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seeingivy · 3 months

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my kink is karma

satoru gojo x f!reader

**loosely based on my kink is karma by chappell roan

an: based on a request from gojo as taylor anon <3 this one is for u

“hi honey bee.”

you peer over the top of your monitor screen to find satoru gojo, the executive account manager whose murder you’ve been planning for the past few weeks, looming over your desk. his inhumanely long limbs are fixed behind his back, bright ocean blue eyes filled with glee. and you’ve been through this enough times to know exactly what’s going on.

he’s caught yet another mistake that you’ve made. and he’s here to sick it to you, his favorite worker bee that he likes to irritate.

satoru gojo is a nicely packaged sewer demon that arrived two months ago, replacing the little old lady who used to occupy the glass office at the center of the workflow. she was kind, a little bit confused here and there, but she got her job done without making a fuss and that was all that mattered to you. she made you blondies for your birthday.

you didn’t realize how nice you had it until she was replaced with him. because satoru gojo was irritating, prancing in the way he always did – insanely tall and taking up too much space in your peaceful office – with a boisterous laugh, a strange sense of humor, and a tendency to be irritatingly perfect.

a stitched and tailored suit, designer perfume, and a sparkling rolex watch on his wrist. a pretty girlfriend that he bragged about at mandatory lunches, a shiny black mercedes, and a penthouse apartment in the center of the city.

you hate him. you hate how you can feel him scorning at the worn down ballet flats that you wear to work, the vintage watch you snagged from the thrift store, and the narrowed look that he gives to your public transportation card as you tuck it back into your wallet when you walk into the office.

“are you doing a sales report?” he asks.

“i’m at my job. where i work in sales marketing. what do you think i’m working on?”

you watch his eye twitch. the small movements – eye twitches, nose wrinkles, and the turning of his lip – you had been watching them, memorizing what exactly it was that pushed his buttons since he was so keen on doing it first. though, he would never show it upfront, at least not as openly as you do anyways.

that was one of the nice things about satoru gojo. that he was intelligent and perceptive – enough for him to know that you were maybe the only person in this office who didn’t like him. that you could understand his niceness was masked in arrogance. that you had no intention of kissing his ass like almost everyone else in this office did.

you loathed his very existence, the stupid jokes he made, and would rather hear nails on a chalkboard than the stories that he recounts from his weekends at his parent’s suburban villa.

“i love a great sense of humor!” he responds, scooting his long legs over to the side of your desk and hunching over to get a view of your computer.

he says it with a bright and sparkling smile, but you get the message clear and straight – i’d watch the attitude if i were you.

the smell of his fancy cologne tickles your nose as he leans over, his face nearly cheek to cheek with yours as he places a little manila folder in front of you. you heave a sigh, opening it up to your sales reports from the last week, each one laminated and with a dark red mark in the center.

“been looking over your reports. you’re getting a little sloppy with your math.”

you scoff.

“is that right?” you ask.

“uh huh. just make sure you count your decimal points and your zeroes when you turn in this one. i know it can be a little hard sometimes, big numbers and all.”

you bite down on your cheek, feeling the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. did he always have to be so patronizing?

“now why would i do that? i’d put you out of a job if i did.”

satoru clicks his tongue in cheek – one of the clear cut signs that you’ve hit one of his exposed nerves. that he’s a glorified calculator sitting in a fancy glass office with an arbitrary executive title slapped next to his name.

satoru gojo hates that you always seem to make that point every time he corrects you. and you’ll take any chance to remind him. that he doesn’t do anything worthwhile. that he’s a pretty face and just that – nothing substantial underneath.

