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imvenusasaboy · 1 month

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PUPARIA

Chapter 6 - two reverse

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"You sure this is the movie you want to see?" Teddy anxiously fidgeted with the scarf Hosah was hiding in so they could avoid being charged for two tickets.

"Why not? I mean, 't just came out, everyone seems excited for it," The tiny man beneath the fabric was right, the queue they were standing in had gotten exponentially longer since they'd joined, and it wasn't like they were anywhere near the front either. "It's too late to turn back now, Teddy, you've reached... Your final destination." Although Hosah's corny pun was funny, in an ironic way of course, his assistant was not laughing.

"It's- it's not that I have an issue with it, I just don't wanna waste my money on a bad movie, you know?" Maybe it was just the fact that is was too hot to be wearing so many layers that made Teddy sweat. There was no way a man, who's dealt with death head on, would be so scared of some movie.

Hosah didn't have to say anything in response, his snickering was enough.

The line moved fast, and before they knew it, the two detectives were in their singular seat, having paid for a singular ticket. To say it was nine o' clock on a Tuesday, the theatre was packed. Hosah had never been particularly interested in the horror genre, but The Final Destination was the only recent release that would be playing shortly after they'd both arrived, aside from reruns of The Notebook, which he'd already seen more times than his parents in the last five years.

Once the lights had dimmed and everyone seemed to be seated, the shrunken man wriggled out from under the layers of fabric until he had a good view of the screen. Teddy's height was a real plus, as even from his shoulder, no heads were obstructing the view of the screen.

With the amount of medication he was on, Hosah found it hard to keep his eyes open, being wrapped up so cozily in Teddy's scarf by the crook of his neck. Any sort of warmth and that was it, the shifter was out like a light. Although he was definitely more of a dog person, Hosah could understand the common comparison between him and a cat, as he found himself getting drowsy in even the most chaotic of situations, much like this one. Despite the ear-splitting loudness of the surrounding speakers, and Teddy's constant flinches at the movie jumpscares, Hosah had to fight his body's urge to drift off into a deep slumber.

The screams from the surrounding movie goers regularly jolted the tiny man back to reality, but even then, he struggled to stay fully aware of his surroundings for more than five minutes or so. Realising he wasn't particularly built for this sort of thing, Hosah wondered why he didn't just invite his assistant to watch movies in the comfort of his apartment instead. Oh well, this was probably fun for Teddy, at least.

In a room so filled with people, there was no way Hosah was going to be able to keep his attention on the movie. The best part of the theatre was watching the people around you react anyway, at least in his opinion. The shifter had never really though twice about any movie he'd ever seen, even in the moments, the awareness of the fact everything was a work of fiction was enough to take Hosah completely out of the horror enjoyment experience, so seeing other people getting scared was his main source of enjoyment from the media.

Fortunately for him, Teddy was most definitely getting scared. The concept itself wasn't even remotely disturbing, some curse or whatever, avoiding death once means it'll come back to get you, a situation Hosah couldn't picture himself being in, but it seemed terrifying enough to the people around him. Maybe he was just too critical, or maybe he just had bad taste.

As Hosah felt the giant's shoulders tense up beneath him once more, his eyes began to droop against his will, falling into his own subconscious. Lately, he'd been having weirder and weirder dreams. Sure, the reoccurring nightmare of his own metamorphosis was weird, but these were all next level. Hosah didn't think his brain had the ability to create such scenarios, but every night he would live through them, and awake with the vivid memory of them all. Recently, they'd mostly been about Teddy. He couldn't really make sense of them, with no rhyme or reason behind any of the events, not that Hosah would know how to describe or even comprehend them, and no consistency amongst them all, besides the fact they were all about his assistant, of course.

It was weird, Hosah didn't usually dream of people he knew, especially so soon after meeting them. Maybe he really would have to get into spirituality some time soon, as the spirits lurking around in his mind were clearly trying to send some kind of message, the thing was, the shifter just couldn't understand what it all meant. Hosah didn't remember the event's specifically, just the feelings he experienced. Over the past few days, he'd woken up with his heart beating out of his chest, face flushed and body shivering. At first, he considered the possibility just being sick, but that didn't explain why the feeling went away once he'd gained full consciousness and awareness of his surroundings.

-~-

"You fell asleep? How? I could barely hear myself think," Teddy laughed in astonishment, at this point he shouldn't have been surprised by this fact at all.

Despite knowing the giant couldn't see him from his own shoulder, Hosah shrugged, "That just happens when it's dark and I'm all warm and cozy."

It was true, even now, with Teddy squatted down on the side of the busy street waiting for their cab, the tiny man was painfully aware of his heavy eyelids and weakened muscles.

His assistant didn't respond, only chuckling to himself, probably thinking of something Hosah definitely didn't want to know about for his own dignity.

"So, was it bad?" The shifter pulled himself up from under the layers, now stood on the collar of his assistant's dress shirt, fighting the urge to grab hold of his auburn hair for balance.

"I mean," Teddy turned his face in the opposite direction, pretending to look out for the taxi, "It wasn't good,".

As the giant shifted his view as far away from the detective as possible, Hosah craned his neck to get a better view of his assistant's, very red, face. "Aww, glad I slept through it then. I'm not really a huge horror fan anyway. Never really got to me."

Despite not being able to properly see pocket-sized man, Teddy turned his face back the way it came from. Although he really wanted to say 'Why'd you make me sit through that then?' , instead he asked, "What movies do you like, then?"

Teddy already knew the answer to his question, as he'd nosied around the shifter's TV stand whilst he was busy doing whatever it was he did instead of just asking for help. He didn't have many DVDs in his collection, but the ones he did have seemed mismatched at best, ones he'd never thought he'd see all together in one place. Out of the five all together, Twilight seemed to be the one Hosah watched the most, as it sat by the TV, case opened, and with its disc nowhere to be seen.

Hosah took a second to think before giving an answer, "Oh, you know, the classics. Pulp Fiction, The Godfather." Teddy felt the tiny man brush back and forth past his neck. That was one thing he'd noticed Hosah did a lot, he swayed back and forth whenever he told stupid lies.

"Really?" Despite wanting to call him out on the falsehoods, the assistant played along, seeing how far he could push before Hosah broke and admitted the truth.

He scoffed, although it was obvious he was more nervous than smug, "Of course. I mean, who doesn't love, I don't fuckin' know, Taxi Driver."

"What's that about? Never heard of it."

".. A taxi driver??" Hosah stumbled on his words a little, if the giant could see him as he stood perched on his shoulder, his face would probably be as equally red as his own was earlier.

On the topic of taxi drivers, a familiar face could be seen in the window of the bright yellow car pulling up by the side of the pavement where the two detectives off duty were waiting. Despite having a weird at best first meeting, Teddy called the number on the business card he'd been given two days prior and asked for Felix. There was something about the familiar European accent and his uncomfortable nicknames that were so endearing to him, there was no way he couldn't form a relationship with the guy.

Felix waved the two, who were already approaching, over with large gestures out the window, calling out a few words neither of the detectives could really hear or understand.

