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Marin had spent the past hour doing something she thought she would never admit: cleaning her apartment. No shoving clothes in a pile and calling it organized chaos, no tossing trash in the closet. Her magazines were stacked, the snack wrappers were gone, and her DVDs and CDs were back on their shelves. The couch blanket looked smooth and inviting.
Marin looked around the living room. This was it, watching anime with Gojo. You can act casual, Marin. It’s not like you’re freaking out over his smile or the snacks you obsessively arranged, right? Normal people don’t completely lose it over cute boys and snacks.
She paused, eyeing the coffee table. She rushed over and nudged the bowl of chips to the left, adjusting until it looked just right. Now it was perfect, she hoped.
Her phone beeped. “I’m outside.” Marin’s stomach flipped. She snatched her phone, then rushed to the mirror. Hair: fine. Gloss: okay. Hoodie: cute, not desperate. Shorts and matching socks: check. Breathe. Just Gojo, just anime.
“Act normal,” she uttered.
She spun abruptly, nearly stumbling on the rug’s edge as she quickly made her way to the door. As she opened it, she saw Gojo standing outside, shoulders straight and holding a small bag in one hand.
“Good afternoon, Kitagawa,” he said.
Marin beamed. “Hey, Gojo! Come in, come in!”
He stepped inside, bending down to remove his shoes at the entrance, placing them neatly alongside Marin’s shoes. She watched, thinking he could probably organize a country.
“So we’re going to watch the series?” he asked.
Marin turned toward him, grinning. “Yup! I told you, right? Since I cosplayed Enobu-chan, you have to actually see what she’s like.”
Gojo nodded calmly. “I wanted to see how you portrayed her.”
That made her smile soften. Of course, Gojo never spoke lightly. If he admitted curiosity, he’d probably analyzed it for hours. That was just how he was, deliberate, never careless with attention.
She yanked herself back to the moment. "I’ve got snacks and drinks," she said, adopting her tour guide Marin persona again, as if she hadn’t just lost composure a moment ago.
“I see,” he said, so seriously that Marin laughed.
The living room glowed with late-afternoon sunlight, gold stripes passing through the curtains onto the couch and table. The TV was queued up. Marin had dimmed the lights for a watch party vibe.
Gojo paused near the couch. Marin tried not to stare while he took in the setup. “It looks very nice.”
Her heart gave a stupid little kick. “It’s just snacks, silly.”
He looked toward the couch, then the table, then back at her. “No, I mean… You prepared everything very carefully.”
Marin felt her face burn. How could he say things so simply, so devastatingly? Did he not sense what that steady attention did to her sanity? His sincerity always felt like a jolt. Sharp, sudden, impossible to ignore.
“Hehe… well, y’know, I wanted it to be fun,” she said, suddenly finding the edge of her sleeve extremely interesting.
He nodded. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Get it together, Marin. You have zero chance. Completely, laughably useless.
“Right!” Marin said, clapping once to reset her brain. “Sit! I mean... make yourself comfortable!”
Gojo sat at one end of the couch, back straight. He deliberately left enough room for a third person, a medium-sized dog, and layers of emotional repression.
She narrowed her eyes. So that was his game? Was he keeping a distance? She could play that game too. Marin chose a spot just close enough to feel daring, doing her best to contain her nerves. This was friendly. She tried to ignore the charged tension.
Gojo didn’t react much. Marin noticed him straighten a little. Success? Or just more complicated? Marin wasn’t sure, but her pulse noticed.
She grabbed the remote. “Okay, so, Automatic Project Fool Triton K.”
Gojo smiled faintly. “Well, the title is certainly memorable.”
Marin laughed. “Right? It sounds fake even when you say it out loud.”
“It does.”
“And yet, it is peak.” Marin hit play.
The protagonist ran across a ruined cityscape, enormous silver machinery unfolding behind him. Soon, the cast appeared, each in stylish poses.
When Enobu appeared, Marin pointed. “There!”
Gojo watched the screen. “Yes, that’s her.”
“Yep!”
On screen, Enobu Matsuyama turned with cool elegance, hair and coat in slow motion. She looked calm, intelligent, and a little distant. Gojo watched quietly while Marin tried not to stare at his profile.
