Work Text:
“Would you please go to prom with me!”
The shout echoed across the cafeteria. Eyes turned and conversations paused. The man with blue eyes was once again, the center of attention. Geto sighed and covered his face with his hands. Couldn’t they eat in peace for once?
“Hm,” Gojo tapped his chin with a finger. His eyes were unreadable behind those damned sunglasses.
The girl with blue hair stood rigid as a board. Miwa was her name? Maybe??
Geto could almost feel bad for her. But just almost. The nonsense had been going on for two entire weeks at this point. With senior prom right around the corner, every single girl in the entirety of Jujutsu High was fumbling over themselves to ask Gojo to go with them. However…
“Nope!” Gojo chirped. He spun in his chair and went back to shoveling cafeteria pizza down his throat. Miwa’s heart shattering was visible in her eyes.
The tension in the cafeteria snapped, and students began gushing over Gojo’s most recent rejection. Miwa slunk back to her table on the other side of the cafeteria. Her shoulders were hunched and her posture depressed, but she had to have seen this coming.
Gojo had been asked to the prom by seventy-four girls at this point. Geto had been keeping count.
He’d rejected every single one.
“That was harsh,” Shoko mumbled around the vape clutched between her teeth.
“Too flat,” Gojo replied.
Geto promptly slapped him upside the head, knocking those wretched sunglasses into a steaming pile of untouched peas. “Don’t reject such a kind girl for such a shallow reason,” he scolded.
Gojo scowled at his friend and rubbed the back of his head. “You’re so mean to me,” he whined dramatically. Shoko giggled and blew smoke. Hundreds of eyes peeked at Gojo from every corner of the room. He’d rejected dozens of girls so far… who would be the lucky date? Would there be one?
Geto sighed and pushed mushy carrot cubes in circles. It made the back of his head crawl. Gojo by far was the most popular guy in their entire school district. He could have literally any girl he wanted, so why hadn’t he picked a date for prom yet? Geto had been waiting in weary anticipation for the day to come, when Gojo showed up to school with a haughty smirk on his face and an exaggerated story to tell.
But two weeks after tickets went on sale he still hadn’t picked a date. In fact, he’d rejected every single girl who’d worked up the nerve to ask him. At this point they were just asking him for the hell of it. It was getting annoying, if Geto was being perfectly honest.
Knowing Gojo, he was probably enjoying this. He had always loved the spotlight, and what better spotlight to occupy than that of the hottest man in school, still indecisive about which girl he’d take to the dance?
Utterly ridiculous.
If the bastard didn’t pick a date soon then he wouldn’t have one. Prom was in two days, and Geto still needed to know if he’d be going to their senior prom or not. Because there was no way in hell he’d be going to the damn thing only to watch Gojo perform for some random chick all night…
“Just ask him,” the tiny voice in the back of Geto’s mind urged.
He clutched the plastic fork in his fist, glancing at Gojo from the corner of his eye. White hair flashing under fluorescent light. Baggy t-shirt drooping around his collar bones. Posing dramatically for the literal hundreds of people he kept streaks with…
Geto dragged his eyes away from his friend and continued pushing the carrots in melancholy circles.
No. Not a chance in hell.
“You are going to the prom, aren't you?” Shoko asked, swiftly stuffing the vape into her pocket as a cafeteria monitor waddled past.
“Of course I am! It wouldn’t be a prom if Satoru Gojo didn’t grace the venue with his presence,” the white haired bastard incanted.
Geto facepalmed.
Shoko merely snorted. Cherry flavored smoke spilled from her lips as she spoke, “Well I hope you’re prepared to go to that thing alone, because at this point I’m not certain there are any girls left who you haven’t rejected.”
“Or guys,” Geto supplied helpfully.
“Hmph.” Gojo turned his nose up. “None of them are giving. I’m not going to the prom with someone boring, it’ll ruin my sparkle!”
“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Geto said gruffly.
“A beautiful one,” Gojo snickered as he wiggled his fingers at the neighboring table.
“Your hubris will be your downfall,” Geto threatened. He couldn’t help it.
