Archive of Our Own ^beta

"So, how am I looking?"

Gojo twirls in front of the mirror, smoothing out the extra folds on his baby blue shirt. Under his favorite loose shirt, he’d decided to wear a white tank top this time and highlight his neck and slightly protruding collarbones with a silver pendant — something different from his usual style, but the result pleasantly surprised him. Turns out, silver looks great on his pale skin, and to please himself even more, he added just a little glitter — the one Utahime recommended — to his collarbones and the curves of his neck.

No matter how much she swears she hates him for his unbearable behavior and often inappropriate comments about her own appearance, she still does everything possible to help him find his sense of style in clothing and feel better about choosing makeup and accessories. It may sound strange to the average person, but the son of a fashion designer doesn’t know how to dress himself properly. If not for Utahime and her sharp sense of fashion, he would probably still be wearing nothing but his white plush Cinnamonroll hoodie with ears and black baggy sweatpants.

For today’s date — Utahime rolled her eyes during their Facetime call earlier when he asked what exactly should go on his 'fabulous long legs' — he put on cream pleated pants and black loafers from Massimo Dutti. Again, not his typical style — or color, or brand (he prefers just cozy home stuff) — but this one works.

The final touch to his look tonight will be, of course, the black round glasses currently lying on the coffee table in the living room. He just needs to take them with him so he doesn’t suffer another migraine because of how sensitive his eyes are. And as the cherry on top, he plans to add a few sprays of his favorite perfume — and voilà!

In his humble opinion, he looks good. Not too “homey,” not too pretentious, so he won’t accidentally embarrass his boyfriend. He has to admit, that has happened before, but whatever, that’s nothing. His boyfriend… uh, well… they quickly agreed that Gojo simply doesn’t know how to talk to people, so they stopped going to any public events together.

But honestly, that doesn’t matter! They’ve been together for over six years, so who cares whether they go out or not? It’s still better to spend an evening together at home — when, of course, his boyfriend isn’t stuck at work (which, in Gojo’s opinion, has been happening more and more often lately).

But today is truly an important day — their anniversary. And to celebrate, Satoru decided to give his beloved tickets to a baseball game of the team he adores so much. What was it again… Hokkaido? Roppongi Giants? No, right, the Tokyo Yakult Swallows. See, Gojo doesn’t really understand this whole thing with teams or leagues or whatever they’re called. And honestly, he doesn’t know the rules either but he’s heard plenty from his boyfriend about the sport, and he’s spent countless evenings with him watching his favorite matches, even though he couldn’t understand a single word from the commentators. But that was enough for him to realize this is something his beloved truly cares about. Their Sunday movie nights now look more like noisy bars showing yet another game, but Satoru is willing to compromise the moment he sees those pleading eyes and hears, "Baby, please, it’s the season finale!"

It’s weird, of course, that the “season finale” has been going on for three months already, but well… whatever. It is a pretty interesting sport — one Gojo doesn’t understand a damn thing about.

Satoru looked himself over in the mirror once more, from head to toe. In tonight’s outfit he saw elegance and beauty, so there was no way he’d embarrass his beloved this evening. Quite the opposite, he’d make him proud to have such a wonderful boyfriend. Today marked six whole years of them being together, and Gojo truly didn’t want to rush things, but everything between them was honestly perfect. And since he’d already given his anniversary present, he still hadn’t received his own. And if Gojo reads hints even half as well as he reads Utahime’s mood whenever he drives her up the wall and ends up one step away from her biting his head off, then maybe today is The Day when their relationship reaches another level.

His beloved has been more withdrawn lately, a little nervous, and Gojo can definitely tell he’s hiding something.

And even though Satoru hasn’t been in that many serious relationships, you don’t have to be a genius to realize what this might mean. Every few years he and Minato have a conversation — not exactly super serious, but still — about marriage. And yeah, technically same-sex marriage isn’t legal in Japan since it hasn’t been recognized at the legislative level, but Gojo knows they can go abroad to a country where such marriages are legal and make it official there, for example. Or ultimately they could just buy matching rings and vow themselves to each other somewhere intimate, with a few close friends or completely on their own.

They’ve talked about it more than once, and although Minato always gets awkward during these conversations, he keeps insisting that he will be the one to propose to Gojo — it’s only a matter of time, he just needs the right moment.

And Gojo long ago accepted that Minato is the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with. Sure, they’ve had their fair share of challenges, and Gojo knows there will be just as many ahead — if not more — but he’s ready to face all of them together. Minato is always there, and just one smile, warm evening hugs, and his quiet "it’s going to be okay" — that’s all Gojo truly needs for the rest of his life.

A faint blush had already begun to color Satoru’s cheeks, and a pleasant warmth settled in his chest. He smiled softly at his reflection in the mirror and finally turned toward his boyfriend, who had been lying fully dressed on their bed the whole time.

Minato reluctantly lifted his eyes from his phone and looked at him through the thick fringe of his chestnut hair. Gojo would have to remind him to book a haircut.

"Hey, look at you! It seems you actually know how to look good," Minato’s green eyes swept over him critically, finally stopping on his exposed collarbones. Minato waved a hand at him vaguely. "Don’t you think this… glitter is a bit too much? We’re going to a stadium, not a gay club."

Gojo’s mood faltered a little at the comment, but he still kept smiling at his boyfriend — though this time it was noticeably tighter.

"Come on, Minato, what’s wrong with adding a little sparkle? And Utahime said it's—"

"Аh, Utahime," his boyfriend cut him off, lowering his eyes back to his phone the moment it buzzed with a new notification. He kept typing whatever it was while still talking to Gojo. "That explains it. Don’t you think Utahime isn’t exactly some big stylist you should be listening to? And what if she tells you to wear a thong to a café tomorrow — would you listen to that too? Besides, you’re not in a relationship with her, you’re with me. So I don’t think it’s her place to decide how you should look."

Gojo clenched his hands into fists — and there it was, yet another test for him, the kind he had just been thinking about. No matter how much Satoru tried to wrap his head around it, he could never understand why Minato treated his best friend this way. He and his attitude toward her could ruin Gojo’s good mood in seconds — don’t even try asking him how many fights they’ve had because of this.

Just a few minutes ago, he had been mentally planning the filling of their wedding cake, and now his smile had vanished completely. Honestly, moments like this made him want to say screw it all. Even now: take off all his jewelry, wipe away all the makeup he had so carefully applied following YouTube tutorials, take off these clothes he’d liked so much mere minutes ago — and just not go anywhere at all.

Maybe it sounds quite pitiful, but right now Gojo wanted nothing more than to tell Minato to go to the game alone. And honestly? He was more than sure the guy would’ve been happy to go there by himself anyway. Gojo had just thought that today could’ve been a perfect chance for them to finally spend some time together outside the four walls of his apartment. Yes, his apartment. Because Minato doesn’t officially live here yet even if he has a spar key. He has his own small place in another district, and they sometimes meet there too, but most of the time Minato stays here.

For weeks, Gojo had imagined this evening as wonderful and just simply perfect. He went through a dozen ideas and eventually settled on buying tickets for this match because everything else felt wrong. And yes, maybe he wouldn’t get much enjoyment out of the game himself, but Minato would be over the moon. And if his other half was happy, then so was he. Even if he wouldn’t get much attention today, even if Minato’s entire focus would be on the game — that was fine. It was his celebration too, and he could always enjoy Minato’s attention at home. Gojo was happy. He told himself this again and again.

He is happy, he is happy, he is happy.

Gojo felt tears prick at his eyes. Tears from… what? Even he didn’t really know, to be honest. Probably because he felt hurt. Hurt that no matter how hard he tried not to raise his expectations for this day, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it was nothing, that Minato was obviously planning something for him — he still couldn’t stay in this room with him right now. In his own room, warm and bright as it was, but without a single gift or even a cheap plush toy from his boyfriend, even though he knew perfectly well that Utahime’s room was overflowing with things sent to her by her pen-pal.

He couldn’t stay with him in his own apartment, the one on the seventeenth floor with the perfect view of the sunset. Because everywhere he looked, he saw Minato’s things scattered around: pens and markers on the desk in the living room, his hoodie draped over the back of the couch where he always left it no matter how often Satoru asked him to clean up after himself; ear swabs and cotton pads on the bathroom shelf; and — as banal and caricature-like as it sounded — dirty socks on the floor of his bedroom.

He didn’t want to be in the same district with him.

On the same subway line.

In the same city.

It hurts him like hell that he keeps having to hear what’s wrong with him and what he’s doing incorrectly. That even though he has a PhD in astrophysics, he somehow still can’t memorize the rules of baseball, so maybe he’s not as smart as he claims to be. That he has absolutely no talent for cooking and all his dishes taste the same. That if he’s not oversalting them, then he’s overfrying/overdrying/burning the damn things.

It hurts him that this is only, what, their sixth year together, and he already barely gets any compliments or even basic attention directed his way — if you don’t count "good morning" and "good night" as acts of love. Gojo is more than sure that Minato’s teammates from that cursed Valorant squad, the ones he plays with until three in the morning, get more praise and attention from him than he does.

It hurts him that all the sounds his partner makes during sex aren’t even moans — they’re quiet little hums. That his own boyfriend can’t even cum if he’s looking him in the eyes or even at his face or body at all, because apparently he gets "too overstimulated". And afterward, Satoru feels no warmth, no loving looks, no aftercare. Minato either falls asleep immediately, or leaves to go home because tomorrow is a hard day at work and he needs to prepare, or goes to play Valorant with his friends.

What do they call it — pump-and-dump?

Satoru inhaled deeply and then slowly exhaled, trying to pull himself together. His boyfriend was still lying on the bed, texting God knows who, while he kept stewing in his own self-pity.

Suddenly, the pain in his chest gave way to a surge of anger he hadn’t felt since he left his parents’ house at nineteen because they couldn’t accept his sexual orientation.

He could endure a lot of things: from shitty treatment to nasty comments about him; from ingratitude to emotional coldness (though, honestly, those two things probably shouldn’t be endured at all). But there is one thing he absolutely will not tolerate — not a single crooked word about Utahime.

And maybe that’s strange, sure, considering what kind of relationship Gojo has with her. He loves to tease her, mock her style or makeup, poke fun at her taste in women or drag her dessert preferences (seriously, who the hell likes caramel apples?), but it’s always friendly, always within limits, and it’s always what it is — teasing. Not direct insults, nothing to hurt her feelings, because she knows he isn’t serious. Just teasing.

But Minato had never gotten along with Utahime. They’d been on a few double dates when Utahime needed company back when she still went to those speed-dating events (because she was always too scared to go alone), and ever since then they’d been like a cat and a dog. And while Utahime only allowed herself comments about him when she was alone with Gojo (because unlike some people, she actually has manners), Minato would often cross that line in his mockery, and one time they were almost kicked out of the izakaya where they were spending a quiet Saturday evening because their yelling started scaring off the customers.

And Gojo knew this wasn’t just "dislike" on his part. The guy literally told him outright that Gojo should stop talking to her because she "has a bad influence on him", whatever the hell that meant.

A wave of protectiveness washed over Satoru, and he felt his jaw clench so hard it almost locked.

"You can try saying one more thing about Utahime and see where that gets you," he began, his voice cold and distant, "or you can finally tear yourself away from your fucking phone and tell me how I look."

Minato’s eyes snapped to him instantly, slightly widened and panicked. Satoru rarely allowed himself to be like this — like he’d said before, he could take a lot and had been doing so all these years, but there is always a limit, and it was time he finally drew that line.

Minato was still staring at him silently, but he set his phone aside and sat up on the bed, finally placing his feet on the floor. Gojo noticed the nervous swallow.

Good.

"Take the car keys and go start it," Gojo didn’t ask — he ordered. Then the white-haired man turned back to the mirror so he wouldn’t have to look at his boyfriend right now, pretending to adjust his hair. His jaw was still tense, his tone cold. "Two minutes and I’ll come down."

Behind him, the rustle of sheets (his boyfriend finally getting off his bed in his street clothes), and hesitant footsteps toward the door. Minato stopped in the doorway and turned back, probably wanting to say something. But Gojo only tilted his head toward him and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh my God, why do you have to be so dramatic…" his boyfriend muttered before the door shut behind him.

Gojo listened as his footsteps faded down the hall. Somewhere in the living room he heard the soft jingle of car keys, and then the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Satoru let out a shuddering breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and pressed his forehead to the glass in front of him. He knew the moment he pulled away, it would leave an unpleasant greasy mark from his skin — and traces of the makeup he’d put on today — but right now that was the least of his concerns, something he’d fix with glass cleaner and a paper towel in five seconds. But what the hell was he supposed to do now?

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

"Shit…"

With trembling hands he quickly wiped the tears off both cheeks and leaned away from the mirror. He no longer wanted to look at himself, no matter how much he’d admired his appearance just minutes ago.

It’s not too late to cancel everything and not go anywhere, right?

He looked at the round clock hanging above his bed. Five thirty in the evening. The match is at seven, and they’d planned to calmly get to the stadium beforehand, grab something to eat and drink, and then take their seats without any fuss. If Satoru went downstairs within the next ten minutes, they’d have just enough time and even a little extra. But the tears just wouldn’t stop rolling down his face.

He pulled his phone from the back pocket of his pants and sank onto the floor by his bed, leaning his back against it. He took a shaky breath and tried to exhale slowly. Unlocking his phone, he opened his chat with Utahime. All he hoped was that she wouldn’t reply with 'I told you so.'

yesterday

[me]

i know u luv me

[Hime]
yeah-yeah, tell yourself that loser

today

[me]

so loje o think we need to break up
likr o
shit

[Hime]
r u high?

im lesbian, you&me dont even dating

[me]
ha ha
u so funny yk?

no

i mean

me n minato

[Hime] typing…

[me]
pls say nothing

not even i told u so

just

dont

[Hime]
r u ok?

u two supposed to go to the match. what
happend?

how u… what?
Satoru call me

Missed call from Hime

[Hime]
Satoru its not funny.
why r u not picking up?

i swear i find you n your shitty ass boyfriend
and kill you both

im sorry, ex boyfriend*

[me]
sorry just cant talk right now… i
he still IS my boyfriemd

technically

i need some time honestly, maybe its just a bad decision in spicke of noment

momnt

fuck cant see shit wwith this fucjing tears

[Hime]
Toru pls what do you mean?
why r you crying?

Missed call from Hime

[Hime]
i swear to god, Gojo

pick ur fucking phone!

[me]
later

i tell you later

we are goiing to this game i just needed to tell you

in case i change my mind and then you can kill me
with this evidence of my stupidity

[Hime]
i dont need more evidence of your stupidity then
you being in relationship with that asshole

[me]
wow

what a way to cheer me up

[Hime]
dont even trying to do that

also

Satoru

[me]
hm?

[Hime]
i fucking told you so

"Oh fuck you…" Gojo muttered under his breath, though without much anger in his voice, wiping the tear tracks from his face. There was a faint smile on his lips again, so he could already count that as a small, but still a victory.

He couldn’t tell Utahime everything right now, partly because he himself didn’t really know what to do next, and partly because he simply couldn’t admit to her that what was pushing him toward this serious decision wasn’t Minato’s attitude toward him, but rather his attitude toward her.

From his place on the floor he could still see himself in the reflection and, honestly, his whole mood for today was clearly written all over his face: his eyes now red and slightly puffy, his lips bright red from him biting them during the texting, trying not to let out a sob like some fifteen-year-old schoolgirl going through her first breakup. His makeup had smudged a little, but nothing a bit of powder couldn’t fix in a couple of minutes.

He shifted his blue eyes to the clock.

Only five minutes had passed — his parents would’ve been proud of his time management if they weren’t such homophobes.

He got up from the floor with a heavy sigh, noticing that his pants had gotten a little wrinkled in the process, and his favorite shirt now had those creases again that needed to be smoothed out. And yet he had neither the energy nor the desire to deal with it, so he focused on fixing the flaws he could easily take care of.

Walking into his bathroom, he opened the cabinet and froze. Another heavy exhale left his lips as he picked up the used cotton swabs and pads and tossed them into the trash bin sitting right under the sink.

Shaking his head in frustration, he grabbed a couple of clean wipes and gently dabbed at his eyes. Then he took the foundation he’d used earlier that evening and applied a small amount to his cheeks, under his eyes, and on his forehead, remembering that some of it was still waiting for him on the mirror, which he’d have to clean later. Taking a sponge and refreshing his makeup, he reached for the powder and, closing his eyes, carefully applied it to his face and eyelids, then looked at himself.

The redness around his eyes hadn’t gone anywhere, of course, but he did look a bit better.

Picking up his phone from the bedroom and reading 'are you coming or not?' from Minato on the screen, Gojo once again wondered if maybe he should just… not go anywhere and stay home. But no — he deserved a normal evening outside these four walls after so many years of this relationship, and he was going to enjoy it tonight no matter what.

And well, Minato was downstairs, sitting in his car, waiting to drive them to the game. So… yeah.

Gojo grabbed his apartment keys from the little hook by the door and walked out. Closing the door behind him with a soft click, he lingered for a moment, as if trying to stretch out the time as much as possible, and then, just as slowly, the light-haired man took the elevator down to the first floor.

His black Camry was parked not far from the building entrance, in its rightful above-ground parking spot — not many of those around his apartment complex; Gojo had had to pay quite a lot to secure one here. The evening sun was still glinting off the roof, sending golden reflections, and the tinted windows hid whatever was going on inside the car. A few short steps later he was already standing by his car, hand on the door handle and, like ripping off a bandaid — quickly and painlessly — he slipped into the passenger seat of his own car, trying to look anywhere but at Minato.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him and his seatbelt was securely fastened, the engine came to life, and they smoothly pulled out onto the road. Minato’s phone, with GPS already running for quite a while, was mounted on the holder on the dashboard. Its screen glowed brightly, showing that they had about forty minutes of driving before arrival.

Silence settled inside the car, not even the annoying radio station his boyfriend loves so much could be heard. Well, his ex-boyfriend. Or… could Gojo call him that in his head if he hadn’t broken up with him yet? Um… Probably. Definitely.

If you think about it, Minato hadn’t acted like they were dating in a long time. No attention, no care, no passionate kisses. Even now, when he used to put his hand on Gojo’s knee, both of his hands were on the wheel. Well, on one hand, that’s just normal safety practice — this is how you’re supposed to drive, with both hands on the wheel. But before, Minato would put one hand on him as a sign of affection, romance, all that stuff. Funny how Gojo was only noticing all this now…

The car smoothly turned from their street onto the main road, and the bright evening sun spilled into the interior, hanging directly in front of them. Gojo squinted and turned his head to the right, covering just one eye. He briefly glanced at the sun visor in front of him and only then remembered that Utahime had accidentally broken it a few months ago when she couldn’t pull it down properly to block the sun, and now it was completely useless.

Satoru automatically reached up toward his head, but stopped halfway. His hand dropped helplessly into his lap.

Dammit, he forgot his glasses after all.

Meiji Jingu Baseball Stadium in Shinjuku, not far from the center of Shibuya, wasn’t exactly huge, but it was immediately noticeable the moment they entered the main part of the city. Partly because the Japan National Stadium stood right beside it, naturally drawing attention to itself.

As soon as they maneuvered around a few careless pedestrians and pulled into a small parking lot — where, to his surprise, there were still some free spots — Satoru was genuinely relieved to finally step out of the suffocating tightness of his own car, even if he was now surrounded by hundreds of complete strangers.

The entire drive had felt quiet. Too quiet, if you asked him. Usually he would have been talking to his boyfriend, sharing the latest updates from work, gossiping about that one colleague in their department who sleeps with someone new from the university every week, telling stories about his students or their progress — even though he'd long grown used to Minato zoning out halfway through his rambling. Normally, he wouldn’t think twice about it: Minato, as he always said, got really tired at work, and it was hard to focus on two things at once, like driving and listening, so of course he had to choose the priority.

You want us to get there in one piece, right, Satoru?

Normally, he would agree after that, because honestly, he knew he talked way too much about everything and nothing. His colleagues, his students (and even long-time friends like Utahime) reminded him constantly: he could start with a topic like the expansion of the universe or the mass of black holes, and then, twenty minutes later, anyone still listening would hear about how once, as a kid, he reached for his cat under the bed, and the little bastard clawed him — one paw catching his eyelid, the other scratching his forehead. Both left scars, though they were barely noticeable: one stayed hidden under his unruly hair, and the other you could only see if you stood close and asked him to close his right eye.

