Work Text:
Kiyotaka’s sweat slicked shirt clung to his skin uncomfortably as the conditioned air greeted him with affection, students moved through the library in a slow trudge— most only here to find refuge from the heatwave over taking the campus. He took a moment to soak in the cool air and the smell of books mixing pleasantly before he weaved through the aisle of books and to the break room. He nodded a silent greeting to Nitta, a student who also worked at the library but she was just getting off of her shift. They didn't talk much as they didn’t work the same shift but they had formed a silent camaraderie; like ships passing in the night.
He stuffed his messenger bag into the locker, double checking that his inhaler was in his pocket, and changed into one of the spare shirts he kept in case of emergency— a simple white button up that his mother had gifted him before he left for college. He pushed back his bangs so they laid off his forehead, his body still much too hot for hair in his face. The day passed by in a rather mundane fashion, putting books back on the shelf, helping frazzled students find the reference they needed, cataloging the returned books until all of a sudden he heard this, chilling, grating laugh echo through the aisle of books.
His body stiffened and all of a sudden he was back in high school trying out for the basketball team, that laugh echo the same back then as he missed the hoop and his breaths gave out to wheezy gasps — and suddenly a hand fell on his shoulder and his inhaler was pressed into his hand. “Quit trying out— you’re more useless than shit,” An upperclassman in a team jersey snorted and pressed his inhaler into Kiyotaka’s hand. “Focus on something you’re actually good at, if you say no I’ll slap the stupid right out of you.”
Pulled back to the present he rushed down the aisle and turned a corner, kept his shoulder tucked and his head down, and made it back to the break room so he could properly spiral. There is no way… right? Surely the world isn’t small enough that he was forced to share his high school, and now college with him. Kiyotaka straightened his shoulders and paused in his retreat— why had he run away? This was his job. Was he really so affected by a laugh that he was going to run to the break room in the middle of his shift.
It might not even be him.
Even if it was him it wasn’t like he would even remember Kiyotaka. He was third year when Kiyotaka was a first year and after that fateful encounter at the tryouts— he’d never spoken to Kiyotaka again, too preoccupied in his procession of infinite attention that trailed him wherever he went. Kiyotaka simply wasn’t interesting enough for him to pay attention to but Kiyotaka had paid attention to him. The way his albino white hair glinted in the basketball court lights. The duo that seemed to always buffer him wherever he went— dark and beautiful, a stark juxtaposition to his bright capriciousness. Bright blue eyes that seemed to see through you— they certainly saw through him.
What did it matter… he wasn’t interesting then and he wasn’t interesting now.
He took a steading breath and turned back around, retraced his steps to where he abandoned the cart of books he was supposed to be putting away. Work continued and students fell away from the library tables like dominoes— only the students too deep into studying to care that the sun had already set and dinner time had approached. The library stayed open until 8pm and even later during testing season, he worked the afternoon to the closing shift as he tried to fit schedule his classes in the mornings and the weekends. He settled into the worn office chair at the front desk where all the other librarians congregated, and pulled out the medical journal he had brought with him.
“I swear the next time you decide to crash our study group — do make sure to bring headphones so we’re not subjected to your insistent tik tok videos,” a girl's voice snapped, her voice rising higher with every word. Ijichi set the journal down and glanced up to find where the voice was coming from— his boss was a true stickler for the shushing rule.
“Aw but you know they hurt my ears,” he answered with his chin propped in the palm of his hard, stark white hair framing his pouting cheeks.
Kiyotaka stared.
It was him— Gojo Satoru.
Kiyotaka snapped his mouth shut, no longer interested in quieting the group but to his growing horror, the moment he decided not to do his job— he was punished. Gojo tilted his head lazily, trailing the room with his eyes before they landed on him. For a moment the room seemed to pause as their eyes connected and all he could hear was the rushing of blood in his ears as he stared. Heat pooled in his stomach and he broke eye contact first, he rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly before picking up his abandoned journal. He reread the same paragraph three times before he couldn’t help but glance up, only to find Gojo’s unsettling blue eyes still trained on him— watching him with a smile growing larger every second Kiyotaka held his gaze.
Thankfully the soft chime from the intercom signaled that the library was going to close in ten minutes and pulled him from his involuntary staring contest. He made himself busy, and took his chance to disappear into the aisles and make himself scarce. His heart raced as he went about his closing routine, helping his coworkers clean up and gathering any book carts that the morning shift needed to put away.