As Teddy climbed into the backseat, hand holding his scarf, which the tiny man had found himself wrapped up in once again, the driver gave a comment which could actually be heard this time, "Just you today? Where's Pupa?"

Hosah shuffled his top half out from under the polyester in response, face still flushed, partially from the sudden movements in which he was pushed and pulled every which way by the debilitating force of gravity, and partially because he had no idea of the meaning what he'd just been referred to as had.

He only became more confused as his assistant seemed to find the term to be extremely humorous. Hosah wanted to ask what it meant, but there was an invisible force that took away his ability to speak whenever he was tiny in front of multiple people all at once, especially when that included strangers. The taxi driver turned around, leaning as far as he could into the back seat whilst still sitting down,

"Where to?" if he were anyone else, this would've been a perfectly normal and socially acceptable question for him to ask, but the fact Felix sat staring directly at the shifter instead of Teddy deeply unsettled the tiny figure. He'd actually never felt so, perceived in his life.

Such a simple question, so simple that Hosah zoned out when his assistant gave the response and Felix had long since turned around and started driving, but he couldn't stop replaying the look in his head, a thousand times over. It wasn't like being stared at when he was tiny was out of the ordinary, in fact, he'd grown accustomed to being a spectacle, but that's what made the interaction so unsettling, the fact Felix didn't look at him as if he were a strange trinket or some kind of car crash that, despite knowing they shouldn't, people can't seem to take their eyes away from.

It was the first time someone had looked at Hosah, when he was such a way, as an equal human being. The same way Felix looked at Teddy in the same sentence. For once, he felt as though he was on equal grounds to just about anyone in the city, which was probably what scared him so much, as he realised it wasn't just the taxi driver that gave him such a kind of look.

Things like this always meant the most to him. Maybe it was just because he was so small, he could see the details so much clearer, that even a shift in the glint of someone's eyes meant a lot. Or he just had a bad habit of overthinking all the minute things in his life. Probably the latter, but Hosah preferred the first standpoint. Being three inches tall sucked most of the time, but being able to enjoy the smallest parts of life was pretty cool. Pillows being huge, empty plains of fluffy bliss, food always being in abundance, being able to count the freckles on a certain someone's cheeks, all the things he wouldn't be able to appreciate if not fulfilling his hereditary curse that was being a shifter.

Right now especially, Hosah could appreciate how warm and soft the flesh of his assistant's neck was, blended with the polyester of his scarf. If he couldn't keep his eyes open an hour and a half ago, he definitely couldn't right now. The giant voices mindlessly chatting were loud, but his lack of sleep over the past couple of days was louder.

As he rested his eyes, Hosah couldn't help but think back to the current case. If a random taxi driver he'd met once before could see him as an equal human being, why couldn't this sick monster see the fifteen people he'd taken the lives of as sentient beings at the very least? Even at his most lethargic of states, the detective's job kept him awake. If he'd had gotten there sooner, maybe they'd have had a better shot at saving the final body, or even identifying the man that had run away from the scene of the crime.

Hosah knew far too well not to get his head stuck on this topic, as he'd been repeatedly told by the two people currently closest to him, but it was something he couldn't help. Getting into a state of debilitating self hatred was his default, the one constant he could rely on for any sense of comfort when he had no control over anything going on in his life.

He wondered why Jules would ever seek him of all people to join the team five years ago. She knew him better than anyone, she knew the kinds of things he'd do to cope, it was a known fact to everyone in his life, that being a detective would be no good for Hosah, but being a stupid twenty one year old with no other prospects in life, Jules also knew he was a people pleaser, one that would do anything she requested of him.

Which is why, later in the evening, long since he and Teddy had ordered and eaten their takeout, both falling asleep together with the TV still playing, Hosah rushed to answer her call.

The ringing of the phone jolted the shifter awake so suddenly. He couldn't really think about the position he found himself in, still by the crook of his assistants neck, somebody was calling, and he needed to answer.

Carefully, in an attempt not to wake Teddy, he climbed down the creases in the unbuttoned dress shirt, using the wrinkles of the cotton as supports for under his feet. Hosah rushed over to the buzzing mobile on the coffee table, taking a risky leap from couch to the surface despite being unable to see where one things started and the other ended in the depths of the night's darkness.

He half expected it to be his dad calling drunk, or maybe Jeanne with more depressing news, but Hosah definitely didn't expect the name on the small screen to be Jules'. He hopped onto the other side of the phone, pressing whatever buttons he could under his heel until it picked up the call.

At first, he could only hear static and wind, but after a second or so, a familiar voice could be deciphered from the background noise, "Thank god you're up, aha. Sorry to disturb you in your down time, but, you know that guy I hired on the night shifts to watch all those cameras we got installed like, last year?" Surely when she called out of the blue at two in the morning, context was important. "Well, turns out he caught someone hand delivering a package, around twenty minutes ago."

Hosah couldn't quite understand what he was hearing for a second, due to both the fact he'd just woken up and also the absurdity of the scenario, "A.. A package? What, is it a pipe bomb or something? Call the police, not me, Juliette."

"That's the thing, it's addressed to you." She laughed down the phone, even though the situation was not funny at all.

As he stumbled on all the questions flowing from his head and out of his mouth, the shuffling from beside him took Hosah completely out of any coherent trains of thoughts he could form.

Usually by now, Jules would've hung up, but despite the terrible quality of the device, she could probably hear the fact Hosah wasn't alone through the speaker.

"Hosah?" Teddy sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, "Who are you talking to?"

Before he was able to explain himself, their boss chimed in, "What are you doing with Edward at two in the morning?"

"Ah, what are you doing calling me at two in the morning? Just get the police over tomorrow and have them take the package to forensics or something. I don't care if it's for me, I don't online shop." If he were more conscious, he'd probably be a lot more disturbed.

In fact, Hosah was annoyed if anything, all he really wanted was to curl back up in the space between Teddy’s shoulder and neck, but he gathered that probably wasn’t an option anymore.

The static picked back up again as Jules spoke up once more with a sigh, “Well, if you want to come take a look, a couple of us are already here. You don’t even have to bother calling Edward, ‘t seems.”

The tiny man frantically shuffled across the keys of the phone, hanging up as quickly as he could to avoid any sort of further teasing he knew his boss loved to indulge in, especially regarding Hosah and any relationship he forms with the men around him. She knew too much, and he didn’t trust her not to share what he wished he’d just kept to himself all those years ago.

The shifter gathered his breath in one exasperated sigh, turning his attention back to Teddy, who’s structure was complimented by the glow of the single table-side lamp the pair had forgotten to turn off before falling asleep. The yellow bulb’s luminosity clung to the giant’s face, wrapping perfectly around his prominent square jaw and high cheekbones. If he didn’t already know better, Hosah would’ve just assumed he was some kind of model.

“So..” Teddy fidgeted, his eyes shifting over to the humming TV infront of him, “What was that about?”

Hosah shrugged as he often did when he knew all too well what the answers to the giant’s questions were, “Someone’s hand delivered a package to the office. Got my name on it. Probably a threat, these fucking..” the tiny man waved his hands around in a similar fashion to how Teddy would, “Anti-shifter lunatics. Hah, it’s not the first time they’ve put some kind of bounty over my head. They don’t think we’re deserving of any sort of place in society. Never mind in the criminal justice system.”