How was that connected? The cat was black.

Black holes, black cat? No?..

Anyway.

The point was, Satoru would have been his usual self, and Minato would’ve been his usual self beside him, telling him to be quiet or to stop distracting him, and Satoru wouldn’t have had an issue with it. None. He would stop mid-sentence, apologize, and spend the rest of the drive humming a tune under his breath or playing some game on his phone. He’d feel a little carsick later from staring at one spot while the car moved, but that would be entirely his fault, because he simply didn’t know how to sit still like a normal person, Satoru, god!

Oh.

Satoru let out a quite humorless laugh. Yes, there had been signs that something wasn’t right in their relationship. Huh, signs you said? More like banners. The kind that flash all over Shibuya or Shinjuku, which flash at you in all the colours of the rainbow and are so bright that you have to squint to see the road you are walking on. Or like those yellow-and-black caution signs plastered across metro stations so tall people wouldn’t hit their heads moving between lines.

Ugh, he’d have to listen to Utahime’s "I told you so" about all this, because honestly? She really had told him. Not vague comments like "he’s odd" or "I don’t like him". No. Her arguments for why he should have broken up with this guy years ago were always sharp and irrefutable. Her theses for Why Gojo Satoru Cannot See Further Than His Own Nose would make other people jealous. And not only his students, who, like little blind kittens, are learning to write scientific papers, but also the scientific committee of his university. If there were a course called Gojo-Satoru-sophy and the History of His Stupid Decisions Along the Way, she would have a PhD in it and would not only be eligible for a Nobel Prize — she would win it.

The feeling of someone’s hand around his waist pulled Satoru out of his thoughts. He turned his head left and met Minato’s green eyes. They looked at him with a kind of warmth, and his lips held a soft smile.

Right. Satoru had already forgotten he was still in a relationship.

Minato must have remembered that they came here together, and that it was thanks to Satoru they were even here at all. He leaned toward Satoru’s ear. They were nearly the same height — Minato only a couple centimeters taller, one of the things Satoru had liked about him from the start. There aren’t many guys in Japan who are over 190 cm and gay. His warm breath sent a shiver down Satoru’s spine, and this time he genuinely didn’t know whether it was because of closeness to the man he loved… or something else.

"Thank you, babe," he whispered, leaving a soft kiss on Satoru’s cheek. "It’s the best day of my life."

Satoru tried to spot any fakeness in his expression — falls happiness, forced satisfaction, or even a clumsy attempt to pretend he enjoyed being here with Satoru — but he found none. Minato’s eyes looked really happy; his tone was sincere. And that smile… it reminded Satoru of the days when he couldn’t even imagine ever thinking about breaking up.

When his boyfriend used to walk him home in the evenings, call him every night even if they’d already seen each other during the day; when he would always take two umbrellas with him on a cloudy day because he knew Gojo would definitely forget his own, and the two of them just wouldn’t fit under one no matter how hard they tried.

That kind of smile reminded him how, over all these years, Minato took care of him in those rare moments when he was sick, bought groceries for him almost every week when Gojo once again forgot to go shopping because he was preparing for an important conference or presentation, and then, when thanked, would just smile exactly like this — sweetly, genuinely, without pretending — and say it was nothing.

They had just passed a crowd gathered around a food stall and reached the entrance to their section. In front of them were a few couples, groups of friends, and families with kids. Loud shouting and chatter echoed from every direction, and an overwhelming mix of smells filled the air — from someone’s overly sharp perfume, the fast food from every kiosk around, all the way to the smell of sweat coming from some extremely hyped-up teenagers behind them — and the whole place buzzed like a beehive.

Gojo could already feel a headache beginning to form, and the game hadn’t even started yet, but he pulled a smile onto his face and indulged Minato.

"I hope it’ll get even better soon," he answered just as quietly, cutely batting his eyelashes. And Satoru couldn’t even tell whether he meant it sincerely, with some hope of restoring something that had already cracked, or with a drop of skepticism.

Minato smiled wider, absolutely clueless about his inner conflict, and placed another kiss on his cheek.

"Thanks to you, I’ll never forget this day, babe."

I bet, thought Gojo to himself.

Their seats weren’t in the VIP section — that was the first comment Minato made when Satoru presented him with the tickets. Of course, Gojo couldn’t say that money had ever been a problem for him. Some may (and do) call him a nepo baby, but that’s only part of the truth. Born into the family of a famous fashion designer and surrounded by luxury since infancy, he had never really needed anything. Excellent meals for breakfast, lunch, dinner — and in between; constant rides in his parents’ private cars, endless supervision, expensive education.

At first, his parents covered his tuition, but he won one of the three grants at their university, and with its annual renewal, he no longer needed their financial support — at least not for school.

So yes, large sums of money brought him into this field, but staying in it, proving year after year that he wasn’t there just because someone was paying for him — that was entirely his own doing. His knowledge, his work.

Then came academic papers, his PhD, numerous nominations for awards — even winning a few. After that, a career at a prestigious university as one of the best astrophysics lecturers around.

So, yes. He had money. A lot of it, actually. But although he didn’t live like a monk, he wasn’t bathing in gold either. His apartment was just a typical two-room place you could find anywhere — maybe in a newer complex than, say, Utahime’s, but nothing extravagant. He didn’t eat lobster for breakfast or caviar for lunch, yet whenever he and Minato went to a restaurant, Gojo was always the one paying.
"Money’s not a problem for you, babe, and I need to save," Minato would say.

Of course Minato needed to save — and yet they went to the movies twice a month. Naturally, in luxury seats.

Minato needed to save, but every six months he would tell Gojo how exhausted he was from the city noise and how he desperately needed a break. So, every half a year, they went on vacation. Hokkaido in winter to ski; Okinawa in summer to feel warm sand under their feet. Or somewhere abroad: Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Thailand, the Seychelles, Mauritius, Goa — a long list of warm, luxurious countries for the winter months, and various trips around China or Europe in autumn or spring.

And of course Gojo paid for all of it because… well… Minato needed to save.

And now, listening to yet another comment from his boyfriend — sitting beside him in the stands, remarking that the seats could’ve been better — Gojo hears a voice in the back of his mind. One that, for some reason, sounds suspiciously like Utahime, telling him he might have been a cash cow all this time.

Still, Minato does seem to be in a better mood now.

The guy beside him is smiling, taking in the field — on which, of course, nothing is happening yet; the game won’t begin for another twenty minutes. He’s practically vibrating in his seat with excitement, talking with the bright, unrestrained enthusiasm of a five-year-old about his favorite moments with this team. If it weren’t for the display in front of them — Tokyo Yakult Swallows — Gojo would’ve forgotten again who they’re supposed to be cheering for.

He retells home runs, favorite pitchers, the hits he remembers most vividly; his eyes burn with that familiar fire he gets when speaking about something that truly interests him.
A sad smile tugged at the corner of Gojo’s mouth.

Minato’s eyes had never burned like that when looking at him.

The thought stings — a sharp prick to his chest, sinking like a heavy weight straight into his stomach. Maybe all this time, love had really mattered to only one of them.

His thoughts cling to each other — loud, contradictory. Some tethered to loyalty, tenderness, the comfortable sense of being complete when he thinks of them together. But the other thoughts, quieter for now but growing stronger every minute, begin whispering with unsettling confidence that something here is deeply wrong — at the very least, wrong to himself.

As he looks at Minato, who is still talking about something he can no longer hear, Gojo feels as though he is truly seeing his partner for the first time in a long while. The cute face, the soft curls, the long black lashes framing those green eyes. Yes, he is beautiful — undeniably so — but nothing more than that.

They’d never really had a single calm evening in all the time they’d been together — maybe only in the first few months, maybe a year, when they were still getting to know each other and just testing the waters with their jokes and comments, checking how far they could go. But all the other years… Gojo is starting to realize that Minato had never truly listened to him. He never followed the topics Satoru tried to start, rarely finished the movies Gojo picked for their movie nights, and whenever they went to the cinema, Minato was always the one choosing what they watched.

Not once in six years of their relationship did Minato come to his thesis defense, or to an award ceremony, or to an exhibition dedicated to his research. He was always busy: with work, or helping his parents, or somehow with work again that conveniently overlapped with every important event. Now, as the pieces of this puzzle — the puzzle called their relationship — begin to fall into place, the picture forming in front of him isn’t exactly pleasant.

But even so. Maybe Minato doesn’t understand physics, maybe he’s not a fan of academic conferences — but Gojo doesn’t know a thing about baseball either, and yet he still came to this game. Because it mattered to Minato. Right?

Although… not for the first time this evening he’s beginning to think that it might have been better if Minato had just come here alone.

His wandering thoughts — and the endless chatter of the green-eyed boy beside him — are cut off by loud music and the voices of today’s commentators.

The game is finally beginning.

There were really a lot of people around.

Gojo was far less interested in what was happening on the field than in the people surrounding him. The wide screens kept showing the current plays, but he still kept looking around at the unfamiliar faces filling the stands. And even though at times during all these innings (how many had passed already? Four? Five?) the noise from the crowd grew so loud his ears almost popped, there was still a certain charm in the way the entire stadium seemed to breathe in unison, their hearts beating in the rhythm of bat strikes and runs scored by both teams.

Minato beside him was going wild, and Gojo’s eyes kept drifting back to him with some sort of quiet longing. Although what exactly he was longing for, or what he truly wanted from him, he couldn’t really say. Minato kept shouting something, arguing with random people around them, and at one point even bickering with an older man (who was definitely over sixty and clearly had just wanted to enjoy the game in peace) that there hadn’t been any damn fly-out and that the umpire clearly hadn’t seen an ophthalmologist in years. Gojo had always assumed that this level of aggression only existed in sports like soccer or boxing or hockey. Wanting to punch an umpire at a baseball game — judging by Minato’s expression — was definitely a first.

After nearly an hour and a half of nonstop play, the game finally went into a pause.

A wave of raised hands rolled through the stadium, and Gojo joined in, probably smiling genuinely for the first time that evening. Watching other people brought him some comfort tonight. Especially since Minato was glued to his phone again. He sat half-turned away, just enough that Gojo couldn’t see the screen. The soft glow lit up his pretty face, and his long fingers kept typing nonstop; he’d been sitting silently next to Gojo for almost ten minutes.

Just as Gojo felt his shitty mood creeping back — along with thoughts that he didn’t even need to pretend nothing weird was happening tonight — the giant screens above the stadium lit up, the camera started moving through the rows, and soft background music played through the speakers.

First confusion hit him, then genuine surprise. After the very first frame and the huge pink caption in the bottom right corner — "Love in the air!" — Satoru realized exactly what was happening. He truly hadn’t known this trend had made it to Japan.

Of course, he’d seen those short TikTok clips from hockey, soccer, basketball (basically any U.S. sports broadcast) that occasionally broke up his feed full of "interesting" space facts (go ahead, name him something he doesn’t know), Digimon highlights, and funny-slash-cute cat videos. So he definitely knew what a kiss-cam was. It was always fun to watch and judge the reactions of either the couple or the crowd around them. Very sweet and romantic, if you asked him.

In those videos, people always smiled so genuinely, looked so in love, and shared a soft (or not-so-soft) kiss on camera until a new couple appeared on screen. And there were plenty of funny moments among all the romance too. Gojo remembered one clip where the moment the camera landed on a pair, the guy pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket that said “SHE’S MY SISTER.” Another one — probably the most famous — was that Coldplay concert incident. The corners of Gojo’s lips curled up at the memory. A definite oops.

One of the moments that stuck with him was when the camera kept returning again and again to the same couple — and the guy there was still glued to his phone even the fourth time they showed them on the screens. Of course, he didn’t hear a single word his girlfriend was saying, not even when she tried to shout over the roar of the stadium and pointed at the screen, desperately trying to get his attention. Something in him stirred from this thought, and Gojo turned his gaze to Minato — but he was no longer looking at his phone. One of his hands rested on his knee, the other propped up his head, and the piercing gaze of his green eyes was fixed on the screen where they continued showing different couples from the crowd. Something like relief settled in Gojo’s chest, though, honestly speaking, he shouldn’t have been feeling anything like that at this point.

Minato was still watching the screen, so Satoru decided to return to observing the crowd through the thick lens of the hidden camera. Unfamiliar faces kept flashing by. A young couple — the guy and girl caught by the lens smiled awkwardly at each other, yet still met halfway in a kiss. Soft little 'oww' and 'ahh' rippled through the stands. The next shot — an elderly couple on the screen, the some old lady giving the old man a gentle peck on the cheek. Laughter bubbled here and there.

Two girl friends (or maybe something more).

Students.

A family with their children sitting between them — they kissed each child on the cheek, and then kissed each other on the lips.

A lone girl in one of the rows, shrugging and pointing at the two empty seats beside her: one on the right, one on the left. A man with his dog — the dog licking its owner’s cheek. Wait, pets were allowed in here?

Satoru watched every face in fascination — every dimple, every wrinkle. The restrained movements and the bursting joy, the hesitance and the boldness in some people. He kept watching the people and their reactions — and the reactions of their loved ones — when a thought stung him:

What if the camera caught him?

Suddenly, his mind began working the way it usually did during lectures or academic meetings when he needed to prove a point. Endless possibilities and outcomes began flashing before his eyes as if a tear in space-time had opened right next to him, and now Satoru could see every possible alternate universe and how this moment played out in each one of them.

Gojo became sharply aware of the fact that next to him sat (still) his boyfriend — the one he’d been dating for six years. A lot of good things had happened during that time. No matter how hard his brain tried to twist everything into negativity tonight, Gojo did remember all those moments at the beginning of their relationship, when Minato had been sweet and so attentive to him.

When Gojo was having a rough time at work, when it felt like he was standing still and nothing was moving forward, when the world kept rushing past without him and Satoru simply couldn’t keep up; when the work stress pushed him so far that he snapped at everyone around him, yelling at Minato over the tiniest things — Minato would just listen quietly, then wrap his arms around him and lull him into the desperately needed sleep that came only with the feeling of a steady heartbeat beside him.

And maybe he really didn’t buy Satoru many gifts, or pay for restaurant bills or movie tickets, but he wasn’t a bad guy at all. And, as corny as it may sound, they have been through thick and thin together all these years.

His mind was a cradle of contradictions mixed with primitive fears.

The faces on the screen shifted once again when a thought struck Gojo like lightning, freezing his whole body. He felt as though he had even stopped breathing. Maybe, in one of those thousands of universes he was currently seeing before his eyes, this really did happen.

From Gojo’s memory, a video started playing in front of him — again, from that same damn TikTok, from these very kiss-cams: some lonely guy jokingly kissed his own hand, a pair of friends chugged beer arm-in-arm, and—

There it was.

A seemingly ordinary couple, nothing special, yet in that video, the moment the guy realized they were being shown on the big screen, he stood up from his seat, dropped down on one knee, and proposed to his girlfriend. In that video, the crowd exploded into wild applause. He could hear the high-pitched screams of girls through his phone speakers so loudly that Gojo actually had to turn the volume down — his coworkers had started giving him suspicious looks — but even then, he could still hear it: the endless roar of voices, whistles, applause. The unnown girl burst into tears, and by reading her lips he could see she said "yes". The guy slid the ring onto her finger and they finally kissed, with the crowd still hollering around them.

Gojo swallowed nervously and felt sweat slide down his temple. With a quick motion, he wiped it away and glanced sideways at Minato. His posture was slightly tense, the hand that had been resting on his own knee was now in his pocket, and his left leg was bouncing nervously.

The sight alone made Gojo swallow again; this time he felt a very unpleasant knot of nerves stuck in his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste behind.

Was he seriously about to propose to him?

Of course, in these last months or weeks there hadn’t been any clear hint that Minato was planning to do this, but for as long as Gojo had known him, he had always been a man of decisions rather than deliberation. Maybe he had only decided yesterday that he would propose today, or maybe he had actually bought the ring a long time ago but, as he’d told him more than once, he’d been waiting for the right moment.

This moment.

Like a bucket of ice-cold water, realization poured over Gojo.

Everything added up. The perfect day, the perfect date. Not too little time spent together for their mutual friends to call it impulsive, not too much time together for those same friends to complain they were dragging out the engagement. Minato had become far too nervous these last weeks, constantly on high alert with Gojo, and Satoru had really begun to suspect something when one day he took his boyfriend’s phone to order delivery from their usual Chinese place, and the passcode didn’t go through.

Of course he was surprised; at first he assumed he had just typed one digit too quickly, so entering the same passcode again — this time slower — he was met with the exact same 'access denied'.

When Minato came out of the bathroom that day and Gojo asked what had happened to his phone and why the passcode didn’t work, Minato seemed to blush slightly around the neck, muttered something uncertain about personal boundaries, then turned it into a joke and kissed him oh so sweetly.

Now, as all those moments assembled into one unified picture in his mind, an unpleasant feeling twisted in Gojo’s stomach, as if he was about to throw up; the bitter taste in his mouth grew stronger. Satoru had spent the evening partly thinking that he really might be better off without Minato beside him, that his boyfriend was just a parasite who stayed by Gojo’s side only when it benefited him; that the last year had been nearly unbearable, that he’d caught himself thinking more and more often that he was unnecessary, intrusive; that their relationship had problems, and that Utahime had told him so, but…

If what Gojo thinks is happening is actually happening, will he even be able to refuse if Minato proposes right now? To say "no" on camera, in front of the entire stadium? To break up a six-year relationship? Could he really look the boy beside him in the eye and break his heart with a rejection?

They had their highs and lows, that much was true, and things didn’t always go the way Gojo wanted. But can he? They had been together for six long years, starting to date almost right after graduating university, and had been friends for a few years before that. They knew each other well, knew each other’s habits, what they liked and disliked. And, to be completely honest, the thought that this six-year relationship might end tonight if he refused Minato… was a little frightening.

No, it was fucking terrifying.

Gojo is already twenty-eight, and it feels to him that if he doesn’t grab this chance now, another one might not come for many years. And honestly — who even meets people these days, and more importantly, how? How do people make friends? Go on dates? And that’s only the beginning, because then you have to get to know a whole new person, open up to them, let them see every part of you: the best and the worst. And Gojo isn’t even sure anymore if he has anything left of himself in this relationship to start something from a clean slate. Maybe he has simply become the version of himself that Minato carved out from his once-impenetrable walls.

So maybe it really would be better if he said "yes" to his boyfriend’s proposal. Of course, he won’t get rid of Utahime so easily after that. She and Minato never got along, and Utahime occupies a special place in his heart, so… Bit he is sure they would be able to get along for his sake. Yes, it will be hard, but they’re adults — they can manage it. Either that, or he has no idea what he would do otherwise — he’s not giving up Utahime, not for anything, and he also has no plans to call off the wedding because of this. Naturally, for the positive answer he is already planning to give to a question that hasn’t even been asked yet, he’ll have to endure a very long lecture from her, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappointed people who believed in him.

So, with bated breath and with his heart reluctantly agreeing with his mind, he mentally shut the portal to all parallel universes, said goodbye to the version of himself that, in at least one of them, did leave Minato, and lifted his blue eyes to the screen.

As if on loop, only one thought kept spinning in his head, louder and louder with every second: was he really going to do this?

Faces flashed on the big screen again. Was he really going to do this? Satoru could clearly see a small timer in the upper left corner. When the kiss-cam had started, a countdown for the start of the next inning began. Only a 10-minute break, and now just half a minute of it remained.

Was he really going to do this?

Somewhere between that question and the frantic pounding of his heart, he heard Utahime’s voice sternly telling him not to do anything stupid. He brushed the thought aside, focusing on the seconds.

Was he really going to do this?

This was what Satoru had wanted… wasn’t it? Earlier today he’d been sure something special was waiting for him, that his boyfriend was planning something for him, that after being together for so long they truly… loved each other. Satoru tried to repeat his earlier mantra in his head: I’m happy, I’m happy, I’m happy. He felt his lips moving, but no sound came out.

Was he really going to do this?

Satoru’s eyes were glued to the last thirty seconds slipping away mercilessly before him. He felt heat flash through him, then cold, and he was more than certain that his makeup hadn’t survived the assault of his nerves, sweat, and the August evening sun. He felt his favorite shirt unpleasantly sticking to his skin, and he could only imagine how big a damp patch would be left on his back. In his current state he didn’t even need the glitter he’d applied on Utahime’s advice — his skin was shining perfectly well on its own, covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

The same question that had lodged itself in his head ever since he logically followed the steps to his fateful conclusion still echoed in his ears: was he really going to do this? was he really going to do this? was he really going to do this?