“luckily for me, you’ve proven that you’ll be incompetent until the end. as long as you’re here, it seems that i will be too. i’d get back to it if i were you, honey bee.” he responds, the tone in his voice scathing as he walks back to his office, a glimmering plastic smile pressed to his face.

you have mandatory team building lunches on fridays at twelve thirty. it’s one of the things that you appreciate – that you don’t have to wake up early to put together a lunch from the leftovers in your fridge.

you cycle through every person in the office, rotating on picking up lunch that accommodates the budget and everyone’s dietary requests, and break bread to get closer to one another. satoru, naturally, goes over budget every time it’s his turn, and insists that it’s no problem – though he always seems to slightly mess up your order, while everyone else’s comes out perfectly.

and on the days where he isn’t choosing the lunch, he’s so irritating – complaining of a sensitive stomach – and instead brings a nicely packaged lunch that his private chef makes for him every morning.. three courses, always packed with a dessert.

one time you asked him if the chef wrote him little supportive notes in his lunchbox. you would be lying if you said it didn’t fill you with pride, that the small comment you made was enough to fill him with irritation for the rest of the work day.

“what are your christmas plans, satoru?”

you look over at your fellow sales associate, yuuji, and share a smirk with him. the two of you lean back, nursing your little sandwiches from the deli two miles down in your hands as you start the mental counter in your head.

every day before lunch, you and yuuji make a shot counter of things that you expect gojo to say during team building. common phrases that fall out of his mouth like back at the villa, my custom tailor shop, and louis vuitton – the normal trust fund baby vocabulary, naturally – somehow always make their way into the conversation.

you drink shots accordingly at happy hour after work. whoever’s word has the higher count has to pay for the entire night.

your poison for today was private jet. yuuji’s was timeshare.

“anne marie and i are heading over to her family’s timeshare in bali. they have a property over there – full pool, private beach and all.”

yuuji snorts. you roll your eyes.

“a private beach?” nanami asks, eyes raised as he neatly picks the tomatoes out of his sandwich and hands them over to shoko at his side.

“a private beach, indeed. it’s right on the coast, equipped with boats for excursions and stuff like that. the timeshare comes set with all of those.” he states.

“excursions.” you repeat, giving yuuji a wide eyed look as he fights the urge to laugh.

satoru looks over at you, a clear distaste in his eyes, as he leans back in his chair, legs spread wide.

“what are you doing for your vacation, y/n?” satoru asks.

“i’m going home with yuuji for a few days.” you state.

“right. that sounds exciting!” he states.

you can hear the message laced in that one too – a clear and pointed diss that he’s going to be spending his time at a resort with his skinny legged model girlfriend and you’re going to be going home with the one gay guy that works at your office and get drunk in the bar in your hometown.

“which airline are you taking?” satoru asks.

you grin.

“delta.”

“never been. i use my private jet to get around.”

you give him an exaggerated gasp.

“a private jet? tell me all about it.”

you’ve goaded him right into your trap – as satoru then says the word private jet a total of seventeen times, defeating the measly eight times he said timeshare – and delight in the fact that you’ll at least get to have a nice night out.

on the first tuesday back from break, freshly minted into five days of the new year, your co-worker katie shakes your shoulder aggressively ten minutes into your shift. you note that four days into the week, satoru has yet to return to the office and you hope that it’s not just good luck – that maybe he fell off of his duffy boat in bali and lost all his memory, rendered incapable of ever returning to the office again.

you pray that your new boss isn’t as much of an asshole as him.

you look up to find katie’s eyes wide, an excited smile on her face, as she leans down into your space. katie is one of the few friends that you have in the office, the third person who finds satoru and his antics irritating.

“did you hear about gojo?” she asks.

“every thing i know about that man is against my will.” you deadpan.

she giggles, leaning down to whisper.

“oh my fucking god. come here. you’re going to love this.”

she stands up, scanning the room, as she gestures for you to stand up, the two of you making your way over to the break room. you can’t talk so freely about him when his little lackey’s are still lingering around, who will most definitely tell him that the two of you were gossipipng.

and god knows that would only make his head bigger – knowing that everyone talked about him even when he wasn’t there. katie strides into the room, taking residence over the coffee machine and shooting nanami a polite smile, as she starts absentmindedly brewing a cup of coffee.

“he’s losing it.”

“who?”

“satoru. he’s going fucking crazy apparently.”

you snort. as if. satoru’s definition of going crazy would be mixing and matching different designer brands – like wearing a gucci watch with a louis vuitton tie.

