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mentallyunstablenoodle · 1 month ago

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you're going to ibiza for a girls holiday. gojo is NOT okay.

satoru gojo thinks heartbreak should be illegal. specifically, his heartbreak. specifically, this heartbreak- the one where his girlfriend is about to board a flight to ibiza with shoko and the rest of her friends while he stays home to rot like yesterday’s milk.

you’re attempting to cram your sunglasses into an already overstuffed carry on when he flops onto your bed behind you with the grace of a man who’s just been shot. he doesn’t just flop. he bounces twice, then rolls over dramatically until his face is buried in your blanket.

“whyyyyy are you doing this to me,” he mumbles, voice muffled in your pillow. “what did i do. name one war crime i committed to deserve this.” you flick him on the forehead. he doesn’t even flinch, just cracks one icy blue eye open to watch you wrestle with your zipper.

“stop being so dramatic,” you say, fighting a smile. “it's a weekend, satoru. three days.”

“three days is seventy two hours,” he corrects you, flinging an arm out for maximum tragedy. “do you know how many minutes that is? do you know how many times we'll need to facetime just so i can stay alive?”

at this point in your relationship, he's long past pretending not to be clingy. right now, his hair’s a mess, his shirt is half untucked from where he’s been crawling around your floor in protest, and you’d bet good money that if you tried to actually drag your suitcase out the door, he’d just cling to the handle and let himself be wheeled along like luggage extension.

outside, shoko honks the car horn. three short threatening beeps. she's been ready for twenty minutes.

“satoru!” she yells through the window. “get off her!”

he ignores her completely- too busy rolling onto his stomach so he can grab you around the hips, chin digging into your thigh like he’s anchoring you to the floor.

"you're gonna meet some european dj with a man bun then you’re gonna come back saying stuff like ‘babe, the ocean changed me.’ and then i'll have to join a monastery.” he whines dramatically.

you snort, patting his head like a sulky cat. “you'd get kicked out of a monastery in two minutes.”

he gasps, scandalized. “wow. wow. okay. disrespectful and abandoning me? i see.”

outside, shoko honks again. you glance at your phone- four unread texts from her that say i'm leaving you here if he tries to climb in my trunk.

when you finally manage to zip your bag and drag it toward the door, he scrambles after you on his knees. before you can even slip your shoes on, he’s wrapped himself entirely around your legs from behind, arms locked like a vice around your thighs, cheek smushed against your lower back.

“satoru-" you try, exasperated. you tug forward an inch. he drags with you like a six foot weighted blanket, feet sliding across the floorboards.

“try leaving now,” he says, voice muffled, clinging tighter. “try it. see what happens. i'm part of the outfit now.”

“are you done?”

“never.”

eventually, you have to bribe him off with three kisses, a promise to text him when you land, and the threat of shoko physically dragging him out of the doorway by the hair.

when you finally manage to peel him off you long enough to escape to the door, he stumbles after you in his socks, hair sticking up everywhere. he dramatically plants himself in the hallway like a guard dog who failed obedience school.

“i'm gonna spam you,” he threatens, pointing a finger at you like you’ve committed a crime. “you're gonna regret this. i'm gonna send you so many sad selfies you’ll have to turn your phone off. you did this to yourself.”

“can't wait,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss him just to shut him up.

and when you land in ibiza, your phone connects to the airport wi-fi before the wheels even finish taxiing, and immediately you’re hit with a barrage of notifications that make shoko side eye you over her sunglasses.

38 unread messages 9 missed calls 4 instagram stories tagged with your handle

you open them in order of damage control. the first story is a dramatic black and white close up of gojo’s face, half buried in your pillow, captioned, "when your reason for living leaves you for a european man bun 🕊️💔.’

the next is even worse. he’s lying on your side of his bed, dramatically clutching the shirt you forgot to pack. the caption reads, ‘i put on her perfume to remember what happiness smelled like.’

you snort so hard you nearly drop your phone on the moving walkway. shoko just flicks your arm. “i'm confiscating your phone if you laugh at him again. he's training you to enable this.”

you ignore her. the third story is the worst. gojo in full grayscale filter, standing in your apartment wearing your fuzzy pink slippers. marvins room playing in the background.

he zooms in on the slippers with the caption, ‘stepping into her role since she stepped out of my life.’

you cover your face with one hand. “he's so stupid. should i just block him?”

shoko hums, pulling her suitcase along. “no. let him suffer. it's free entertainment.”

you try to pocket your phone. a mistake. another ping. he's texted you forty more times since you opened the app.

toru: have you landed??? toru: did you get kidnapped by ibiza pirates??? toru: blink twice if u need rescue toru: i’m outside the airport toru: JK but i would be if nanami didn’t physically tackle me toru: you know what toru: i’m buying a ticket rn toru: you think i won’t? toru: you think i won’t show up in a speedo and ruin a girls trip??? toru: i would look so good in a speedo btw toru: send feet pics toru: ok jk but for real call me when u see this toru: ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა toru: that’s the face i’m making rn

you can practically see him pacing around your apartment, wearing your slippers and sniffing your hoodie like a love struck puppy with abandonment issues.

you facetime him while you wait for your bags. it rings once. once. he picks up like he’s been standing there, phone in hand, ready to pounce.