But when only 10 seconds remained on the timer, and Minato next to him still hadn't made a move, something else appeared nearby — a shy new thought, one he didn’t dare give too much hope: was I finally going to be free?

The answer was closer than he thought, when on the big screen he suddenly saw his own reflection. Satoru’s heart truly stopped this time, and it felt to him as if the whole stadium stopped with it — people holding their breath alongside him, every conversation falling silent. Or maybe it was just that he could no longer hear anything over the constant static roaring in his ears.

While pure panic rushed through his body, he still managed to notice that he didn’t look nearly as bad as he felt on the inside. Thank God the screen didn’t show how much he was sweating — only the longer strands of his fringe had stuck slightly to his forehead; his face was a little pale, but with his already pale skin it was hard to tell the difference between his normal state and being scared half to death. In this case, he was saved only by the blush and the foundation he’d put on that evening — without them, he’d absolutely be mistaken for a ghost, especially with his white hair.

From himself, his gaze moved to the figure on the screen next to him. Satoru noticed Minato’s leg stop bouncing, and the boy straightened in his seat, smiling nervously. Satoru was afraid to move even a millimeter, waiting for the final action from his boyfriend — the one he was sure would now, finally, happen.

But the seconds on the screen slipped by, and the image stayed the same: two boys on the screen, one with a shy smile, the other frowning. With a jolt of surprise Satoru realized that he was the one frowning. The boy tore his gaze from the screen and looked directly at his partner, raising one brow in a silent question, but Minato only gave him a crooked smile, nodded slightly, and turned back to the screen where their figures were still being broadcast to the entire stadium.

Was that… it?

If this was truly a coincidence, if Minato really hadn’t planned anything — honestly, damn it, if he really had meant to propose, wasn’t this the perfect moment? — then did this mean that Gojo… was free?

Two conflicting emotions hit his chest at once: a stunning sense of relief, because there was no conditional proposal tying him to this person for years to come (because knowing himself and his dependence on the relationship, Gojo would continue finding reasons to stay), and right beside it — sadness. Because it seemed that no matter what he did, it still wasn’t enough for Minato — not enough to propose to the person he loved, and not even enough to simply kiss him on camera.

Gojo felt a sad smile tug at his lips, and he looked up at the screen one last time, where only 4 seconds of the break remained. He caught only a split-second glimpse of Minato still waving at the camera — and then he felt movement.

Something — no, someone — pulled him from the left and upward. On the screen he managed to see only a swift blur of something black, and then — a hand on his face, someone’s lips on his own.

It happened too fast: one moment his ears were filled only with white noise, and the next, the stadium roared to life as those soft lips touched his.

Whether out of habit, or fear, or disbelief, Gojo shut his eyes. But the feeling that flooded his heart and his body at that moment was not so simple. It felt as if an electric current ran between their joined lips, and behind his closed eyes something… soft blue stirred. An echo of something painfully familiar.

The kiss lasted only a few seconds, the hand on his face steady and firm, the stranger’s thumb gently brushing along his cheekbone once, twice, before pulling away.

For a brief moment Gojo feared he would open his eyes and find himself face-to-face with some old man trying to check off the last items on his life bucket list, or with an overly confident girl who, seeing him on the screen, decided to shoot her shot. And while the first option was honestly creepy, the second was… a little better. Really, he’d even have been satisfied — maybe even aroused — if it had been a girl (if he weren’t, of course, gay). When his eyes slowly opened, the first thing he saw was long black hair falling like a curtain over the right side of his face, the stranger’s hand still gently holding his cheek.

A girl, then, Satoru thought with a flicker of relief, although he still couldn’t explain the strange feeling settling in his chest.

But when his eyes fully opened and he finally lifted his gaze to the stranger’s face, Satoru had never been more grateful to be wrong. In that very second his blue eyes drank in the disarming beauty of the man in front of him — not a girl, as he had assumed. His breath uneven, he studied the stranger’s face, still far too close to his own. His hair was probably the first thing the light-haired boy noticed. He couldn’t tell exactly how long it was, because they were still positioned awkwardly, but it definitely would fall past his shoulders if he were sitting straight, and above his eyes…

Bangs.

Something fluttered in his heart again at the mere sight of them, and a half-smile settled on his face. If Satoru had to guess, the shorter strands of the bangs were definitely constantly escaping from the main length. He traced with his gaze the strong, sharp jawline and the thin line of lips, which to the touch were much fuller and plumper than they appeared. Satoru absentmindedly touched his own lips with an uncertain hand, where they still tingled from the recent kiss. The stranger's hand left his face, taking with it the warmth that this light touch had brought, and Satoru's eyes lingered on the prominently defined Adam’s apple, which, as if feeling his gaze upon it, shifted uneasily.

The man leaned back even further, and Gojo finally lifted his eyes to meet the other’s gaze. The look opposite him didn’t knock the ground from under his feet, didn’t make his heart skip a beat or two, didn’t make him want to drop everything and drown in those pupils. It wasn’t like a lightning strike. Not like love at first sight (not that Gojo believed in it). Yet he felt the last traces of his confusion dissipate, the anxiety that had hovered over him all evening fading into the background. His heart was now bathing in this still foreign, yet somehow so familiar, feeling.

When the blue lake of his eyes met the dim autumn leaves of the gaze opposite, the world didn’t freeze, yet the Earth definitely began to turn a little slower.

In that moment, he forgot about the bad mood and recent tears, forgot about the tense car ride and the headache from constant noise and bright lights; forgot about baseballs, and bats, gloves, and helmets; bases on the field, and the still-unlearned rules of the game.

He forgot about the stadium, which had not stopped its noise for even a second.

He forgot about Minato.

Satoru swallowed nervously, feeling his throat dry. The thin eyebrows of the stranger, whom he had just realized was sitting a row above them, furrowed slightly, and his lips (which had just been pressed to his, Gojo’s mind kept reminding him) parted, as if he wanted to say something. And for some unknown reason, Gojo realized that he simply had to hear how this stranger sounded; he couldn’t go about his day calmly if he didn’t complete the picture in his mind fully.

The whole interaction probably lasted no more than twenty seconds, but Satoru felt as if he had spent hours studying the face before him. He felt his eyes frantic scanning the face in front of him: the man’s furrowed brows, his tense jaw, the unruly hair that (as Satoru thought) so irritatingly fell into his eyes; his open mouth, from which his voice was about to emerge.

"You whore!"

That was not what he wanted to hear. Not at all what he wanted to hear. And before his disappointment could fully consume his body, and his brain finally caught up with his eyes, Gojo realized that, in fact, not a single word had come from the stranger’s mouth yet, and the sound he had heard came from his right side.

Minato.

After the wave of relief, another, bigger wave rolled over him. It wasn’t fear, as he had thought it might be. No. What surprised Gojo the most was that it was irritation. Incredible, all-consuming irritation, which teetered on the edge of anger. It was almost like that feeling from earlier today, when Minato had let slip that dumb comment about Utahime in his room, but this time it was stronger.

The charming stranger behind him forgotten, red spots of anger danced before Satoru’s eyes, and his goal was the desire to give Minato a piece of his mind about his fucking comment. Yet, when Satoru turned to his companion with a sharp retort poised on the tip of his tongue, he saw only an empty seat, where his (now former? or was he just rushing things?) boyfriend had forgotten his cotton cardigan, and below on the stairs, a figure moving toward the exit.

Without thinking for long, Satoru sprang to his feet and hurried after him.

Through the loud stadium speakers, music began to play, and the commentators announced the start of the final inning.

Applause engulfed the stadium.

The evening air outside the stadium held that familiar and desirable summer coolness. Satoru kept his gaze on the broad shoulders of the figure before him, a figure he couldn’t approach no matter how his anger drove him forward. The roar of the stadium remained behind, and before his eyes stretched a parking lot illuminated by bright lights and filled with cars of various makes. Somewhere in the bushes along the fence, cicadas sang their song.

At any other time, Satoru might have appreciated how empty and attractive the place appeared in its emptiness. In any other situation, he would have let his eyes find the dark sky above and the faint glow of stars, which, though hard to see in their full glory over a metropolis like Tokyo, could be fully admired. He would have smiled at the sky, and it would have twinkled back at him with millions of unnamed constellations, billions of uncharted galaxies, the endless grandeur of the unknown.

Too bad his entire routine had been disrupted today. Yet he could not summon the desire to care about it. Not when everything had reached a boiling point.

The pace of his steps did not slow even when he saw his Toyota come into view. On the contrary, he only quickened, almost breaking into a run, when he saw Minato unlock it with his keys and open the driver’s side door.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

His voice rang out in the evening silence, if you didn’t count the constant noise of the stadium behind them, undoubtedly driven by wild reactions to yet another fly-out or strike-out, or whatever-the-hell-out it was — Gojo didn’t give a single damn shit about the game right now. He was certain that if he saw his reflection in a mirror now, his eyes would be glowing as if he possessed some otherworldly power. And, oh boy, that’s exactly how he felt. As if pure adrenaline flowed through his veins instead of blood, as if he were the strongest, as if he could flatten a mountain with a single glance. Yet it would be enough for him if he could flatten just the green-eyed man in front of him.

When the latter turned to him, Minato’s face blazed with anger, his gaze sharp, lips pressed into a thin line until they turned white. The driver’s door slammed with a loud bang, echoing across the empty parking lot. Gojo stopped on the other side, holding the his gaze.

Above them, a streetlamp burned, casting playful shadows across the man’s face, and Satoru realized he had never seen his boyfriend this furious. His thoughts turned toward the inevitable conflict, which could escalate into a fight very quickly. No one was around, the road separated from this part of the parking lot, so they wouldn’t encounter any random passerby. And although Satoru wasn’t sure he had ever fought properly in his life, the possible prospect didn’t scare him, as it might have. It seemed his adrenaline and anger would be enough to land at least one punch on the face in front of him.

Minato likely reached the same conclusion, because suddenly he slammed both hands onto the roof of his fucking car. Gojo was almost certain that if it weren’t for the car in front of him, the other would have lunged at him immediately.

"So, what, you’re just going to act like nothing happened?" Minato began, raising his voice. "Like you didn’t behave like a goddamn whore right there in the stadium? And moreover, on camera? Is that normal for you?"

Gojo let out a bitter laugh.

"Exume me? A whore? Are you fucking lose your mind?"

This time, Minato laughed. And it wasn’t just a short chuckle or light laugh, no. He laughed wholeheartedly, slightly hysterical, wiping tears at the corners of his eyes as if someone had just told him the funniest joke of his life. To Gojo, it was exactly how Jack Nicholson laughed in that old film One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, when he was brought from the courtroom into the psychiatric ward.

When the laughter subsided, Minato, still keeping his fists pressed to the roof of Gojo’s black Toyota, looked him straight in the eyes. All trace of amusement vanished from his green eyes; the corners of his mouth twitched not in an attempt to hold back a smile, but in a struggle not to grimace further in plain disgust.

"So you’re still going to deny it, huh? Well, that’s just your style."

"No, are you hearing yourself?" Gojo asked, not believing his ears. "In case you didn’t notice, I got kissed, not the other way around! Me!" He knew he was raising his voice, but the whole situation seemed just too absurd to seriously blame him for anything. "I was sitting there, not touching anyone, and if that wasn’t clear, Minato, I was waiting for you," he pointed at the boy in front of him, "to at least kiss me, like the other couples did before, on that screen. But apparently, I’m such a fucking disaster for you that after six fucking years, you’re embarrassed to kiss me on camera at some match! So now you’re mad that the guy above saw my boyfriend wouldn’t do it and decided to take the initiative? I didn’t even have time to understand what was happening before it was over in two seconds. And you seriously call me a whore after that?"

The sound of a loud fist striking the car roof echoed through the empty parking lot. Satoru was sure he could even hear his boyfriend’s teeth grind from how tightly he clenched them. Before Minato could say anything, Gojo’s voice rang out again in the evening silence.

"Fucking hit my car again, Minato, and I swear to God I’ll punch you in the face."

"Oh, I’m so sorry," he said, sounding not sorry at all. "Sorry that I don’t like some asshole kissing my boyfriend right in front of me, and not just me, but the whole stadium. Should I apologize to him too? For not letting you stretch out your cute little moment longer?"

Gojo ran his hands over his face. His mind was nearly empty, save for the irritation he felt, his body completely exhausted. The adrenaline was probably starting to wear off, but he had no intention of leaving things halfway. Raising his tired eyes to his boyfriend, he quietly said:

"How about apologizing to me?"

Minato’s dumbfounded expression was worth the question.

"What?"

"I’m saying," Gojo repeated slowly, as if explaining new material to his students so they wouldn’t miss a single important detail, "how about you apologize to me?"

Minato finally removed his hands from his car, yet he remained silent before him, as if he still didn’t understand what was expected of him. As if actual words of apology were something distant, incomprehensible, and new for him, as if he only knew apologies in the form he had delivered earlier: with sarcasm, with anger.

"You don’t get it? Then let me break it down for you." Satoru kept looking into his boyfriend’s eyes and began counting off points on his fingers. "You acted like a complete asshole all evening. You insulted Utahime in front of me again, even though you know she’s my best friend and was with me even before you were in my life. You made me cry tonight with your indifference. You didn’t kiss me when you had the chance. But if that’s too much for you — public displays of affection — well, by the way: you didn’t kiss me at all today like you really mean it, not once."

Satoru took a deep breath, not averting his eyes from Minato, who was looking at him with indifference, and raised his other hand, continuing to count on his fingers.

"You didn’t ask how I’m feeling today, even though I told you yesterday that I had a fever. You didn’t check on me today here, even though you know perfectly well I can’t handle loud noises and bright lights. You called me a whore twice in the last five minutes, so yes, I think I deserve at least one sincere ‘sorry’ from you. Don’t you think?" By the end of his tirade, Gojo’s chest heaved from the broken breath, as if he had run several miles rather than just voiced everything he’d been stewing over all evening, and perhaps even longer. "And yeah, happy fucking anniversary or whatever. Your big fancy present of nothing is really wonderful by the way, thank you."

After that, silence fell.

With every passing second of quiet, Gojo felt his temples throb, his heart beating heavily. In the background, the stadium roared again, like a single constant amid the chaos happening right in front of his car. Gojo was almost certain he wouldn’t hear any apology from Minato — and he was right, as the boy only reopened the driver’s side door and climbed into the car.

A bitter laugh escaped Gojo’s lips. He stood on the street for a few more seconds, and finally, shaking his head and muttering a quiet 'unbelievable', he slid into the car himself.

Minato’s phone was already in its rightful place on the dashboard, GPS on, the blue arrow of their car and the mapped route glowing on his smartphone screen. Still jaw-clenched, he started the car and, glancing in the rearview mirror, began backing up. The cabin filled again with awkward silence and incredible tension, which Satoru seemed able to feel on the tip of his tongue. They had just started passing the entrance they had both exited from the stadium, and the blond boy had already fastened his seatbelt, mentally preparing for the same (if not worse) ride they had taken to the stadium, when the car abruptly stopped.

And luckily, they were going slow, and Gojo managed to secure his seatbelt, or he would have definitely hit his head on the glove compartment. He jerked his head toward Minato, scowl already on his face. The other muttered quietly, complaining about it being his fault for leaving his cardigan at the stadium, then silently got out of the car and headed back toward the entrance.

Exhaling heavily, Gojo relaxed into the seat of his still-running car and took out his phone to kill time while Minato returned from the stadium. He was scrolling through TikTok, trying to lift his mood with stupid memes or videos of cats, when the sound of a notification pulled his attention from the feed. He looked up at the phone screen too late, as the message had already disappeared, and he would have gone back to watching cute kitten videos or “interesting” space facts — or even checked in with Utahime with a quick update about Minato — if the next message that appeared on his boyfriend’s phone screen hadn’t made the blood in his veins freeze.

Haruko
are you free already? missed you❤️

For a moment, Gojo simply couldn’t move. The message had long since disappeared from the phone screen, leaving only their location visible on Google Maps, yet the words and the sender’s name were still imprinted in his mind. Hesitantly, Gojo lifted his eyes to the windshield and scanned the empty, brightly lit parking lot.

At eighteen, when his hormones had started raging at full force and his libido was exactly what it should be for a healthy, average teenager, he slept with anyone and everyone. One night he could be with a girl who swore endless affection for him, and the next evening — he’d go to a party and sleep with another. They were always nameless, brief, fleeting distractions. And though Satoru didn’t understand back then what exactly these distractions were for, he always made it clear that there was no future in their little affairs. That it was nothing more than a fling.

He said it prematurely, the girl smiled sweetly, happy just for the chance to sleep with the most popular boy in school, and later in college too (of course, until Satoru came to terms with his orientation; after that, the "rule" applied to guys as well). But that was before serious relationships with Minato, before relationships in general. Sure, he could have been a heartbreaker in school or on campus, a well-known lover boy who only ever broke hearts; date anyone, or add some spice to his life by seeing two or three girls or guys at once. He could.

But why?

The concept never made sense to him.

He had tried several times to imagine himself in that situation — could he be in a relationship with two people, cheating? And every time, he came to the same conclusion: it’s wrong. Not just ugly or gross or even dumb, no. Just wrong. Why tie yourself to one person if you’re going to sleep with someone else behind their back? You can’t fully give yourself to the person you’re dating, and the other person in your fling doesn’t get you fully either, because you’re still committed in a relationship — you can’t just split yourself. What’s the point of that stupidity?

If you don’t love the person you’re with anymore, why stay? If your eyes have already landed on someone else, if your heart no longer belongs to them, then why even bother?

Adrenaline?

Want adrenaline — jump off a building, dickhead.

Satoru had only once imagined being cheated on before (again, at that period form eighteen to twenty years old), and… he simply couldn’t wrap his head around it. Sure, he was great, more than just handsome (honestly, he was sure that in the dictionary next to "exquisite", his full name should be a synonym); the life of the party, funny, not a heavy personality at all, no matter what Utahime said. And while some of that was, of course, joking, he knew he wasn’t a bad person. And when he imagined someone cheating on him back then, a terrible fear washed over him.

At first, because of that fear, he didn’t even want any relationships. Because being in a relationship isn’t just trying — it’s risking: risking vulnerability, your emotions, your trust. Risking being abandoned and broken. He knew he couldn’t avoid relationships forever, but he promised himself he would do everything possible to be the perfect boyfriend. If only he found someone with whom he had a strong enough connection, he would be just that: perfect. He would buy flowers and give gifts, be attentive and caring, be romantic and loyal, and never betray that person.

And when, around twenty, Gojo was in a relationship with a girl and realized he liked someone else (he had just met a regular customer at the café where he worked part-time, and they felt a mutual attraction), he — being a billion percent sure he couldn’t live while cheating — immediately told his girlfriend that nothing could exist between them because he liked someone else.

Of course, in an ideal world, they would smile at each other, shake hands, and part on good terms, but real life wasn’t so easy. There were tears, endless questions of "is something wrong with me?" and attempts by his girlfriend to delay the breakup, begging him for one more chance, maybe a break, maybe just some way to fix their relationship. Even if she didn’t know how.

And Emiko — his ex — wasn’t a bad girl, truly. She loved going to cheesy horror movies with him, which made the smallest box office, read a lot of books, and wrote poetry herself. They shared interests in music; she loved walking in the park in autumn and cats. But Gojo realized he simply didn’t see his future with her.

Just like that.

That simple.

Of course, his crush on her did not had faded in a single day, or after that sudden encounter with a stranger in a café (with whom, by the way, nothing came of it — they just slept together a few times, and then it turned out the guy had a fiancée. Ironic, really). He and the girl used to argue over trivial things, they rarely saw each other despite living only a few express-train stations apart. His decision to leave her had simply been waiting for the right moment — and that was it.

And maybe, around the same time, Gojo came to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter how good a person is, how perfect, how kind — that alone won’t change how you feel about them, won’t magically bind you to them for the rest of your life, like in his situation with Emiko. And despite understanding this, he still had that fixation in his mind: trying to be the perfect boyfriend in a relationship, no matter how hard he tried to distance himself from that instinct.

He didn’t know how long he sat like that, staring at the shifting shadows of passing cars on the asphalt, but long enough for the phone screen still in his hand to fade to black.

