind to answer some questions. could be in my ask or under this. im working on chapter seven and i think its going to be big — would you like to wait a little longer for me to post it all at once or do a part 1, part 2 situation!? your opinions would be much appreciated!

*also — after rereading, ive realized i did not change the time stamps on the tweets so pls make believe the dates are in december (for the current timeline). okay bye! thank you for reading :)

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