Work Text:
“It’s like you NEVER pay attention to me like you just—all you ever do is think about yourself—you just—oh you just—you just ALWAYS—”
“Bye Satoru, kiss you again soon!”
“Bye Suguru, kisses to my darling!”
You watch, simultaneously outraged and bewildered as Gojo leans past the doorway, hand clasping the frame as he—
He fucking kisses the mailman.
The mailman’s hand tenderly comes forward to grasp the back of Gojo’s head as they kiss for a fleeting moment before they separate and the mailman leaves. Gojo steps back inside, closing the door and lackadaisically throwing the mail onto the coffee table like this is a completely normal occurrence.
What is my man doing? Is he gay?! you wonder, fuming as you stare at Gojo’s lanky figure with all the rage of a DMV worker being told to be polite.
“What was that? What was that?! Have you been paying any attention to what I’ve been saying?”
“I dunno,” Gojo drawls, thumbing the mail again, “according to you I never pay any attention to you, so I can’t say I’ve been paying your words any attention just now.”
“You—I—Did you just kiss the mailman?”
“Yeah,” Gojo blinks at you confusedly. “That’s what you do. You kiss the mailman and he gives you the mail.”
“But it’s a man you’re kissing,” you wail.
“Of course it’s a man. Mailman. Mail. Man. It’s a man.”
“That’s not—UGH—but why are you kissing the mailman?”
“I told you, that’s what you do. You kiss the mailman and you get the mail, I said. I mean like, why else is he delivering the mail?”
You’re gawping at him. “Because he’s paid to do it?! He’s not delivering the mail for kisses.”
“But he needs the kisses.”
“HE’S A MAILMAN. HE’S NOT A WHORE.”
“Suguru isn’t a whore,” Gojo says, deeply insulted.
“So it’s Suguru, isn’t it?” you snap. "First name basis we’re on, aren’t we? ‘Darling,’ isn’t he? And yet I’m still here, calling you Gojo.”
Gojo blinks at you, seemingly still completely ignorant as to what’s bothering you. “How’s that an issue.”
Case in fucking point.
“Of course it’s an issue,” you shriek, “you never let me in. I—I don’t feel like I’m close to you at all. I don’t know anything about you! Do you know anything about me? You don’t even let me call you by my first name but the mailman can, apparently, and we’re the ones dating for goodness’ sake.”
Gojo doesn’t seem to catch any of the important parts. “But Suguru’s different.”
“Different how? Why is he different? We’re in a relationship, he’s the help. Me and you: girlfriend and boyfriend. Him and you: the assisted and the assister. HE’S A GOVERNMENT EMPLOYEE.”
“But Suguru’s the mailman. He’s different.”
“Again with the ‘different!’ Why’s he ‘kissing’ different? Why’s he darling and I’m not even babe?!”
“He’s a mailman—I keep saying. He’s going so arduously from house to house, burdened down with the mail, traveling under the hot sun and through bitter colds just to get us our mail! Don’t you appreciate that? Of course I have to award him with a kiss, he needs it.”
He needs it?”
“I don’t think he needs it,” you say slowly. “He’s the mailman. You don’t have to reward him for doing his job. He doesn’t need any kisses.”
“But it’s not a reward because he very much does need them.”
“He doesn’t need them.”
Gojo fumes at you, angrily pacing the room. “Then how come when I’m not there to give Suguru his kiss, he always leaves a little post-it note saying ‘no kiss no mail :( </3.’ He draws a frowny face! A broken heart! I’m telling you, he needs the kisses.”
“...I don’t think this is normal behavior.”
“What’s fucking wrong with you? You’re always like this! See, it’s you who’s thinking wrong. People like you are why the political climate is so fucked up. This is exactly why there’s no more milkmen—no one remembered to give them their kisses! Maybe if we all were people who kissed the mailman then we’d have an actual functioning government. Our country is rotting, since when are we not free to kiss the mailmen?”
“WE DON’T KISS THE MAILMEN BECAUSE THEN THEY BECOME FUCKING HOMEWRECKERS!”
“HOMEWRECKER YOUR ASS!” Gojo shrieks, flapping his long arms in the air. “SUGURU NEEDS HIS KISSES! YOU’RE THE—YOU’RE THE FUCKING MAILWRECKER!”
“FINE THEN!” you shriek back, jabbing your fingers at him accusatorially. “I’LL HAPPILY BE THE MAILWRECKER. GO FUCK OFF AND ENJOY LIFE WITH YOUR DARLING SUGURU. AT LEAST THEN YOU’LL BE HAPPY WHEN YOU KISS.”
“Eh? But I’ve never been happy kissing you. Why’d you ever think I was?”
“You—I—have you been gay all this time?”
Gojo stares at you, anger abated, befuddlement back. “What about me seems gay? I’m not gay.”
“...You kiss the mailman.”
“But I’m not gay. I just kiss the mailman. There’s this, and then there’s that.”
“...I’m breaking up with you. Pack your things and get out.”
-
One day, much later, you see him again.
There he is, Gojo Satoru, your most handsome ex ever and probably the most handsome man you will have ever dated.
There he is, kissing the mailman from where he sits on the mailman’s lap, fully visible through the large windshield and of course, the side door’s large window. They’re noticeably giggling.
There he is, Gojo Satoru.
And he’s left you for a man.