Strangely, he didn’t feel like his heart was about to burst out of his chest or shatter into a million pieces from the realization of what had just happened; no anxious thoughts clouded his mind. With one last quick glance at the stadium entrance where Minato had disappeared minutes ago, Satoru reached confidently for his phone.

Of course, he didn’t want to assume the worst right away. Maybe that really was his coworker’s name, and this was how they "joked" with each other, or maybe it was his cousin (whom Gojo had never known about or heard of). But the moment he opened the notification on his boyfriend’s phone, every doubt about the ambiguity of the situation vanished, and every excuse Gojo had tried to construct dissolved instantly.

He didn’t know what he expected to see in the messages. Maybe proof of his theory — that it really was a cousin he’d never mentioned, or at least something that would show he wasn’t pathetic enough for something like this to actually happen behind his back. But unfortunately…

There was nothing extreme in the chat, thank God. The usual "I miss you" and "I miss you more", the ordinary "сan’t wait for you to finally be with me", and heart emojis. A lot of heart emojis. A few lines from Minato telling the girl he couldn’t stand being around him anymore, that he was unbearable, that he annoyed him too much. The girl cooing at him, replying that she knew how to make Minato feel better, and…

Gojo locked the phone.

He turned off his Toyota and sat for a few seconds in complete silence and darkness, his hand still resting on the keys in the ignition. Then he pulled them out almost soundlessly, unbuckled his seatbelt, picked up both phones, and stepped out of the car. The night air filled his lungs again, and for a brief moment, breathing became a little easier.

He stood there for a bit, not straying far from the car, then locked it and headed toward the stadium entrance at an unhurried pace; the empty car left behind in the middle of the parking lot. He slipped the key ring over his left index finger, gripping it tightly in his palm, both phones in his right hand.

His face was no longer twisted in anger, though his heart still pounded heavily from the discovery he’d just made. His steps were steady, though deep down he could admit they were being made through sheer force of will, not because he felt remotely carefree. And even though he wanted to laugh and cry and scream and walk away from everything and just drive home right now, he kept his head straight and his expression calm. Because it was that simple, wasn’t it?

That was what finally clicked into place inside his head — everything turned out far more trivial than a proposal.

It was just cheating.

Something he believed could happen to anyone — except him. Something he had feared in his early twenties, thinking that if it ever happened in a relationship where he truly loved someone, he simply wouldn’t survive it. And yet here he was, approaching the stadium entrance, where the commentators’ voices still echoed, where the crowd roared like the surf on a hot summer day, where Minato was already coming down the stairs toward him, forgotten cardigan in hand.

He stopped a few steps away from the staircase leading up to the stadium, never once looking away from Minato. When the man reached the last steps, Gojo held out his phone, surprised himself by how even his voice sounded despite the storm of emotions raging inside him.

"You left your phone in the car."

Minato furrowed his brows slightly in confusion and hesitantly took the phone from Satoru’s outstretched hand. There was still that underlying tension in his tone — the same one that had lingered since their argument earlier — but he managed to steady himself enough to answer.

"Thanks, but we’re heading back to the car anyway, you didn’t have to—"

"Oh, no," Satoru interrupted firmly, "you misunderstood."

Blue eyes, cold now, stared into Minato’s dark green ones — eyes that had once drawn him in with their warmth. Gojo held the silence for a few seconds, looking into the eyes of the person he had loved all this time, the one he believed he could overcome any hardship with; the eyes he pictured whenever his soul felt heavy; the eyes he thought looked at him with the same sincere love he was so sure radiated from his own blue ones. Eyes he had wanted to look into for the rest of his life.

Eyes that had looked at him countless times while holding a painful truth.

Eyes that had, for a long time now, loved someone else.

"I’m going back to the car," Satoru announced, swallowing down his feelings and the bile rising in his throat once again. "You… Hah, honestly, I don’t really care what you’re going to do next. You can call a cab and go home, or, well, as I understand it, you had plans after the game, right? So go ahead and follow them — to Haruko, just like you were planning."

Silence fell for a few minutes.

Gojo watched something flicker through Minato’s eyes — so quickly he would’ve missed it if he’d blinked, yet he saw it. Something that might have been pain, or fear… or simply the realization that his little ‘secret’ wasn’t a secret anymore. The warm evening breeze rustled through Minato’s hair and the branches above them, casting warped shadows from the harsh streetlights.

Minato’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times before his whole face twisted in barely contained fury. His jaw was locked tight again, and his right hand gripped his phone with such force Gojo swore he heard something crack inside the device.

The green eyes were no longer confused — they were blazing. Sharp. The boy had clearly made up his mind about how things would unfold, and Gojo’s body tightened in anticipation of the inevitable when Minato took one long stride toward him. Now he was shamelessly invading Satoru’s personal space, their chests almost brushing. Satoru even had to tilt his head up slightly so he wouldn’t be the one to break eye contact.

His heart hammered in his chest — harder than he thought was physically possible. Satoru had been sure all the adrenaline had drained out of him long ago, that their earlier conversation had already robbed him of the strength to feel anything this intense. Yet the small organ kept pumping blood with ferocious speed, bracing for what was coming. Rage hummed in his ears, drowning out the sounds of the game just meters away, the music, the announcers, as Minato grabbed him by his white tank top and partly by the blue blouse beneath, creating new creases in the delicate fabric.

The green–eyed man’s nostrils flared with every breath, and the hand not holding the phone — the one fisted in Gojo’s clothes — yanked him even closer. Satoru clutched back just as tightly, hurling a silent challenge with his eyes, daring Minato to try hurting him. He heard the grind of teeth in front of him, heard his own heart pump a few more liters of blood through his veins, heard Minato’s breath shake as he finally spoke.

"You think you have the right to dig through my personal things?"

Gojo nearly laughed, though the situation they were in was anything but funny.

"You think you have the right to shove your dick into someone else when we’ve been together for six years?"

The shove from Minato was sharp, and Gojo almost stumbled over his own feet when the force knocked him back. He barely managed to stay upright and only for a split second let his gaze drop to the pavement — before all air left his lungs and a sharp pain tore through his body. He clutched his stomach, where the punch had landed, folding in half but still remaining on his feet. His eyes watered from the pain and lack of oxygen, his hands gripping helplessly at the delicate fabric of his favorite shirt, and his body, on the verge of collapsing, still held itself off the ground, bracing for another hit that didn’t come.

When Satoru finally forced his head up, he didn’t see Minato’s fist — the one he imagined would be seconds away from connecting with his face. He didn’t see his boyfriend’s furious expression — well, he guessed he could officially call him his ex–boyfriend now — nor the rage in his eyes. Instead, he saw another figure standing with its back toward him, forming a barrier between him and the beast on the other side who had been ready to… Satoru didn’t want to imagine what Minato could have done to him after he failed to dodge one punch.

When a sharp gust of wind hit Gojo’s face, the figure’s long black hair fell over their back. A shiver ran through Gojo again, but this time from an emotion he couldn’t name. He tried to calm his heart, which was still galloping in his chest, but the moment the stranger’s face turned toward him — revealing those anxious, honey–brown eyes — every attempt became useless.

Pushing through the sharp pain still slicing through his body, Gojo finally straightened up and found himself looking slightly down at the man before him. His breathing was still uneven, but now he couldn’t say for sure whether it was still because of the punch or because he could once again take in the unique beauty of the man from the stadium. He studied his face as if for the first time — those worried eyes and sharp nose, the thin brows and tense lips. Lips that had been on his what felt like hours ago, but in reality — just minutes. Despite everything, Gojo felt his cheeks heat with a flush.

"You fucker," came from ahead, and both men shifted their gaze to Minato, who still stood before them. Gojo noticed with surprise that Minato’s lip was split, blood running down his chin and dripping either onto the dark asphalt or his own shirt. With a sharp swipe of his hand he wiped his chin, though it didn’t change the fact that blood kept trickling down his face.

Satoru’s eyes returned to the stranger in front of him, and he finally noticed the man standing in a fighting stance, ready for anything, fists clenched. And even though it wasn’t hard to piece together what must’ve happened in the moment Gojo was fighting for air and balancing on the edge of collapsing to the ground, it still stunned him that a literal stranger had been willing to stand up for him. His shoulders dropped with relief, and only then did he realize how tense he’d been this entire time.

Minato didn’t try to wipe his face again; instead he took a quick step forward — but stopped just as abruptly when the man before him raised both arms, keeping his fighting stance with no apparent effort.

He definitely has martial arts experience, Satoru thought with a spark of awe. He only regretted that he himself hadn’t taken judo or aikido back when his father insisted on it. This was probably the first moment in his life when the old man’s advice would’ve actually been useful.

And though Minato stopped, likely still feeling the ache from the blow to his face, his expression remained just as furious as before. A harsh laugh escaped him, followed by a grimace of pain as his right hand reached toward his bruised lip.

"And you have the fucking nerve to accuse me of something?" he spat, lifting his head to meet Gojo’s eyes. "To say anything to me, when your little bitch — the one you’ve clearly been screwing this whole time — is standing right here defending you?"

Gojo’s eyes widened in shock. His first instinct would’ve been to defend himself, to say it wasn’t true and that Minato had it completely wrong — that he’d never seen this man before and it really was just a coincidence that he happened to be here, right now, and stepped in. A discomforting weight of guilt settled in his chest, a guilt he didn’t even have, and every fiber of his being screamed at him to say something, to defend himself, to prove the accusation meaningless.

And just as he opened his mouth to say even a fragment of the chaotic thoughts rushing through his head, it felt as if the entire world held its breath.

"Fuck off."

Not exactly what he had been about to say.

To be honest, this was a complete one–eighty from what he’d planned to say at the very beginning — yet once the words flew out of his mouth, he didn’t find a single drop of regret in them. He met Minato’s eyes across from him and caught, at the edge of his vision, how the man in front of him tensed up even more — maybe preparing for a possible strike from his ex-boyfriend, or maybe simply because, just like Gojo himself, he hadn’t expected those words.

Like a fish hauled onto a boat and left without water, Minato stood there with wide eyes and an open mouth, trying to string together even a single word. “What?”

“Fuck. Off! Just go fuck yourself and your Haruko.” Gojo said, his own hands curling into fists. His voice was cold, unlike the summer evening in which they all found themselves today. His entire body shook with anger toward the person who had cheated on him, who stood in front of him and still had the nerve to accuse him of anything. All the years he’d endured, all the insults he’d swallowed, the coldness, the hatred toward him and his friends — it all poured out in one short, but meaningful sentence. And Gojo had nothing else to add, nor did he want to.

That was all, after all the wasted years, that Gojo could say to this man. Nothing more, nothing less.

Minato burst into loud laughter then, echoing across the parking lot like seagulls screaming over a crowded tourist beach. He shook from the force of it, clutching his stomach the same way Gojo had earlier after the punch, bending almost in half. When the last remnants of his laughter finally faded, Minato took a few steadying breaths and then, with a crooked smile, looked at the pair before him. “I love you too, darling.”

Shaking his head, Minato seemed to decide the conversation was over — or maybe he was just bored, or maybe his other lover truly was waiting for him. He turned away, still gripping his phone tightly in one hand, and took several steps. Only then did the man in front of Gojo let his shoulders drop once more and straighten out of his fighting stance. His eyes, like Gojo’s, were fixed on the figure confidently walking away from them. And just when they both thought Minato would turn onto the sidewalk leading out of the parking lot, he spun around and shouted, voice dripping with satisfaction:

“The problem was always you, Gojo!”

Then he turned again and disappeared behind the tall fence enclosing the lot.

Strangely, it hit harder than the punch to his stomach earlier. This time he wasn’t doubled over, knees nearly touching the ground — there was still air in his lungs. And yet Satoru realized he couldn’t breathe out or breathe in. His heart clenched painfully in his chest and he shut his eyes.

Was that really true? Had the problem always been him?

And before the first poisonous thoughts could crawl into his mind — showing him every moment he’d been too annoying or too loud, before his cunning brain could even begin processing the idea that he might truly be to blame for his past actions — a hand touched his forearm, and Gojo’s azure eyes shot open in surprise. He had forgotten he wasn’t alone.

Those eyes were there again, filled with nothing but genuine worry. The wind played with the same unruly lock of hair that, just as Gojo had guessed, kept falling into the man’s face — though he didn’t seem to care at all.

"Are you alright? How are you feeling?"

Gojo suddenly remembered how to breathe, and for the first time since he’d heard Minato’s last words, he took a deep breath. He immediately regretted it when his lungs protested, and instead of a normal, steady inhale, he practically choked on the air. After coughing a little, with the stranger’s hand still resting on his left forearm, Gojo grabbed the man’s shoulder with his right hand for stability.

When he realized he could breathe and speak normally again, he lifted his head toward the man once more — and only then understood just how perfectly that calm, gentle voice suited such a face.

"Yeah," Satoru rasped. Not exactly speaking normally, but speaking nonetheless. "Yeah, thanks. It definitely would've been worse if you weren’t here."

Gojo gave the man a soft smile. His shoulders relaxed even more, and he lifted his hand from Satoru’s forearm; Satoru’s own hand slipped from the man’s shoulder a moment later. The place where the stranger had touched him radiated a pleasant warmth, just like his lips had after that kiss. The storm and turmoil faded in the amber eyes before him, though not completely. Suddenly, guilt twisted across his face.

"Sorry I didn’t get there in time. I guess it’s my fault — I shouldn’t have… back at the stadium—"

"It’s okay," Gojo hurried to reassure him. He really didn’t like that this man felt guilty because Minato had been an asshole to him. This hadn’t happened in a single evening, or an hour, or even from one kiss on a kiss-cam at a baseball game. This conversation should’ve happened a long time ago, even if under different circumstances — but the result would’ve been the same.

The man in front of him fell silent, still glancing at Gojo with uncertainty, and Satoru couldn’t stand it. Trying to sound as carefree as possible about the whole situation, he shrugged and voiced part of his thoughts without diving into details. "He’s been an asshole for a long time. Shame it took me six whole years and a kiss at some random baseball game to finally see it."

If possible, the other guy’s expression grew even more guilty. "I’m sorry…"

Gojo let out a laugh. Not tense or forced — a real one. He knew the dimple on the left side of his face became more noticeable than the one on the right. His eyes sparkled with unhidden joy.

"I’m telling you he’s an asshole, and you’re telling me you’re sorry. Relax, dude, it’s fine." He playfully punched the guy’s shoulder with his fist.

The man’s brown eyes widened, his brows drew together — and then, after a second of being stunned, the corners of his lips lifted in the faintest smile. He dropped his gaze to the ground for a moment, then shook his head and looked back at Gojo.

"Whatever you say, dude," he mimicked.

If possible, Gojo’s smile grew even wider. "Hey, what’s with that tone? Got a problem with it?"

"Well, aside from the part where I kissed you in front of thousands of people half an hour ago — no, please, go ahead and keep calling me ‘dude.’"

Gojo felt treacherous warmth creeping up his neck, and he knew it would reach his pale cheeks any second. Biting back the smile that wanted to spread again from the stranger’s comment, he looked away. He knew the heat blooming on his face was mostly from embarrassment — though he couldn’t deny the fact that he enjoyed trading playful lines with this man. After all, simply having him nearby had this inexplicably calming effect; instead of a heavy stone pressing against his chest from everything that had happened, there was only a gentle warmth and a sense of completeness.

Satoru’s blue eyes drifted back to the night sky above, the soft shimmer of stars scattered across its dark canvas. And for the first time that evening, he allowed himself to breathe freely — fully — and relax. The stars winked down at him the way they always had throughout his life, ever since he became fascinated with space and the universe. He smiled up at them, feeling much lighter.

Whatever the next day would bring, he was certain things would turn out fine. Minato would no longer be by his side — a presence that had been constant for years — but he was more than sure that this was a good change, not a bad one. Utahime would definitely thank him for it.

His earlier tears felt distant now, as if years had passed since his emotional meltdown at home, and not just a few hours. Satoru felt the smile fade from his face — not because sadness returned or doubt crept in (and though the situation with Minato wasn’t pleasant, and he did have plenty to reflect on, he was sure Utahime would dispel any lingering doubts). It was simply that the long-awaited calm finally settled in both his mind and body.

For several minutes he forgot about everything around him, and with the sole thought of finally getting home, he lowered his gaze from the sky. He started to move toward his car — but stopped when he met the warm brown eyes watching him. Realizing he’d been silent for far too long, lost in his thoughts again and forgetting, once more, that he wasn’t alone, Satoru felt his ears and cheeks burn. The stranger only smiled softly at him.

"Hi you."

Caught in his dreamy daze or not, Satoru smiled back. "Hi." Awkwardly rubbing his neck, he stepped back, still keeping his gaze on the stranger. "Um, thank you… for everything, honestly, even though you really didn’t have to. So, uh, unless he’s waiting around the corner to punch me again, I should probably…” He gestured toward his car behind him, still parked in the middle of the lot.

The man’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, though he quickly composed himself and gave another short nod. Satoru took a few more steps backward, still looking at him. He exhaled, nodded, and finally turned away, heading toward his car.

"Be safe," he heard behind him. But when he turned back, he saw only the man walking away toward the stadium.

The trip home turned out quiet. Whether it was because of the game or the late hour, there was almost no traffic on the road. Satoru still wasn’t used to being behind the wheel himself. To be honest, he rarely drove, even though he had a license; most of the time, his role was to sit in the passenger seat and not get in Minato’s way — and now those days were behind him. He’d probably have to get used to doing everything on his own now. And, perhaps, that thought should have felt somewhat frightening, because all these years he had always been able to rely on his boyfriend — yet instead, he felt only relief. He would finally be doing everything by himself. Was it too early to be happy about things like that, when barely half an hour ago he’d broken up with his boyfriend?

His building stood in semi-darkness, with a bright light glowing here and there in the windows, like strange combinations of tic-tac-toe. Satoru locked his car behind him and headed inside. The entrance doors beeped loudly when he tapped his card to go in, and the lobby greeted him with a pleasant warm light. An elderly lady, Mrs. Kato, who was working the reception tonight, smiled at him sweetly, and he smiled back. Wishing the old woman a good evening, he made his way to the elevator.

When, on the seventeenth floor, he unlocked the door to his apartment almost soundlessly, he was met with silence for the second time that evening.

Everything looked exactly the way he’d left it. The blanket on the couch, half on the floor; two mugs on the coffee table from the overly sweet cocoa he’d had during the day; the dark zip-up hoodie on the back of the kitchen chair, the one he’d thought to wear and then decided against (in reallity, it's Utahime had told him it didn’t match his look for today). Gojo closed the door behind him, shutting it and leaving the keys in the lock. He stepped out of his loafers at the genkan and paused for a few moments, exhaling heavily and closing his eyes. He’d probably need to think soon about changing the locks, because Minato still had a spare key.

He moved through the apartment the way he would on any other day: swapped his outdoor shoes for soft slippers, drank a glass of water for the night and filled another to keep on his nightstand; in his room, Gojo changed into a slightly oversized black t-shirt and athletic shorts, and the clothes he’d worn to today’s game, he stuffed into the closet haphazardly, shutting the door quickly when they almost fell out from the top shelf.

He collapsed onto his bed with a heavy exhale and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He could still see fragments of today flashing behind his eyelids, replaying his day over and over. A quiet morning in bed and breakfast made of his favorite sweet strawberry pancakes, the pre-game nerves, choosing his outfit with Utahime over FaceTime, and, of course, his long-awaited date with Minato. Satoru opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. He really would have to call his friend first thing and tell her how the evening ended. He could already imagine how, even through her tone alone, Iori would make it clear just how badly she’d want to kill Minato after what happened in the parking lot. The very thought of her murderous aura, and also her worry for him, made him smile.

Crawling under the blanket, he turned off the nightlight, but the reflections of street lamps and shadows still played on the wall above his head. Aside from the occasional noise of cars, the soft wind rustling the leaves, and his own heartbeat, the room stood in silence. Gojo closed his eyes again, and faint visions drifted behind his eyelids once more.

There he was, in front of the mirror in his outfit, a slight nervous tremble running through his body. The argument with Minato and the repulsive tone in his voice when he mentioned Utahime. Gojo snapping. The scenes flickered like an old film reel before him, as if by with a wave оf a magic wand carried him even further. The parking lot, the sound of the stadium like a single living organism. Minato’s shout. The anger in his eyes and the desire to do something to him. Something more than just a punch to the stomach.

Satoru frowned, trying to push away the negative memories, though he didn’t open his eyes. He’d had enough negativity for today — why would he remind himself of it again?

