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“What if he doesn’t like me?”
Gojo reclines in the swivel chair at your desk, long legs spread as he twists his seat back and forth in a half circle whilst he watches you get ready. You look at him imploringly through the mirror as you dust powder under your eyes.
“He will,” he says simply.
“How do you know?“
“Cos he’s my best friend, duh,” he says. “No one knows him better than I do. And besides, if I like you, Suguru will too.”
“You don’t make a very compelling argument.” Gojo groans, standing from his seat and sauntering towards you. He leans against your dressing table and plucks a brush from your pot, swirling the bristles idly over the palm of his hand.
“Look, I’m telling you, you’ll be fine. He’ll love you. You trust me, don’t you?”
“Not as far as I can throw you,” you say dryly, scrunching your nose when he tickles the brush over the tip of it, a sneeze building in your sinuses.
“Watch it, or I’ll tell him all about your imaginary boyfriend,” he threatens.
“He’s 2D not imaginary, learn the difference. And you wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, but I would.” There’s an evil glint in his pretty eyes as he grins widely at you. “Don’t test me. Now hurry up, or we’ll be late.”
You roll your eyes and finish up your makeup, shooing Gojo out of your room so that you can get dressed. Once you’re done, you secure a pair of hoops in your ears as you leave your room.
“It’s not too much, is it?” Gojo looks up from his phone, dressed simply in dark jeans and a white shirt with the top few buttons undone to show off a hint of his chest and collarbones. He gives you a once over and hums thoughtfully.
“It’s a little late to be asking that.”
“Gojo!”
“Relax, you won’t even stand out. Much.”
Groaning, you march past him, grabbing your keys from the coffee table and tossing them into your purse.
“Whatever, let’s just go before I change my mind.”
A twenty minute drive is all the time you get to calm your frazzled nerves before Gojo is pushing open the door to his friend's apartment and ushering you inside. The ‘party’, as he had called it, is far quieter than you expected. The apartment is comfortably full, with soft music playing from somewhere as people chat and wander. It’s difficult not to feel out of place when your friend strolls in like he owns the place, leaving you to shyly scramble after him.
“Suguru!” He claps his hand on the shoulder of a tall man with dark hair twisted up in a bun. The man turns around and offers him a lazy grin.
“I was wondering when you’d get here,” he says as the taller of the two engulfs him in a hug.
“We would’ve been on time if someone hadn’t spent ages getting ready,” Gojo says, rolling his eyes playfully.
“I did not take ages, you wouldn’t get out of my room!” you grumble.
“Hush now y/n, let’s not cause a scene,” he teases, winking at his best friend. “Especially not in front of our gracious host.” Heat floods your cheeks when you realise that this is the fabled Geto Suguru, and you just whined in front of him like a child before even getting the chance to say hello. A brilliant first impression.
“Right. Um… hi. I’m y/n,” you say awkwardly. Geto has the grace to chuckle goodnaturedly, his eyes crinkling closed as he smiles.
“I gathered. It’s nice to finally meet Satoru’s girlfriend.” He holds out his hand for you to shake, his fingers wrapping over your knuckles with a surprising gentleness as you splutter and scoff.
“Girlfriend?! Gojo, what the fuck have you been telling him?”
“Nothing, I swear!” he insists, holding his hands up placatingly.
“She’s not the girl you’ve been seeing? Who was it that you were telling me about then? Y’know the one that gives amazing he-”
“Gross! First of all, that’s definitely not me! Why would I ever- Ew! I’m most definitely not one of his conquests!” Geto sniggers under his breath at your sour expression, like someone just shoved a lemon wedge into your mouth.
“Damn right you’re not, you insult me way too often for me to even try to seduce you, fucking gremlin,” he sulks.
“Sorry, I just assumed you were,” he says, inclining his head apologetically. “He just told me he was bringing a friend. And you’re a girl. Who came here with Satoru. Willingly.”
“Suguru, not you too!” Gojo whines and his friend’s dark eyes twinkle mischievously as he winks at you, pressing his lips together to contain his grin.
“Fair enough,” you say with a huff before a rueful smile tugs at your lips.