“She does carry herself very differently from you,” he said after a moment.
Marin blinked. “Eh?”
“I mean the character. When you cosplayed her, your expression and posture changed very convincingly.”
Marin’s heart bounced into her throat. “You noticed that?”
Gojo looked confused. “Of course.”
Marin turned toward him more fully. “Gojo, that’s like… a super high-level compliment.”
He blinked once. “It is?”
“Yes!”
“I was only stating what I observed.”
“That’s what makes it worse!”
He looked even more confused, making Marin laugh and hide her face. Gojo watched the episode as seriously as he did fabric samples. Marin found that look comforting.
The first half of the episode leaned heavily into sci-fi drama. Enobu was introduced as a support systems analyst attached to the Triton K unit, but it was obvious almost immediately that she was more than she first appeared. She moved through the scenes with quiet confidence, always seeming to know more than she said.
Marin stole glances at Gojo. He was absorbed, genuinely engaged. That made her happy and briefly eased her nerves. Then the story shifted.
A longer exchange between Enobu and the pilot. A scene where she treated him after the battle while he thanked her. A calm moment on an observation deck with city lights. Marin felt her posture change.
Ah. Oh no. She knew this episode. She had picked what she thought was the best run of episodes. Evidently, ‘best run’ also meant ‘sudden, emotionally intimate character writing.’
Which meant... On screen, the pilot looked at Enobu with unusual softness and said, “When I’m with you, the noise in my head gets quieter.”
Marin froze. Not this scene. Not with Gojo on her couch with the lights low and the blanket nearby.
She laughed too quickly. “Wow, they’re getting intense already.”
Gojo didn’t look away from the screen. “Their dialogue changed.”
“It has?”
“Yes. Earlier, their conversations were functional. Now there’s more hesitation.”
She stared. Obviously, he caught all the shifts in dialogue but missed the tension twisting her insides. How was he brilliant about anime and oblivious about her?
Marin sat tense as the scene played: Enobu flustered, music soft, wind in her hair. Was she this obvious? She hoped not, but she was. Crap. Marin shifted on the couch, hyper-aware of Gojo’s heat. She wasn’t touching him, but she felt it. Her hands fidgeted; she tried to drink normally.
Gojo glanced over. “Are you alright?”
“Mm? Yup! Totally!”
“You seem restless.”
Marin nearly choked on her drink. “I... Nope! No restless here...”
He paused. “A little.”
She turned toward him with exaggerated offense. “Excuse me. Maybe I’m just heavily invested in the emotional richness of the narrative.”
Gojo gave a small laugh. “That makes sense.”
Marin stared. Then she started laughing again because he had said it with complete sincerity. “You’re impossible,” she said, smiling into her drink.
The episode moved on, but the mood had changed. Even action scenes had become threaded with something softer. Enobu and the pilot gravitated toward each other, near touches, interrupted talks, lingering looks.
It was bad. Not bad-bad, just bad for Marin’s heart. During a quieter scene, Gojo leaned forward to reach for a snack. His sleeve touched hers. It was nothing, but Marin forgot how to be a person for three full seconds.
She kept her gaze locked on the TV, gripping the remote and making a heroic effort to act normal. Gojo calmly reached for a rice cracker from the bowl, sat back with it, and watched the screen. Marin looked sideways at him, trying to read his reaction.
How is he so calm? How?
On screen, Enobu was now tending to the pilot’s injuries in the ship hangar after a mission had gone wrong. Her hands were gentle. His expression softened. The lighting was absurdly romantic for a room full of giant robot parts.
Marin covered part of her face with her sleeve.
Gojo noticed. “Are you cold?”
“What? No!”
“You look like you’re hiding.”
“I’m not hiding!”
He tilted his head slightly. “Then why are you covering your face?”
Marin’s brain made one brave attempt at functioning. “… dramatic appreciation.”
He nodded. “I see.”
He didn’t see. He just didn’t get it. It should make it easier. Instead, she wanted to push him, just a little. Nothing wild. Just enough to see if she could get any kind of reaction at all. The idea alone made her heart rate jump. She looked back at the TV and tried to seem casual.