Gojo cackled as he pushed a hand through his hair, “That word can’t stop me if I don’t know what it means!”
“If you’d spent more time looking at a dictionary than in the mirror then maybe–”
“-Boys, please.” Shoko swiftly stopped the fist fight before it could begin. Geto and Gojo gave her their undivided attention. “Gojo,” she said, “Prom is two days from now. If you don’t pick a date now then you won’t have one.”
Gojo rolled his eyes and leaned backwards in his chair. “Dates are overrated. Besides, I won’t need one if I’m going with you, right?”
Shoko barked a laugh. “Oh, that’s hilarious. I’m not going.”
“What?!” Geto and Gojo gasped in unison.
“Why not?” Gojo demanded.
“This is your only prom!” Geto added.
Shoko gestured lazily with her hand, “You know I don’t like sentimental bullshit like this. I’d rather stay home and chill on my couch. Besides, they don’t allow smoking at the venue. I’d die if I stepped foot inside that place.”
Geto and Gojo pouted.
“Oh please, don’t act like that,” Shoko laughed. “You still have each other, right?”
The two young men shared a skeptical glance.
Gojo fixed Geto with a crooked smirk, “Soooo, Suguru, wanna go to prom with me??”
Geto rolled his eyes and stood to throw his empty tray in the trash, “As if I could leave you unsupervised for five minutes?”
The white haired bastard cheered wildly as Geto walked away. He kept his smile to himself. It appeared that he’d be attending their senior prom after all.
…
“Prepare yourself!!”
Geto rolled his eyes and refolded his arms across his chest. He was sitting on Gojo’s bed decked out in a black tux while waiting for the bastard to hurry the hell up. The two had agreed to get ready together at Gojo’s place. After four entire hours of waiting on his asshole friend, Geto just wanted to go to the stupid prom already.
“Are you prepared Suguru?” Gojo gushed from behind the double doors of his walk-in closet. He’d locked himself inside three hours ago. Geto couldn’t fathom how it could possibly take that fucking long to put on a suit.
“I’m prepared,” Geto called out, indulging Gojo in all his antics.
“Brace your mortal soul, for you are about to be graced with the presence of an angel!” Gojo declared dramatically.
“Just come out of the damn closet already!” Geto barked, his patience having worn thin three and a half hours ago.
With a maniacal laugh, Gojo flung the double doors open and strutted into his bedroom. Geto liked to believe that he concealed his reaction… but there was no stopping his jaw from dropping clean open.
Gojo looked incredible, like he always did.
He was dressed head to toe in white, from the expensive tux to the polished leather shoes. His hair was tousled just the right amount, and his dark sunglasses had been exchanged for a pair of round navy ones. They made his eyes glow. More than they already did.
Geto physically snapped his mouth closed with his hand.
“So,” Gojo purred, “How do I look?” He pulled a white, feathered fan from somewhere on his person and snapped it open, concealing half of his face and peeking at Geto through half-lidded eyes.
You look–
“Ridiculous,” Geto huffed, crossing his arms and closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the fool any longer. He pretended that his cheeks hadn’t stained a faint pink.
-amazing.
Gojo pouted, “What, is the fan too much?”
“Everything is too much,” Geto mumbled. “Couldn’t you just wear a black tux like every other guy at the dance?” He suddenly felt underdressed with his popped collar and loosened tie.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Gojo asked. He stood before his vanity mirror and messed with his hair, as if it wasn’t already perfect. “How am I supposed to be the center of attention if I look like every other boring dude there?”
Geto sighed and busied himself with his cufflinks. “You’ll certainly stick out in a crowd, that’s for sure.” And Geto would follow along, ever his shadow. If every girl in their school hadn’t been drooling over Gojo already, they’d most certainly be doing so now. He wondered who the lucky girl had ended up being?
There was absolutely no way that Gojo hadn’t picked a last minute date. He wouldn’t have any fun if he was stuck with Geto the whole time. Who was, as Gojo frequently reminded him, not a sexy chick with a huge chest. Geto idly wondered how long it would take for Gojo to abandon him at the dance for whichever girl he’d wrapped around his finger for the occasion.