You’re not exactly sure what you were expecting from him since Gojo is... well, Gojo. He should be the same, or at least similar, since the two are thick as thieves, and to an extent, they are. Geto is charming and handsome, much like his friend (though you’ll never tell him so). However, as the evening wears on and you continue to chat even after Gojo has wandered off once he catches sight of a pretty girl, you realise that the two men are actually quite different.
Geto is quietly confident and there is mystery tucked away in those dark, hypnotic eyes, endless untold secrets that ensnare you and reel you in the moment they meet yours. He’s teasing, like Gojo, but it makes your skin warm rather than making you groan in annoyance. His voice is soft and satiny as he recounts tales of his travels, painting pictures for you with his words - it’s incredibly easy to get lost in the sound of it. The rest of the room falls away, as though no one else on Earth exists. He draws you in so effortlessly, and honestly?
You are enamoured.
Geto pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and stands, drawing one out and popping it between his lips. You can’t stop yourself from staring at them, how the lower one is slightly fuller and how they shape his words as he speaks around the unlit stick.
“You smoke?” he asks, holding the packet out to you. You shake your head no and he shrugs, telling you that he’ll be right back before heading for the balcony attached to his living space. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, observing how he lights the end and takes a drag, exhaling a wispy cloud of greyish smoke. He lifts it to his lips again and-
“Enjoying yourself?” Gojo suddenly plops down beside you, startling you.
“Holy- Don’t do that! You scared the shit out of me!” you complain, clutching at your chest. Grinning cheekily, he nudges you with his shoulder and gestures towards his friend.
“You two seem to be getting along well,” he says. “I was right, obviously.”
Quickly, you change the subject with a scoff. “Ugh, shut up. Where’s your new toy?”
“Bathroom. She needed to uh, fix her lipstick,” he says, throwing you a wink.
You groan in disgust. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Absolutely nothing, I’m perfect,” he coos, roughly pinching your cheek as you roll your eyes. “So, let’s hear it. Gimme the goss’.”
“What goss’?“
It’s his turn to roll his eyes, bending his head closer to you. “C’mon, what were you two talking about? Seemed awfully cosy.”
“Stop, Gojo. We were just making small talk. He was telling me about the places he’s been to and where he wants to go next. No big deal,” you shrug. And the topic of conversation technically is no big deal, but it felt like he was divulging his heart's desires, like he was speaking of love and longing. It makes you wonder. “How long is he sticking around for?“
“Not sure,” Gojo hums, perking up when he sees his friend returning, having finished with his smoke break. He grins lazily and drawls.
“Room for one more?”
In the days that follow, Gojo insists that the three of you hang out together. And you do, for a few days, but his attention is quickly stolen by the girl he dallied with at the party and so, you’re often left alone with Geto.
Not that you mind.
Quickly, far more quickly than you expected, the dark haired man worms his way into your heart and life. It’s just so easy to be around him. So comfortable, even when it’s silent. You look forward to seeing him, hoping that Gojo will have some reason to flake on you both just so that you can keep his company for yourself. You swear to yourself that it’s platonic, that you’re just really enjoying having a new friend.
But the thump of your heart and the swirling in your stomach is becoming hard to ignore. Especially now that he’s sat so close to you whilst you watch some movie you’ve already seen before.
It’s late. You’re sitting together on the sofa, legs tucked under you whilst Geto is lounging back in his seat beside you. He yawns and you turn to him with a smile.
“Tired already?” you tease lightly. He shoots you that lazy grin that you’ve come to adore.
“Kinda. ‘S been a long day.”
“I can go home if you wanna go to bed?”
“No, no!” he insists, sitting up a little straighter. “At least stay until the movie finishes, otherwise you came here for nothing.”
Unconvinced, you eye the exhaustion lining his elegant eyes.. “You like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m fine, I promise. Just need to lie down.”
“Well you can take this couch and I’ll go sit over there so you have room,” you suggest, gathering your blanket so that you can move to the smaller sofa.
“Wait.” Pausing, you hover above your seat. “Sit back down.”