“BABY!” he's way too loud- the echo of your empty apartment behind him, your pillow in his arms like a hostage. “did you land? are you safe? are the ibiza men uglier than me?”

you roll your eyes. “yes, yes, and yes.”

he gasps. “you didn’t even look yet. you can’t know that for sure.”

“i know,” you say sweetly. “nobody’s prettier than you, toru.”

he beams like you just handed him the winning lottery ticket. “ugh. say it again.” shoko rips the phone out of your damn hand.

“satoru. shut up. she’ll text you later.” she hangs up before he can protest, then tosses your phone back at you like it’s infected.

and sure enough, by the time you’re in the hotel lobby, his stories have doubled. one's a video of him sitting at nanami's desk wearing sunglasses inside, captioned ‘the sun doesn’t shine when she’s gone.’ another is just his hand dramatically pressed against the window with ‘thinking bout her’.

when you finally text him that you miss him too, he replies in half a second.

toru: I KNEW IT toru: u love me more toru: i’m making a powerpoint about it toru: sending u slides later toru: enjoy ur trip baby 🩷🩷🩷

three days later, you come home with salt in your hair and a mild sunburn on the bridge of your nose, dragging your suitcase through arrivals while shoko threatens to abandon you at baggage claim if you don’t buy her a coffee first. you’re halfway through customs when your phone lights up again.

toru: where are you😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

you don’t even bother replying. because the moment you clear the sliding doors into the arrivals hall, you spot him instantly. there’s no not spotting him. he’s tall enough to block out the overhead sign, standing dead center with his sunglasses on.

but he’s not alone. flanking him like two deeply uncomfortable bodyguards are yuji and megumi, each gripping one corner of the same massive piece of torn cardboard scrawled in permanent marker.

‘WELCOME HOME BABY (no Ibiza DJs allowed)’

there's even a sad doodle of a little crying stick figure labeled ‘me’ with a huge speech bubble that says ‘DON’T LEAVE AGAIN.’

yuji’s beaming at every passerby like this is the highlight of his week. megumi is staring at the floor like he wants it to open up and swallow him entirely. and you? you stop in your tracks. shoko wheezes behind you, chokes on her iced coffee, and mutters, “no way. nope. he's your problem now,” before speed walking off to the taxi stand.

satoru spots you immediately. like a guard dog with perfect senses and no shame. he nearly drops the sign in his rush to get to you, barking an order over his shoulder- “hold it up straight, yuji, megumi, c’mon-" - slipping through the sea of families and luggage carts until he’s practically skidding to a stop in front of you.

“you’re here,” he breathes, like you didn’t just spend the whole weekend texting him hourly updates and proof of life selfies.

you try-try-to keep a straight face. “what's with the sign?”

yuji yells, “it was his idea!” at the same time megumi mutters, “can we go home?"

gojo pouts like you kicked a puppy. “you abandoned me. it's my legal right to embarrass you at least once.” then he throws his arms around you so hard he nearly knocks you backward over your suitcase- picks you up a few inches off the grimy airport floor like you’re a carry on bag he plans to personally smuggle home.

he's warm, expensive aftershave and the faint cling of your own shampoo from his “mourning” routine.

“i missed you so much." he says into your hair. “i was so brave while you were gone. so strong. so stoic.”

“you spammed me fifty memes about dying alone,” you mumble into his jacket.

“stoic,” he corrects, and when he sets you down, he cups your face like he needs to confirm you’re real. thumb brushing the sunburn on your nose, grin so wide it’s blinding.

“you're never leaving again,” he says, so sweet you almost don’t notice the tiny edge underneath. “next trip? i'm coming too. i'll pack my speedo.”

you flick his forehead. he pretends it hurts as you both giggle.

behind him, yuji's still dutifully holding the sign high for everyone to see and megumi's giving you a deeply apologetic look.

and as gojo drags your suitcase toward the exit for you, cardboard sign tucked proudly under yuji's arm now like a trophy, you catch a glimpse of what he scribbled on the back.

‘IBIZA MEN, IF YOU’RE READING THIS: STAY AWAY FROM MY GIRLFRIEND.- LOVE, HER BOYFRIEND. 6’3. LIMITLESS CURSE ENERGY.’

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