Geto could hope, but he knew that there was no reality where Gojo spent the entirety of his prom with his best guy friend instead of with the dozens of girls he could have with the snap of his finger. They’d probably meet up with her at the venue, and then Geto would be left in their dust.
He pretended that it didn’t sting.
“So,” the raven mumbled. “Which girl did you pick?”
Gojo paused in his primping and met Geto’s gaze through the mirror. Those blue eyes were blinding. “What do you mean?”
Geto gestured vaguely with his hand. “Which girl are you going to the dance with? You had to have picked one of them.”
Gojo broke eye contact and continued fooling with his hair. “I already told you. I’m not going with any of them.”
What?
Geto sputtered, “You seriously rejected all of them?? Like for real??” He hadn’t been just… keeping them in suspense? Seriously, all the hottest girls in their grade had been hanging off Gojo’s shoulders 24/7 over the past two days.
“Yup!” the bastard chirped.
This was… unbelievable. “But… why?” Geto couldn’t fathom why Gojo wouldn’t take advantage of his popularity. At the bare minimum Geto would have expected him to go with at least five girls at the same time. But then again… Gojo always did the exact opposite of what everyone expected of him, now didn’t he?
“I don’t want to go to prom with any of them,” Gojo explained, as if it was so simple. His voice was unreadable, his back to Geto and his face obscured by the mirror. “I’d rather go with you.”
Geto felt his jaw drop for the second time that night.
He hissed as if he’d been burned, and inconspicuously hid the lower half of his face with his hand. His face that had flushed an embarrassing shade of pink.
When Gojo worded it that way he almost made it seem as if…
No.
It wasn’t like that. It would never be like that.
Friends went to dances together all the time… this was merely Gojo rejecting every single girl within a hundred mile radius just to prove that he could. He was bringing Geto along with him so he wouldn’t get bored.
Gojo sighed, “There!” He gave himself one last once-over in the mirror before turning to face Geto. “I’m ready!” His expression immediately soured. “But you aren't. Honestly, the least you can do is try to look presentable.”
“What’s wrong with the way I look?” Geto complained.
“You look so… messy,” Gojo said judgmentally. He marched across the room to stand before Geto, stepping between his knees. Gojo leaned in close and grabbed the tie that hung loose and messy around his neck. His breath dusted across Geto’s lips as he toiled over the raven’s lackluster appearance. His cologne smelled sharp and clear, his eyes veiled in thick, icy lashes with tinted sunglasses hanging low over his nose.
As his unbearably attractive friend fixed his tie and straightened his collar, Geto couldn’t help but let himself imagine, pretend, if only for a little bit, that they were attending this dance as a couple. There was no way that dream would ever become his reality, but he could pretend. And that would be enough.
It had been for years.
…
As expected, Gojo was the center of attention at the prom. He and Geto had rolled up an hour late (fashionably late, according to the idiot himself) due to Gojo’s inability to get dressed in a reasonable amount of time.
Geto hadn’t paid enough attention, or cared enough, to keep up with what the prom’s theme was, but based on the white fairy lights, glitter, and paper snowflakes scattered about, he assumed that it had been winter themed. Which was ill timed considering the dance was taking place in late April.
The venue was beautiful, Geto had to admit. Though Gojo was by far the most stunning attraction present. Girls paraded around in glittering dresses with elegant makeup, and guys stood proudly with hands stuffed into pockets of crisp slacks, but no one lived up to the energy that Gojo spilled wherever he went.
It was like he was glowing… or perhaps Geto was just too down bad to think straight.
In either case, Gojo looked absolutely incredible. Everyone’s eyes followed him around the room as he moved from person to person, choosing to deign seemingly random people with his conversation. No one could handle Gojo’s presence for too long at a time without flustering, not even the straightest of guys at their school.