“But-“
“Let me borrow your lap. There’s no cushions.” Casting a cursory glance around his living room, you realise that he’s right. “If you’re okay with it, that is?”
Geto leans towards you and cocks his head to the side, inky tendrils of silk spilling over his broad shoulders. The urge to run your fingers through his hair and find out if it’s as soft as it looks ripples through your skin. With a shy murmur of agreement you relent, allowing him to stretch himself out like a cat and your thighs to pillow his head, resting a hand lightly on one of your knees.
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” you warn a little shakily due to his proximity and when he chuckles, you can feel how his body rumbles against you. The sensation makes your body tingle. Hesitantly, you rest a hand on his head, letting your fingers slip through the loose strands of hair when he doesn’t pull away. It’s somehow even softer than you imagined, thick and silky. When he sighs contentedly, you take that as your cue to card your fingers through his hair, gently kneading at his scalp every so often.
“Y’know Satoru told me you give good head massages, but he didn’t tell me just how good” he hums after a while, his finger tracing idle patterns on your knee.
“He did? That was literally one time,”’ you grumble under your breath. “Bastard begged me to help ‘relieve his headache’ but I think he just wanted attention.”
“Sounds about right. He seems to like your attention.”
“Nah, he likes to push my buttons and piss me off mostly. Besides, he gets plenty of attention elsewhere.” Geto hums thoughtfully.
“I see. So if you were to give someone else that attention…” he trails off.
“He wouldn’t even blink. In fact, he’d probably just tease me more.”
“True. So if he walked in here right now and saw us like this?” Geto twists so that he’s laying on his back, dark eyes glittering as he looks up at you impishly. You twist a lock of his pretty hair around your forefinger, narrowing your eyes at him in question.
“Shouldn’t you know all this? He’s your best friend after all,” you point out. He shrugs and smiles softly, letting his eyes shut. Dark, long lashes flutter softly over pale skin, casting soft shadows on top of his high cheekbones.
“He is,” he murmurs, stilling your hand by slowly wrapping his fingers around it. “That’s why I needed to be doubly sure of a few things first.”
Your heart trips in your chest. His fingers are warm, and his smile is making your head spin. You respond to him a little breathlessly.
“What things?”
“Oh, this and that,” he says nonchalantly, bringing your hand to his lips and brushing a kiss over your fingertips, soft as a feather. “Whether or not I’d have to fight for your attention.”
“Why would you need to do that?” you whisper.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No,” you lie. Geto’s lips move to your palm.
“Really?”
“Really.” Your pulse thrums against his mouth where it now rests against the inside of your wrist.
“I think you’re lying, y/n.” His voice is teasing and light as he peeks up at you with those smoky eyes. “I think you know exactly why. Because it’s not just your attention I want,” he says, moving to sit up and crowd your space. The warmth of his breath tickles over your cheek and sends a shiver racing down your spine.
“It’s not?”
“You see, sweetheart. I want your affection too,” he murmurs. Then, in a whisper, “I want you .”
“Geto I-“
“No, no. It’s Suguru to you.”
“Suguru,” you repeat breathily, testing the weight of his given name on your tongue, tasting each syllable as it spills affection down your throat like honey. You swallow hard, letting it puddle in the chambers of your heart as he brushes his lips over yours.
“Let me have you. Please?”
Nodding almost imperceptibly, the distance between you vanishes as lips that are petal-soft and unassuming press against you more firmly. His mouth must be riddled with opium because now that you’ve started kissing him, you don’t want to stop. Long fingers grip at your jaw, thumb pushing into the soft flesh of your cheek. You can feel his restraint bend and bow as your mouth parts under his coaxing, his other hand twisting into the hem of your hoodie. There’s an ache in your body, a need to get closer even as he brings you into his chest and your fingers tangle in his hair. It’s not enough, nowhere near.
All too soon, he breaks away, flushed hot and panting. His cheeks are rosy and your hair is mussed like his. He licks his lips, pink tongue flicking out to quickly wet his soft, dangerous mouth.
“Next time, don’t invite Satoru.”