His assistant hummed in melancholic agreement, “If they knew you, they’d understand. What you said earlier, it was powerful, you know you should go do speeches or something, got a way with words.”

“I don’t remember what I said,” The shrunken man could only laugh at the thought of himself up on a podium, “I say a lot of things, you throw a hundred things at a wall, at least one of thems gonna stick,”

“It was about you all being one. All shifters, I mean, that you need to look out for each other.” Teddy was looking right at him now; the same way he would look at any other person of his same size, except this time with a remarkably warm smile, “I think you say a lot of, fucking.. cool stuff. I don’t know. I’m sorry.” The giant wiped the sleep from his eyes once more as an excuse to cover his flustered face.

“.. Yeah, I guess that was cool of me.” The shifter was well and truly flattered, wanting to cover his own blushing face too.

“Well, anyway, we’re up now, how about breakfast?”

Food did sound good, Hosah had intentionally spoken more than he’d eaten earlier, meaning he’d gone almost the whole previous day without any sort of substance. When in front of others, he’d always resorted to shifting things around his plate so it looks like he’d had more than the reality of the situation, he didn’t know why, it’s not like he was embarrassed, it had just become a bad habit.

The giant stood to his full height, with the coffee table Hosah lounging on barely being at knee height. Teddy paused for a moment, realising he’d almost forgotten something.

“You coming?” He knelt down, hand open on the edge of the table. The man, just the right size to fit in the palm being offered to him, froze. He weighed up his options, he could experience the touch of which he hadn’t felt in years since moving to the city, or he could do his usual climbing act back onto Teddy’s shoulder.

Ah, whatever, it’s not that big of a deal. Hosah cautiously made his way over to the hand which waited patiently for him, suddenly hit with a wave of shyness that couldn’t be shaken. Despite having done this a hundred times before, he found himself nervously planning out his footing as he observed the palm in-front of him.

Honestly, he half expected Teddy to take the piss and poke a little fun at him, but he didn’t. The giant waited without a word. No kinds of encouragement or teasing, no talking down to him, just silent patience. Hosah liked that about him, he knew his place even when he clearly had the upper hand in these situations.

Just as he was about to take the first step, something came to Hosah’s memory, “Teddy, what does Pupa mean?”

“Oh, um,” his assistant laughed to himself with surprise at the sudden question, “In Latin, it means doll.”

“Eugh, god. How come you get the cool name like Sancho?” Hosah thought himself to be very smart as he used to conversation to distract himself from all of his nerves surrounding the hand in front of him, crawling into the palm with the grace of a fish out of water.

Without thinking too much about it, Teddy stood to his full height now that the shrunken figure sat comfortably, “No, no, Sancho is so much worse. That’s like, the male equivalent to English’s ‘mistress’.”

This fact made Hosah feel quite a lot better about his own nickname.

Almost as soon as he’d stepped onto the palm, it was time to be lowered back down onto his familiar kitchen counters. Curse Teddy his stupidly long legs, the shifter was just starting to enjoy the warmth radiating from underneath him.

The view from the counter was quite nice, though, he could always appreciate a good forearm. Hosah watched with a little shame brewing in his stomach as his assistant checked through his cupboards, revealing nothing but half a loaf of bread, an unopened can of chopped tomatoes, and a small glass bottle of vanilla extract.

The fridge was equally barren, only barely having the ingredients Teddy needed to prepare whatever he was thinking about.

“You know how you said you always carry ground cinnamon with you?” He asked, leaning forward against the countertop, his shadow cast over Hosah’s tiny form.

Embarrassed by both the position he’d found himself in and the fact Teddy had remembered the fact, Hosah hummed as if to say ‘go on,’.

“Where do you keep that?” The giant elaborated,

If he wasn’t shy before, Hosah was most definitely shy now, “In my- coat pocket. On the inside. It’s .. hung up by the door,” Despite being small enough, the shifter shrunk back into himself, pointing out back into the living room.

As if he didn’t do anything at all, Teddy casually went over and collected what little he had left in the spice shaker. Returning with all of the ingredients laid out in front of him, he explained himself,

“I’m making French Toast.” Teddy said, going through the under-the-counter cupboards to retrieve both a small skillet and a shallow bowl that Hosah didn’t recall ever owning. “Out of everything you had, it’s lucky you seemed to stock all the ingredients. Do you make it yourself often?”

In all honesty, Hosah didn’t even know how one made french toast. “Nah. I don’t really

cook all that much. Unless you count adding hot water to noodle cups.”

“I see,” Teddy laughed, “My dad’s a chef so, I always spent a lot of time with him learning recipes and such. Plus my grandparents were sort of incapable by the time I got old enough to use the kitchen, so I ended up helping them out a lot in that way.”

The shifter looked up curiously with those familiar big brown eyes, Teddy’s voice was very sweet, honey to the ears as his slight accent slipped into some of the words he said. Hosah wondered if he’d mind being asked to read him bedtime stories any time soon.

“Anyway, do your parents do anything cool?” Hosah taken out of the moment as the conversation was shifted onto himself,

“Ah, not really. You ever heard of Etsy? Kind of new, my dad’s a warrior on there. Always doing some kind of order. He’s a woodworking teacher at my hometown’s highschool, but lately he’s been focusing on his own online shop. It’s cool. He can make just about anything.” Hosah could go on for days in praise of his dad.

As he whisked the mixture of egg, cinnamon, and vanilla extract, the giant replied, “What do you mean not really? That is cool.”

The shifter looked down to his feet with a flustered smile, “Yeah, it is, I guess.”

“What about your mom?”

“Oh, she’s a nurse. Always pretty busy when we were kids. My parents had kind of an unconventional relationship, stay-at-home dad with my mom bringing home the bacon. Or, bread, we can’t eat bacon. I don’t know.”

“Hmm, you don’t like pork?” The clicking of the gas being lit on the stove sort of muffled what Teddy had asked, placing the soaked bread slices onto the lightly greased skillet.

“ Nah, ‘ts not kosher. I don’t even know, I don’t even really believe in religion all that strongly, but I’ve been doing it my whole life so, what’s the point in stopping now?” Hosah rambled on, unsure if what he was saying could be heard by whatever higher being he’d dedicated his life to pleasing, and if it’d come up in purification.

“Oh god I get that. I still find myself thinking back to some of the shit I learnt in school, ‘You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a woman’ , man tell that to all of your priests then, you know?” The shifter was kind of taken aback with how much passion Teddy seemed to have on the topic, and also with what he may or may not have just told him. His heart beat out of his chest, realising he might actually have a shot at what he’d been trying to scrub from his mind whenever he looked at the giant.

“Y-yeah, totally. It’s still nice though, I guess. Hope of something after life, reaping your rewards, finding out you were right the whole time and every one else was getting it all wrong.” Hosah turned, hiding his red face despite the fact his assistant was far too distracted with the task in front of him to notice.

Teddy exhaled a contemptuous ‘Pshh’ , “That’s the thing though, what if everyone else was right? I don’t even really believe in an afterlife, to be honest. I always just thought you were put back on earth at square one, with past lives and all that.” he shrugged, “I don’t know, I’m a Libra, I’m indecisive. I might tell you the opposite tomorrow.”