Trying to focus on something pleasant, he found himself once more at the stadium, among thousands of strangers. The noise and thrill of the game, the fans’ energy, the constant hum all around. Satoru smiled. Yes, though everything leading up to it wasn’t exactly pleasant, the game itself had been good, and he’d focused more on the atmosphere and feelings around him than on his own mood — so he really had spent a rather nice evening.

The ball in the air, the sound of bats.

The roar of the stadium, the commentators’ voices.

The kiss-cam and his own face on the screen.

Someone’s soft lips on his own.

Gojo felt his breath catch, but he still didn’t open his eyes. This time, he wanted to stay in that moment a little longer. In his mind, he once again traced the stranger’s face and his warm brown eyes, his long hair and thin brows, his broad neck and sharp jawline — and as soon as his memories of the day moved further along the script and he heard Minato’s "you whore", he forced himself to start over from the beginning: from the first brush of the stranger’s lips against his own, the first glance from those kind eyes.

With every new repetition, he tried harder and harder to study the man’s face, trying to understand what he had been thinking then. Had he regretted kissing him — not just because Satoru’s boyfriend was sitting right beside him or because, as he’d said later, he had triggered a fight between them. Stripping away all those "it’s my fault", had he truly regretted kissing him at all? And each time, the world around them slowed further, until at some point Gojo began to feel as though he saw things he hadn’t noticed before: tenderness and curiosity in the man’s gaze — as well as desire.

Gojo rose from the bed when he heard a quiet knock at the door. His bare feet met the cool floor of his bedroom, and he didn’t bother reaching for the switch to turn on the night-light or the hallway light as he made his way to the entrance; he knew his apartment like the back of his hand, and out of habit stepped over the one floorboard that always creaked loudly. At the door, he paused, ran his hand over the wood, and didn’t even glance through the peephole before opening it. Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t see Minato there — and he was right. Minato would never knock so gently, so softly, especially after what had happened earlier.

A man stood before him. A few centimeters shorter than Satoru, with a silly but incredibly cute bangs falling over the left side of his face and gentle eyes, he looked just as breathtaking as he had a few hours ago. He took one step forward, and Satoru, giving him space and room to move, stepped back. They looked into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity, until the man with long black hair took another step forward — and then another.

At some point, Satoru stopped moving back, having stepped past the genkan, and allowed him to come close enough that he could feel the man’s warm breath on his lips.

He didn’t hear the door quietly close behind him; he didn’t notice the man slipping off his shoes in the genkan or how his black denim jacket fell onto the floor. Satoru didn’t know why he was here — but when the man’s lips met his again, it was as if everything inside him fell silent and exploded all at once. Like the Big Bang that created all life and the entire Universe — soundless in its infinity, yet so bright and so overwhelming.

Gojo felt not only the wild beating of his heart but also the steady work of his lungs, which almost immediately began to lack air. His knees weakened under the weight of emotion and desire, from the fervent kiss and the man’s tongue suddenly brushing against his, gently sucking. Satoru’s hands finally found the black hair that fell in loose waves around his shoulders and back, and he tightened his grip, unwilling to let go. The man’s hands, in turn, grabbed his waist, then his ass, lifting him easily off the ground. Satoru’s legs wrapped around him almost on reflex, and he let out a quiet moan. Gojo felt something inside him expand — something not found in anatomy books. His soul seemed to respond to this man — his movements, his lips — as if he were its only salvation in this world, the single lighthouse it reached for like a lost ship.

The sense of elevation, completeness, didn’t leave him even when his back met the bed again, their lips no longer pressed together in a fevered kiss, and his hands fell helplessly beside his head. Tearing his gaze from the kiss-swollen lips above him, Satoru met the insatiable eyes of the man hovering over him, one knee between Satoru’s slightly parted legs.

His dark hair fell forward from his shoulders, shutting out everything around them; Gojo could see nothing but that beautiful face above him. The soft bed beneath him, the gentle face, the warm eyes and red lips leaning over him — it was the best combination he could ever imagine. The light-haired man couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sight before him when, suddenly, the hungry eyes above him dropped to his chest. A second later, the man’s uneven breath scorched the spot where his lips closed around Satoru’s nipple. Strong hands grasped his waist — careful but certain — squeezing with greedy intent and drawing more moans from him. After circling his left bud with his tongue, those burning lips moved on, carving a path upward: from his chest to his collarbones, to his neck and beyond, until they reached his ear. The warm air made his whole body tremble with anticipation, and the teeth that gently tugged at his earlobe made him arch.

"Satoru—"

Startled, Gojo’s eyes flew open, his left hand dropping sharply onto the other side of the bed. Half-asleep, he couldn’t understand why the stranger wasn’t beside him in bed, why everything had suddenly stopped — and then his brain caught up with reality. And even though the remnants of sleep slowly began to fade, he could still feel how hard he was.

Satoru covered his face with both hands, groaning helplessly into the silence of his empty room.

I don’t even know his name…

The next three weeks flew by almost unnoticed.

Satoru had started coming to the university again to catch up and prepare for the new academic year, and he had finally found the time for something he’d always wanted to do but was never confident enough about: he began writing his first book. Well, “began writing” was a bit of a stretch. More like he began gathering and sorting material, still choosing the best topic to explore, but the final goal was the same: to finally publish his own book.

After that baseball game he’d attended almost a month ago, he thought he would have a hard time coping with the breakup with his boyfriend, but everything turned out much simpler. Yes, of course, at first he had days when he felt absolutely awful: he couldn’t leave the apartment, and the very thought of doing anything at all felt like an impossible task. On the worst days, he didn’t get out of bed and, as theatrical as it might sound, mourned his six-year relationship. On those days, Gojo blamed himself for their end — and especially for Minato’s cheating. It was a good thing Utahime was there to constantly remind him that none of it was his fault.

On the good days, Satoru was glad he had finally found the courage to leave someone who likely had never respected him in the first place. On those days, the sun shone brighter, the sky looked bluer, and all his anxious thoughts vanished like lone clouds scattered by a strong August wind.

Utahime was ecstatic.

As if she were the one who dumped Minato and told him to fuck off — not Gojo.

Still, she really couldn’t help but be happy. Not only had her friend finally found peace and started rediscovering his confidence, but the one constant in his life that had been poisoning his environment and devaluing everyone around him had finally disappeared. In general, Satoru had known her reaction would be priceless, and he wasn’t wrong when he finally told her the next day what exactly had happened that evening. He called her the following morning, and before she could start scolding him for waking her up so early (geez, it was ten-thirty, who even sleeps at that hour?), he told her that he’d broken up with Minato. From the way she shrieked into the phone, his right ear was ringing the entire rest of the day — but to say she was happy would be the understatement of the century. After that, they met up for coffee and he told her everything in more detail: about Minato’s distance and secrecy, about his comment about her, about the failed game and the fight. About his cheating. About how Minato hit him in the parking lot and how a stranger stood up for him. About how Satoru told Minato to go exactly where he should’ve sent him the very first time he humiliated him.

Seeing each other in person for the first time in months — thanks to Utahime being busy with her new HR position at a modeling agency — was worth her priceless reaction when Satoru told her about… The Shibuya Incident in the final seconds of the inning break at the baseball game. The girl’s chocolate-colored eyes nearly popped out of her head, her mouth hanging open. Gojo just scooped some cherry confit from her tart plate and put it into her mouth, feeling the slightest flush warm his cheeks. No matter how many times he thought about the incident, it still seemed just as vivid as the first time.

He refused to call it a kiss afterwards, because it had been barely a brush of lips, so the word incident became the perfect substitute in his mind. And as much as he wished otherwise, the conversations about the incident didn’t stop immediately. Utahime kept asking him for details, though he couldn’t tell her much at all. It had been quick, unexpected and… pleasant. Was he scared that some stranger had kissed him in front of thousands of people? Honestly, not really. If anything, it was more frightening that their moment of closeness had been on display for an entire stadium, but the kiss itself wasn’t scary. It wasn’t frightening, or creepy, or disgusting — though all of that probably should have been present at the time because… Well, how would you feel if a complete stranger kissed you while your (shitty, but still) boyfriend was sitting right next to you? Slap the stranger? Scream? Yes. And that would be a perfectly normal reaction to such an act. And honestly, it’s a rather unpleasant experience for any ordinary person. However, Gojo hadn’t felt any of that — not in the moment, nor in the days that followed. No disgust, no fear. Just a strange feeling in his chest, a sense of being lost, and an unshakable pull toward that stranger.

Still, he couldn’t explain any of this — not to Utahime, and not even to himself — so he kept it in secret. And overall, there wasn’t much else to tell her. He broke up with Minato. He kissed — well, had an incident with — a very hot guy. And then his life went back to the same rhythm it had before, but with a few changes. Now he could enjoy walking in the park for hours, at least until he started going to the university again. He could eat a double serving of pancakes at that café in Roppongi, even if he had to take several express train stops to get there. He could finally talk to Utahime as much as he wanted. Well, until the girl herself told him she had to run. His life got better; his old habits returned — the ones he had spent so long trying to abandon just to please his ex-boyfriend.

He had started quietly humming Miki Matsubara songs again under the soft crackle of his long-forgotten vinyl player while he washed the dishes, turning up the volume whenever his favorite parts came on. In the evenings, he would switch on warm lamps and put on long-forgotten old Studio Ghibli films or episodes of his favorite Digimon — which Minato had never liked.

His thoughts stopped circling around "the proper way to do things" and began drifting more toward "how i want It to do". He finally began to appreciate his evenings and his days, his meals and his cocoa breaks. Satoru started enjoying the fact that he was alone — but definitely not lonely.

And his life truly did turn for the better after he left Minato. Color returned to it; he began to feel his age again and not like some seventy-year-old man who no longer found joy in walks, cafés, or festivals. Everything became fine, even wonderful, except…

The dreams about the stranger would not stop.

They were just as vivid and intense as the first time he’d dreamed of him. Some nights he opened the door of his apartment after a soft knock, and the man simply devoured him afterwards. On others, he was outside, at a café, or just in the park, and a muscular figure with broad shoulders and long black hair came up behind him, wrapping arms around his waist as if that were their rightful place, and kissed him on the lips the moment he turned around. On other nights — nothing like that happened. No kissing, no sex. The two of them lay on the grass in a park under the midday sun, watching clouds pass by as they talked, or they sat together on Satoru’s couch in silence, leaning against one another. And that was enough. But every time he woke up, Gojo felt that same warmth in his chest whenever he dreamed of long black hair and piercing brown eyes — along with a strange sadness that grew stronger each day.

Now Gojo was at the department, and he was supposed to be thinking and planning lectures that would start in just a week and a half, but instead he sat in front of his open laptop, where the cursor blinked accusingly on a blank document, and wondered how on earth he’d ended up like this.

It was just a kiss! Just one (1) kiss! Uh — incident. Not a sex marathon, not an unforgettable romance, not the adventure of his life with a happy ending where everyone lived long and happily ever after. Just someone’s decision to kiss him, and now he literally felt cursed. Because wherever he went, whatever he did, it seemed like the memory of that kiss followed him.

Suddenly there was an absurd spike in ads for lip balms, and the models suspiciously had the same plumpness as the mysterious man. Then, on the subway or in the park, at cafés or in shopping malls, he started noticing long-haired men with all kinds of hairstyles more and more often. The next day, among the passersby, someone had the exact same perfume as the stranger — or eyes of the same shade.

After a day like that, Gojo would come home, drink a double cocoa with marshmallows (he needed it after a stressful day like that, okay?), and go to sleep — only to dream of long black strands slipping through his fingers, broad shoulders he wrapped his arms around, and those same eyes that wouldn’t stop haunting him even in his dreams.

The worst part was that the next morning he would, as always, wake up hard like some teenager from a wet dream, and with a sense of guilt shove his hand into his boxers just to finally give himself at least some relief — and then the day would go into a new cycle, and he’d be in the exact same position the following morning. The only thing worse than that was falling asleep and not seeing that man in his dreams, the way he had grown so used to. Days after such nights seemed to lose their color.

But the shittiest part was that he couldn’t do anything about it. Not because he doesn't want to, but because he doesn't know.

He knew nothing. Not the stranger’s name, not his phone number, not his social media, not whether he even lived in this city or had just come to the game from another country (what? event tourism exists for a reason). And the lack of information — and his complete helplessness — made him scream into his pillow more than once in frustration throughout the past month.

No. Scratch everything above. The actual shittiest thing in all of this was Uta­hime’s comments. She’d called him an idiot at least fifty times and repeated at least twenty times that back at the parking lot he’d had the chance to ask for that stranger’s number and that maybe the stranger himself had wanted to ask for his, but Satoru had simply decided it was time to go home. She still laughed at his misery, though lately her teasing had slowed a bit, since she’d begun noticing the whole situation genuinely weighed on him.

Of course — what could be better than wasted opportunities?

Satoru groaned and lowered his head into his hands.

"It’s like I’m watching some extremely long k-drama where it physically hurts to see the main character suffering, but it’s so captivating I can’t switch the channel."

Gojщ lifted his head and tiredly glanced at his colleague. Yuki Tsukumo, his colleague from quantum mechanics and simply a person who absolutely adored gossip, scrunched her face the moment their eyes met.

"Oh, come on, you don’t have to look at me like I just bankrupted your entire family." She shut the door behind her and hopped onto the desk across from him. The woman took off her leather jacket and let down her blonde hair, which she’d been keeping in a high ponytail until now. She massaged her scalp for a few seconds, fluffed her bangs, and winked when she noticed he couldn’t look away. Satoru only rolled his eyes silently. "So what happened? Trouble in paradice?"

Yuki was one of the few people at the university who knew he’d been in a relationship. And not just any relationship — a relationship with a guy. Not that he had been hiding it or ashamed of his orientation; it simply wasn’t something that concerned his professional life. Yuki had just once seen him and Minato arguing — one of those rare moments Minato actually visited him on campus — and afterward she saw them making up with a kiss in an empty hallway, so she’d made it her habit to ask about his relationship constantly. It was nice to know she genuinely cared and had nothing against it, and supported him in her own… unique way. With constant jokes, teasing, and mild roasting. But all within reasonable limits, of course.

Satoru groaned again, but this time because Yuki knew nothing. Not about Minato, not about the incident (he still calls it that or has Satoru already accepted that it was a kiss?). The mere thought of having to retell everything, the way he’d told it all to Utahime, was enough to send him into depression.

"Let’s just say," he sighed, leaning back in his chair, "there’s no paradice left for there to be any trouble."

Yuki laughed shortly. "No offense, but I think he was an asshole and this is for the best."

Gojo allowed himself a small smile. "None taken, and I agree."

The girl first only nodded, then hopped off the desk (Yaga would murder her if he found out she’d been sitting at his desk). She walked across the empty office toward the window opposite them, stretching, and threw it wide open. Fresh air rushed into the stuffy room at once, along with a few still-green leaves. Autumn was approaching.

"So why that face?" she finally spoke again, turning back to Satoru. "That guy, what’s-his-name, Hikaru—"

"Minato."

"—Went to hell," she continued without acknowledging the correction, "and we both agree he’s an asshole, so nothing new there — it even managed to put a smile on your face. I get that now might come a speech about how he stole the best years of your life and blah-blah-blah, but I know you way too well for you to be upset about wasted time. So what’s wrong?"

Gojo bit his lip, averting his eyes from Tsukumo’s piercing stare to his laptop screen. It had dimmed almost to black, so he tapped the trackpad before it shut off completely, and the cursor blinked back at him from the empty document. He replayed last month’s events in his head once more and exhaled loudly.

"I got kissed."

"And from the look on your face, it's as if someone died."

"Well, that’s actually one of the reasons — one of many — why Minato and I broke up.” Gojo finished. Yuki was still looking at him with a raised eyebrow, so he let out a small laugh. "The kiss happened at Minato’s favorite team’s baseball game in front of thousands of people, while he was sitting right next to me."

That actually made Yuki whistle. "Damn, that’s way more interesting than any k-drama I’ve ever watched. Still doesn’t explain the face, by the way."

Gojo cursed under his breath, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. "I have absolutely no idea who it was, and I’ve spent a month not being able to get him out of my head."

When a few minutes passed after his confession and she still hadn’t answered, he pulled his hands away and looked at Yuki. She was still standing by the window, but now, instead of her usual calm, slightly teasing smile, her face was completely blank. Her dark-brown eyes seemed to stare into nothingness, ignoring his presence entirely. Gojo allowed himself a few seconds to take in this uncharacteristically silent version of his colleague before clapping his hands once, and she snapped back to the present, her eyes refocusing on him.

Honestly, he and Yuki were pretty similar — probably why they got along so well when she was first introduced as the new faculty member two years ago. Besides Utahime, she was his other close friend, though most of their conversations happened between lectures or at the rare university parties he barely attended because Minato forbid him to.

The blonde girl was just as loud and restless as he was, and he was sure their duo had given Yaga more than a few gray hairs over these short two years. Their communication was easy, and they clicked immediately into that effortless banter where every topic was open for discussion without judgment, and their professional debates could keep them talking for hours.

He knew Tsukumo as someone who wouldn’t just avoid judging him, but would openly support his little acts of rebellion against his now ex-boyfriend — or just in general life choices. So her silence now had the opposite effect of calming him down.

"Don’t freak me out like this," he muttered.

"Sorry, sorry," she waved her hand, smiling. "I was just thinking about what kind of print run I’d give this story if I actually knew how to write, and then my mind wandered to immeasurable riches, and honestly, I completely lost my train of thought. So, um… the kiss. And who’s the lucky one who gets the honor of kissing the one and only Satoru Gojo?"

He felt an overwhelming urge to start tearing his own hair out.

"I just told you, I don’t know!" he howled, throwing his hands up. "How did you miss that part in the sentence I literally just said to you?"

She shrugged. "Then what does he look like? Describe him, maybe I know him."

He looked at her as if she had just said the dumbest thing he had ever heard in his entire life. Maybe because it was the dumbest thing he had ever heard in his entire life.

"Are you serious right now? You’d have to know at least half of Tokyo for that assumption."

"Shoot your shot, loverboy," she grinned, climbing back onto the desk opposite him, this time hopping up with one leg and hooking her arm around it. Yaga was definitely going to kill her.

Satoru counted down from ten in his head and took a deep breath in, then out. Yuki was still staring at him expectantly. With light movements he began massaging his temples and glanced again at the empty document in front of him. He definitely wasn’t getting his lecture plan done today.

Slowly and reluctantly, the words began leaving his mouth, echoing softly in the empty office. He had imagined that face so many times, approached strangers on the metro by mistake so often that he should’ve been embarrassed. But he felt nothing except that familiar warm flutter in his chest when he finally started describing the man to his friend.

"He has long black hair and this funny little bang on the left side that kept falling into his face. Honestly, my hands were itching to tuck it behind his ear… He has thin eyebrows, and those eyes… fuck, I’ve never seen eyes more beautiful than his. They’re lighter than yours and a slightly different shade from Utahime’s— you remember Utahime, right?— but honestly I think calling hers just ‘brown’ is a crime against humanity. I think he has ear piercings, I didn’t get a close look, he’s maybe just a couple inches shorter than me, but his shoulders are definitely broader."

Satoru smiled, still staring at the screen that was dimming again. This time he made no effort to keep it awake.

"His deep baritone — it’s like balm for the soul. And everything he says I’d want to record and fall asleep to at night. And it’s so weird, I… I never felt anything like this for Minato. Not once in six years of dating him. And this man, with one kiss and one look from those eyes, made me feel like my soul was tied to him. Like I even had a soul to begin with."

"And he’s pretty strong," the man added after a short pause. "He punched Minato so hard he won’t forget it for a while, even if his lip is definitely healed by now."

The last comment came out a little dreamily, and Satoru himself wasn’t sure why he mentioned it. And while there was more to the story than what he’d told Yuki at the moment, he was certain she’d gotten more than enough — she definitely hadn’t asked for a full retelling of his evening or his fantasies about the man (as much as he adored Yuki, that would still be a bit too much).

Across from him, the girl let out a low 'hmm' and shrugged again. "No, sorry, I don’t know anybody who’d fit that description."

"Oh wow, Yuki, thank you so much for nothing."

Her bright laugh was a startling contrast to his monotone voice.

"I never promised you anything, silly." She stuck out her tongue in a very immature manner and laughed even harder at his expression. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the finches chirping outside the window. "Anyway, the reason I’m here…" she started suddenly.