And you don’t. Not the next time you end up on the couch at his apartment or the time after that when you meet up for brunch dressed in a pretty little dress. The line between hangouts and dates blur when he takes you out to dinner and buys you flowers and kisses you breathless whenever you bid him goodnight.
Never, in the entirety of your life thus far, did you ever expect to experience such bliss. Being with Suguru warms you and calms you whilst simultaneously exciting you. It’s easy to forgo any sense of logical reasoning when you’re with him, to just fall into his arms and forget your worries. Forget that you haven’t shared a shred of this newfound happiness with anyone else.
Which is why the sound of the door slamming open, followed by Gojo’s drawn out whine of ‘Suguru’ makes you jolt from where you’re curled up next to him. You try to scramble to sit more appropriately, completely caught off guard by the arrival of your blue eyed friend, but Suguru’s arms tighten around your waist and stop you from moving.
“Let me guess, she dumped you,” he responds without missing a beat.
“I just don’t get why!” he moans, making a beeline for the kitchen without even sparing the two of you a glance. “I didn’t even do anything this time! Where’s the ice cream? I can’t find it.”
“Exactly where you left it. So what went wrong?”
“I don’t know!” he whines again, dragging his lanky frame into the living room and slumping next to the two of you on the sofa. “I didn’t piss her off, I didn’t even accidentally flirt in anyone else’s direction!”
“Accidentally?” you snort.
“Yes, y/n, accidentally . It’s not my fault I’m oozing with natural charm!” he huffs, pointing his spoon at you, completely glossing over the fact that you’re snuggled up to his best friend's side. He sighs heavily, shovelling a bite of strawberry ice cream into his mouth. “It’s like I’m not good for anything other than sex!”
“Well, that is how most of your relationships start,” Suguru points out.
“Not the point, man! I wasn’t expecting her to fall in love with me or anything, but it would be nice if she actually liked me , y’know?” he sniffs. “How did you two do it?” You shift uneasily, already hyperaware of Suguru’s body pressed against yours.
“Do what?” you ask, as if you’ve got no clue what he’s talking about.
“That,” he says, pointing between the two of you. “Whatever ‘that’ is.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gojo’s crystalline eyes narrow at you, one snowy brow bouncing up and disappearing into his soft fringe.
“You realise he tells me everything, right?” You say nothing of your blunder, mentally cursing your own stupidity. Of course.
Sighing sadly, his long legs stretch out and disappear beneath the coffee table. “At least you guys love me.” Gojo’s head lolls onto Suguru’s shoulder, who gently rests his cheek in his hair and lets the white haired man sulk and stab at his ice cream. Silence engulfs the three of you, the only sound keeping you company being Gojo’s heavy intermittent sighs. Once it begins to feel a little too quiet for comfort, you pop the bubble of silence with a proverbial pin.
“Isn’t this… weird to you?”
“Is what weird?” Gojo asks, looking at you with round, pathetic eyes.
“This. Me and Suguru.”
“Oh. No, it’s not weird.”
“It’s not?”
“Nope,” he confirms, popping the ‘p’ before that familiar grin crawls over his lips. “Why? You looking for my blessing or something? Oh! Do you want me to leave? Were you about to fu-”
“No! God, Gojo get your head out of the fucking gutter for once!” you yelp and Suguru sniggers, rolling his dark eyes at his friend as he laughs at your scandalised expression.
“That’s an awfully adamant ‘no’, sweetheart,” Suguru says, squeezing at your hip.
“Don’t you start,” you warn, glaring at him when he grins devilishly before turning to the other menace. “And you. I thought you were sulking.”
Gojo lifts his tub with a cheeky grin and shows you that it's been scraped clean,
“I think I was just low on sugar.”
“Feel better?” Suguru asks and Gojo nods, stretching when he stands.
“I’m gonna go use your shower,” he announces. “Oh and sorry for cockblocking,” he winks, disappearing before you can yell at him.
“He’s so annoying,” you grumble once he’s out of earshot. Suguru chuckles, low and velvety, pressing his lips to your temple appealingly. “You didn’t tell me that you’d told him about us already.”