“I don’t even know what my zodiac sign is, not the most spiritual guy out there.”

“Well,” Teddy turned his head away from the sizzling pan and down onto the shrunken figure, “When’s your birthday?”

“June first.”

The giant squinted with a familiar coy smile that meant he was definitely up to no good,

“Gemini. Yeah. That makes so much sense.”

“Why, what does that mean, how does that make sense?” Hosah needed an explanation to why the giant seemed to be so understanding of the answer.

Teddy’s eyes adverted back in that annoying nonchalant way, “Well, they say you guys are clever, impulsive, communicative, and you contradict yourselves a lot.” That same smile curled up onto his face as he remembered one more thing, “And you’re bad at sex. But then again, these are just loose traits, they can apply to just about anyone. It’s fun to think about though.”

The statement completely flustered Hosah into a stunned silence, with no idea what to say or how to respond, so instead, Teddy added more to his side of the conversation,

“They do say that Libras and Geminis are really strong matches though, so we have that going for us. I’d like to think there’s some truth in it all. It’s just interesting, I like it.”

Hosah coughed out his words in embarrassment, “When’s your birthday, then?”

“October nineteenth. My sister’s birthday is only two days before mine.”

“Eugh, I’d hate that. Are you the youngest or the oldest?” Hosah acted as if he knew all too well about the middle child syndrome of being forgotten, despite being fully aware of his dad’s blatant favouritism in his favour.

Teddy reached over to the dried dish pile by the sink, the smell of the cooked toast wafting throughout the whole apartment, “Youngest. There’s only eighteen months between me and my sister though, so we’ve always been more like twins if anything.” Turning the heat off of the stove, he continued, “What about you? You have siblings also, right?”

“Mm, two brothers. One older, one younger. It was always kind of awkward, because me and my older brother are so close in age, but then my little brother and I have a ten year age gap. Felt like he missed out on a lot of older brother growing up experiences, made me feel bad and stuff.”

Teddy gave a sympathetic ‘Mmm’ in response, too distracted dishing out breakfast to really think of any sort of heartfelt reply.

“Aaand breakfast is served,” The giant turned his body to face the tiny figure to his left, although he had a sort of disappointed pout on his face. “Wish we had some syrup or something. Ah, oh well, maybe next time?”

The way his face shifted so quickly and with such ease was fascinating to Hosah, Teddy could go from upset to overjoyed in about half a second, or so, that’s how it looked on the outside.

He offered the palm once more after washing them thoroughly, and this time, Hosah had no trouble diving straight onto it, quickly becoming accustomed to the familiar feeling he thought he’d long forgotten.

In these mundane moments of making breakfast together, it was almost like Hosah could forget there was someone going around killing off shifters like flies being trapped in a cobweb. As if there wasn’t something waiting for him back at the office, hand delivered with his name inked on the front. What it was, he had no idea, and he was enjoying his blissful ignorance too much to dwell. After all, his brain didn’t really work normally at such early hours in the morning, and he was in no rush to reach full conscious stability.

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 6 months

Text

you are somebody that i want to keep ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you aren't sure what you have with satoru gojo, but you know that it’s good.

word count; 6.7k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, colleagues to friends to something unlabelled, you love each other though!!, fluff, hurt/comfort, very very soft, reader falls first but gojo falls harder, both of u are afraid of intimacy lol, a lil angsty if u squint, satoru gojo cherishing u for ~7k words straight <33

a/n; basically just a collection of moments between you and gojo throughout the years <33 (a significant amount of time has passed between each part!!) hes an emotionally repressed loser but i love him and he is smitten w u.

in the soft luminescence of daybreak, your kitchen looks something like a dream.

tainted with a hazy sunshine, simmering with warm colours and pleasant scents, it almost seems to sparkle in the peripheral of your vision. brimming with that feeling of home, a home you’ve broken your bones building, desperate to shape it into something safe — and you think you’ve done a pretty good job.

it’s soothing, comforting, all of these sensations. bleeding into each other like smudges of paint on a canvas; hyacinths blooming by the windowsill, espresso-flavored steam wafting up to the roof, soft meows stemming from the cats by your feet. absolute bliss.

indulging in a peace yet to be shattered by the strain of the working world, you rub the sleep from beneath your weary eyes. blinking and yawning like a drowsy child.

beyond the translucent glass of your windows, glimmering with the light of a sun soon to rise, the world is painted pink and indigo — save for that one hint of gold, a streak of honey slathered across the surface of the sky. fluffy clouds drift through the chilly air, melting in the wake of a new day, and you think they look a little like tufts of cotton candy. soft enough to sink your teeth into, if only the glass wasn’t in the way. keeping the cold out.

it’s a new day. a pleasant morning, sitting comfortably on the brink of dawn, before the city has a chance to rouse from its slumber.

a kind of solitude you so rarely get to bask in.

a false solitude, really. because, for once, there’s another human being in your home — one you don’t know nearly as well as you’d like, for him to be fast asleep on your couch, cheek smushed against the leather. snoring softly.

satoru gojo.

like this, he looks very… human. vulnerable. hair just slightly tousled, from tossing and turning on your not-so-comfortable couch, blindfold only covering one of his eyes and close to slipping off entirely. his expression has melted into one of something vaguely resembling relaxation, as close to unguarded as you assume he can physically get.

even in his sleep, he looks a little stiff. not entirely at peace; like a stray cat sleeping under the hood of a car.

(you’re curious. fascinated, maybe, by the loneliness that clings to the strongest person in the universe. by the paradoxical innocence of his grin.)

honestly, everything from last night is kind of a blur. you remember accompanying the strongest sorcerer on a mission, one long enough to leave you completely and utterly spent, fatigue nestled deep into your bones. remember gojo getting a sudden migraine, so earth-shattering that you thought he was going to keel over and throw up in the middle of the street.

then you remember bringing him back home with you. very hesitantly, only after he begrudgingly accepted the fact that he didn’t have much of a choice. because you were fucking exhausted, and so was he, and your apartment happened to be conveniently close. you remember him practically passing out on your couch, still somehow managing to crack a bad joke you can’t recall, while you went to collapse into the comfort of your bed.

and now you’re here. dyed in half-transparent sunbeams, caffeine bubbling in your veins, gazing at your sleeping coworker from your spot by the kitchen table. waiting for the world to open its weary eyes.

it’s still early. some part of you expects him to sleep a while longer, but you can’t say you’re particularly surprised when gojo begins to stir.

a splotch of sunshine splatters across your living room window, staining the floorboards, falling over the contours of his pretty face. in the light, he looks positively holy; white lashes, pale skin, plump lips. like a goddess.

when he opens his eyes, it’s even worse. a single iris cracked open, pooling with unbridled brilliance. eyes so blue they seem to cut through the stillness of the air.