Geto counted himself lucky that he’d been selected as Gojo’s chosen date of all people. Even if they were going as friends. Strictly platonic, nothing more. And it wasn’t as if anyone was shocked. Geto and Gojo were always together. It was as if they were fused at the hip. The dozens of rejected girls couldn’t even bring themselves to be jealous of Geto, merely watched Gojo with resigned longing for what could have been… if he wasn’t such a conceited asshole.
After wandering the venue for the better part of an hour, they began flocking. Girls, guys, everyone. Requests for Gojo to dance, grab some punch, walk around outside. Geto had seen it coming, obviously, but that didn’t stop him from wincing in anticipation as girl after girl, each prettier than the next, wandered over to Gojo and smiled up at him in that certain way.
Yet each time… Gojo rejected them.
Every single one of them.
He didn’t want to dance. He wasn’t thirsty. He couldn’t leave Geto alone, his friend would get lonely! Polite, kind rejections. Each and every time.
It was so… strange.
At every other party or school event they’d gone to, Gojo had jumped from arm to arm. Hell, he’d even blown a guy in the middle of the fucking homecoming dance their junior year.
So… what was different? Why was Gojo staying with Geto? He tried not to mull over it too much. This was just Gojo being Gojo. Nothing out of the ordinary… he probably wasn’t in the mood for partying like an animal tonight for whatever reason. It wasn’t Geto’s problem…
However, when Gojo followed him to stand in the corner when his social battery finally gave out for the evening, Geto had finally seen his wits’ end. After twenty minutes of leaning in silence against the wall, his frustration got the better of him. Watching Gojo stare longingly at every busty girl that passed was getting annoying. Hell, if he wanted to dance with one of them then he should just say yes the next time someone inevitably asked him.
“Why aren’t you hanging around any of the girls?” Geto mumbled. “You clearly want to dance, so why do you keep rejecting them when they ask?”
Gojo glanced at Geto from the corner of his eye, a familiar mischievous glint flashing under the fairy lights. “You’re doing the same thing,” the bastard pointed out with a crooked grin.
Geto frowned. He was always in Gojo’s shadow but it wasn’t as if he wasn’t popular himself. Yes, he’d also received his fair share of invitations to dance. All of which he’d politely declined. He’d been so focused on staring longingly at Gojo all night that he hadn’t paid the fawning women any mind…
“Why don’t you accept any of these lovely ladies' invitations? I know how much you adore dancing,” Gojo teased.
Geto clenched his teeth at that. His eyes flicked to the ground. “You know why.”
The bastard simply hummed into his punch. “Ohhh, that’s right.”
Asshole.
Geto pinched the bridge of his nose. Gojo knew good and well why he hadn’t agreed to dance with any of the girls at their school. Knew good and well why he never would.
The two of them phased back into a comfortable silence. Gojo pulled his phone out at some point, entertaining himself as he stood bored in the corner with Geto, who watched the crowd. The prom was nice, he supposed.
It was a pretty place, the music wasn’t bad. It was an all around good time, just nothing up Geto’s ally. He almost wished he’d crashed at Shoko’s instead of getting all dressed up only to follow Gojo around on his social hour. Being around the guy when he looked this unfairly good was almost painful.
Geto sighed, his eyes wandering from sparkling dress to crisp suit.
His eyes found a familiar pair in the crowd. It seemed that Nobara had managed to get a dance out of Maki. Impressive. He admired her bravery. Geto snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye at the white haired friend standing bored at his side.
The minutes dragged, and the night wore on. Gojo stayed ever loyal at his side, and Geto continued to puzzle over why the bastard wouldn’t go have fun on his own already. It was almost as if he wanted to be a wallflower with Geto tonight… but that was just plain ridiculous.
Soon the music shifted, and the mood along with it. Upbeat pop melted into slow, heartfelt songs. Couples came together on the dance floor, while loners and stragglers rushed to stand at the walls or leave now that they had the chance. Across the room Nobara tugged Maki against her chest. Maki didn’t pull away.
Geto sucked in a heavy breath, feeling oddly melancholy.
He elbowed Gojo in the ribs. “This is boring. Let’s get out of here.”