“I thought you knew,” he hums.
“When did you tell him?” You sit up a little so that you can look at him.
“Well, I told him I thought you were pretty the first night we met.” He says it like he’s talking about something as simple as the weather.
“Is that all you said?” Shrugging, Suguru idly runs his thumb over the apple of your cheek and trails it down to rest over your lower lip.
“I may have mentioned kissing you.”
“I see.”
“And I told him about the places we’ve been and the things we did.” He reels you in closer, gaze flickering between your eyes and lips, still trapped under his thumb. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“No, I’m not. I could never be mad at you. Anything you didn’t tell him about?”
“I didn’t tell him about how sweet you are.”
“I don’t think he’d believe you if you told him that,” you grin.
“Maybe. But if he ever finds that you’re also the sweetest I’ve ever tasted, he’d be dying to see for himself. Y’know how he is with sweets,” he whispers.
“Lucky for you, he’ll never know.” The soft huff of his laughter warms your lips as he covers them with his own, kissing you long and deep. Your limbs loosen as he coaxes you into his lap, long fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to graze over your skin.
“What if he walks in?” you gasp, pulling away briefly for air.
“Then maybe he’ll learn a thing or two.” He drags you back in, caging you against his chest with his strong arms.
“But-“
“Shh,” he mumbles against your lips. “Let me kiss you.” With a sigh, you give in, letting him drain you of worry and all sense of self. As his lips begin to travel over your jaw, a low whistle sounds behind you.
“You guys didn’t waste any time, did ya?”
Huddled under the duvet with your lover as night blankets your room, you curl into his side as his fingers draw hearts on your bare arm. The sleepy chatter has dwindled down to a comfortable silence, filled only by the sound of your breathing. You are warmer than you have ever been, shrouded gently in what you can only equate to love.
The words are there, on the tip of your tongue, the soft muscle sitting heavy in your mouth with their weight. Suguru’s warm skin on yours is enough to soothe any aches in your heart, to fill all its cracks and mend any tears. After he made love to you so attentively, it is only fitting that the love he drowned you in springs to your eyes and spills over quietly. He takes notice when you sniffle and something wet drips onto his chest.
“Sweetheart? Everything okay?”
“‘M fine,” you mumble, peeking up at him with a watery smile. “Just feeling a lot right now.”
You leave out the three words you want to whisper to him.
“C’mere.” He cups your cheeks in his hands, gently thumbing away your tears before he leans down to nudge his forehead against yours. “Look at you. Just so damn cute, hm? So perfect.”
Gnawing at your lip, you lower your gaze shyly to the carved edges of his jaw. Chuckling, he gently raises your head so that you have no choice but to meet his eyes. “Getting shy on me, huh? Your cheeks are all warm.” He squeezes them together for emphasis, chuckling when your brows furrow in annoyance.
“Shut up. When did you swap bodies with Gojo?”
“Eh, he’s rubbed off on me a little after all these years,” he jokes.
“I’m doomed.”
“Sure are.”
Once you’ve lost yourself to slumber, smiling softly and full of love, you don’t notice the way his arms leave your body. You don’t feel the loss of warmth or hear him padding quietly around your room. The soft scratching of a pen and the gentle rustle of paper fall on deaf ears, as does the quiet click of your door.
The exact moment your lover leaves is unknown to you. The bittersweet twist of his features, the whisper of an apology, the brush of his knuckles, are all lost to the velvety blanket of twilight that cocoons you safely.
Let it be known that rose tinted glasses are to be treated with caution. They’re pretty, with their shiny frames and lenses the colour of flushed cheeks. There’s a comfort that blankets you when you put them on, shielding your sensitive eyes a little from the sun, dousing the harsh hues of the world around you in a dusky glow. There’s no reason to take them off, not when they provide your sight with protection and soften your surroundings.
After your night of passion and ardor, those very glasses that kept you safe, slipped off the bridge of your nose in your sleep. You’re blinded you when you finally open your eyes.
