Gojo had never intended to make you cry. Sure, he teased you. Maybe a little bit too much. But he never wanted to actually hurt you. He was a cocky ass, but he wasn’t an asshole.
That’s what he wanted to tell himself anyway, even as your wide eyes brimmed with tears that clung to your lashes. It felt like a punch to the gut when the first tear fell.
Without even thinking, his hand came up to gently cup your cheek. “Don’t...” he whispered. His thumb swiped away at the wet track. “Don’t cry.”
But it was too late; more tears fell, leaving wet lines in their wake, the droplets clinging to your chin. He hated the sight of them; hated the way they documented his failure, a sentence of guilt written in watercolor against skin he’d admired with every sideways glance.
He wanted to make them disappear, to extinguish them and replace them with warmth. To take your trembling lips and make them smile again. Gojo cradled your face in both of his hands, his large, calloused thumbs wiping away at your tears. You closed your eyes, caught up in the way your heart twisted in your chest at the warmth of his touch.
You felt his forehead touch yours, his soft hair cushioned between you. “I’m sorry...” he whispered. “I didn’t mean...”
Gojo’s words died on his lips as he felt more fresh, hot tears catch on his thumbs, heard you sniffle and try to hide the soft sob that wanted to unfurl from within your chest.
His air left his lungs, a slow panic building at the possibility that maybe, this time, a sorry wouldn’t be enough. That maybe, this time, there was no such thing as forgiveness, and that he’d never again get to see you smile at him.
“I’m sorry...” he repeated, as his lips pressed gently against your forehead. You froze beneath his affection, stunned.
He didn’t stop there. His lips traveled lower, brushing against your wet lashes, against your cheeks, each time echoing his apology in earnest supplication. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Finally, he came to your still-trembling lips, the soft flesh wet where you’d licked with your tongue, although whether it was in anticipation of his lips or to taste your own tears, he wasn’t sure. Gojo hesitated, for just the slightest fraction of a moment, waiting...
And then you gave it to him, the sign he was looking for. The ever so subtle tilt of your chin, the flutter of lashes as you peaked at him through the dew drops in hope.
His lips met yours, soft and gentle, your face still gently cupped in his hands. You finally responded, returning the kiss with your hands wrapping around his neck, your fingers curling into his hair at the nape of his neck.
Gojo pulled away just enough to be able to speak, his lips barely brushing yours. Your eyes were open now, staring into his, and for a moment the universe consisted of just the two of you, two celestial bodies drawn together by the gravity of your hearts.
“Does this mean I’m forgiven...?” he whispered.
“No.” you replied with a grin.
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