"I thought your purpose was to make fun of me and my suffering over a guy I’ll never see again in my life." Gojo raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Besides that." She grinned, hopping off the desk again. She grabbed her jacket, slung it over her forearm, and headed toward the exit. Gojo frowned. "Yaga wants to see the lecture plans by six today."

"What the?.. We have at least a week left!"he protested. Then, remembering his empty page waiting behind the locked laptop screen: "How much do you have left?"

The girl placed her hand on the doorknob and looked at him over her shoulder. A mischievous smile played across her face.

"Oh, me? I already turned mine in."

"Traitor!" Gojo yelled, nearly tearing himself from his seat. "I can’t believe it! I’ve warmed a snake on my chest."

Tsukumo only laughed loudly as she opened the door. The draught lifted the curtains and rustled the papers on the tables.

"If you ever find your other Romeo, let me know. I’ll definitely write this story, become a rich author, quit this university and live off the profits of a book about two idiots for the rest of my life."

Down the university hallway echoed Gojo’s loud shout 'Don’t you dare!' and Yuki’s ringing laughter.

Masamichi Yaga received a hastily compiled lecture plan from Gojo at 12:01 a.m. and was then forced to send it back for revision four more times.

He’s going to meet Utahime. Again.

Yes, yes, it’s almost the start of the school year. Only three days left before he returns to university and dives back into teaching, but Utahime decided they urgently needed to meet. For the second time this month. Something about her going on a date with the same girl they had only been messaging before, and everything was fine… until she suggested meeting up in person.

Utahime is only brave when it comes to the relationships and love affairs of her close friends. When it comes to herself, though, the fear of screwing everything up kicks in, and she often backs off. That’s why several potential relationships ended before they even started—but this time, she liked this girl so much that she decided to drag Satoru into it.

And it’s not that he didn’t want to support her. Naturally, he loves her like a sister and would do anything to make her happy (after, of course, teasing her first — but she’d do the same), he just couldn’t understand one thing. How the hell is she going to explain to her date what he's doing with them on a date?

He understood that she needed his support, maybe even physical intervention, if her legs suddenly froze mid-step and fear pinned her in place. He’d seen it more than once when she hesitated back in high school while talking to her crushes, or when she would turn and walk away the opposite direction, seeing that the object of her affection was approaching, leaving a previous conversation with Satoru half-finished. So, of course, it was completely logical to him that he needed to be present at this meeting to make sure she didn’t chicken out and bolt from the café the moment she saw the silhouette of that girl.

But how was she going to explain that to the other girl? What would a stranger — and potential future girlfriend — think of this whole situation? Iori can’t just say he’s her friend and is helping her with her social anxiety, can she?

"I just said that you’re my friend and helping me with my social anxiety," Utahime mumbled, turning to the window, her cheeks already flushed.

Well, that was really that simple, Gojo thought to himself, biting into a lemon tart.

The café they’d chosen was quite cute and surprisingly not crowded. The table they were sitting at was right by a large window overlooking the bustling streets of the shopping district. The walls of the buildings outside glowed with various signs, and the mirrored surfaces reflected the soft light of the evening sun. When a sudden sunbeam caught Gojo, he turned away from the window, shielding the right side of his face with his hand. Only sunbeams hadn’t given him migraines yet, thank you very much.

Utahime was noticeably fidgeting in her seat. That evening, she had left her hair down, only sweeping her bangs to one side. She hadn’t fussed too much with makeup, just lined her eyes and put on a peachy lip gloss. Gojo knew this because when she greeted him, she had kissed him on the cheek, leaving behind the slightly unpleasant texture and scent of the gloss, after which she smiled at his expression. Gojo absolutely hated peaches.

Watching his friend tug the straps of her top up for the umpteenth time, Gojo let out a quiet tsk.

"Stop fidgeting, Hime. You look fine."

She just glared at him from under her brow.

"Easy for you to say! It’s not like it’s the first time you’re meeting in person a girl who lived in Kyoto all this time, who you’ve only been messaging for six months, who you’ve fallen head over heels for, and now she finally comes to Tokyo and invites you — not just a friendly meeting, but on a date!"

With each word, she was hissing more than speaking in a normal voice, and by the end of her speech, she looked like a predator ready to pounce at the slightest wrong move. Her ears were bright red. She was breathing heavily, still glancing at Gojo from the corner of her eye, her hands alternating between clenching and unclenching. She reminded him of an angry kitten, and Gojo barely restrained himself from cooing.

Satoru just smiled slightly and raised an eyebrow questioningly. "I don’t see why you should be worried. If she asked you out, I think that means the feelings are mutual. And if you actually told her that I’d be the third wheel not just for nothing, but to make you feel more comfortable because of social anxiety, and she took it calmly, then this girl is worth her weight in gold, and If I were you I would have come to this café with a ring already."

He scooped another bite of lemon tart from his plate and blinked happily as the sweet filling coated his taste buds. In fact, he didn’t really like lemons. It was actually the opposite of what he liked, to be honest. His favorite was strawberries and anything related to them: cheesecakes, pastries, tarts, mochi, baskets, cakes, pies — the list could go on forever. Name something with strawberries in it, and it’s automatically delicious. Lemon, on the other hand, is naturally sour, and if overdone in desserts, the zest can ruin the flavor with an unpleasant bitterness. But in the café Utahime had chosen for the date, the options were lemon tart, dark chocolate pastries, or profiteroles with meringue cream. And while dark chocolate desserts sounded like a bad idea, and the profiteroles — somehow filled with meringue instead of custard— made him want to call the police for a crime against taste, the lemon tart didn’t sound so bad after all.

However, as it turned out, the dessert itself was surprisingly decent. He’d already made a mental note to order three more to go before they left.

He had just taken a sip of his mocha (the barista gave him a very weird look when he told her his order and asked her to add two pumps of vanilla syrup to his coffee), when Utahime exhaled and leaned back against the couch across from him.

"She’s honestly wonderful," she said dreamily, not looking him in the eyes, her fingers anxiously fidgeting with the napkins on the table. After that, she finally glanced at him. "But you definitely won’t be the third wheel. When I told her that I’m still too scared to be alone with her and that you’d be there, she said she’d bring someone too."

The mocha Satoru had just swallowed nearly went up his nose.

"And you’re telling me this only now?!" he managed to choke out once he finally swallowed his drink. He looked down at himself, only just now remembering what exactly he’d worn to this meeting. He hadn’t been expecting anything from this evening — obviously the focus wasn’t supposed to be on him; this was Utahime’s date, not his. He hadn’t thought too much about what to wear, so the first t-shirt that fell out of his closet became the outfit of the night.

So now he was sitting here, in a green t-shirt with Agumon in the front, in black loose-fit jeans and old sneakers he’d forgotten to wash for about a week, eating a dessert in some unfamiliar café as if his life depended on it. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. Aside from looking like a thirteen-year-old kid savoring his final days of summer in his favorite clothes before he had to put on his school uniform again (which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely inaccurate — because in three days Satoru would have to wear things actually appropriate for the university dress code), he also looked like he’d just woken up. He hadn’t styled his hair at all, nor put on even a fraction of the makeup he wore even when teaching. So the lack of concealer under his eyes exposed his tired look and actually sleepless nights — the preparations for the academic year had done their part. And without a touch of blush on his cheeks, he looked like a ghost.

"What?" Iori even had the audacity to look confused.

"Seriously? This is literally a double date, and I look like my entire closet with normal clothes suddenly burned down!" Gojo hissed aggressively.

She just waved her hand dismissively. "Come on, it’s literally for one evening. You’ll see him only today and then you’ll forget about him, and he’ll forget about you."

"And what if he’s the love of my life?" he continued whining, partly because, well, you truly never know when you’ll meet your soulmate, but mostly just to annoy Utahime. She really did know how to set him up. Next to her, he looked even worse, which only made her look even prettier.

"Oh please. Judging by your comments for an entire month, you already met your ‘love’ at that football game."

"Baseball," he muttered, stuffing a larger piece of lemon tart into his mouth. Forget that he didn't apply any blush. A few more conversations like this and he definitely wouldn’t need any.

"'S' the same. So forget about how you look, it won’t — oh god! That’s her!" Utahime squeaked, loud enough that a few heads at nearby tables turned in their direction. "That’s Shoko!"

Her face transformed in an instant. Her irritated expression vanished without a trace, replaced by incredible softness and a sparkle in her chocolate-brown eyes. That expression suited her so well it seemed to shave a few years off her real age (not that she was old to begin with). And although the nervous movements of her hands didn’t stop, it was clear that she was genuinely happy to see her.

Satoru didn’t have to wait long before a girl — Shoko — was standing beside their table, looking down at Utahime with a similar expression. The latter shot up from her seat and threw her arms around the brunette, who, though surprised, still accepted the embrace, pulling her close. When they finally stepped away from each other, they were still observing one another with fascination, standing in close proximity. It felt as though no one else around them existed.

In the end, it was Utahime who broke the silence.

"Hi, Sho."

"Hi," Shoko smiled lightly in return. "I’m really glad to finally meet you. You look absolutely stunning."

Gojo watched as Utahime’s face gradually flushed red in real time. They exchanged pleasantries, and Iori stepped back from the girl, gesturing for her to join them at the table. Once they were seated together, Shoko finally turned her gaze toward him and—

Wow. He had never seen a smile vanish from someone’s face that quickly. Her eyes went wide, as if she had seen a ghost, but they quickly returned to normal. Then, she furrowed her brows in a strange way. It made him feel insecure, but he tried not to show it. Sure, he didn’t look his best and probably made a poor first impression, but she wasn’t obligated to like him at first sight, right?

Satoru just smiled widely, resting both hands on the table and looking at the newcomer across from him. He could only hope that she would soon smile back at him, even if not as sweetly as she smiled at Utahime. Instead, the girl just tilted her head slightly to one side, observing him with an unreadable expression. When he introduced himself with the same smile, nothing in her expression changed.

Tough crowd, he thought, taking another bite of his tart. If the conversation continued in the same vein with this “friend” Utahime had mentioned, he’d have to buy not three, but five of these desserts to go. Courtesy of Utahime. For emotional damages.

"You said there’d be your friend," Utahime started at the perfect moment. Satoru was grateful he didn’t have to distract himself from his dessert to ask the question. "He couldn’t come?"

Shoko snapped out of the trance she had been in, and that smile returned to her face, though this time it looked sharper.

"No-no, Geto just got a call from his niece," she said, then shifted her gaze to Satoru, making him instinctively shrink back in his seat. Man, that look promised nothing good. "He’ll be here any minute now."

After that, the conversation flowed easily — between the girls. Satoru continued to sit outside their dialogue, not even trying to intervene or eavesdrop on their conversation. At one point, he simply pulled out his phone and started scrolling through TikTok, punctuating the quiet laughter of his friend and her new acquaintance with the sounds of the latest memes or some random physics experiments that still showed up in his feed.

He was completely absorbed in a video about a university in Kyoto, where a group of scientists had decided to study the very same phenomenon he had been researching, when a voice reached him — far too familiar.

"Mimiko and Nanako said hi to you, Sho."

Satoru lifted his head just in time to meet Shoko’s eyes, who was already looking at him.

"Hi to them too, Geto."

Slowly, very slowly, Gojo turned his head to the left and did everything in his power to keep his heart from stopping. His black hair was in a half-up half-down style, revealing his pierced ears; the black bangs still stubbornly and elegantly framed the left side of his face. His lips were slightly parted in a surprised ‘o,’ and his honey-colored eyes quickly scanned Satoru’s face, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Honestly, Satoru couldn’t believe what he was seeing either, because standing right in front of him was the same stranger from the stadium. The same man who had kissed him, who had stood up for him, who hadn’t left his mind for a whole month, and who had appeared in his dreams more often than he had messaged Utahime in a week.

Oh God, Satoru thought.

"Oh God…" he said aloud, because apparently the brain-to-mouth filter had failed the moment his eyes met the stranger’s — no, Geto’s gaze again.

The guy across from him recovered from the shock much faster than he did and just let out a quiet laugh — a sound almost lost amidst the soft music playing in the café and the chatter of other people. Then his lips curved into that teasing smile that Gojo had only ever seen in his dreams.

"You can just call me Geto Suguru," he offered. His eyes quickly glanced downward, then just as quickly found Satoru’s blue eyes again, his smile widening. “Nice t-shirt.”

Oh, he’s utterly fucked.

If you ignore the initial awkwardness of a not-so-first meeting, then Satoru actually feels… pretty okay right now, to be honest. After about an hour in the café and his third mochaccino, the group of four headed out for a walk through the streets of Ginza. They paid the bill (Shoko and Utahime each had some kind of tea Satoru didn’t care about, and Geto just a black coffee), Gojo ended up buying himself two lemon tarts to-go — courtesy of Utahime for the emotional damage and, possibly, pity — and the whole group stepped out onto the lively street.

The fresh air helped calm his nerves a little, because the whole time in the café he felt like any second now he might have a panic attack. Meanwhile Geto sat beside him calmly, relaxed, as if nothing had happened. He kept up an animated conversation with the girls, joked and added comments when needed. He even addressed Gojo several times, but Satoru either suddenly stuttered through his answers or simply chose to stay silent and focus on eating his dessert, even though the question could’ve been something completely mundane.

He saw the way Shoko kept glancing between him and her friend, as if fighting back a smile, and Satoru didn’t even want to imagine what she was thinking in that moment — or what she knew. Did she know something? Could Geto have told her something? Satoru glanced at the man walking beside him, looking straight ahead, and quickly averted his gaze. Or maybe Shoko could read minds.

Oh god, what if she could actually read minds?! Then she definitely knew what he’d been thinking about her friend all these days, the same friend she had invited to join them. Oh, god.

Ahead of them, Utahime shot him a look over her shoulder that Gojou interpreted as a silent 'we’re going to talk about this later', and the girls walked further ahead, leaving the two boys alone. From the outside, they probably looked like two couples on a double date: well-dressed gentlemen (Satoru immediately excluded himself from that category based on his t-shirt alone) giving their ladies space to talk while they kept their distance. Overall, it wasn’t too far from the truth, if you ignored the phrase "double date".

The white haired man nervously fiddled with the small paper bag from the café, where his lemon tarts rested peacefully. He slipped his left hand through the handles so the bag dangled from his wrist, then shoved both hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans. With every step, the little bag bumped against his leg and rustled softly, drawing attention to itself, but Satoru chose to ignore it.

They walked slowly through the flow of people, enjoying the stroll and taking in the bright shop lights and signs. Between intersections people stopped to take photos in front of interesting storefronts; conversations and laughter sounded here and there. He and Geto had sunk into silence — not exactly uncomfortable, but definitely a bit tense. Or maybe that was just Satoru’s imagination. After all, how could he possibly act normal beside a person he’d seen in dreams more often than in reality, and usually in circumstances far more than… friendly.

He swallowed nervously and secretly tried to sneak another glance at the literal man of his dreams, only to realize Geto was already looking at him. Gojo felt his face flush, and he was grateful that they were passing by a shop with a giant LED screen showing an ad for red lipstick — he could always blame it on the lighting.

Beside him, Geto cleared his throat nervously and didn’t say anything for a few long seconds after that. When he finally gathered the courage, his voice didn’t sound nearly as confident as it had in the café, when he’d spoken to Satoru or chatted with their friends.

"Hey, sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Satoru practically snapped his neck from how fast he turned toward the dark-haired man. "Sorry?" he repeated, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

The other guy shrugged and quickly apologized to some passerby who suddenly appeared in his way. Gojo himself had to walk around some child from the other side so he wouldn’t crash into him.

"Well, you know," Geto continued a moment later, "I was surprised when I saw you today at the café. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you after that incident at the stadium. I mean, a lot happened and—"

At that moment Gojo managed to dig up that brattiness in himself that Utahime is constantly scolding him for. "Don’t tell me you’re pitying me right now."

"No, no," he waved his hands in front of him, looking at Gojo with concern, "Not at all, it’s just… that evening was intense, and you left so suddenly. I was worried, that’s all. I mean, I didn’t even get to check if you made it home safely. And even though you joked that he might’ve been waiting for you somewhere around the corner, honestly, that joke wasn’t that funny, and I just couldn’t get it out of my head that it actually could’ve been true."

Worried? About me? Satoru’s thoughts swarmed in his head at wild speed, and a pleasant warmth started spreading in his chest at such an ordinary display of emotion. He felt heat at the tips of his fingers, like from a bonfire on the beach — the kind he and Utahime loved to sit by when they were still kids.

They were often on a blanket spread over the sand or on one of the short or fallen trees, pressed shoulder to shoulder: watching the fire dance before their eyes, or following the sparks that occasionally shot up into the warm summer evening. The wind would catch them, and in the next moment, they’d fade out. Above their heads stretched a black sky dotted with billions of stars, passing satellites, and unknown planets.

Their parents were not far away, laughing and drinking hot coffee or even wine, watching their kids and not so subtly whispering about what a lovely couple they’d make when they grew up. Gojo would rest his head on her delicate, slightly bony shoulder, and she’d try to elbow him in the ribs for invading her personal space even more.

"Do you know there are thousands of undiscovered planets?" Satoru whispered, without taking his eyes off the night sky but also not lifting his head from the girl’s shoulder. "Far, far away there’s so much new, interesting, exciting stuff! I want to know everything about space, and I want to go there myself. It’s not like wanting to be an astronaut, like that guy in my class. I think wanting to become an astronaut is kinda stupid."

He shifted a little on the blanket, settling more comfortably, and heard Utahime click her tongue, though she didn’t try to shove him off again when he rested his head on her shoulder once more.

"Every boy wants to be an astronaut, fly to the Moon in a rocket, all that crap. But in reality, when you grow up, you become either an office worker, or you work at a restaurant, or you work with your hands. And who becomes an astronaut? One in a million, if not less."

His light hair fell into his eyes when he lowered his gaze from the sky and looked at the fire in front of them with a kind of wistfulness.

"But you literally just said you want to go to space. Isn’t that the same thing?" Utahime turned her face toward him, raising an eyebrow.

"The difference between me and them is that I know it’s almost impossible to achieve. And also, my desire is more about… being there. You get what I mean?" When Utahime didn’t answer, the boy only frowned and looked back at the bonfire in front of him, as if talking to it instead of the girl beside him. Utahime’s father laughed loudly at something Satoru's father said not far away. "Not just flying there, or sitting in a rocket, or stepping on the Moon. I want… to be. To touch the Universe, dissolve in it. And even though that’s impossible, I think studying it will help me with that goal. Knowing it will make me happy."

The girl weighed his words in her mind and then smiled with one corner of her mouth. "Are you sure you’re twelve? You sound like you’re well past fifty and have figured out life."

To this remark, Gojo only shrugged one shoulder. He pulled his legs close and stretched his hands toward the fire, which pleasantly warmed his fingers. A silence fell between them, but not for long. When their mothers were pouring wine and laughing softly over a spill in the sand, Utahime was the first to break the quiet.

"What do you think about dating each other?" the girl suddenly asked.

Gojo jerked away from her with a horrified expression. "Ew! Bleugh! Why would you say that?"

"You’re so dramatic," she rolled her eyes. "Don’t tell me you don’t know why our families keep meeting like this." She looked past the fire, and Gojo followed her gaze, landing on their parents. All four of them stood near the car with the trunk open, a bottle of wine in Utahime’s mother’s hand, the men smoking nearby and chatting. "They think I’m too young to understand what all of this is for, but they clearly want us to end up together."

Gojo hugged his knees, pulling them to his chest, and rested his head on them while looking at Utahime. "I don’t like you."

"Oh wow," she deadpanned, "who would’ve guessed. You’re not my type either, you dumbass."

Gojo didn’t even react to the insult — he’d long gotten used to the way Utahime talked to him, and besides, there wasn’t a shred of malice behind her words. He had gotten used to her, and to that constant feeling he had when he was around her. The boy was sure this was how relatives must feel around each other, because he and Utahime could never pass for anything more than a brother and sister. They were always acting like a cat and a dog. He loved teasing her and watching her get adorably pissed. Their parents, of course, assumed it was the classic case of a boy pulling a girl’s hair because he liked her and wanted her attention. But the truth was much simpler: Gojo just loved annoying Utahime.

After some time, listening to their parents’ laughter and conversations, and the quiet sound of waves behind them, Gojo stretched his hands to the fire again.