(— and the world wakes up.)

a little groan slips from his lips, barely audible. with groggy movements, he brings a hand up to his face, obscuring the grating light of the sun flitting in. you think you can almost see the gears of his mind turn, as he takes notice of his surroundings, remembering what transpired just hours before.

faster than you thought, he regains some semblance of composure. huffing under his breath, as he forces himself into a sitting position.

it feels a little wrong, to see the closest thing this world has to a god act so human. be so human. morning-fatigued, just like you, wearing droopy eyelids and a soft, sleepy pout. a little disheveled. groggy with lost dreams.

when his gaze meets yours, you can’t control the breath that hitches pitifully in the back of your throat. a meek skip of your heartbeat, like you just saw something you shouldn’t have. oops.

gojo cracks a grin.

“.. watchin’ me sleep?” he calls out, cheeky. paired with a drowsy yawn. composed, unbothered, but there’s something almost performative about it, something you’re sure you’d miss if he wasn’t still in the process of collecting himself.

“good morning,” is all you offer him. ignoring his teasing remark. he doesn’t push it, to your surprise. “sleep well?”

a hum. absentminded, jovial. one of his large hands goes to adjust his blindfold, the other to fluff up his hair. kicking off the blanket you just barely had the energy to throw over him last night. your fluffiest one, warm enough to protect him from the chill gnawing at the windows. hopefully.

“like a log,” he quips, stretching idly, muscles straining under his baggy uniform. they must be sore, after that mission. or maybe he’s above such things.

choosing not to comment on his obvious lie, you put your lips against the ceramic of your cup. sipping from the bitter brew, a tinge of hazelnut on your tongue. letting him gather his bearings without you scrutinizing him. a little favor, one liar to another.

“thanks for letting me crash,” he grins, lazy. toothy. stumbling to his feet with a low groan, gaze flitting around the room — looking for the exit. “i’ll get outta your hair,” he mutters, and you raise a brow.

“not staying for breakfast?”

gojo stills. your question rings out, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, into the living room.

his smile twitches, ever so slightly, in what you think must be surprise. then it’s back to normal; like putting on a mask, not allowing a sliver of weakness to slip through the cracks. he exhales a raspy chuckle, a sound that flows through the air and crawls down your spine.

”generous, aren’t you?” he hums, voice rich with amusement. dappling sunlight licks at the white locks of his hair.

you shrug. “i wouldn’t mind the company.”

the words climb up the walls of your throat, a little reckless, eager to catch a glimpse of the miracle before you. satoru gojo, framed by the simplicity of your home — somewhat hard to let go of. sunkissed skin, restless hands. a little out of tune. shifting from foot to foot, eager to get away.

(a little like a frightened fawn, you amuse yourself by thinking. he’s really more like the fox who scared it.)

you think he must be bit uncomfortable. forced to spend the night in a coworker’s apartment, one he doesn't even know that well, one he probably doesn’t have any intention of getting to know. still trying to politely excuse himself. persistent, stubborn.

maybe he didn’t expect this. maybe he was convinced he could sneak away, before you had a chance to wake up. maybe he thought you’d be all too eager to let him leave, and never speak of this again. maybe he’s not used to being wanted.

“ha… i’m flattered, believe me, but —“

“what do you usually eat?” you ask. cutting him off, gently, tapping your fingertips against the edge of the table. “for breakfast, i mean. i’ll whip something up.”

a chuckle slips from his lips. you can’t put your finger on it, but something about it bothers you. “really, there’s —“

“if you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t be.” you pause, unsure of what to say. but the words end up spilling out of your throat, oddly honest. ”it’s been a while since i had the chance to make breakfast for someone else.”

it’s strange, really, how intent you are on seeing this through. how much effort you’re putting into making him stay. you barely even know him. actually, you don’t know him at all — all you know is that his smile makes you happy and his strength makes you envious. that you aren’t afraid of him, even though you probably should be.

something about him just feels safe.

“i’m pretty good at making pancakes,” you hum, a small smile playing at your lips. polite, jovial. pale light flits in through the window and slips into its curve. ”do you want some? before we go to work.”

(something in his fingers twitch, when you say that tiny word; pancakes. a little tell. you just barely catch it, before it sputters out. before he reels it back in.)

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, a rubber band bound to snap.

gojo stands there, a very subtle contemplation etched into his features. behind him, your cats begin to scratch at the couch, but you don’t scold them. just waiting for something to happen. beyond the glass of your windows, the sun unfurls in the sky, stretching its arms to envelop the world.

he grins, suddenly. soft light reflecting off the white of his teeth. cocky, composed. not quite performative, a little more natural.

“well, if you insist.”

he strolls over to your side, just a tiny bit sluggish, lazy steps and comically long limbs. he must still be tired. but he takes a seat, right across from you, plopping down on the chair with an effortless air of confidence. lighthearted, leaning his elbows on the table, crossing his legs under it. comfortable. settling into his role.

you’re pleasantly surprised.

“how would you like them?” you ask, and you think some of your excitement may have spilled out with the question. if it did, gojo doesn’t comment on it. ”your pancakes.”

“with chocolate chips, please!” he shoots you a sweet smile. “and whipped cream on top.”

so demanding. for some reason, it makes the corners of your lips quirk up. kinda like a bratty younger brother.

“got it.”

the smell of dark chocolate hangs heavy in the air as you get to work, shuffling around the open space. all while gojo waits, patiently, tapping his foot under the table and staring out the window. leaning his jaw on the heel of his palm. listening to the humming of nightingales on the branches of the apple tree down on the ground, and the buzz of your old radio.

the kitchen fills with motion, sounds, smells. life. splotches of sunlight, crinkled cartons of orange juice. the clinking of plates. two tired adults, seated at the same table, indulging in a fleeting peace and the promise of something new. something almost concrete.

a small, precious moment. enough to make your fascination shift into something you know must be fondness. or close to it.

gojo grins at you, mouth full of pancakes, eagerly telling you about something the kids did last week. wolfing them down, chocolate smeared over his bottom lip. you laugh, and suddenly the world feels a little safer than it should. a little more intact.

you wonder what it means. where it’s going to lead. this feeling of something wonderful beginning, something you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.

a budding connection.

the city lays blanketed beneath a layer of thick snow. blurry pale dots dancing in the wind, obscuring the sky, frost engulfing every building in a bone chilling hug.

with a slight shiver, you dig your hands into the comfort of your pockets, seeking the fleeting warmth you find. admiring the frozen landscape before you, the hustle and bustle of people going about their day. the saffron light of the lamp posts, the glittering snow by your feet, the skeletal apricot trees and their bare branches. this monochrome city you find yourself in.

gojo exhales. strolling cheerily down the street, in tandem with you, a frosty breath to your left that scatters and melts into the open air. it smells minty.

today, he’s wearing black shades — like he usually is when you meet outside of work. it’s kind of nice. when you angle your face a certain way, you can almost see the blue pooling in his eyes, the white of his eyelashes.

he’s beautiful. he always has been. but like this, you think his beauty is simply unfair, highlighted by the winter wonderland you find yourselves in. mesmerizing, the red flush of his cheeks, how he hums along to some jolly tune playing from a little corner store further down the street. all bundled up, in a stylish overcoat and a nice scarf, untouched by the snowflakes fluttering about.

protected by his infinity, always. the silly god you call a friend.

he looks content, despite the cold that keeps nipping at your bare skin, smiling widely. blabbing on about the movie you’re about to watch, how he saw it back in high school but never thought it’d get a remake. how his friend thought it sucked but that friend always had bad taste so his opinion is irrelevant. how he has faith that you’ll like it.