Gojo gasped rather dramatically, “Suguru, are you trying to leave before you’ve had even one dance?? For shame!” He clutched at nonexistent pearls.
“You know I don’t like dancing,” Geto grumbled.
“But I like dancing,” Gojo countered, sounding hurt.
Geto clenched his teeth. He was sick of this stupid dance. He pushed off the wall, gesturing at the crowd as he began to walk away. “There are dozens of people you could have been dancing with. Go find one of those girls that seem to like you so much. I’m going home.”
A hand lunged forward and snatched Geto’s from the air. He sucked in a breath of surprise and turned to face Gojo, who had stopped him before he could walk away.
White brows furrowed and striking blue eyes looked pensive. “But I don’t want to dance with any of them.”
What in the actual–
Geto stared quizzically at Gojo. The only white suit in the room. Navy sunglasses hanging low over his nose.
Gojo switched his grip on Geto’s hand, palm to palm. He smirked, “Dance with me?”
The raven sputtered, struggling to formulate the words “absolutely fucking not,” but it was far too late.
Gojo took advantage of his flustered daze and tugged him away from the wall. He hurried onto the dancefloor, weaving in and out of dancing bodies as he dragged Geto to the center of the room. Satoru Gojo had finally strayed onto the dance floor, still glued to his friend at the hip.
Eyes trailed Gojo, because of course they did. Longing eyes. Admirative eyes.
Jealous eyes watched Geto. Seething and dark. He was the only person graced with Gojo’s companionship, the excuse Gojo had used to stay off the dance floor all night. The pressure was uncomfortable.
Geto stumbled into the center of the dancefloor after Gojo, hand still held hostage. He shuffled awkwardly on his feet, wanting to be literally anywhere but where he was at that moment. He had half a mind to dart away while he still could, but Gojo tugged him into a dance and trapped him with no hope of escape.
Soft music whined from the speakers and heels clacked on tile as dancers shuffled back and forth. Geto glared at Gojo as they rocked with the waves of the crowd. His face burned. Gojo grinned through it all, his hands braced on Geto’s shoulders. The raven kept his planted on Gojo’s in turn. Neither submitted to the following position. It was a battle of wills.
The one song ended and another began. Geto literally wanted to die, but Gojo seemed to be enjoying himself. The bastard.
Their dancing was awkward and forced at best, but that didn’t stop the girls from staring. Staring at Gojo even as they danced with their dates. All eyes were on the blue eyed man. All eyes were always on him.
The weight of so many gazes was stifling. Geto kept his eyes on his and Gojo’s feet.
He knew what they were thinking. All those dozens of onlookers.
Satoru and Suguru were being funny. Dancing together. Like a couple. To think that they’d play gay chicken at the senior prom. But then again, of course they would. It was Gojo, after all.
Geto bit the inside of his cheek.
What a joke.
“You look like you swallowed a lemon,” Gojo snorted, suddenly tugging Geto into an arching swirl. The raven gasped, barely managing to keep his footing as Gojo swiftly dipped him and forced him into the following position when he yanked him back. Surrounding guys on the dancefloor followed his lead, struggling to mimic his smooth confidence.
Geto grumbled under his breath as Gojo planted a decisive hand on his waist, the other sliding down his arm to press their palms together. He submitted to the idiot’s will, begrudgingly resting his free hand on Gojo’s shoulder. Nails digging into the silken fabric of the pearly white suit.
They continued to dance together, but now it was different. Almost… intimate.
The eyes on them changed. Curious eyes. Analytical eyes. The ever persistent jealous eyes.
Geto could not have been more uncomfortable.
He stumbled over Gojo’s feet, to honed in on the crowd to think about anything else.
Gojo frowned at him, then smirked. “Don’t be so stiff,” he purred, “I know you’re a better dancer than this.”
Geto scoffed and dragged his attention away from the crowd, long hair swishing at his back as he turned to face the white haired bastard.