"I don’t like you," he said again, and before Utahime could speak after clicking her tongue, he continued. "I don’t like anyone. No, not like that. I… is it possible that I’m just not interested in girls?"

Utahime looked at him then with surprised eyes, widened, her mouth slightly open. For a few seconds she simply studied his face, as if searching for proof that this was a joke, and finding nothing, she exhaled softly, her brows knitting just a little. Her face relaxed beside him, softened.

"I don’t know, maybe," she whispered, pulling her legs up the same way he did. "But don’t say that to your parents. Or… not now."

Gojo’s light brows scrunched together. "Why?"

A loud burst of laughter came from their parents, catching the boy’s attention. Utahime’s father, clearly drunk, pulled his wife close and planted a loud kiss on her cheek. The group erupted in laughter again.

"Because my parents didn’t like it when I said I didn’t like boys," Iori said so quietly she was almost drowned out by the noise and the crackling wood. Satoru turned his gaze to her, and she only stared at the fire with sad eyes. "They want us to date," she continued louder, "we can play along for now and the next couple of years. But once I graduate and go to university, I’ll do what I want, and with whoever I want."

She ran her hand through the sand beside her, shifting grains around, drawing patterns only she understood on the endlessly moving canvas.

"You should do what you like too," she lifted her eyes to him. Her face was almost emotionless, except for the faint crease between her brows. "Explore the Universe, Gojo. And find happiness."

Satoru, embarrassed by the sudden sincerity, snorted at the dramatic line, a sharp smile appearing — one that would later become a frequent guest on his face. "You talk like we’re in some kind of rom-com."

Utahime scooped up a handful of sand she’d been drawing patterns with and tossed it at him without any anger or force. A rare blush appeared on her face. "I talk like that because I’m worried about your ass and I want you to be okay."

"O-o-oh, you love me! You l-o-v—"

"Oh my God, shut up! Fly off into your Universe already and just disappear there."

Walking next to Geto now, Gojo probably heard for the second time in his life that someone had worried about him. And while the first time, all those years ago, when Utahime confessed it to him, he couldn’t do anything better than turn it all into a joke, now — looking into the honey-colored eyes before him — he couldn’t find the strength to deflect his concern with some joke or out-of-place comment. His heart fluttered traitorously in his chest, and a small smile appeared on his face.

"Thank you," Gojo said quietly, and the dark-haired boy once again nearly ran into some random passerby. Satoru couldn’t stop his smile from growing wider at that. When they finally evened out again, and Gojo made sure Geto’s attention was back on him, he continued. "A lot really did happen that night, and honestly, I was just overwhelmed. I somehow got home on autopilot and fell asleep almost immediately." He chose to stay silent about the dream he’d had that same night. That wasn’t something he was ready to share. "Only later did I realize how abruptly it all ended, and that I never even found out your name or your phone number, so I could at least tell you I was okay."

They walked in silence for some time after that. Ahead of them Shoko laughed at something Utahime said and, honestly, Satoru was stunned, because until now this girl with the expression of a stone statue hadn’t shown anything more all evening than that manic smile she wore right before Geto walked up to their table in the café. And now, thinking about it more, this really had been because she knew him. Sure, he didn’t have the most typical appearance, but most people look at him with surprise, sometimes with caution — yet this girl, the moment she saw him, wasn’t surprised. Rather, she arrived at some internal conclusion, and it could only have sounded like: so that’s who he was talking about.

Shit, that meant Geto had talked about him, right? The same way Satoru had talked about him to Utahime? Although no — he doubted the other had seen him in his dreams too, and then couldn’t live through a single day normally without flinching on the subway whenever a man with white hair passed by him.

"Well, don’t lose the chance now," Geto said beside him, and Gojo turned his head to the left where the man was now walking even closer to him. From this angle he could look slightly down at him because of their height difference, and Satoru simply basked in that sweet smile his companion was giving him right now.

Though because of the closeness and the overwhelming view, it took Satoru a few seconds to actually process what the other had said.

"What?" he asked dumbly.

The other man’s eyes curved into crescent moons, and he lifted a hand to his face to hide his laughter. And— oh wow, could this sight be any more beautiful to Gojo?

"My number," Geto said, as if that were supposed to explain everything. And maybe it should have, because after Satoru continued staring at him in confusion, the man — still smiling — rolled his eyes. "My phone number. You can take it now, so I won’t have to worry about you anymore, Sa-to-ru."

And if Cupid really existed, then his arrow shot straight through Gojo’s heart at the sound of his name from those lips. Even though this was the first time tonight Geto, — no, it's only fair if he call him Suguru from now on — called him by his first name and not just by his family name, he could have listened to him say it endlessly. So gently, as if caressing each syllable, as if his name were sacred scripture and he worshipped every single part of it. He wanted to hear it every day from now on: in person, over the phone, see it in messages, knowing it was Suguru’s fingers typing it on the screen, hear it in his ear, while his teeth softly closed around his earl—

"Su-sure!" he blurted out, cutting off his own train of thought. A few people around them turned at the sound of his voice, and he even saw Utahime look back at him with a raised brow, but he decided to ignore it. Trying not to reveal the tremble in his fingers, Satoru shifted the paper bag to his other wrist, pulled his phone out of his pocket, opened a new contact, and turned back to the boy. "Go ahead."

The rest of the evening went off without a hitch. Not long after their conversation, the girls joined them, and the four of them continued strolling through the colorful streets of Chuo-Dori. Utahime brought up one or two embarrassing stories from Gojo’s childhood, which made Geto press his lips together to hold back his laughter, while Shoko burst out laughing so hard she had to grab onto her friend’s shoulder. In return, Satoru told Utahime’s future girlfriend how, at the age of ten, she beat up some boy at school because he kept yanking on the high pigtails her mother tied for her every day. She split his lip with the first punch, then after it hit him between the legs, and the little brat cried so loudly that a teacher walking by had to intervene and take him to the nurse, while Utahime was escorted to the principal’s office.

At the very mention of this now, Yori flushed all the way to the tips of her ears and started stuttering. Gojo watched her with a triumphant grin while Shoko tried to comfort her, telling her she had done the right thing and that she was very strong. At one point Satoru wasn't sure if she was actually comforting her or had simply decided to tease her that way as well.

"You're menace,"Geto laughed quietly near his ear. Satoru barely held back the shiver that almost ran down his spine.

When Gojo made sure his voice wouldn’t shake, he only replied, "One-one."

Passing the Art Aquarium Museum, he offhandedly remembered that he had long wanted to visit the exhibition but never had the time, to which the black-haired boy only hummed thoughtfully before replying that they could go there next time. Gojo doesn't want to admit to anyone how his heart definitely throbbed faster at the mere possibility of coming here together with the other boy. Though judging by the look Shoko gave him for his sudden silence, she already understood everything.

The evening ended much sooner than Satoru would’ve liked. Passing the green islands of Tsukijigawa Iwaibashi Park amid the Tokyo concrete, the group of four turned right, heading straight for the metro. They descended into the clean Higashi-ginza station, which had surprisingly few people for this late hour. They stopped in the vestibule: Utahime and Gojo had to ride further to transfer to the Keikyū line, while Geto and Shoko were headed for the Hokusō line. The girls stood not too far away from the boys and were talking about something, clearly not wanting to part yet, while Geto and Gojo simply stood together in silence, watching them.

Satoru didn’t know what to say, or whether he should say anything at all. Should he share his impressions of the evening? Should he tell him that despite not expecting to see him today, he hadn’t stopped thinking about him all this time? After all, while the four of them were walking together, he did have a chance to mention their first encounter, but he didn’t. Whether because he didn’t know how to bring it up without the other thinking he was insane or just obsessed with him, or simply because he felt awkward.

Would Sugutu even want to hear anything about what happened before? Sure, it wasn’t as if he had looked scared when they saw each other again today, and judging by the glances Shoko kept shooting him now and then, she clearly knew something. Meaning, of course, there was a chance that Geto himself had thought about it too, but Satoru couldn’t say that for certain, and he was scared to ask. The other boy clearly hadn’t been against his company — he had even not so subtly shared his phone number and directly told him that he worried about him that time. And of course, there was his behavior throughout the evening. If Gojo were more honest with himself, he could admit that Suguru… was flirting with him? Well, maybe there hadn’t been any direct and shameless flirting, but the man kept dropping hints here and there: the gentle brush of his hand against Satoru’s, which felt like it burned after; that curious glint in his eyes, which shifted from simple interest in the conversation to something very close to fondness; his voice dipping lower whenever he spoke to Gojo compared to when he addressed one of the girls; and their hands often brushing as they walked because they kept finding themselves too close to one another, like magnets with opposite poles.

Satoru opened his mouth and prepared to say anything — really anything — if only to confirm (or disprove) his theory about all their interactions tonight, when soft music flowed from the station speakers, followed by an announcement about the arriving train.

Geto then turned toward him and smiled his half-smile, finding Satoru standing there with his mouth open. He quickly collected himself, shut his mouth, and smiled as well; he really had nothing to say to the black-haired man in front of him when he looked at him with eyes like that.

"Well," the man in front of him began, tucking both hands into his pockets. He tilted his head toward the station speakers, "That's ours. And even though I know you and Utahime are going in the same direction, um… text me when you get home, alright?"

Oh, and what else could Satoru possibly say except total agreement when Suguru looked at him as though he feared he might never see him again?

After promising he would definitely text and reassuring the other, they said their goodbyes. Not far away, the girls quickly hugged, and Satoru could clearly see the immense amount of — if not love, then certainly affection — in Shoko’s eyes as she looked at her friend, her hand gently rubbing her shoulder. As the train began to approach, they exchanged their final farewells, and the two hurried off to catch their ride. Gojo and Utahime turned toward their own platform.

Air from the tunnel began filling the platform, music played, and a woman's voice announced the arrival of the train heading toward their station. With each passing second the gusts grew stronger, and the sound of wheels clattering on the rails grew louder. The white haired man clutched the paper bag tighter as it fluttered on his arm with every new burst of wind. Soon, reaching its peak, a glow appeared from within the tunnel, followed by the train’s front car. The brakes squealed, pastel colors of the train mixed with the lights from inside poured across the station, flickering before Satoru’s eyes. When the motion stopped, they stepped aside a few steps to let the passengers out before boarding themselves. A few seconds later the announcement sounded, the doors closed, the woman’s voice announced the next station, and the train moved again; the cabin filled with a quiet but dense hum, a pleasant alternative to constant silence or dangerous thoughts.

Because it was so late, the car ended up almost empty; only a few passengers were sitting at the very end. People who knew each other were talking quietly, someone was listening to music in their headphones, endlessly scrolling through something on their phone; an elderly man was dozing off, his head resting against a metal pole. Satoru always wondered whether people who fell asleep on the metro ever realized they had missed their stop. Where were they now? How much longer could they sleep? The old man only exhaled deeply, sinking further into slumber.

They sat down with Utahime side by side in the middle of one of the rows. In the windows across from them they could see the cables in the dark tunnel and their own reflections. After a moment, the girl leaned her head on his shoulder and he rested his head on hers; she took his left hand in both of hers and began stroking his fingers with her own. He let her.

Gojo tore his eyes away from their intertwined hands and looked back at their reflection. To anyone else, they surely looked like a couple. And, he had to admit — they were a fairly cute couple. This was one of the few things their parents had actually been right about — they did look good together. Still, Satoru was grateful they were nothing more than friends. Probably, even if he weren’t gay, he simply wouldn’t be able to see Utahime in that way.

They were friends. Yes, of different genders, but friends who’d been by each other’s side for almost their entire childhood. They grew up on the same fairy tales, went on the same family trips, had countless sleepovers thanks to the encouragement of their parents. They went to school together, then to college. And even though they chose different universities, they still stayed in touch afterward. At one point they even lived together, and while their parents were happy about it (not that there was anything to be happy about), it didn’t last long — Utahime had to move to another district for work, and Satoru had started dating Minato around that time.

The point was: Utahime had been beside him his whole life. And while for some people that becomes a romantic trope come to life — childhood friends growing up, falling in love, dating, getting married, and so on — for Satoru, it simply wasn’t like that.

He loved the story of their first meeting. They had practically clawed each other’s eyes out on the playground near their houses when Gojo stepped on her sandcastle, and Utahime, instead of crying, grabbed a handful of sand and threw it straight into his eyes, and then kicked him in the shin (she’d always known how to defend her boundaries). When Gojo had finally managed to clear his eyes, he yanked her hair in retaliation, and the girl simply elbowed him in the stomach. Some other parents who were at the playground had to separate them until Utahime’s mother returned from the store she’d run to for just a minute. After that came endless apologies from Gojo’s parents for their son’s behavior, as Utahime, her mother, and he stood on their doorstep that evening: the children filthy, and the mother red-eyed. Truthfully, she worried more about the boy than her own daughter — she already knew the kind of trouble a little girl could cause.

Their parents quickly became friends once they realized they were neighbors, and the children were forced to spend all their time together. But even then, they rarely agreed on anything.

Gojo liked sweets? Utahime couldn’t stand the taste of his favorite candies. She came over in a yellow sweater embroidered with a duck? Gojo simply raised a brow and asked whether all her normal clothes were dirty. When they were ten and Satoru told her about a new and interesting show with a funny name, "Digimon", the girl with two high ponytails interrupted him after a few minutes to ask, "So is this a sequel to Pokémon?" Gojo didn’t talk to her for days after that.

It wasn’t real hatred or rivalry. What maybe began as a clash of interests slowly turned into their usual manner of communication. A tease prompted another tease; pranks or jokes never ended in hurt feelings; and later, they even learned to enjoy each other’s reactions.

But it was always just that. They were like brother and sister, like relatives who didn’t need a blood connection. They simply were, and that was enough.

Not for their parents, though.

And while it worried them both at first, eventually it stopped. After countless sleepovers, conversations about everything and nothing. After a small confession on the ocean shore, under the sound of waves and the crackle of a bonfire before them, beneath billions of stars and the softness of cold sand under their palms. As children, they already clearly distinguished what others wanted from them — and what they actually felt.

On his palm, Utahime continued to draw circles with her thin fingers. In the dark metro window, the reflection of a couple-that-could-have-been — or rather, the couple everyone else assumed they were — still stared back at him. But in Gojo’s heart, he felt only the kind of love a brother feels for a sister. He obediently closed his eyes and let the girl continue.

"Shoko said he talked about you."

As if struck by lightning, Gojo jerked his head up and looked down at the girl. Utahime, still resting her head on his shoulder, kept stroking his hand as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t just sent his pulse into overdrive.

After a moment, she continued when she realized he wasn’t planning (or maybe wasn’t capable) of saying anything. A soft smile played on her lips, something Gojo could have seen in the window reflection if he weren’t still staring at the top of her head.

"Well, not about you exactly. Back then he didn’t know you were you. She said he couldn’t shut up about some 'otherworldly beautiful guy' for weeks — his words, not Shoko’s or mine, God forbid. You know, that with all my love for you, I’d rather choke and die than call you that." She laughed quietly, the vibration of her laughter rolling through the right side of his body where she leaned against him. "She said he was acting a little crazy, talking her ear off about snow-white hair, sky-blue eyes, ethereal beauty like an angel — I’m quoting again, just so you know — and that he didn’t even understand what came over him when he kissed him at the stadium. I’ll tell you Shoko’s side of that story another time, I’m sure you’ll enjoy certain details, although honestly — eww, gay. Anyway, she said he was incredibly annoying, and I should note — I’ve heard about Geto from Shoko before, and she’s always described him as restrained, smart, sometimes strict, but definitely not obsessive.”

Finally, Utahime lifted her head from his shoulder and smiled even wider when she saw his completely flushed face; he still hadn’t said a single word.

"So, birds of a feather."

Gojo was sure steam was coming out of his ears. "Please, stop talking."

Utahime only laughed, leaning away from him.

"Satoru and Suguru sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!"

"God, shut up!"

The girl only laughed harder at her now fully crimson friend. Satoru covered his face with his hands, his elbows resting on his knees.

"I hate you…" he muttered.

"No, you don’t," Iori answered with a grin after calming down.

And truly, Satoru thought as a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, I don’t.

The next station is Chiba New Town Chūō.

"...It’s particularly interesting considering that even the center of our own galaxy has its own black hole — as does every other galaxy, of course. A supermassive black hole. I’m sure you can already guess that its mass is impossible to measure. Sure, we can call any black hole with a mass above one hundred thousand solar masses a supermassive black hole, but calculating any specific one mathematically is impossible. It always makes me laugh when cartoons or movies show someone getting sucked into a black hole, although, in reality, that’s not how it works. And it’s not a 'hole' at all. Can you imagine, in principle, a concept where our universe literally has a hole in it? No — a black hole is more like a dense mass of energy that can’t be measured. A black hole has its own gravity, its own orbit, and generally, any cosmic object that enters that orbit will rotate around it the same way we orbit the Sun — but you already know that, assuming you didn’t ditch that particular physics class in school. Although, if what falls into the orbit happens to be a human, they’d be stretched first into something like a sausage, then — into cosmic spaghetti, and then — poof! — congratulations! You’ve evaporated from the face of the Earth and you don’t have to go to classes tomorrow."

A few faces in the lecture hall glanced at him with mild concern.

Gojo took a few steps away from the board hanging behind him, walked back to his desk, and sat down on it, crossing one leg over the other. The lighting in the lecture hall was still dim: partly because of the presentation he’d been showing a few minutes earlier, but mostly because of his eyes, which since early morning (curse those overly sunny days) had started acting up again, and his glasses were (again) forgotten at home.

Today he was lecturing first-years. Most students sat alone; a few, who had already made acquaintances or perhaps enrolled in the university together, sat in pairs. The course wasn’t that large — around forty people — but only fifteen had shown up. The rest decided that an 8:20 a.m. lecture was too early, so they simply didn’t come. Gojo didn’t blame them. Even though it was only the beginning of the academic year (a little over three months since he’d started teaching again), he remembered perfectly well how, at that age, he’d skipped not only morning classes but even the ones closer to lunchtime because he simply didn’t feel like going.

After all, the only thing the administration truly cares about in the end is exam results, and for Gojo — the interesting module papers and research essays each of them will have to write.

And although this wasn’t the group’s first lecture this month, he was still giving them the basics, because the university administration had requested that the professors be at least somewhat lenient toward first-years.

He continued in the same manner for a few more minutes, pausing so the students could jot down important notes or take photos of the presentation slide. When there were about twenty minutes left in the lecture, the door suddenly swung open, cutting him off mid-sentence. Every head in the room turned toward the woman striding quickly toward him.

"Tsukumo-san," he began, greeting his colleague. Yuki looked as though she had either won the lottery or murdered someone — only those two things could explain the wild look in her eyes and that alarming smile. "Is something important? We're in the middle of something."

She glanced quickly at the students, who hadn’t taken their eyes off them and were hanging onto every word, then back at Gojo. Her manic smile widened.

"You know, Gojo-san, I actually do have an important question that can’t wait." She sounded so fakely polite that Satoru felt goosebumps crawl along his skin. Still, he only smiled, keeping in mind the audience they had. He lifted his gaze to the students, and they — understanding the hint — returned to their notes. Or rather, pretended to, which was still better than constant curious staring. Cutting through their stolen glances, Yuki spoke again. "It’s about my book."

For the first time in the entire period he’d known Yuki, he couldn’t understand what she was talking about. His light brows furrowed. Surely she hadn’t mentioned anything about her… book? during yesterday’s lunch, when they’d sat together in the cafeteria and he had simply missed it?

Of course, he had a habit of drifting off into the clouds, thinking about the Universe, space, scientific papers, and lately, one particular pair of warm, light-brown eyes — but he hadn’t zoned out so badly in years that he’d fail to hear something this important.

He tried recalling his recent conversations with Yuki and couldn’t remember a single moment where she’d told him about a book she was writing. Sure, there were plenty of academic works in quantum mechanics, but Yuki had never struck him as the type to voluntarily spend an evening — an evening she could’ve spent in a bar with friends and a pint of beer — digging through research for her own book.

The crease between his brows smoothed, and he shook his head lightly.

"I’m sorry, Tsukumo-san, but I don’t think you ever told me about your book. I feel like I would’ve remembered something like that."

"No, no, I definitely told you, Gojo-san." That creepy smile still hadn’t left her face. A cold shiver ran down his spine at the expression she wore, and every part of his body and mind was screaming at him to run or at least do something about this woman — though he couldn’t figure out why. Meanwhile, Yuki continued. "Don’t insult me, Gojo-san. I hurried all the way here, and now you’re telling me you forgot?"