The air was still balmy and the moon hung bright in the sky when he unlocked his bike and started his journey home. He stopped at a convenience store on his way home— it was right outside campus so it was a popular choice for hungry students. The door chimed and a rush of cool stale air greeted him, he weaved through the aisle and filled up his basket with his favorite brand of ramen, seaweed chips and a few random packets of hi-chews as he headed to the back coolers. He grabbed a cup with light ice from the freezer and let his mind wander over all the choices of drinks — he still had an entire night of studying ahead of him and needed a strong boost of caffeine.
The door chimed again and chatter filtered into the background noise of the shop— he ended up with a nefariously colored energy drink as his champion of the night and turned to make his way to the cash register. At least that was what he was planning on doing before he ran straight into a stranger's chest, with his balance off center he started to fall backwards until warm hands clasped around his biceps and pulled him back to standing.
“Wow, you’re still as useless as you were in high school.” Gojo smirked, brushing off the imaginary dirt off of Kiyotaka’s shoulders.
His mouth almost dropped open in shock… how rude! Kiyotaka stepped back, straightened his shoulder and glared. “And you’re still as rude as I remember.”
An indignant gasp burst from Gojo’s mouth as he stuck his hands into his front pockets, stepped forward and crowded into Kiyotaka’s air space. “Is that anyway to talk to your Senpai?”
Kiyotaka’s grip on his shopping basket tightened as he tilted his head back to keep his glare at eye level and not at the hollow of Gojo’s collarbones. He was suddenly taken back how close they actually were, he could see each of his pale eyelashes and the pink flush that colored his paper pale skin. He could smell him— the warm metallic scent that flooded the bubble of air they were trapped in. Kiyotaka took in a breath to settle his racing heart. “You’re blocking the path Gojo Senpai— and I believe you have friends waiting on you.” He gestured to the two figures behind Gojo watching with clear amusement.
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Gojo smirked and leaned his head back to look at his friends. “Right guys?” They both shrugged before they cut in-between the aisles to get to the refrigerators. Kiyotaka made a break for it and tried to weave past Gojo but he turned and followed him as he made his way to stand in line at the cash register.
Gojo loomed behind him like a particularly pale umbrella and Kiyotaka just kept his eyes forward, and tried his hardest to ignore his presence. The line moved rather quickly and soon he emptied his basket onto the counter and waited for the bored looking girl to scan his items. The cashier intoned his total and before he could’ve grabbed his wallet a pale hand reached out and taped a credit card to touchscreen; a small green check spread signaling the confirmation of the payment. “What—” Kiyotaka spluttered and tried to turn around to confront the culprit. “Please move and let other customers pay,” the cashier spoke with tired apathy.
Gojo reached over and plucked his bag from the counter and started to walk to the exit. “Hey that's my dinner!” Kiyotaka chastised and rushed after him. Gojo stood on the sidewalk, his back pressed up against a lamp post and a plastic bag hung from his outstretched hand. “Mmm… technically it’s my dinner.” He swung the bag for emphasis.
He doesn’t have time for this— he still has dinner to make and hours of studying ahead of him. “Gojo Senpai,” he started, and watched with strange fascination as Gojo visibly brightened at the honorific. “Can I please pay for my dinner?”
“Aren’t medical students supposed to be jumping at the opportunity for their Senpai to buy them dinner?”
Kiyotaka couldn’t exactly refute that and with the way Gojo looked right now he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Instead of a response he gestured for him to hand over the bag, Gojo pushed off the lamp post and set the bag in his outstretched hand. “Thank you, Senpai,” Kiyotaka murmured, and bowed lightly.
“You’re welcome,” Gojo singsonged.
The air felt thick as if he was breathing in honey; viscous and cloying. A small chime broke through the moment and out of his peripheral vision he saw Gojo’s friends move a bit away before they lit cigarettes in tandem. “I really do think your friends are waiting for you this time,” Kiyotaka spoke, and before he could stop himself he reached into the shopping bag and pulled out a package of grape hi-chews.
“For you,” he blurted and proffered the candy. Gojo plucked the candy from his fingertips and smiled, the contact caused heat to flush Kiyotaka’s cheeks and a sweet sticky feeling settled in his stomach.
“Hey! Satoru stop flirting and come on already,” one of his friends called out, obviously done with her cigarette. Kiyotaka started to splutter, trying to come up with something to say but before he could find the words Gojo leaned forward and spoke into his ear. “See you around, Kiyotaka,” he crooned before he pulled back and made his way to his friends. Kiyotaka clutched the bag in his hand as he stood frozen as he watched him retreat into the night.
The bike ride home was a blur.
His mind raced as he turned over the memory over and over again until the edges became soft and rounded like sea glass tumbled in the ocean. Gojo had remembered his name— he had used his name.