Fine. So what if they thought he and Gojo were a couple? They were fooling themselves. This was just Gojo being funny. To hell with what they thought, they’d realize how wrong they were the second Gojo found a hot girl and finally abandoned Geto in the center of the dance floor. He’d do it any second now, Geto thought bitterly.
He might as well enjoy this moment while it lasted.
Geto adjusted his grip on Gojo’s hand, lacing their fingers together and finally allowing himself to lose himself in the dance. He swayed back and forth, following Gojo’s lead as they stepped in circles, causing ripples on the dance floor as neighboring couples mimicked the steps of their dance.
One song dragged on like that. Then one turned into two. Two turned into three.
Dancing with Gojo was… nice. Dare Geto say he liked it…
But what, was he fooling himself? Of course he liked it. He’d been longing to have a chance like this with his friend since before he could remember. Holding Gojo close. Finally having an excuse to gaze into those brilliant blue eyes without it seeming weird. It didn’t seem like the red on his face would ever fade at this point.
Geto’s heart wavered in his chest. This moment… it was too perfect. Gojo was still dancing with him, what was up with the guy? Hadn’t he found a better partner yet? This meant too much, the warmth stirring in Geto’s chest was getting unbearable.
He broke that impossibly blue gaze, eyes straying about. He locked onto a pretty girl with a chest just big enough to make Gojo turn his head. She looked particularly unhappy with her date, and he looked just as bored as she was.
Perfect.
“Hey,” Geto breathed, tilting his head in the couple’s direction. He felt his heart cleave in two as he said it. “That girl’s just your type, right? I can keep her boyfriend distracted, give you an opening.”
Gojo frowned, the pleasant expression falling from his face for the first time since they’d begun dancing together. “But I don’t want to dance with that old hag,” he complained.
Geto ground his teeth. Of course Gojo would choose to be difficult now of all times– “She’s two years younger than you,” he pointed out.
Gojo turned his nose up, his face sewn in defiance. “Nope. I don’t wanna dance with any of the girls here.”
God, the nerve of this guy–
“None of them good enough for you? Is that why you rejected every single fucking person in our school?” Geto snapped. He couldn’t help it. He’d been pent up this whole damn time and now Gojo was dancing romantically with him as if he didn’t know how much it meant to be this way together. “I don’t understand you,” Geto mumbled.
He never understood Gojo. And he never would.
The white haired man sighed heavily, his fingers tightening on Geto. “God, do you really need me to spell it out for you?” His eyes flashed.
Geto just glared.
Gojo set his jaw, his eyes darting about, looking anywhere but at his friend.
The hell is up with him?
Gojo’s face tinted pink, though maybe it was just Geto’s imagination. The idiot took a deep breath, almost as if the thing he was about to say would kill him to admit. “I want to dance with you.”
Geto’s lids fluttered. His mouth cracked open, disbelief and a thousand other, far more embarrassing emotions flashing across his eyes like strobing lights. He tried to speak, to demand if Gojo was making fun of him, but the words refused to come out.
Gojo grumbled, clearly out of his depth. He refused to meet Geto’s eyes. “I just…” He trailed off, then glanced at his friend once again. “You’re the only person in this room I want to dance with,” he reiterated, his tone begging Geto to read between the lines. He gazed pleadingly at him, glasses hanging off the tip of his nose. Eyes soft and vulnerable.
Geto was… dumbfounded.
“Oh,” he fumbled awkwardly, cursing the ridiculous shade his face had become.
He didn’t know how long he stood there staring in utter shock at his friend, but soon he realized that the both of them had stopped moving. They were just standing there in the center of the dance floor, still in position but completely still. Staring deeply into each other’s eyes like some sort of… some sort of…
Ugh.
Stupid fucking Gojo. Making him look like a fool.
“I hate you,” he hissed.
Gojo’s eyes lit up, and Geto would have rather shot himself than admit how much his heart melted.
“I know!” the idiot chirped, before tugging Geto back into their dance with a newfound energy in his step.
He tried so hard not to smile, but Geto couldn’t prevent his lips from flicking up at the corners.