(cute.)

distracted by the pretty man so close by, close enough to touch, you don’t look ahead. maybe just a little bit entranced. which would be fine, if you didn’t happen to be walking on the right side of the street —

crashing straight into a lamp post.

”owch!”

it’s sudden. and it’s a harsh collision, enough to leave your nose stinging, an ache that makes you whine. cursing under your breath as you take a couple steps back, hands reaching for the part of your face that took the brunt of the hit.

and gosh, is this embarrassing. you dance on the edge of death for a living, and here you are — whining over walking into a fucking lamp post. because you were too enamored by the beauty of your own coworker to pay attention to your surroundings.

a coworker who is currently looking at you, silently. having failed to warn you in time, stuck in his own memories, caught up in his in-depth, spoiler-filled review of a movie he’s been waiting to watch all week.

for a moment, all he does is blink. long eyelashes fluttering, like a dove flapping its wings.

then he starts laughing.

scratch that — gojo is downright cackling, thoroughly amused by your clumsy mishap, like he just saw the funniest thing in the world. laughter ringing out into the cold air, white breaths to compliment the red of your burning ears.

asshole.

with a harsh furrow of your brows, you attempt to look angry; but before long, your lips are curling up. infected by his joy. a soft punch to his shoulder is all you manage, biting back a little puff of laughter. you’re embarrassed.

(so embarrassed you don’t even notice how he puts his infinity down.)

”don’t laugh, you piece of shit!” you hiss, grinning even still, flushing and trying to ignore the curious glances you get from passersby. ”it really hurt!”

but gojo doesn’t stop. doesn’t even attempt to. you think he just grew even more amused, if anything, practically bending over from how hard he’s laughing — clutching his stomach.

”sorry, sorry — ’m just…” he tries to speak, taking deep breaths in between bursts of giggles. ”how the hell — how’d you —”

he stops trying. laughing, again.

and it’s a genuine laugh. a little wolfish, spilling out from his pretty parted lips, showing off his sharp teeth. from the very bottom of his gut, clear and bright, deep and infectious. melodic. shades close to slipping off the bridge of his nose, eyes tearing up behind them. trying to collect himself, muffled giggles turning to soft vapour in the cold air. dimples visible on his rosy cheeks.

and suddenly you can't think, can't speak, can only look at him and wonder how a human can be so very beautiful. how it’s metaphysically possible. like a crushed cluster of stars was given human form, a body of celestial light.

he looks so young, like this. a millenia younger, no weight on those broad shoulders, no immovable wall to separate you both. he looks like one of the guys you used to hang out with in middle school, running through corridors and play fighting and holding back shared laughter in the library. before the bite of the world left a mark in your skin.

he looks like himself. like someone pulled the mask off, and all that’s left is the human. none of the godhood he was saddled with at birth.

while you’re busy staring, gojo finally finds his composure again. wiping at his glassy eyes, a chuckle slipping out here and there. distracted by the breathtaking sight, you begin to forget the sting of your collision — until you feel something warm trickle down your chilled skin.

searching for it with the pads of your fingers, you feel a trail of wetness beneath your nose. and when you bring them down, to get a look, all you see is red.

”ah.”

gojo moves closer. maybe just a little alarmed, by the blood dripping from your nose, staining the white of the snow beneath your feet. a chilling contrast, one you’re frighteningly used to. it’s almost comforting. blood on your skin, that sting of pain clogging up your nose, enough for you to get lost in. colours melting together, memories rising to the surface —

when suddenly, something touches your cheek.

one large hand goes to keep your jaw in place, gentle. smooth leather, sneaking under your chin, lifting your face up ever so slightly. warmth trickles from his fingertips through the fabric, and you can smell a hint of his perfume. strawberries and vanilla.

gojo looks at you fondly. wiping the blood from your nose, smudging his expensive gloves. from this angle, you can see his eyes, a blue shimmer in an evening painted white and gray — the sole flicker of colour in this monochrome city. they’re crinkled at the edges.

he looks awfully amused.

(you stay still, not breathing, like any slight motion could have him pulling away.)

”careful,” he croons. so low you barely hear it, almost a purr. the word has a soft underbelly, something you don’t need to dissect to feel.

a sentiment that seems to simmer in the air around you, drifting past the little corner store, a dog tied to a lamp post, your reddened cheeks. past the blue of his eyes, a peripheral that stretches to cover the city before you. words too heavy to speak aloud.

stay safe for me, silly.

then he’s letting go. sudden, the bite of the air replacing his hand. it lingers on your skin, like a memory, like the ghost of a memory. but it’s there. strawberries and vanilla, leather and warmth. something kind. warm.

and it stays there, even as gojo takes a step forward, no longer facing you. walking confidently, the wind bending around his tall stature. long legs and large steps, leaving an imprint in the snow for you to follow. a northern star.

he turns his head, and grins. hair tousled by the breeze, white locks glittering with snowflakes. ”you coming? it’s starting soon.”

a moment passes.

”or do you need me to call shoko?”

you puff out a breathy laugh, at that, stumbling forward. reaching up to wipe more of the blood sticking to your skin. sniffling, but smiling, teeth peeking out between your lips.

”yeah, yeah,” a roll of your eyes. ”’m right behind you.”

gojo’s eyes crinkle, disappearing behind his shades when he straightens his back and raises his head. moving forward, while you follow; his back turned to you, snowy hair melting into the white all around you. like something out of a painting.

with a pep in step, you catch up to him. eager to hear more of his voice, his memories. still basking in the warmth of his hand on your jaw.

a touch from the untouchable.

gojo’s lying on your couch.

he usually is, to be fair, so it shouldn’t be surprising. kicking his legs up, watching tv — or sleeping, snoring loudly, like the couch belongs to him. like your home belongs to him. like he pays rent, and doesn’t just laze around and devour all the sweets in your kitchen cabinets.

(he’s there so often that you’re starting to wonder if you should give him a copy of your keys, or something. but you have a feeling that’d be just a smidge too intimate for him to ever accept.)

this time, however, gojo is doing neither of those things.

he’s on your couch, but he isn’t manspreading, or draping himself over the leather with a lazy grin. he doesn’t have that air of effortless confidence. and it’s palpable, in the air, the open space, enough that you can feel it. an itch on your skin, a lump in your throat. you could practically feel it as soon as you walked through the door.

he isn’t wearing his blindfold, or his shades. he isn’t even smiling. and gojo is always, always smiling.

you think he might be having a rough day.

even the cats are noticing that something’s off. jumping up in his lap, trying to comfort him, brushing against his legs. purring, when he cradles them close — always so gentle with them. hands petting down their backs, softly, the same hands he uses to rip out the throats of curses and curse users alike.

then they mewl and run away. and for once you wish they wouldn’t, wish they could keep clinging to him like they always do. just to make him feel better. right now, in the state he’s in, you wouldn’t even mind gojo’s usual smug declarations of how does it feel to know they like their papa best?

you can’t help but feel unsure of yourself. gojo isn’t doing anything, and he isn’t saying anything. he’s just lying there, on his back, eyes closed. letting the darkness of the room engulf him. drowning in his own thoughts.

he must know that you’re there. he must have heard you come in. but he isn’t saying anything, and you wonder if that means he wants you to leave him alone.

you’re reminded of that one morning. when he woke up on your couch, and looked more human than you’d ever seen him. how you wanted to avert your eyes, how wrong it felt to see a god rouse from its slumber.