“turns out that his glamorous vacation to bali with that raggedy anne doll never happened. she had a whole meltdown and broke up with him after his credit card got declined at a restaurant they went to a few days before the trip.”

you nearly choke on your spit.

“what?”

“apparently it was just a fluke, his card got momentarily blocked since he bought some new car. but she literally freaked out on him and left him stranded.”

you snort.

“there’s no way.”

“she told him that it was unacceptable. that she had enough.”

“well, i’ll say. she milked an entire designer wardrobe out of him.” you whisper, earning you a giggle from katie.

“i know! anyways, sharon from hr told me that he’s taken the past four days off because he doesn’t have transportation – he fucking crashed the mercedes when he was driving home from the breakup.”

“you’re fucking kidding. the g-wagon?”

“i swear to god.”

it feels a little mean, but you can’t help but delight in all of it.

that despite it all, karma’s real. and it’s finally satoru fucking gojo’s turn. six months of patronizing comments and arrogance has finally caught up with him. his pretty girlfriend is just that – a pretty girl who wanted to do nothing with him. the car he brags about has been demolished and at the very least his larger than life ego has taken some type of hti.

“oh, look, look.”

katie shakes your arm, the two of you peering through the glass window to see satoru climb out of the bus – the same bus that you take to work everyday to save money – with what you can tell from here is an unironed suit and messy hair. his tie isn’t even done properly.

and when he walks in, all you smell is the fancy cologne, with the faintest hints of tequila lingering behind. a smell that you only catch, because it’s one that you’ve drowned out on a bad day.

you and yuuji pick horrendous words for lunch – yours being luxury brand and yuuji’s being private chef – and much to your dismay, he says neither. he actually doesn’t say anything. just sulks in the corner and disappears as soon as he finishes the tacos.

you leave a mistake in your sales report. he doesn’t even catch it.

“can you close out my tab, toji?”

toji, the bartender who’s well aware of your antics – and perhaps even more upset than you are that your hoity toity boss didn’t play along well with your game today – gives him a nod, wiping his hands with the towel as he looks over at you.

“you too, doll?”

“no, i’ll have another before i head out.” you state.

he gives you a nod, shuffling off to the side to get yuuji’s bill, as you slump down on the bar, yuuji mimicking your motions as you both lean your heads against one anothers. and he leaves just as fast, pressing a loving kiss to the top of your head as you swirl the little ice cubes in your drink as you watch the bubbles fizz out.

“rough day, y/n?”

you shrug.

“same old – can’t really complain. you?”

toji smiles.

“you see that guy over there, at the end of the bar? this is the third day that he’s drank up my entire supply of tequila.”

you follow the line of his vision to see satoru – the satoru gojo slumming it in this rather disgusting bar, at least for his standards – his tie messy and the buttons of his shirt loosely undone sitting at the bar.

“him?”

“uh huh. broke up with like the only girl he’s ever dated, apparently. whoever she is, thank her fucking ass. he tips well over.” toji murmurs, giving you a smile as he rearranges the glasses.

you give toji a weary smile, pressing the cash down on the bar, as you make your way over – noting that tequila smell is not masked at all this time – as you slide into the seat next to him, tapping on your shoulder. and he looks over, the rims of his eyes red and eyes squinting as he leans forward.

“honey bee?” he slurs.

the smell is overwhelming.

“the one and only.” you respond.

you reach forward, sliding the little shot glass out of his hand and placing it behind the bar. you turn back to find that his hair is messy, whatever mousse that he’s used to style it has clearly run fraught, and his cheeks flushed pink.

“that’s enough for one night, gojo. let’s get you home, yeah?”

“huh?”

“home. the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or a household?”

he glares.

“i know what a home is.” he deadpans.

“perfect! let’s get you to yours.” you respond.

satoru turns over to you, blue eyes weary, before he shrugs and slumps down onto the bar. you roll your eyes, scooting your chair closer as you pull up your phone.