When you wake, the first thing you notice is the sudden change in temperature. A shiver courses through your body, despite being buried deep under your duvet, and goosebumps rise on your skin. The second thing you notice is that your bed feels oddly empty, and as the fog of sleep clears a little, you realise that Suguru is gone. Confused, you slip off the blankets and tug on the dressing gown that hangs on your bedpost to ward off the cold.
“Suguru?” The bathroom is empty.
“Baby?” The kitchen is vacant.
“Where are you?” The genkan is free of his shoes. Upon returning to your room with a pounding heart, you take notice of a little rectangle of paper, no bigger than your palm, sitting neatly on your bedside table. A sigh of relief rushes out of you all at once as you unfold it, expecting to see a message telling you he’s out getting breakfast for you.
I promise I’ll be back soon. Please don’t wait for me. I’m sorry.
Forever yours, Suguru .
Four short sentences. Those sixteen little words scrawled neatly onto a scrap piece of paper have the power to make your heart sink. Your blood runs cold as you slowly sit on the edge of your mattress where he once lay.
The note itself is by no means damning, but you feel that something is deeply amiss in the depths of your soul. The minutes tick by as you reread the note, over and over, committing it to memory with burning eyes.
He can’t be gone. It’s impossible. Everything was so fucking perfect.
With shaking hands, you snatch up your phone, quickly unlocking it and checking for any messages, only to find none. Desperately, you scroll through your contacts and tap on your lover’s, pressing the device to your ear and hoping that you’ll hear his smoky voice on the other side.
Voicemail.
You try again. And again. And again. Each time bearing the same result.
Okay, so perhaps his battery is dead. That’s a possibility , you think to yourself.
Gojo is your next immediate thought.
Your friend picks up after a couple of rings, slurring groggily into the receiver.
“‘S too fuckin’ early, what is it? Better be life or fuckin’ death I swear.”.
“Suguru,” you rasp, throat dry.
“Huh?“
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know, it’s 10am.”
“He’s gone. He stayed last night and now he’s gone,” you say roughly, voice splintering. “He’s not here, Gojo. Where is he?”
The sound of your panicked breathing and strangled sobs wakes him up.
“Hey, hey, breathe, it’s okay,” he coos, oddly gentle. “I’ll be right over, okay?”
“‘Kay,” you sniffle and the line goes dead.
True to his word, your front door swings open and in stalks Gojo, tufts of hair still sticking up in odd directions. Tears spring to your eyes at the mere sight of him, vision quickly blurring over as he takes your crumpling form into his arms.
“Why did he leave me?” you sob brokenly. “Where did he go? Why didn’t he tell me anything?” He says nothing, instead shushing you gently and rubbing your back. “I thought he cared about me! I’m so fucking stupid! All this time- did he just lead me on? Why would he do this to me?”
“He does care about you,” he murmurs.
“Then why did he just disappear?” Your lungs feel tight as you struggle to suck in a full breath, making your chest ache in ways you never knew it could. Like something is squeezing at all your organs, tighter and tighter until they inevitably burst. “All he left me was a stupid fucking note.”
“What did the note say?”
You recite the words on the scrap verbatim, roughly scrubbing away your tears once you’re done. Gojo pulls away from you, keeping a large hand on your back as he does.
“I was gonna tell him last night, you know.”
“About what?” he asks.
“Th-that I love him. So, so much,” you say in a wobbly whisper. “What am I supposed to do, Gojo?”
“Y’know,” he starts quietly. “This isn’t the first time he’s done this.”
“It’s not?” you sniffle, turning to look up at him. Eyes as deep as the ocean regard you softly, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips.
“Not at all. When we were younger, he always disappeared when things got a little bit too much to handle. That’s why he travelled so much.”
“I didn’t know that,” you mumble.
“I know. When we were 18, halfway through our first year at university, he went on his first trip without telling anyone, including me. I almost lost my mind worrying, and he turned up in our apartment two weeks later, as if he’d never left.”
“What’s your point?” Gojo sighs, affectionately pinching your cheeks together.
“My point is that he’ll be back. This is probably the same as all those other times. He leaves, but he always comes home, no matter how long it takes. But this time it’s also different.”