“So, uh… what do you think of Enobu-chan?”
Gojo answered immediately. “She’s very well designed.”
Marin snorted. “That is the most Gojo answer possible.”
He looked embarrassed. “I mean, as a character. Her visual design supports her personality. The muted palette makes her stand out less aggressively than the others, so when she becomes emotionally important, the change in emphasis feels stronger.”
Marin smiled. There it was again, that thing he did. That beautiful, earnest way he paid attention.
“She was a really good choice for you to cosplay,” he added.
Marin’s heart did a backflip. “You think so?”
“Yes. You brought out parts of the character that are easy to miss at first.”
That one landed harder. Marin went very still. “Like what?”
Gojo didn’t seem to notice the shift in her voice. “She seems cool from a distance, but she’s actually very earnest. And more easily shaken than she wants people to see.”
Marin could only stare at him. On screen, Enobu looked away from the pilot, obviously flustered and restrained. Marin looked back at Gojo. Then back at the screen. Then back at Gojo. There was no way, no way he had just said that while sitting next to her, during this episode, while remaining entirely oblivious to the fact that he had just also described her with dreadful accuracy.
Marin laughed weakly. “Wow. You really got her fast.”
He nodded. “She reminds me of you.”
Marin’s heart stopped. Actually stopped. For one full impossible second. She looked at him, eyes open wide. “She… does?”
Gojo’s expression stayed thoughtful, innocent, completely unguarded. “Yes.”
Marin’s entire body went rigid. The room felt suddenly smaller. The TV kept playing, but she could barely hear it anymore over the beating in her ears. This was it. This was some kind of attack. An accidental one, because Gojo was Gojo, but still. A direct hit.
Gojo blinked. “Was that strange?”
Marin stared at him, skin burning hot. “Gojo...” she said, voice faint with effort.
He frowned slightly, sensing the weirdness. “I only meant...”
“I know what you meant!” she squeaked.
Now he looked worried. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize!”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
Marin covered her entire face with both hands. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. How was she supposed to survive a boy who said devastatingly sweet things in the exact tone someone else might use to discuss weather patterns?
She took a deep breath and slowly lowered her hands. Gojo still looked concerned. That, somehow, made everything even worse. Marin tried to recover what little dignity she had left. “… okay, fine. Then tell me.”
He blinked. “Tell you?”
“If she reminds you of me, what part?” Marin said, forcing herself to sound playful even as her pulse drummed.
Gojo paused. He actually considered it seriously. Marin instantly regretted asking. “You’re both bright in a way that changes the atmosphere around you. Even when you’re trying not to be noticed, people notice. And when you care about something, it becomes very obvious. You put your whole heart into it.”
Marin couldn’t move. She couldn’t blink. She couldn’t breathe properly. The TV was still going. Enobu and the pilot were now standing in the moonlight, saying probably important things. Marin had no idea. Reality had narrowed to one boy on one couch saying one impossible sentence after another, like he had no understanding of the laws of human survival.
Gojo looked down slightly. “I thought your cosplay suited her well because of that.”
Marin stared at him. Then, because her soul had abandoned her body and left a gyaru-shaped disaster in its place, she said the first thing that came to mind. “You’re really trying to kill me today, huh?”
He looked alarmed. “What?”
She laughed, high and breathless, and shook her head. “Nothing! Nothing!”
On screen, the pilot gently took Enobu’s hand. Marin’s laughter vanished instantly. The room felt warm. Too warm. She became acutely aware, once again, of the couch, of the nearby blanket, of the soft light in the room, of Gojo’s shoulder only a little distance from hers.
This was ridiculous. And yet… She looked at their hands. Well, not their hands. The space near their hands. A completely normal space. A harmless space. A terrifying space. Before she could lose her nerve, Marin shifted just a tiny bit closer.
Not enough to touch. Just enough that, if either of them moved naturally, they might. Gojo didn’t comment. But she did notice the faintest strain in his shoulders. Ah. So he did notice some things. Interesting. Very interesting.
Marin stared at the TV and decided, since she had already fallen off the cliff, she might as well continue downward gracefully. “This part’s really good.”