A cheerful voice boomed from over the speakers. The DJ turned the music down low as they flicked from one song to another. They announced the arrival of the last song of the evening, a polite command for everyone to get the hell out before the venue closed for the night.
The song that came on was slow, sweet, and quite frankly, real fucking corny.
“Oh, I love this song!” Gojo gushed.
Geto rolled his eyes.
Of course he did.
As the final dance commenced, Gojo tugged the raven close. Too close.
Geto awkwardly continued dancing as Gojo smoothly turned the leading position over to him and wrapped his arms lazily around his body. The proximity was suffocating. Geto’s heart thundered in his chest. He couldn’t be bothered with worrying over what the rest of the crowd was thinking, hell, he still hadn’t processed the conversation they’d just had…
Gojo rested his forehead gently on Geto’s shoulder. His hair felt like silk against the side of Geto’s neck. Gojo sighed contentedly, his breath skittering against Geto’s skin. The raven swallowed.
“This is nice,” Gojo breathed. “Thanks for bringing little old me to prom with you, Suguru.”
Fuck, that sounded so–
“Don’t mention it,” Geto mumbled, rolling his eyes.
The final song began to wind down. Gojo lifted his head from Geto’s shoulder. They stood nose to nose, Gojo’s arms slung haphazardly from the raven’s shoulders. Geto’s palms felt heavy on his friend’s waist. This felt… loaded.
Gojo smiled softly at him, doing little more than swaying back and forth in Geto’s arms.
He could get lost in that wild blue gaze. If it turned out that Geto was dreaming he wouldn’t be surprised. Not one tiny bit.
As the final song trickled off into nothing, Gojo surprised Geto one last time. He dipped forward without warning and brushed his lips against Geto’s in a kiss. The raven gasped, his back going completely rigid and his eyes blowing wide. Gojo smirked against his lips, the kiss soft in comparison to everything else about him.
Gojo pulled away, and Geto (along with the entirety of their graduating class) gawked at him in utter shock.
“You’re the only person I’ll ever want to dance with,” Gojo said, almost as if he was reassuring himself of something he’d already known.
“Uh, oh yeah?” Geto managed, his voice having risen by several octaves.
Gojo grabbed his face in his hands and yanked him into a second kiss, this one firm and decisive, almost for the hell of it. Geto scrambled to keep up, his hands fisting in the front of Gojo’s suit as he screwed his eyes shut tight and kissed his best friend with just as much ferocity. A tongue ghosted at the crease of his lips, tasting of shitty punch and the tang of expensive breath mints.
Somewhere off in the crowd a fool managed to break the collective stupor and start a cheer. Geto suspected Itadori.
Gojo broke the second kiss with a victorious shout. He gripped Geto’s face in his hands, grinning at him with eyes brighter than all the stars in the sky. Geto could only gawk at him and blush like a fool.
The idiot’s smile turned mischievous, his eyes flashing with that familiar glint. “Oh, Suguru, do you like me?”
This dickhead–
Geto growled and slapped Gojo upside the head, stumbling out of his grip and attempting to regain his shattered composure. Gojo cackled at his expense, clearly having the absolute time of his life.
Asshole. Utter fucking asshole.
Geto turned on his heel and abandoned Gojo on the dancefloor, quickly following the crowd as they left, deftly avoiding any and all comments on what had just transpired between him and his alleged “friend.”
Gojo cried out and rushed after Geto in a panic.
“No, baby don’t leave me, I swear I can change!!” he wailed as he caught up to Geto and laced their fingers together, clinging to his hand in a vice-like grip.
Geto shielded his face from the crowd, “Do not call me that.”
Gojo snorted. “Fine. I’ll just pick something worse.”
“I hate you,” Geto whispered.
“I know!” Gojo giggled. He swung their joined hands obnoxiously between them. The crowd made a bubble around them to avoid getting hit. “I’m hungry,” Gojo suddenly griped as they entered the parking lot. “After party at Shoko’s?”
Geto grinned, his hair stirring around his face in the chilly night time breeze. He gripped Gojo’s hand tight enough to feel the bones creak beneath the skin. “After party at Shoko’s.”