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“no, baby, it’s not fine.” he says, trailing after you as you get up from the couch. he notes how you put a bit more effort in your appearance, small wings of eyeliner making your eyes appear more beautiful.
you give him a smile, reassuring and soft and it only makes him feel more guilty. “yes, it is, my love.” a kiss on his nose. “we’ll just reschedule; i know you didn’t mean to forget.”
you brush by him to go to your shared bedroom, smile faltering and chest aching as you blindly pick out some bedtime clothes. your shirt, his pants, maybe you’ll even steal his boxers tonight.
gojo still stands in the living room by the door, shoes still on and his lips pressed into a thin line. he hates how you dismiss his wrongs; hates how you stopped getting mad when he forgets a date.
he hates himself for getting so caught up with work, that he forgot your birthday.
what’s even worse, is that you only smiled at him when he walked through the door hours after he was meant to come home. you didn’t question him, give him attitude or anything of the sort... you just smiled and told him that it’s fine.
it’s fine, as in literally, because you don’t have the energy to get mad at him anymore.
“why are you still standing there, satoru?” you question, giving him a weird look as you’re halfway in through the bathroom door.
he looks at you. “i’m sorry.”
and like before, you smile. “don’t say sorry. it’s okay.”
---
he comes home earlier the next day, flowers in hand and a little trinket he found while wandering off during work, letting his students handle the problem.
you’re not in the living room. but he hears voices coming from the bedroom.
pulling his blindfold off, he slips his glasses on, sliding out of his shoes as he sneaks to surprise you.
“why don’t you just breakup with him?” a little staticky and glitched; you’re facetiming your best friend.
he hears you sigh, a broken chuckle leaving your lips. “’cause it’s not like he doesn’t care,” you argue dejectedly, “he does. but i don’t think...” a sniffle. his heart aches. “i don’t think he sees any of this as serious, y’know?”
“that literally means he doesn’t care.” your friend says matter-of-factly and you laugh sadly. “please, y/n, leave him. you’ve been so sad these last few months.”
“i know.” you say, voice breaking. “i just feel stupid for thinking he was for real.”
satoru rests his forehead on the door, sighing. he is for real. because it’s you, he doesn’t want to play around. he’s pined for so long and even though he technically “has you,” a part of him knows he’s loosing you.
he’s not good. he knows he isn’t.
he’s been dragging you along long before you both were even officially together—pulling you into him, only to push you away. it wasn’t until you began realizing you deserved better was when he started pursuing you with the intent to make you stay.
and now he’s left to deal with damage he made.
he’s so selfish—a literal nightmare to be with, but if you are gonna leave him, he wants to at least make sure you know that how he feels for you is genuine.
bursting through the door, he yells your name. you shriek at the noise, whipping your head around.
gojo stands at the door, hands full with your gift in his left and flowers in his right. your expression softens and you tell your friend you’ll call them later. placing your phone down, you sit up, crawling to the edge of the bed.
he kisses you, a grin curling on his lips as he pulls away.
another kiss to your forehead. “i got you something.”
“i see.” you grin, heart fluttering at him doing the bare minimum.
he hands you the flowers, making a show of the box he’s holding. you laugh and he smiles, opening it. it’s a necklace with yours and his initials engraved into the small heart pendant.
he puts it around your neck, thumb wiping your forgotten tears tracks caused by your earlier conversation.
you’re rolling the pendant between your fingers, admiring its simplicity. it’s quiet now. just you, him and this moment that could possibly be the last. that’s when he speaks. “i’m for real, you know.”
it’s quiet; he’s serious.
“i know.” you mumble, not meeting his gaze. you hope he wasn’t eavesdropping earlier.
“no, you don’t.” he says, moving in between your legs and wrapping his arms around your neck. “you want to break up with me.”
you roll your eyes half-heartedly, not surprised he was listening in earlier. “no, i don’t. sora wants me to break up with you.”
he kisses your forehead. “you’re getting convinced.”
“i’m not!”
gojo smiles at you, a little sad, but still full of love. your heart melts. “i know you’re tired of me, but i’ll make it work? Promise.”
“satoru, you’re not even sure yourself.” you say it light-heartedly, smiling up at him, ignoring the ache in your chest.
“y/n, i’m being serious here.” he says, eyes sincere.
you avoid his gaze, looking down. “i know,” you mumble, feeling your tears resurface. “but your serious and mine are two different things.”
he tilts your chin up, pressing a kiss to your lips. “right now, i’m your kind of serious. i’m sorry, y/n. really. i know you think i’m just playing around, but i’m not.”
“and i’m your perfect match.” he adds, sprinkling your face with kisses.
you giggle, “perfect match? i deserve better than perfect, then.” you half-joke.
eighteen, he thinks, when life was just reaching its peak. he was probably in love with you since then, before he even knew it. eighteen, where he willingly chose other people over you. eighteen, where he got angry because his friend tried to get with you.
honestly, he was probably in love with you long before he turned eighteen.
but before this, he doesn’t think he knew what love was.
so he smiles at you, hands cupping your jaw and stars in his eyes. “i’m the best of the best, baby. there is no better.”
gojo isn’t good at commitment, both of you know that. but he knows that if there ever comes a time where he has to save you or the world, he’ll choose you.
and he wants to make sure that with your whole chest, when he says that, you believe him.