“i’ll do you a liberty. i know you’re probably morally opposed to taxis, so i’ll call you an uber. what’s your address?”

satoru reaches up, his fingertips brushing your wrist, as he snatches your phone and places it flat on the bar.

“no thank you.”

“toji will kick you out, you know. and he doesn’t even know you like that, he’ll probably be really mean since he has a wife to get back home to and all.”

satoru snorts.

“then i’ll just go to another bar. i’m not going home.”

you groan, noting that of course he was going to be stubborn about this too, and that whatever it was in your chest – pity, you suppose – was making you so insistent on making sure he didn’t die from alcohol poisoning tonight.

“what’s so bad about your pretty penthouse?” you ask.

he huffs a sigh.

“there’s pictures of anne marie everywhere. and i fucking hate that bitch.”

you snort, hearing such choice words about the barbie doll that you never had the pleasure of meeting, as you hop off the stool. you figured he was going to be more of the emotional drunk – crying and whining – rather than cursing her very existence.

“okay, c’mon. i know somewhere you can go.”

you feel bad for him as the night goes on. because he’s so drunk that he’s sobbing the entire drive back to your apartment, a horrendous mix of drunk ramblings about how honda civics are actually nicer than he expected and how he didn’t even know that this part of the city existed. your previous thoughts about emotional drunks were completely revoked.

he leans his entire weight on you as you drag him into the elevator, plopping him down on the couch, as you task yourself with making him a green smoothie before letting him pass out into the abyss. it’ll help with the raging hangover you’re positive that he’s going to have tomorrow – and you hope that it means he’ll spare you some kindness the following morning, for saving him from his imminent death and all.

you change into your comfy pajamas as the smoothie blends – a loose old dartmouth t-shirt and shorts – and pour it into a glass. you take a deep breath, bracing yourself, as you make your way back to the couch where satoru’s peeled his sport jacket off and unbuttoned his shirt nearly halfway down. you make it a point to not ogle his perfectly chiseled body.

“alright, satoru. this will help with your hangover tomorrow, just drink it really fast because it tastes horrible.” you state.

satoru looks over at you, completely unfazed by the green drink you hand him, and decides that he’s very shamelessly going to check you out. you can see it in his eyes – the way they follow your bare legs and your mismatched socks, before he looks back up at you and frowns.

“am i that fucking pathetic that you’re helping me?” he asks.

you grin.

“yes.” you respond.

satoru appreciates the honesty, gulping down the thick and tart smoothie that you made him, and slams the glass down on the coffee table after the fact. he wipes the residue on the back of his hand and shrinks into the couch – and you can’t help but shiver at how normal he looks.

it’s the first time that you’ve understood it, why everyone thinks he’s so attractive. he has soft and full cheeks, striking blue eyes that go perfectly with his snow white hair. a few freckles dot his nose.

“well, let’s hear it. make all the fun you fucking want.” satoru murmurs.

you roll your eyes.

“do you think i’m a bitch? i don’t kick people when they’re down. something you’re wholly unfamiliar with, i’m well aware.”

“you have no problem doing it in the office.” he states.

you scoff.

“you always start it. you can’t really get mad when i start dishing it back. and i’m a little bit better than you. i won’t make comments about you now that pretty malibu barbie’s broken your heart now because i have a shred of decency.”

satoru scoffs.

“you’ll just do it tomorrow, when i’m keen enough to fight back .” he states.

you sigh, leaning back on the couch, as you look up at the wallpaper pressed to the ceiling. it’s slightly peeling and you make a mental note to replace it when you get the time – which knowing you, you probably never will.

he was impossible.

when you look over at him, his eyes fixed to the peeling wallpaper too, but with glimmering tears sprinkling out of his eyes, though they’re slower and quieter than the sobs that he was heaving in the car. you wonder how much he really had to drink.

“you need to replace your wallpaper. it’s coming off.” satoru seethes.

“okay.” you respond.

you look back at the ceiling. you could give him some advice too.

“you should stop dating gold diggers.” you state.

he rolls his eyes.

“how was i supposed to know she was a gold digger?” he asks.

you laugh.