“Why’s that?” Gojo grins, but there’s no mischief there for once. It’s the sort of expression that actually relieves you of some of the weight on your chest.
“Because of you.”
“Oh shut up, I doubt that,” you grumble.
“Oh? ‘I promise I’ll be back soon?’ ‘Forever yours?’ Are we just gonna ignore the forever part? You realise this is also the first time he’s left a note?”
“‘ Please don’t wait for me? ’ How long will he be gone? How long am I supposed to wait?” you counter. “I don’t wanna sit and wait for a man who doesn’t have the balls to tell me what’s wrong or even that he’s leaving. Not telling you is one thing but I’m-“
You pause. You’re what? What are you, exactly?
Friends? No, you’ve been far too intimate to call it friendship.
Lovers? Yes, but that makes it sound like your relationship is scandalous, purely physical (you hope that wasn’t the case).
And that’s when it hits you.
“-not even his.” Dejection seeps into your quiet voice as your shoulders sag with the realisation. You have no real claim over Suguru. He doesn’t owe you anything.
Because he’s not even yours.
“What do you mean?”
“He never really asked me out, did he? Or asked me to be his? He’s never told me he loves me, either. I- wow, I never really noticed.” Fresh tears line your lashes and the weight on your chest doubles.
Suguru is still cloaked in mystery.
And you wonder if you’ll ever be given the chance to unravel him.
Gojo leaves once he’s sure that you’re able to at least function, shooing you to brush your teeth and shower while he makes your bed (haphazardly) and makes you breakfast (slightly burnt toast and rubbery eggs). Once you’re fed and watered and wiped dry of tears and snot, he hugs you briefly before bidding you goodbye.
“I’ll be back later. We can get takeout and watch a movie. Take your mind off things, yeah?”
“Okay.” As he turns to leave, you catch his sleeve. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to do all of this.”
He smiles warmly. “Anything for my gremlin.”
“Fuck off,” you grin, pushing him into the hallway before shutting the door behind you and letting go of a heavy sigh.
Your apartment is deafeningly silent once more.
The events of the morning have exhausted you beyond belief, so you drag yourself back to your room, hoping to burrow under the comfort of your bed and perhaps sleep your aching heart away.
Days pass. Then weeks. Two months go by and there is no sign of Suguru. No texts, or phone calls, not even a postcard. Gojo’s reassurances made you feel somewhat hopeful at the start, expecting him to walk through your door at any minute and take you into his arms once more. But the door stays shut, save for when your white haired friend waltzes through with bags of food and sweet treats.
The nights are the hardest. The scent of sandalwood clings softly to the pillow you lent him as well as the hoodie he’d forgotten to take with him that night. You bundle yourself up in it each night, clutching the pillow for comfort and trying to surround yourself in what’s left of hm. It’s hard to sleep in the same bed he’d touched you, kissed you, held you, so tenderly, so amorously.
Like he loved you.
All too soon, his scent fades. The memory of his warmth slowly begins to slip through your fingers. And the ache in your chest dulls. You haven’t forgotten him. But you’re gradually growing numb to the sound of his name.
Life is a cruel thing, hitting you with the force of a speeding lorry when you least expect it. But, at the same time, life offers mercy, a reprieve from the suffering that takes different forms, sometimes in ways you would least expect.
It’s 11pm when Gojo leaves after your weekly evening of watching awful movies and working through a box of pastries from the latest bakery he’s discovered. When the door shuts, you’re alone again, the apartment devoid of his awful laughter. But before you can take more than a few steps towards your living room to clean up, someone bangs loudly on your door. You jolt in surprise, dragging yourself back to unlock it and let your well-meaning moron of a friend back in to pick up whatever he left behind.
“What did you leave this time you-“
Instead of starlight, midnight greets your wide eyes. Black in place of blue. Shock instead of mild annoyance.
“Suguru?” He’s panting, chest heaving and skin shining with a thin layer of sweat. His hair is escaping its neat bun and there’s a single black backpack on his shoulder that drops to the ground with a resounding thump.
“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
He rushes forward, reaching for you with arms outstretched. What he doesn’t expect is for you to take a step back.