Gojo nodded. “It is.”
“I like when romance sneaks up on people,” she added.
He was quiet for a moment. “Me too.”
Marin turned her head. He was still watching the screen, but his look had softened in a way she didn’t see often. There was no panic there, no awkwardness, no confusion. Just a quiet kind of sincerity.
Her chest tightened. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it feels honest. The characters don’t seem different. They just start revealing things that were already there,” he said thoughtfully.
Marin looked at him and forgot entirely about pretending to watch the show. There it was again, that gentle way he had of understanding things without dressing them up. Like feelings were not some dramatic, mysterious force, but part of the natural shape of people. Like affection could be something quiet that simply… became visible.
Her teasing mood softened. “... that’s really nice.”
He glanced over then, maybe hearing something in her tone. For one small suspended moment, they just looked at each other. The TV’s shifting light moved across his face. Blue, then gold, then pale white. His eyes looked darker in the dim room. Steadier.
Marin’s pulse jumped harder. This was getting dangerous. She smiled suddenly, because smiling was easier than dealing with the fact that she wanted to keep looking at him. “You’re kinda romantic, Gojo.”
He went red almost instantly. “I... what?”
“You totally are.”
“I was just answering your question!”
“Very romantically.”
“Was it really that...?”
Marin grinned. “That’s exactly what a romantic person who doesn’t know they’re romantic would say.”
He looked so flustered now that Marin had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing too hard. There, finally, a reaction. Victory. A tiny, precious victory. She leaned back a little more comfortably against the couch and hugged a pillow to her chest.
The episode rolled into its climax. The pilot nearly sacrificed himself. Enobu panicked more openly than ever before. Her calm mask broke. She grabbed his arm, her voice shaking, and told him not to leave her behind.
Marin noticed the tension in the room shift again. The show had gone from ‘romantic undertones’ to ‘emotionally hazardous.’ On screen, the pilot looked at Enobu with that particular anime expression that always meant something life-changing was about to be said. Marin sat very still.
The pilot lifted a hand to Enobu’s face. Marin could not believe this was happening. Not because of the show, but because of the utterly unfair fact that she was now hyper-aware of what it might feel like if Gojo touched her face like that.
Absolutely not. Illegal thought. Jail-worthy thought. She shoved a handful of chips into her mouth purely out of self-defense.
Gojo glanced over. “Are the snacks alright?”
Marin almost inhaled a chip. “Yup! Perfectly normal snack experience!”
On screen, the pilot said, “I came back because I wanted to see you again.” Marin made a strangled noise.
Gojo turned fully this time. “Kitagawa?”
She held the pillow harder.
He appeared genuinely concerned now. “Are you unwell?”
That did it. Marin turned to him, eyes open wide with disbelief. “Gojo, how are you this calm?”
He blinked. “Calm?”
“Yes, calm!”
“We’re just watching the show.”
“I know we’re watching the anime!”
He looked more confused than ever. “Then what do you mean?”
Marin stared at him. He stared back. For one long second, she thought, I could say it. I could literally just say it. I could point at the screen, point at us, and point at my face, which is probably the color of a warning sign right now, and explain the entire situation.
Instead, she collapsed in on herself and groaned into the pillow. “I’m dying,” she mumbled.
Gojo stiffened. “Should I get water?”
Marin laughed helplessly against the fabric. He really was impossible. When she looked back up, he was still watching her with worried sincerity. Something in her chest softened all over again.
This time, when she smiled, it came out smaller. “No, I’m okay.”
He hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
The softness in her own voice seemed to surprise both of them. Gojo’s expression changed just slightly. Not panic, not confusion. Something more careful. Marin noticed it immediately. And suddenly the room felt even quieter than before.
The anime was still moving toward the end of the episode, but neither of them seemed entirely inside it anymore.
Marin adjusted her grip on the pillow. “You really don’t get flustered by stuff like this?”
Gojo looked at the TV, then back at her. “I sometimes do.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you acting all normal?”
He looked down briefly. “I’m trying to.”
Marin became still. That was new, entirely new. Her heart rate picked up again, but differently this time. Less frantic. More suspended. “Trying?” she said.