“it’s not normal to buy your girlfriend’s entire wardrobe. and her car. and her..”

“okay, okay, okay. it was a gift!” he defends.

“you know, normal people get a giftcard and call it a day. or a candle from target.” you respond.

there’s a whisper of a smile on satoru’s face as he sighs, before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“okay, well. i was trying to be sweet. her love language was giving gifts.”

you snort.

“shocker.” you deadpan.

he reaches for the closest cushion, before smacking it straight across your chest. you’re quick to snatch it from his hands, holding it close to your chest, as the two of you stick back to the silence.

“so what do i do?” he asks.

“what do you mean?”

“i dunno. never done a break up before. she was like my first girlfriend.”

you would understand it. you would, you suppose, if that was something you could relate to. being so in love that you can’t be with anyone else. but then again, that lingering question would always come back to you – how could you know that this person was the one if you hadn’t tried anything else?

in your very limited experience in your very short life, one thing always rang true – that the more time you took to learn, to experience, the better things seemed to get. you had a bunch of shit friends in high school and now you’re friends with yuuji. you had four different majors before you picked marketing because it let you be creative. you’ve dated four different guys but you’re still looking for the one.

that’s why you didn’t understand it – how people could be so one and done, on something so serious. granted, that’s probably how they end up with gold diggers.

“do you have anything of hers?” you ask.

satoru gives you a strange look, before digging his hand in his pocket, and fishing out his wallet. he opens up the little zipper, yanking a little silver necklace out of the leather, and placing it into the palm of your hand.

you feel your eyes widen a little bit, sparkling diamonds set in a little circular mother of pearl design, as you run your fingers over it. you shake yourself out of it, looking over at him resting his forearms against his knees, expectantly waiting for an answer.

“real cute. go throw it out of my window.” you state, handing it back to him.

“i beg your pardon?”

“so a window is an opening in the wall or roof that…” you start.

he lightly shoves you, before clutching the necklace in his fist.

“i can’t throw it out. it’s fucking expensive.”

you roll your eyes.

“that means nothing to you. you’re not throwing it away because you still like raggedy anne.”

“raggedy anne?” he asks.

“yuuji, katie, and i call her that. red hair kind of set that one up for us but…”

his eyes widen, as he leans forward.

“do you guys not like her?” he asks.

you shrug, as you stand up, wrapping your fingers around his wrist as you pull him closer to the window. the question catches you off guard – that he would care what the three of you would think.

you peek your head out the window – a few cars still milling on the street, the lights lazily changing, as he joins you and sticks his head out the window.

“i can’t, honey bee.” he states.

“yes, you can. it’s just a necklace.”

“but what if she wants it back?” he asks.

you fight the urge to slap him, as you stick your head back into the warmth of the apartment. he follows suit.

“you would go back to her?” you ask.

“i dunno. i –”

“she would probably only want to get back together so she can get this fucking necklace back. because she’s a gold digger! screw her, surely you could do better than that!”

satoru frowns, as he peaks out of the window again. and he makes the motion like he’s going to throw it before he looks back at you, nervously scratching at the back of his neck.

“it’s limited edition. maybe i should sell it and –”

“no. you’re going to throw it out of the window right now, on the count of three.”

“i really don’t want to. we should do something easier first.” he whines.

“one.” you state.

he panics. surely he couldn’t be serious.

“this can’t be how normal people cope. i could hit someone and give them a black eye..”

“two.” you scold.

“maybe i don’t want to be a normal person. i think that this is all –”

“three.”

you snatch the necklace out of his open palm and throw it straight out of the window. it makes a little clinking sound when it finally hits the bottom, the two of you poking your heads out of the window to now see it tangled in the sewage gutter that’s been dirtied by the recent rain.

“you threw her necklace.” satoru states, in exasperation.

“when normal people can’t do it on their own, a trusted friend does it to keep them in line.” you state, pushing back into the apartment and wiping your hands.

satoru follows behind you, his steps featherlike, as you reach for his phone and start scrolling through the contacts. he’s leaning his head over your shoulder, eyes wide as you pull up anne marie’s contact and hold it out to him.