(but you know better now.)

hesitantly, you begin to inch closer, step by step. quiet, floorboards barely creaking beneath your weight. tentative, as you settle down on the couch. brushing against the infinity between you.

gojo’s eyes flicker open. like an old tape beginning to play. they still shine with that same brilliance, they always do, but now you think they look just a little dull. a little red.

a moment passes. agonizingly slow.

before you can properly think it through, you’ve done it. almost on instinct, jumping the gun before he has the chance to cover everything up with jokes and laughter. opening your arms; a silent invitation.

gojo only stares.

his gaze moves down to your outstretched arms, and then up to your face. your pursed lips, nervous eyes, worried crease between your brows. one second passes. two, five. you stop counting.

for a moment, you’re almost certain that he’s about to get up and leave. that he’ll flash you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, walk out the door and then never return. like you flew too close to the sun, just another icarus too mesmerized by the glow of his grin to notice your melting wings. like you stepped over the fragile line that separates his bones from yours, his heartbeat from your greedy hands.

— but then he sluggishly gets into a sitting position, and doesn't look at you.

when gojo collapses into your embrace, you’re so surprised that you almost forget how to breathe. almost forget your own name, forget whose home you’re in, why your arms are wrapped around a pale man. all you can think of is how warm he feels, how he’s like a weighted blanket against you. how he trusts you enough to come so very close.

cheek pressed against your chest, arms loose around your waist. no infinity, no barriers. just a single touch shared between two damaged human beings.

a brief inhale gives you the composure that you need. air flowing into your lungs, your brain, as you settle into a comfortable position. no words leave your lips; you just continue to hold him, one hand on his back, testing the waters. letting him hear the echo of your heartbeat. unsure, the both of you, but something about this feels right. close to right. almost there.

gojo is stiff. when you strain your ears, you hear a sharp intake of breath, and a full body shiver courses through him. a tremble of his spine. like he’s itching to run, like he doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. so painfully unused to a proper embrace.

(a little like a frightened fawn.)

a tender something unfurls within your chest, and you feel almost devoured by the fondness rooting itself into your beating heart. delicate, as you begin to brush away his tousled bangs, leaning close. pressing a kiss to his forehead, glistening with sweat. letting your lips linger on his skin.

he’s pale, shining in the bleak moonlight cast from the translucent curtains of your living room windows. pale like a ghost. and there are dark crescents beneath his dull eyes.

nightmares, you surmise. they haunt him too, don’t they? of course they do.

eyes brimming with emotion, you gaze at him; quiet as a mouse, closing his eyes. leaning into your touch, ever so slightly, breathing out a sigh tinged with pure exhaustion. and a certain realization washes over you, akin to a tidal wave, sudden and inevitable. so obvious it’s funny.

you’re not a god at all, are you?

a coo slips from your lips. barely a sound, more like a soothing breath. warm against his cold skin.

you’re just like everyone else. just as fragile.

one of your thumbs goes to smooth over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. so, so gentle. like one wrong touch could have him crumbling into little grains of stardust, spilling out over the worn leather of your couch.

there are so many things you wish you could say to him. so many things you’ll never be able to say, because you’re afraid that if you give him too much it’ll scare him off. like love could burn him if it were to leak out too fervently. like it’s burned him before.

so you don’t say anything. but you think it, you repeat it inside your mind like a prayer, and some part of you thinks that’s enough. i’ve got you — a whisper that you don't dare to voice.

one gojo still manages to hear, somehow, if the way he tugs you closer and snuggles into your neck is anything to go by. a shaky exhale brushing against your collarbone.

(if you feel something wet touch the skin of your shoulder, you don’t mention it.)

you simply hold him, and don’t even think the thought of letting go. even though it takes him hours just to fall asleep, hours you spend anxiously wondering if he’ll change his mind and pull away. but he doesn't leave, even though his body may want him to, and that's enough, and you don’t let go. not even once. he stays cradled to your chest the same way you’d hold a tiny puppy, something fragile. something you need to handle with care.

and when his heartbeat finally mellows out, when you hear little barely audible snores flow from his lips, you finally begin to relax. melting into the couch beneath you, watching him get the rest he deserves. praying that any nightmares of his will be given to you instead.

sleep comes, eventually, to the both of you. tangled up on the couch, him on top of you, comforted by the flutter of each other’s heartbeat. by the warmth of another human being. safe in each other’s arms.

(the next morning, through hazy sunshine and the clinking of coffee cups, he teasingly tells you that just satoru is fine.)

it’s barely daybreak when satoru wakes you up.

a rude awakening, to say the least. he pulls out all the stops, intent on not letting you sleep even a second longer; poking at your cheek, pinching them when that doesn’t work. tickling you, blowing cold air into your ear, flopping down on top of you like a big dog. anything to rouse you from your deep slumber.

and he just will not give it up. no matter how hard you try to ignore him, no matter how many times you swat him away with your duvet pillow or turn to bury your face into the sheets. that’s how satoru always is, how he’s always been, how he hopefully always will be — an absolute pain. one you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.

so, when he starts whining for you to just wake up already, voice tinged with a sadness that tugs at your heartstrings, you find yourself opening your tired eyes. all while he murmurs on and on about something unintelligible, still trying to bribe you.

”i’ll make you coffee, okay? just get up. c’moooon.”

”… what time is it, satoru?” is all you mutter, voice leaving your lips in a raspy, disgruntled fashion. stirring a little at the promise of coffee.

he cracks a grin. ”don’t worry about it! just come with me.”

despite your grumpy attitude, and the ungodly hour at which satoru shakes you awake, you find yourself letting him scoop you up and set you down on the kitchen counter. placing a hot cup of coffee in your hands, made just the way you like it, before grinning mischievously in a way that has you feeling ill at ease.

and ten minutes later, you find yourself on top of a hill. overlooking the woods, and a big lake below you, no city lights visible no matter where you turn — god knows where he’s taken you, but it’s pretty.

breathtaking, even. all frost and wildlife and peace, sweet solitude, tiny flowers blooming on the patches of grass around you. a murder of crows takes flight in the distance, scattering into the indigo of the sky.

gojo grins, boyish and bright, excited breaths turning into vapour as he speaks. awfully proud of himself.

”i can’t take you on vacation, but —”

he drags you with him, arm looped around your own, plopping down on the ground. not before taking off his jacket, to cover the ground beneath you. grass tickles the skin of your palms, as you comfortably spread your legs, making sure to sit as close to him as possible.

and your heart softens a little.

because he’s mentioned it, before; how it’d be nice to go on a road trip, someday, just the two of you. all around the world, wherever the wind takes you. basking in that feeling of freedom. it’s no more than a fever dream, though, with how busy satoru is, the responsibilities you both shoulder.

so this’ll have to do. that’s probably what he’s thinking.