He nodded once, still not quite looking at her. “I don’t want to make people uncomfortable if I get flustered over things like this.”
The words fell quietly. So softly, in fact, that Marin almost missed how devastating they actually were. She stared at him. All at once, a dozen little things from the evening clicked into place. The careful distance when he first sat down. The way he stayed composed.
His shoulders had tightened a little when she moved closer. The fact that he had noticed. He had noticed. Not everything, maybe. But enough. A quiet warmth moved through her chest so quickly it almost hurt.
“Gojo…”
He looked up then. And just like that, the teasing atmosphere they’d been circling all evening shifted into something more fragile. More real. The episode ended in the background. Credits began rolling over the final image of Enobu standing alone under artificial starlight, her look gentler than when the story had begun.
Neither of them looked at the screen. Marin’s voice came out smaller than she intended. “So you were flustered too?”
He hesitated. Then, very slightly, he nodded. Her heart did something so complicated and dramatic it should have required paperwork.
“You hid it way too well,” she uttered softly, trying for teasing and only half-managing it.
“I’m sorry.”
That made her smile. “Why are you apologizing for that?”
“Because… I thought it would be better if I acted normally.”
Marin’s smile changed. It became gentler without her meaning it to. “Gojo, you acting normally is, like, ninety percent of the problem.”
He blinked. Then, slowly, color rose in his face again. Marin laughed under her breath. There he was. There was the Gojo she knew. Honest. Sweet. Trying very hard. Endlessly vulnerable in ways he didn’t know how to hide.
She set the pillow aside. The movement seemed tiny, but suddenly her hands were free, and that felt significant in a way she did not want to examine too closely. The room had grown dimmer as evening light replaced the gold of late afternoon.
Marin looked at him and, before she could stop herself, said, “I’m really glad you came over.”
Gojo’s expression eased. “I’m glad too.”
Simple, direct, and completely sincere. And somehow that was worse than anything else. Marin let out a soft laugh. “Even though the episode nearly killed me?”
He frowned. “Was the episode really that distressing?”
She laughed. “No, not distressing. Just… intense.”
Gojo was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, it was.”
The moment balanced on something fragile. Not a confession. Not yet. But near enough to one that her heartbeat turned unsteady. She wanted to say something brave. Something clear. Something that would carry all the comfort and panic and wanting that had been building in her chest since the opening theme.
Instead, what came out was: “So… So, uh… want to watch the next episode?”
Gojo looked at her for a second longer than usual. Then, very gently, he nodded. “Yes.”
Marin smiled. A real one this time. Softer than her usual bright grin. Softer even than she meant it to be. “Okay then.”
She grasped for the remote, but her hand touched his by accident on the couch cushion between them. Marin looked at their hands, then at him. Gojo’s breath caught slightly. He hadn’t meant to touch her, but the warmth of her fingertips lingered like a small spark. For a second, he wondered if he should move his hand. But Marin hadn’t moved hers either. Marin drew her hand back first, though only barely, her fingertips lingering against the cushion.
Her face was warm again. Gojo looked just as flustered now as she felt. Good. Not because she wanted him embarrassed. But because this, whatever this was, wasn’t only in her head. She swallowed and smiled, small and shaky and happy.
“… this one’s even more romantic,” she warned.
Gojo looked at the remote in her hand, then at her. His face was still gently pink. “I see,” he said.
Marin laughed softly. “You say that like you’re preparing for battle.”
He thought about it. “… maybe I am.”
That made her laugh harder, and some of the tension eased, though not all of it. Not the important part. She hit play. The next episode began. This time, when they settled back into the couch, the space between them was smaller. Not gone. Not yet. But smaller.
When the next episode started, Marin found that even though she was definitely still flustered, and even though Gojo sitting beside her made her heart flutter, she didn’t mind. Now she knew: he had been trying to act normal. He had been flustered, too. Somewhere inside that soft, awkward evening, between their snacks and accidental touches, something had shifted.
Not enough to name. Not enough to say aloud. But enough that Marin, hugging a pillow to her side while trying not to smile too much at the TV, could feel it there. Quiet. Warm. And already a little hard to hide.