“you’re going to make me block her too?” he asks.

“no. you should call her once and say some mean stuff and then block her.”

satoru’s eyes widen.

“mean stuff?”

“call her. tell her she’s a gold digger. that you think her voice is annoying or something.” you add.

satoru crosses his hands over his chest.

“that’s not very mature.”

“okay, but you’re back in dog years since you’ve been dating this girl forever. plus, i’d say it’s immature to be in a god knows how long relationship with someone just for their money. does she have any consideration for you?”

satoru pauses, like he’s mulling the thought over.

“if you don’t do it, you’re going to become even more weird and repressed than you are now.” you state

“i’m not repressed!” he whines.

“be immature! say a bunch of bullshit and then hang up! you’ll feel great – you…you’re supposed to do these types of things at least once. this is like a rite of passage.”

satoru gives you a weary look as you lean forward, pressing the dial button. his eyes go wide as you start whispering, gesturing for him to do it.

“hello? satoru?” anne marie says, voice confused.

there’s a considerable amount of sound behind the speaker, loud booming music making it very clear that raggedy anne is at the club while satoru’s moping it out in your apartment.

“do it.” you whisper.

“hi annie.” satoru murmurs.

you roll your eyes at the nickname.

“did you want something satoru?” she asks.

“yeah. yeah, i just wanted to say…” satoru starts.

“hold on one second.” she says.

there’s a murmuring over the speaker, which she’s clearly covered, as you start whispering. tell her she’s annoying! she won’t even give you the time of day on a phone call!!

“sorry, i’m back. i’m on a date right now so i was just trying to slip away.”

satoru looks up at you.

“you’re a bitch.” he murmurs.

you fight the urge to laugh.

“what did you say?” anne marie responds.

“you’re a bitch.” he says louder.

“good! say it again!” you whisper.

satoru has the whisper of a smile on his face, the silent support goading him on, as he keeps talking.

“you…you’re annoying. you have a really high pitched voice and every time you wake up in the morning, it gives me an ear splitting headache. and you…you look horrible in blue.”

the choice of words is a little middle school, but you’ll give it to him. there was a first time for everything.

“say something else.” you whisper.

“is that a girl?” anne marie asks.

you both widen your eyes, before satoru quickly hangs up and start laughing. you note that for your standards that was horrendously tame, but the glint in his eyes seems to signify that it’s at least done something for him, because it’s the first time he properly smiles after entering your apartment.

“how was that?”

“fucking great! she sounded like an idiot!” he responds.

“she sure did.”

“now she’s probably wondering which girl i’m with and working herself over it.” he responds.

you shake your head, pulling out the sheets to make the fold out bed for him properly, before you make your way back over to your own room. screaming middle school insults seems to sober him up enough, because he joins you in folding the sheets, a smile on his face.

“have you done that before?” he asks.

“done what?” you ask.

“throw stuff out like that? call an ex-boyfriend?”

you smile.

“mhm. my first boyfriend irritated me so bad that i took everything he ever gave me – a dried up bouquet of flowers, a necklace, birthday cards and all that type of stuff – and threw it in a trash can outside of the bank i go to. and the calling, i did that once when my ex-boyfriend decided to go to san diego for a trip instead of meeting up with me. he made it pretty clear for a week that we were going to break up on that day and i had hyped myself up for it, just for him to not show up. so i got pissed and called him then and there.” you state.

satoru’s floored.

“really? that’s such a dick move.”

“i mean, s’pretty standard.”

you’ve been on the carousel of assholes your entire life. but satoru shakes his head.

“i can’t believe someone would even do that. that’s unusually cruel.”

you forgot about that part. that with having experienced next to nothing, there’s a sense of naivety that comes with it too.

or hope. whichever word speaks to you more – and at the current moment, it’s the latter, only because he seems so genuinely downtrodden by it – so genuinely believing that people are meant to be good and kind that he can’t fathom someone being mean and selfish just for the sake of it.

you feel bad for him.

“that it is. almost as cruel as dating someone just for their money.” you respond.

satoru sighs.