No, seriously, what is this woman even talking about?!

As if hearing his thoughts — or, rather, seeing the helpless and confused look on his face — Yuki exhaled and, placing her left hand on her waist, looked him up and down.

"Think, Gojo-san. My book, remember? The one I told you would bring me millions in profit."

Gojo felt a bead of cold sweat trail down his spine. This conversation was heading somewhere he definitely didn’t want it to. He still couldn’t understand what she was talking about, but some pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place. He definitely remembered something about profits, and honestly, he even started recalling a mention of a book. But the topic of her work? What had she told him back then? Gojo’s eyes widened slightly.

Wait. The last time he heard something like this was before the academic year even started. Right, he had been sitting at the department office, Yuki had walked in and—

"My book is about—" she shifted her gaze toward the students; some pretended to take notes from the slide, others pretended those useless textbooks — which the university administration and the Ministry of Education insisted would somehow instill discipline — were more important than eavesdropping. Those who had their heads raised quickly lowered them; everyone was trying to look like they weren’t listening to the conversation between the two adults. The act was so poor, though, that it was obvious they were clinging to every word. Yuki, bless her heart, decided to keep playing her role and not embarrass him in front of the kids. Or at least not completely. "— about two celestial bodies. Remember, professor? You told me about that celestial body you discovered not long ago, and then lost because you… turned away from the telescope too fast, the one that was pointed right at the night sky, and only later realized you hadn’t written down its coordinates.”

Where there had been just one bead of cold sweat before, now it felt like someone dumped a whole bucket of ice water on him. And, what a wonderful paradox — despite the chill, he felt his cheeks starting to burn. Suddenly, breathing became hard; Satoru loosened his tie.

"You told me about it," Yuki continued, clearly enjoying the state she was pushing her friend into with every passing second of this conversation, "and honestly, I was impressed by your story, and even told you I simply had to write my book about it. I’m sure that refreshed your memory a bit, didn’t it, Gojo-san?"

Satoru cleared his throat before answering, nervously brushing back his hair.

"Y-yes, Tsukumo-san. I do remember now. But I’m afraid to ask… why exactly did you bring this up now?"

Her eyes gleamed, as if she had been waiting for this question.

"The thing is, that body of yours—"

"Celestial body."

"Uh-huh, yes, so-o-o… your celestial body is currently, let’s say, within a tangent of our orbit.”

"What?!"

Gojo was not proud of how much higher his voice went just now, but if he wasn’t as dumb as Utahime often claimed he was, then what Yuki was saying now meant that…

"You gave me such a detailed description of that celestial body, Satoru, that I’d recognize it anywhere," she whispered, leaning toward him and making absolutely sure no student could overhear. "Your — I don’t know what he is to you, but if you are dating and you haven’t told me yet, you’re dead, Gojo — supernova equivalent is currently in our department hallway with a bouquet of flowers, and he didn’t even have to ask about you for me to understand exactly who he was looking for. So while the lectures are still running and the hall is empty, get your ass up and run there."

Gojo felt all the air leave his lungs in an instant. He’s here. Suguru Geto is here, right now, in his university, in his department, with flowers. Сoming to see him, even though he had clearly texted him earlier that they wouldn’t be able to meet today. Gojo’s heart felt ready to leap out of his chest.

He didn’t know what he wanted more: to scream across the entire auditorium, or to hug Yuki and never let go until he heard the crack of her bones. And just as he was about to bolt from the classroom, he remembered one tiny detail. Or, rather, fifteen tiny details. His students were watching them as if perched on the tips of their chairs, trying to catch the last few words of the professors’ conversation, and failing.

Yuki, seeing his dilemma, placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I’ll keep an eye on them. There’s hardly any time left," she nodded toward the door. "Go."

He forced himself to calmly leave the auditorium and quietly close the door behind him. But as soon as he was in the hallway, he ran.

The rush of air cooled his flushed cheeks as his legs carried him past numerous classrooms, through empty halls, to his destination. He had never run this fast before. Not in gym class at school, not even when a dog once chased him down the street, almost biting him on the butt as he tried to steal mandarins from an old man’s garden, and not even when he was racing home for a new episode of Digimon.

He had stopped students countless times, making sure they didn’t trip or break something, but now, rushing alone through the empty halls of the university, hearing only the echoes of his own footsteps, he couldn’t think of anything else but the door around the corner and what awaited him behind it.

It was ridiculous. It was childish, the way a twenty-eight-year-old man ran like a schoolboy whose crush was waiting in an empty classroom. But setting aside the schoolboy metaphors and that silly word crush, it was true. The person who had come to occupy his thoughts in a way no ex-boyfriend ever had was waiting for him.

Ever since their second meeting — when Utahime's fear of her first date with her now girlfriend had pushed them together — he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. They exchanged numbers and continued talking, and over those few months, he and Geto had grown close. Geto became Suguru to him, and the name Satoru sounded from the other man’s lips just as sweetly as it had the first time he’d said it. They had met a few times since, without any of the girls. Simple outings: going to the movies for a premiere Satoru had been eager to see, visiting a new place serving zaru soba — Suguru’s favorite — or just strolling through the park on a weekend.

Even though these rare meetings were always planned, Gojo had still been nervous every single time. And now, Suguru was here. Without warning.

Behind the door.

Gojo’s hand rested on the doorknob, catching his breath after running several solid meters (and floors) just to get here faster. It was childish, the way his heart had filled with joy at the mere possibility of seeing him. Of course, he knew this wasn’t a joke; he would open the door, and there he would be — Yuki couldn’t have pulled such a cruel prank. Yet… his heart was pounding with anticipation, tinged with a little despair. What if he hadn’t waited? What if, the moment Yuki left, Suguru decided it was a bad idea to come? What if he opened the door to find nothing but an empty department, dozens of empty desks, shelves of documents, and the whiteboard with the schedule?

His happy smile faltered slightly, and his eyebrows knitted together again.

The man forced himself to take one last deep breath. He closed his eyes and timidly pulled the door open.

And only in that moment — the very moment when it felt like his heart had stopped, when oxygen no longer seemed to reach his brain, when everything seemed to vanish…

"Satoru."

…And the world bloomed with color again. The man — whose name was called so gently, whose name had never been spoken so tenderly and reverently by anyone else, as if afraid to utter it aloud, as if saying it differently, louder or firmer, might curse him — opened his eyes.

In the bright early light, his figure looked even more striking. Dressed all in black, with his usual hairstyle (though Satoru had only seen it a few times), Suguru stood straight, a shadow of that gentle smile lingering on his face — a smile that seemed reserved only for their meetings. A small bouquet of golden-orange Osmanthus in his hands, and Satoru couldn’t help but smile and blush as he realized the symbolism.

"Long time no see."

The door softly clicked shut behind him, leaving them alone in the room. The wall clock ticked quietly, punctuating the silence between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable; it was understandable, pleasant. In just two broad steps, Gojo stood in front of Suguru, still a little disheveled and flushed from his sprint seconds ago, tilting his head down to meet the other’s eyes.

"You’re really in our orbit…" he whispered, and before Suguru could say anything, he closed the last few inches between them and pulled the other into a tight embrace.

For a few seconds, Suguru froze completely, but then gently placed the bouquet of camellias on the nearest table and hugged Satoru back. Gojo instinctively closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The scent of the other man immediately filled his nostrils — woody and spicy, with a faint trace of shampoo from his recent shower, and something uniquely Suguru; his subtle sweat and skin. Geto began running his hands along Gojo’s back, as if soothing a child, and Gojo loosened his grip slightly but didn’t let go completely, just pressed his cheek against Suguru’s black hair, inhaling his scent once more.

The other man’s scent brought him comfort, a reason he couldn’t explain. Just being near Suguru made him feel safe, and he never felt like he was talking too much, or that his jokes weren’t received or misunderstood. Every walk or meeting filled him with incredible happiness and something else… though he was too scared to admit it outright, not to Suguru, and not even to himself for starters.

They were supposed to meet again tomorrow. Gojo had a short day at the university, only one class, and Suguru had a day off, so he could come from Kyoto. Satoru would never admit to Geto that he still had a quarterly report for Yaga to finish, which he’d forgotten to submit on time — because if he did, Suguru would make him be responsible and do it properly, instead of seeing him. And, sue him, but Satoru simply could not say no to Suguru, so even if it was frustrating that they might not meet, it would be better than hearing his friend’s disappointed voice.

But things didn’t go as planned. Last night, Suguru had apologized profusely, first over the phone, then via messages, because something came up at work — something about interns in a new position and having to work on his day off to fix the problem caused by their mistake. Saying Satoru was disappointed would be an understatement. He had fully planned their day and was even ready to seriously call their meeting a date, had they met. Or at least jokingly. He would gauge the situation, watching how Geto would react to such a bold statement. But Satoru was almost certain it would have been fine, because lately he had felt something more than ordinary friendship growing between them.

Yes, they occasionally hung out (as often as Suguru’s schedule allowed for trips from Kyoto to Tokyo), constantly texting, and Satoru could spend the entire day bombarding him with memes or gossip from the department. And yes, even though they had maintained their friendship perfectly for nearly four months, he felt a subtle change in Suguru’s usual 'good night' and 'good morning'. He sensed it in how he spoke to him, how he pronounced his name, and how those chestnut eyes seemed unwilling to leave him for a moment during their meetings. These were still simple encounters — movie outings or a bottle of soju in the evening, sometimes even with girls — but even then, Gojo felt Suguru’s gaze upon him. And maybe it was just his imagination, but he could almost physically feel the other man’s desire to hold his hand or simply be near him, to touch him.

So, when their evening plans after more than a month since their last meeting were suddenly canceled, Gojo didn’t know what to do. He kept texting Suguru as if nothing had happened, but inside he still felt disappointed. And he couldn’t even voice it to Geto, because it wouldn’t be fair to be upset over something he clearly couldn’t control. Of course, it didn’t help his gloomy mood.

That’s why Gojo held Suguru tighter, squeezing him firmly, and felt the other man quietly laugh. Gojo mirrored the gesture, after which Suguru resumed running his hands along his back. No wonder this scent was so calming — this was the smell of his happiness.

"I thought… you said you couldn’t make it," Satoru murmured, still not letting go. He felt Suguru silently laugh, gently nuzzling his nose into his shoulder.

"Surprise."

Now it was Gojo’s turn to laugh. He carefully leaned back from the other man, giving him space, and finally looked at his face again, for the second time since he had entered the room. On the face opposite him, he saw that soft smile he knew so well, the same one he counted among the little changes in their dynamic. Satoru knew the same smile was surely on his own face.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. "I was so upset when you—"

Geto raised his left hand to Satoru’s face, pressing it gently to his cheek and running his thumb softly under his eye, soothing that spot with comforting touch. The brows on his face curved slightly, a shadow of guilt in his eyes.

"Yes, I know. I’m sorry I had to lie to you."

His voice was so quiet and sincere that Satoru, feeling a mix of overwhelming joy and lingering disbelief, felt like he might cry. He felt tears welling in his eyes. Not trusting his voice, he simply leaned into Suguru’s touch, whispering with his lips, "It’s okay."

They stood like that for a while, in each other’s embrace, in that familiar, comfortable silence again. At some point — and Satoru couldn’t even tell who started it — they began to sway gently from side to side, as if to a melody only they could hear, Suguru’s hands resting on his neck, fingers playing with his undercut.

They tilted their heads toward each other, and Suguru closed the remaining distance, pressing his forehead against Satoru’s. Gojo closed his eyes, savoring the last moment before the halls would again flood with hundreds, thousands of students, before excited voices echoed through the corridors, and before some professors inevitably walked in to either sit out their break or actually get work done.

"Satoru," Geto whispered, "hey…"

"Hmm?"

He didn’t want to open his eyes, still swaying in time with the imagined melody with Suguru, nor did he want to pull away from that contact and break their moment.

"Would you be my boyfriend?"

Satoru’s eyes flew open in record time, and he leaned back from the other man to look at him, afraid he might be hallucinating. But Suguru kept looking at him with the same softness and fondness, his eyes half-lidded, slightly shy, a faint blush on his cheeks that would have been invisible if Gojo hadn’t been this close.

At first, no one broke the silence, while Gojo’s thoughts buzzed like a beehive. His blue eyes searched Suguru’s face for a hint of a joke (though honestly, what kind of cruel joke would this be?) or just some confirmation that nothing had actually happened, and what he’d heard was merely a mistake, misheard, or a trick of his brain after more than a month without hearing that voice in person. But in front of him, he saw only the other man’s nervous expression and the tense line of lips, bitten out of bad habit.

When Gojo didn’t respond, Suguru continued in the same quiet voice, as if trying to restore the calm atmosphere from a few seconds ago, not wanting to scare the man in front of him any more.

"I understand this might not be the right time for such a question. I wanted to invite you to dinner first, even bought you flowers," he nodded briefly to the table to his right, where the bouquet of golden-orange Osmanthus still lay, "and ask you then. But I couldn’t wait any longer, and the moment seemed surprisingly perfect. Although… now I don’t even know if it really is."

He ran his left hand along his neck out of nervousness; his other hand still rested on Gojo’s shoulder. The latter, as if emerging from a trance, grasped Suguru’s hands still on his waist in a reassuring gesture.

"No-no! It’s is, it’s just…" Gojo exhaled shakily, unsure how to continue. He couldn’t say it was unexpected, since he had been thinking all along about inviting Suguru on an official date where he’d make the first move. Maybe. Probably. Not exactly. But the point remained.

Suguru’s hands found Satoru’s palms, taking his hands from his waist. Gojo wanted to protest, but Suguru interlaced their fingers and took half a step forward. All of Gojo’s protests froze on his tongue. Everything that mattered now were those honeyed, nervous eyes in front of him.

"I know what kind of relationship you had with your ex." At the mention of Minato, Gojo’s brows furrowed immediately, his whole body tensing involuntarily. Suguru noticed and continued speaking, letting the blond-haired man construct his own reasoning for this sudden mention of his ex. 'I’m not saying I know everything. Utahime just gave me a vague idea of how he treated you and — honestly? I even regret not hitting him harder that time."

At that moment, all the tension left Satoru’s body, and he laughed briefly, awkwardly lowering his gaze. Their gentle gaze met again through the brief moment when Suguru subtly squeezed his hands in his.

"I understand you’ve been through a lot. And I’m honestly scared… God, Satoru, I’m so scared that I might say or do something wrong unintentionally, that the mere thought of being with you makes me anxious. And that’s not bad — I’m telling you honestly, because I truly fear losing you, knowing you wouldn’t tolerate such treatment."

Gojo shook his head in disbelief, smiling crookedly.

"God, what did Utahime even tell you?"

"This is another reason why I’m scared. She promised me she’d hang me by the balls if I hurt you in any way. That is, if I even have any left after meeting with Ieri — as the last one pointed out."

Satoru’s eyes went comically wide, and he couldn’t hold back the genuine laugh that burst from his chest. After a moment, Suguru joined in, and they laughed together, still holding hands. Gojo suddenly pictured the scene: angry Utahime and ever-neutral Shoko, who could make you regret your actions with just a glance. But amid the absurdity of the situation, he couldn’t stop thinking about how his closest childhood friend — and now her girlfriend as well — were ready to stand up to anyone who dared hurt him. And he knew their words weren’t empty — just remembering how combative Utahime had been all her childhood.

Yet amid all these thoughts, one idea circled in Gojo’s mind above all others — did Suguru actually go to Utahime to literally ask her opinion, whether he was worthy of dating him? The laughter gradually faded, and Gojo still couldn’t bring himself to ask if that was really the case.

Then Geto freed one hand and lifted it to Satoru’s face again, and he noticed with surprise that it trembled slightly. When it touched his cheek, his confidence disappeared, and doubt returned to his eyes.

"I’ll understand if you don’t want this," Suguru continued quietly, and Gojo’s eloquence vanished again, leaving him only able to listen as the man in front of him worried over something he never should have. "After all, your last relationship didn’t end that long ago, and I know perfectly well that time is needed after something like that. I don’t want to and won’t force you into anything, and if you ever want it later… if you eventually want this, I’ll be glad—"

"Suguru," Gojo interrupted gently. He carefully placed his hand over Suguru’s, still on his face, and squeezed it gently. "I’ll be your boyfriend. I don’t need more time — I’ve known for a long time that this is exactly what I want."

The smile that met him after those words was worth all the months of worry, all the late-night messages, and the rare meetings. Worth every meme sent and every late-night call when they both found time for each other in their busy schedules.

Besides being logical — as Satoru could now clearly see — it also felt incredibly right. Like the final sentence of a favorite novel, ending in a happily ever after. And it wasn’t just the natural evolution of their relationship, but simply them. Satoru and Suguru together, as one.

Deep in his heart, Gojo felt there could be no other way. They may have seen other people before, been interested in others, or been alone for years, but the moment fate — no, the moment the Universe intertwined their paths, the moment the planets orbited the Sun the right number of times, the moment a new supernova was created, and two black holes entered each other’s orbit — they both knew that after the first encounter, they would find each other again and again. Gojo felt it from that first kiss, that first glance, and all the feelings that seemed to exist in him even before they physically met in this world.

As if he had known him all along.

As if Satoru’s heart was always destined to find Suguru’s heart and stay.

"Can I kiss you?"

Gojo felt his cheeks gradually flush. He quickly nodded, looking at the lips before him, the taste of which he had longed to feel again all these months.

"Yes…" he managed to whisper before Suguru’s lips slowly and so tenderly covered his own.

Suguru kissed him as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. As if that test-run at the stadium had only been preparation for this moment, where they were finally alone. No eyes watching every movement of their lips, or desperate grasping of hands as if holding onto the last thread. Satoru felt the other man trembling, probably just as much as he himself was, excited by this moment. Yet despite everything, Suguru took another step closer, pressing against him more firmly, both hands cupping his face and deepening the kiss.

Satoru let out a breathless moan into the other man’s mouth as Suguru’s tongue touched his. Suguru’s hands on his waist tightened, wanting to press him even closer, though Satoru instinctively knew there was no space left between their bodies. The broad palms holding the blond man’s face shifted to his hair, confidently pulling at the unruly strands.

Gojo felt everything — and more. And all of this was both so similar to his dreams and so, so different from them. Strong hands in his hair, the wild pounding of his heart, and Suguru’s heart as well, uneven breathing on his lips whenever he pulled back just for a moment to inhale, only to dive back into his lips. Beneath his hands, still gripping the other man’s waist, he could feel the firm muscles contracting under his fingers — alive and real; the slight tremor of his body from emotions, overstimulation, and everything Suguru had told him today, and everything he still hadn’t said.

He was ready to swear he could feel his soul. And more, how Suguru’s soul intertwined with his, becoming one whole. He felt all his own feelings and Suhuru's, every movement of every muscle, and the overwhelming desire of the other man to devour him — or at least take him away and never let go, never let anyone hurt him.

And Gojo felt the same. Desire. Longing. Suguru.

"Hey, lovebirds!"

Yuki’s voice cut through the silence and tension in the air, and they both jerked apart, wide-eyed. Gojo turned his head toward the door, and though it was slightly ajar, no one was there. At least, not on their side. Yuki hadn’t peeked inside yet but kept the door open just enough for them to hear her.

"Lectures are over, and I barely managed to pull Yaga-sensei away before he reached for the handle while I rounded the corner. So only if you're not naked there, please leave. Gojo, I’ll take your next classes — you’ll owe me."

When the door quietly closed again, Satoru let out a loud, genuine laugh, feeling his blush deepen and spread down to his neck. He looked up at Suguru, who, though also red from the awkward situation they’d been caught in, smiled that same smile Satoru loved so much; his eyes curved into half-moons. He took the bouquet from the table, finally handing it to Satoru, and then took his free hand, intertwining their fingers.

He lifted his eyes to him, gently tugging him by the hand toward the exit.

"I think we don’t have much time left," he said.

"Na-ah," Gojo drawled, "we have all the time in the world now."

Suguru just stopped and raised a questioning brow, his lips touched by a teasing smile. "You so corny."

Gojo shrugged. "You like it."

Suguru then turned and, without letting go of his hand, stepped closer. He carefully cupped Satoru’s face in his hand and confidently drew him in, leaving a short but heated kiss on his lips.

"Yeah,"he whispered with a slight smile just a few centimeters away, his hot breath still lingering on Gojo’s lips. "I really really like it."