Chapter Text
gojo was aware of his dashing good looks, his charming smile, his beautiful eyes and his alluring personality. everybody swooned over him, regardless of gender. he’s loved and admired by everyone he passes by.
the barista at the coffee shop he frequented has hit on him multiple times, random girls will come up to him and ask if he’s single, and every now and then, he’ll get a creepy old man begging for sex on social media. and to every single person that’s been attracted to him, he has rejected them, especially the old men.
it wasn’t like gojo was incapable of loving, he most certainly could. he loved his friends, he loved his son, he loved the idea of love, he found love beautiful. he wrote numerous novels about love of all kinds and was quite famous for them, especially because he was only thirty and published four best sellers.
he could write about romance in his sleep, it was just his own love life that he had trouble with, trouble being an understatement.
he has dated in the past, but they all end up with gojo being slapped and told that he’s too nonchalant of a boyfriend, that he was a bad boyfriend and didn’t love them; and they were right, gojo didn’t love a single one of his former partners.
it was shitty of him to get into relationships that he didn’t care for, but he couldn’t help it. every time he thought that he had truly, finally loved someone, it turns out to be the opposite. he never actually liked them, he just forced himself to.
he thought that he should, he thought that he had to, but he never did, not once. it was a problem he couldn’t fix and an issue he couldn’t ignore. gojo wanted to love, he wanted to more than anything, but it seems like he wasn’t made for it, like he wasn’t meant to be in love.
so he gave up, he stopped trying. if someone flirted with him, he’d ignore them. if someone asked him out, he’d simply just say no. if he wasn’t made to love, then he wasn’t going to. love was no longer beautiful to him, just a twisted curse.
but gojo was made for love, more than anybody in the world. he loved with all his heart, with everything he had. he was a love strong enough to be put into the stars and admired by all, he was a love that poets wrote about, he was love through and through. but his love was made for one person and one person only; but he could never love that person again.
-
“one chai latte, please,” gojo said as he paid for his coffee. again, the barista tried to hit on him, and again, gojo rejected him. when he got his drink, the barista wrote his number on the cup once more, and once more, gojo ignored it.
he wondered just how long he was going to keep trying, it had been over a month now, and he showed no sign of giving up or backing down. in a way, gojo admired the dedication, but he also found it extremely bothersome. he felt bad for rejecting him, but it was for the best.
after getting his drink, gojo went to his favorite park and found a shady tree to relax under. he watched the leaves dance in the wind as the sun sang beautifully with its rays of light. children played and laughed nearby as dogs barked and panted. today was perfect, absolutely perfect.
gojo took his laptop out and some papers, using nearby rocks as paper weights. he needed to write something soon, but lately, he simply had no inspiration, no motivation, no drive, no nothing. his editor told him that he had to submit an outline within a month, and gojo hadn’t even come up with a title yet, let alone something to write a whole book about.
he sighed and stared up at the bright blue sky, a brilliant color that matched his brilliant eyes. his mind was blank and bare, unable to think up any idea. it didn’t even have to be good, he just needed one.
glossing over his old books, gojo analyzed the mannerisms and behavior of each character, the type of love that was displayed, the plot and what led up to love. his first two were about two students in a fantasy world who were rivals that competed in school and were forced to work together.
his third one was based on an old tale of the moon and tides. his fourth and last book was about a ghost following their lover in the human realm as they traversed the afterlife, searching for a sense of peace. each and every one of his books did well, and he had to keep that legacy up. now, if only he could come up with a single idea.
gojo sighed again. his editor also said that she wanted something more realistic, more human, like a normal love story. she said that it would most likely do well, but that was the one thing gojo didn’t know how to write. he never had a normal love story, so what did he know? what could he possibly write about? what was there to write about? what was a ‘normal love story’?
gojo closed his eyes, letting the wind breeze past him and carry him along with the leaves and petals. he could write about them, about his first love, the only person he’s ever loved. but what good would that do? it ended before he knew it. high school slipped through his grasp as did they.
it was gojo’s biggest regret, the reason love wasn’t the same anymore. why would it be when nobody could ever be him? nobody would ever have their laugh and little snorts, nobody would have their smile and the creases in their cheeks, nobody would ever be them.
when gojo opened his eyes, he was greeted by the blue sky that frowned upon him and the painfully bright sun that lit his soul on fire. he knew it wouldn’t happen, it wasn’t possible, but a part of him hoped that when he opened his eyes, they would be there, with that same laugh, that same smile, and that same love.
-
gojo ultimately left with no work done and an ache in his heart. he was loved by everybody, but he was the loneliest person alive. he was sure that if he told anybody in his life that, they’d scold him and tell him to be more grateful of what and who he had; or at least that’s what he thinks they would say, that’s what he would tell himself. he had everything, so why didn’t it feel like everything?
out of the corner of his eye, gojo noticed a bush of bright, red flowers with orange tints; they were poppies, his favorite flower. they weren’t originally his favorite though, but he had grown to love them as much as they did.
with such a warm aura and calming atmosphere, gojo found comfort in them, a kind of comfort he’s missed since he was in high school. he smiled to himself as he thought back fondly, but it was the saddest smile to ever exist.
taking a quick detour, gojo stopped by the bush of poppies, admiring the color and the memories. he wondered if they still liked them, if they were still their favorites. would they think of him when they saw them, and would they think of him lovingly with a soft smile? or would they curse the day they met and wish their paths never crossed?
gojo told himself that he didn’t like to think about it, but it lingered in his mind like the putrid smoke of a cigarette, evaporating into the air to be replaced by another trail of smoke.
every time he passed by a bush of poppies, he would take one home with him just to have, and every time he did, he would tell himself that it was a bad idea. gojo knew that he shouldn’t, that taking one would only cause unpleasant memories to resurface and he’d find himself staring at his ceiling fan with despair in his eyes and nobody in his arms.
but he also knew that if he didn’t take one, he’d regret it, he would feel like he was leaving those moments behind, and that hurt more to him.
scanning the bush, gojo searched for the perfect one to take. he always did despite knowing that it wouldn’t last longer than a few hours because he wanted it to be full of love, the same love he had for them, a love that hasn’t died yet.
gojo knew that the second he picked one up, it would begin to die off, because without the parent plant, it wouldn’t be able to survive. gojo found it sad, but still, he wanted to take one home with him, even if it meant do die.
there was one right in the middle of the bush that was already wilting, its petals turning dull and drab. it wasn’t lively or bright anymore, it was just there, waiting for its inevitable death. all the other ones around it were much more beautiful, but gojo wanted that one. something about it felt familiar to him, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
as gojo reached for it, his hand brushed against someone else’s, someone with slender fingers and a dainty hand. it seemed like they were reaching for one next to gojo’s pick, one with brighter colors and more life to it.
gojo looked up, wanting to know who it was that fell in love with such a lovely flower. his eyes met theirs, and he wished they didn’t. he wished he didn’t see their black eyes that he saw himself in, he wished he didn’t see their long, sleek hair, he wished he didn’t see them.
all his life, gojo wished, begged, prayed to whatever god that would listen to him to be able to see them one more time, and now that he did, he didn’t know what to do. gojo loved them, but he was also terrified of them.
“su…suguru?”