“yeah.”

“that’s kind of the cool part now.” you respond.

“what is?”

you sit down flat on the bed, the sheets nicely tucked in and folded, as you pat the little spot next to you on the bed. he obliges, his legs stretching out a considerable distance past yours, as you cross your arms over your chest.

“this is going to sound really weird, but some day you’re going to agree with me.” you state.

“okay.”

“you’re going to feel a lot of things in the next few months. and then after the fact, when you’re really truly over it, you’re going to realize how real all of that was.”

“meaning?”

you shrug.

“you’re going to mope and listen to sad songs for a while. and those songs are going to hit like they’ve never hit before, you’re going to realize people have been writing about this exact feeling that you’re experiencing for years. you’ve just gone through a shared experience that almost everyone has, no matter who they are, of getting your heart shattered.”

satoru’s never thought of it that way. granted, he’s only been thinking about it for three days, but still.

“then you’re going to be pissed. you’re going to do a bunch of stupid stuff and you might even regret it a little bit, but that’s part of learning more about yourself. maybe you really do like to have the last word. maybe you can’t fathom it at all, seeing that person ever again. either way, you’re going to figure out something about yourself and it’s going to make it all the more worth it. that’s part of this entire thing – experiencing something new, doing things three, four, five times and fucking up each time, just to…get something out of it. figure out whatever you’ve got going on in this thing.” you respond, flicking at his forehead.

satoru rubs the spot, glaring at you, as you shoot him a smile.

“there’s no point in doing anything once. you’re going to live a really long life, were you really only going to date and love one girl the entire time? i know you must have more to give than that.” you state.

“do you not believe in marriage?” he asks.

you frown.

“who said i don’t believe in marriage?”

“i mean, you seem like so…hippie dippie. i get what you’re saying and…and i’m even inclined to believe you’re right…but where does that stop? you can’t go on experiencing things and people and loving forever?”

you smile.

“why do you think so little of marriage? do you really think all of that stops once you enter a relationship with someone?”

satoru freezes.

“you keep doing that stuff, but with the person you know is meant for you. clearly your relationship with raggedy anne must have been really, very boring, because getting to do new things together is the fun part. i’d argue that it’s even the point of even being together – growing into something new.”

satoru thinks you're wise. he thinks that he’s still leftover drunk and whatever it is you’re saying is coming out like poetry to him, that it’s singing to the tune that’s been going on in the background of his head for the past year, because really – his relationship was very boring.

it had gotten monotonous. maybe he stayed because he didn’t know anything different. maybe that’s why he was so obsessed with stalking your every move – making sly comments, finding mistakes in your reports - just because you were always so keen to give him a different answer, one he couldn’t predict, the only constant thing about you being that you were always different.

“your brain looks like it’s working overtime. you should go to bed.” you state.

“okay, yeah.”

satoru is still drunk. somewhat drunk. maybe a little.

it’s why he leans forward, to press a warm kiss to the side of your cheek. he notes that your eyes go wide, as you immediately lift your hand to press your fingers to the skin, your cheeks flushing pink.

“i was hoping you were going to give me like a thousand dollars or something as a gift for being nice to you.”

satoru grins. because again, it wasn’t the answer he was expecting at all.

“i could do that too.” he states.

you roll your eyes, before reaching forward to pinch his cheek.

“shut up.”

“you’re pretty.”

you’re taken aback by the comment, leaning back to cross your hands over your chest, as you eye him again. messy hair, swollen eyes, and pink lips from the drinks.

“you’re not that bad either. you look way better like this.”

“like this?”

“you know…no fancy mousse. creepy perfectly tailored suit. having a proper meltdown and all. not to be rude, but your distress might be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

satoru scoffs.

“you’re just jealous that i look so great all the time.”

you shake your head.

“not at all. i’m not into that at all – the whole perfect, rich boy thing.”

satoru leans forward, eyes wide.

“what are you into?” he asks.

you smile.

“did you really crash your car?” you ask.

he groans.

“you know about that?”

you laugh.