”the sun’ll rise soon. it’ll be pretty, i promise,” he beams, so close that you feel his warm breath on your skin. that you can see the dimples on his cheeks, his barely visible freckles.

”oh, so that’s why you woke me up so early.”

his smile widens. ”nice, right? i wanted to surprise you. d’you like it?”

a smile blooms on your lips, in tandem with his, honeyed and content. indulgent. gojo looks at it, and immediately knows your answer.

”yeah. it’s really pretty out here,” you face forward, taking a deep breath, fresh morning air entering your lungs. cool and crisp, stirring your sleepy mind. ”kinda nostalgic.”

satoru hums, and follows your lead. looking ahead, admiring the beauty of an empty world.

the big lake looks like a mirror, from here, glittering in the peripheral of your vision. the sun licks at the frozen sky, not quite breaking through, not entirely ready to rise — but it paints everything a rusty gold and you can almost feel spring shining through, taste it on your tongue, that promise of something better, something more concrete. a warmth you don’t have to question.

a warmth that’ll stay with you for a long time to come.

it takes about ten seconds for the man by your side to start speaking, again, shattering the peaceful silence. but you don’t mind. his voice is nice, a mellow melody to your morning-fatigued brain.

side by side, you wait for the sun to rise. sharing hushed whispers and laughter, like two kids having a sleepover. like nothing exists but the space that cocoons you, wraps you up in a nostalgia so palpable the entire world feels like a fond memory.

(it makes you feel a millenia younger.)

satoru giggles like a child, telling you about something shoko said, or something megumi did, and you don’t miss a single word that spills from his glossy lips. hanging on to every word he’s willing to give to you.

he looks so unbothered, like this. eyes crinkling, humming some tune you don’t recognize, like a little nightingale ready to take flight into the skies.

you part your lips, admiring his features. every patch of skin you can see. words making themselves manifest, hungry to see inside his brain, to know more about him. a fascination that’s never quite left you — though now you think it may be better described as love. ”hey, satoru?”

at the sound of his name, he turns to you. the weight of his eyes feels so light, like this. those blessed eyes staring into yours. he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips. ”mm?”

”if you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be right now?”

satoru blinks.

he looks at you, a mild surprise flitting through the lines of his face, as he takes you in. measures the weight of your words.

then he smiles, again. lopsided, almost a smirk, rich with amusement. a hum buzzes in his throat, like a butterfly itching to break out.

”.. you teasing me?”

a huff fills the air. ”it’s a genuine question!” you insist, moving your leg to nudge his own. ”c’mon. anywhere in the world. i’m just curious.”

another hum. he narrows his eyes, playfully, biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle when that makes you grumble. pouting softly, tilting your head. he’s amused, you can tell.

but he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering, glimmering with morning dew. and you can tell he’s taking you seriously. tasting the question on his tongue.

something shines in his eyes, when he opens them again; crinkling at the corners, soft lines of crows’ feet. you can almost see that burst of aquamarine, breaking through the black glass of his shades. like the laws of physics can’t contain it. and he smiles, as always, a smile so beautiful you wish you could live on the curve of his lips. flimsy, no teeth peeking out, no dimples to admire. but sweet. slathered with honey, as sincere as can be.

his voice comes out a little raspy, tainted with a tinge of fatigue, a smokey residue that sticks to the walls of his throat. but it's genuine, like he just woke up, like he's too sleepy to be dishonest. like every word he says can be no more or less than the absolute truth.

and when he turns to face you, tilting his head enough for you to see that shade of blue you love so dearly, his eyes shine with an honestly so palpable you feel like you’re being devoured.

satoru parts his lips.

”right next to you.”

a moment passes. silent, endless, no sound to be heard but the beating of your own heart.

at last, the sun breaks through that layer of frost, peeking up from the boundary of the world — and the morning begins to thaw. streaks of sunlight cascade down the contours of his handsome face, painting him a mellow gold, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the warmth of his hand finding yours.

for a moment, satoru looks unsure. smile shifting in the light, into something slightly stiff, and you know that means he's nervous. silent, as he wets his glossy lips. pink tongue tasting strawberry chapstick.

then he’s leaning forward.

it’s chaste, the kiss he plants on your forehead, soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. but it lingers, even after he’s pulled back — a warmth on your skin. a silent declaration.

he doesn't have to say anything. when you look up at him you can see the red flush of his ears, and when you strain your ears you can hear all those unspoken whispers. the sentiment neither of you will ever have to say out loud, because you know. it’s there. and it means everything.

and you know that for as long as you live, you’ll both have this. one single thread of normalcy, in your unorthodox existences, one single glimmer of something almost entirely good. something that heals, something that isn’t a blessing and a curse all in one. something soft to the touch.

there’s no need to find the right words for it. there never was.

”kinda looks like melted ice cream.”

the words pull you out of your stupor. satoru’s looking at the sky, and you follow his gaze, watching the sunrise in tandem with him.

it’s beautiful. soft clouds melting into pinks and oranges, dappling sunbeams lapping at the trees, a saffron shade washing over the empty world in front of you. a world that may not be so empty, after all, because you hear crows in the distance, and someone’s fishing by the lake, and you think you spot a squirrel in the tree closest to you.

and you have someone, right next to you, right by your side. someone who won’t ever leave.

sometimes, loving satoru gojo feels a little like strolling on the edge of a cliff. like one wrong step could have you tumbling down, a mess of broken bones and unspoken words. but if you do stumble and fall — you know he’ll be waiting at the bottom of the precipice. arms outstretched, wearing that same innocent grin, ready to hoist you both back up.

so you know it’ll be fine.

swallowing down a bout of fresh laughter, like a flower unfurling in your chest, petals brushing against your ribcage, you give in. opting to bask in the moment, in his presence.

”yeah,” you puff out a chuckle, head slumping against satoru’s shoulder. he makes a little noise of approval, and your grin grows. ”it does.”

he doesn’t say anything. smiling, wordlessly, admiring the way the sun kisses up your collarbone. lighting up your face. and you bask in his warmth, how right it feels to be tucked into his side. how safe he feels, even now. how safe you make him feel.

you look at the man to your left, and he looks back at you, and that wonderful unnamed something unfurls inside your chest again. and, without having to speak it aloud, you know it will continue to do so.

many, many years later, he’ll still be satoru, and you’ll still be you. the distance between you will be what it always was; breachable.

and that will be enough.

#someone sedate me i giggled while writing this. im so in love w this stupid weasel #this is rly just my attempt at writing a more canon-aligned gojo and the kinda-sorta relationship i could see him having in canon #i firmly believe that he’d feel most at peace w a love that sits somewhere right between platonic n romantic !!#”me n the bestie <3” (selfie of u wearing matching rings)#its the kinda love that u dont need to label bc its just There. its just love !! a love that comes easy #im happy w how this particular gojo turned out i think!! :'3 hes my lil baby #in other news hes so bambi coded ☹️ i need to nurse him back to health #listen to capable of love by pinkpantheress btw its so gojo to me #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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