“Wha- why are you here?”
“I had to see you as soon as I landed.”
“I-“ you pause, wetting your lips. A thousand questions pile up in your mind but you ignore them in favour of your sanity. “I’m not doing this right now. Please leave.”
“But-“
“No.”
“Please just. Let me explain, and then I’ll go.”
You glare at him, regarding his 6 foot frame with distaste. He looks worn from travel, dressed casually in a black t-shirt and black joggers. The shadows under his eyes make him look a little gaunt, but he is no less beautiful than the day he slipped from your arms.
Despite your anger, you can’t fight the loosening in your shoulders at the mere sight of him standing before you. Memories of his warmth come rushing back and the desire to curl up in his arms and forget the past couple of months washes over you like a tidal wave.
“You’ve got five minutes.”
He blows out a relieved breath. “I don’t really have any excuses. But I didn’t want to leave.”
“Then why did you? I don’t understand Suguru.” An ache is building at the base of your skull. “I was going to tell you I loved you. But you ran off before I even got the chance.”
His eyes cloud over at your words and he hangs his head in shame. “I’m a coward,” he says quietly, almost mournfully. “There’s a lot I’ve wanted to say. A lot I should’ve said. But I didn’t know how. I had this trip booked anyway and I was going to ask you to come with me, as a surprise. But that night, before I left, you weren’t the only one that was feeling emotional. I didn’t know what to do with any of it. So I left.”
“That doesn’t explain anything,” you say stubbornly, folding your arms over your chest.
“The moment I walked out this door, I wanted to come back. Every inch of my body screamed at me to turn around and come back to you, all the way to the airport. I spent all that time wishing I could come back and just see you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“It was too late.” he says softly. “I realised too late that I love you too.”
“Oh and that’s supposed to make it all better, is it? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were leaving?! Why would you leave a shitty little note like that and fuck off to god knows where? Do you have any fucking idea how that felt? Do you?”
The man before you stays quiet, letting you hurl insults and questions at him until you’re breathing hard and tears are once more painting rivers on your cheeks like that morning. Tentatively, he inches closer, shutting the door behind him, until he’s about a foot away from you.
“Sweetheart,” he starts gently, once you’ve run out of things to say. “I don’t quite know what to say.”
“Two whole months, Suguru,” you lament, voice heavy and laced with defeat. “You were gone for two months. I didn’t know where you were. If you were okay. If you were even alive? God, at least answer your damn phone!”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Gingerly, he tugs your wrists and takes your hands in his when you don’t protest.
Because, even though anger bubbles through your veins, your heart flutters and softens at his gentle touch. The warmth of his skin cools your blood, letting you quietly appreciate the fact that he’s home, just like Gojo said. He’s here . Squeezing your hands, he brings you closer, slowly closing the distance between you until your torsos are flush.
“I know I can’t make up for what I put you through. But I’m here now. Better late than never, yeah?” A small smile quirks at the corners of his mouth. “I want you to be mine. All mine. I would rather die than be without you again.”
“Then don’t leave me like that again,” you scold gently, the anger seeping from your body when he wraps his arms around you. The fury and worry has exhausted you more than you thought possible, and frankly, you’re done being sad and alone.
“So?” he prods. ”Am I forgiven?”
“Not by a mile. But,” you sigh, surrendering. “I’m happy you’re home. I want a kiss. And a hug. And you,” you admit, somewhat peeved that he just waltzed back into your home and suddenly made everything better. The effect he has on you is embarrassing. “But you’ve got a lot of making up to do.”
“Can’t resist me can you?” he coos, chuckling when you smack his chest in annoyance. Heat crawls up your cheeks and you duck your face grumble.
“Seriously, did you guys swap bodies?”
“No, but I wish we had. Maybe then I could’ve known you first and kept you all to myself,” he says a little bitterly. Raising your head, you look into his eyes, swimming with emotion.
“Suguru,” you murmur, and his name has never tasted more like home. “I’ve always been yours. Thoroughly, completely, yours.”
And when you give in and kiss him, you make sure that he can taste it too.