“i’m into that. you being a real person. i think you’re very funny when you’re drunk and you have the insults of a middle schooler. your hair looks very good when it’s all messed up like this and your very genuine enthusiasm and curiosity is very refreshing.”

“yeah?” satoru whispers, a glint in his eyes.

“mhm. don’t lose sleep over it, okay?” you respond, pinching his cheek as you shuffle your way over to your room.

satoru watches as you retreat, your mismatched socks riding up to your ankles, and he can’t help but wonder if you’re right. if he had missed out.

he hadn’t done anything. anything at all. you were three feet away – with an entire life he knew nothing about. the little scars on your arms were all a story, maybe from pulling something out of the stove too fast or falling on the pavement, and he can’t help but wonder what it all was.

if he could still gain it all, after years of falling behind.

satoru was always an overachiever. he was going to do this, he was going to do this now.

satoru stands up, legs carrying him to the door of your bedroom, as he firmly knocks on the wood. he hears something that sounds like a thud, before you swing the door open, your eyes adjusting to the brightness outside to find him standing there.

“it’s been one minute.” you deadpan.

“can i sleep with you?”

“i beg your pardon?”

satoru sighs.

“i’ve never slept in the same bed as someone.”

“huh? you and raggedy anne never…”

he shakes his head.

“i mean, like once, but it was by accident. my penthouse has two beds and i don’t know what it feels like to…sleep next to someone.”

you pause. and let your curiosity get the better of you.

“are you a virgin?”

“i am not a virgin.”

you laugh at the irritation in his voice, before holding the door open wider and gesturing for him to walk into the room.

“my bed isn’t that big.” you state.

“that’s okay. just…please? let me?”

you assume that saying no would be equivalent to kicking a dog while it’s down. it’s what you reason to yourself as you let him in, watching as he giggles at your stuffed animals and your glasses in the nightstand before he wraps his arms around you, his embrace warm around you.

you swear he kisses your hairline.

“did you just kiss me again?”

“hey. i’m experiencing new things. i’ve got tons of places i have to kiss you on my list.”

you snort.

“you’re bold.” you state.

“and you’re really very sweet. i really like you, you know that?”

you roll your eyes, before leaning back into his touch. it’s so innocent, so unlike any other guy you’ve talked too – so excited about kissing you on the top of your head.

maybe it’s a little bit less pity than you anticipated.

“do you ever think i could do that?” he asks.

“do what?”

“what you’re talking about? doing things four, five, six times…growing with someone and all that?” he asks.

you sigh, before placing one of your hands over his.

“yes, satoru. of course you can.”

the following monday, you’re greeted by a little box on your desk. you open it up to a giftcard and four target candles, accompanied with a little note and his horrible chicken scratch handwriting.

honey bee, heard normal people give gift cards and candles as gifts. but i’m indecisive so there’s four candles. also, they’re custom made and really expensive so don’t throw them out to sass me or make a point or something :O satoru

and you see him an hour later, a cup of the cheap office coffee in his hand, as he walks around talking to everyone in the office. his tie is a little bit loose and his hair is unstyled – and you think that it’s interesting, that he had taken what you had said to heart. and your previous thought stands.

that he really does look better this way.

he makes his way over after twenty minutes, leaning down and basically pressing his cheek to yours as he looks at your monitor.

“did you check your math?” he asks.

“do you want me to shove a pencil down your throat?” you ask.

satoru laughs and you can’t help but smile.

“did you like my gift?”

“yes. but i have a few notes.”

satoru stands up properly, leaning against your desk with his hands crossed over his chest, as he gestures for you to talk.

“do tell.”

“when i say candle, i really do mean one candle. and you know, i meant like an eight dollar candle. like the shit ones that give you allergies.”

“candles can give you allergies?”

“i get watery eyes when they aren’t soy or natural.” you state.

“noted. what else?”

“when i say gift card, i mean twenty bucks. not two thousand dollars.”

satoru whines.

“so many rules. you’re so high maintenance, honey bee.” he whines, cupping your chin in his hand and squeezing once, before shuffling back to his office.

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