Work Text:
Gojo has always been favored. Whether reluctantly or with enough admiration to seal the cracks of humanity, he never once had room to doubt the path of success. His light has always shined unapologetically bright, multiple scandals and accusations blazing a puny trail in his modeling career. He came out on top every time— the tight grasp he seems to maintain on society having to do with most of the outcome. Everyone loves Satoru Gojo. And you ended up loving him, too.
At first it started off with tolerance. You couldn’t understand the hype. It was impossible to deny his attractiveness; the sight of him on screens and billboards in Tokyo never failed to make you stop in your tracks. But many others share the stage with him, so it’s not as if you didn’t have the same reaction with anyone else. But what made him so magnetic? You found it ridiculous whenever his comments would flood with women throwing themselves at the young model. Heart eyes and suggestive images as if competing and auditioning for a sliver of his attention dominated each post. Every time, the sight would leave a crease in your brow, lips curled in a sigh as you reprimanded each stranger in the silent echo of your apartment. “Have some self respect, ladies,” you would whisper before swiping away with unhidden disgust.
When you interviewed him on the red carpet your composure stayed intact. With the career of a journalist, you knew meeting the white-haired man was inevitable. Still, the shock did move through you before settling into excitement at the jittery twitches of your fingertips holding the microphone. It was like any other interaction— simple, casual, lighthearted. You were doing your job, albeit too well— people mistook you for flirting in the past multiple times. But it was a job you can positively say you loved. No harassment, no yelling, just a woman asking for detailed answers to boost morale and striving upcoming artists. However, that love twisted to something akin to appreciation once cerulean eyes met yours. A stammer budged into your practiced questions once. Twice. You tuned yourself out after the third time, an ache easily settling behind your lids in frustration.
It was a silly moment. You let the feeling fall at your feet immediately because distractions were a big no no in your book. You were no match up to this career’s description if you couldn’t handle something as trivial as a man with good looks. Just as quick as he came, he was gone. Steps anything but hurried as he made his way into the big, luxurious building where millionaires resided. He was confident. Self assured. Every response was followed with a grin too genuine for you to take. A small wonder of whether it was because of you or your thought-out inquiry that made the corner of his eyes crinkle. You didn’t let that possibility settle. He’s just a man and you’re just good at what you do. That’s all it was. That’s all it could be.
The brief interview gained some recognition across social media, but that was the least of your worries. That’s what happens when you come across main attractions, especially because of his recent shoot and cover on one of the most famous magazine. Unfortunately, his buzz was far from temporary. He headlined constantly, his face inescapable whenever your overheated phone vibrated against your palm. So, you and Satoru’s moment floated around platforms for quite a bit. So much to where you received his follow on Instagram.
You’re not the type to indulge into demands or implications— you prefer doing what you want on your timing. You couldn’t tell if this small act was to get a rile out of invisible bodies across the web, so this small action bubbled up a feeling of indifference. The possibility of acting as a pawn to some foolish game of his irritated you way more than usual— a habit of ignoring the app forming rather quickly. You ignored the “follow back” button, choosing to let your silence dominate the small desire of texting him with question marks. He wasn’t easy to get rid of. It’s hard to tell if it’s because of his influence or an ego that has existed before his debut, but he didn’t take your blatant ignorance as rejection, he took it as a challenge.
Two days later, you noticed his tag once more, but this time in your inbox. Resilient. Annoying. It’s what you believed at first. But your thumbs moved anyways, a blanket with his name written all over it settling across your shoulders every time a reply was directed at the blue eyed model. It was easy and civil at first. No more than associates. And thanks to the tricky gamble of algorithm, opportunities began to unfold right in front of you. Your schedule became busier, and your contacts got fuller with connections you only dreamed of obtaining. Just because of some flimsy questions thrown at famous Satoru Gojo. Everything seemed perfect.
You got comfortable. The recognition was delayed, but the relaxation in your posture was unmistakeable. Your friends noticed first— their immediate assumption being a man who made your lips stretch into a smile more than usual. You always shook off the tease, only for their accuracy to linger in your head at night. It was because of him. Quips about the industry and small favors turned into something dangerous overtime, and walking through unknown territory was no easy task. Texts that could come off as him pursuing you was dizzying— the response you gave meek as if that route was impossible to possess. He wasn’t discouraged, much to your relief, but the path you two manage to stumble upon was sticky. You couldn’t decide whether it was a good idea to actually acknowledge incoming feelings.
Tolerance twisted into anticipation. It constantly felt like you were waiting. For what? You couldn’t say, the feeling just lingered. It made you sick. He’s just a man, yet your phone stayed somewhere close just incase you heard that familiar hum. It’s not as if you revolved around your phone, your career was at its peak. There was no sign of clientele slowing, and the high demands had your feet aching at the end of the day from scurrying in stiletto pumps. Still, you and Satoru made time for each other through friendly-flirty texts that made your screen dim to a a faint glow in public. Yet, you still felt that same, irritating gap that mimicked your body in a sitting room with a ticking clock. What were you waiting for? Nothing changed. If anything, you felt like things progressed with you and Satoru. Life continued despite the new, rigid storm coursing through you, and one random afternoon, something snapped into place.
A date. No, a hangout. Satoru insisted on seeing you once, the invitation thrilling to you upon first inspection. A secret night on top of a mountain with beautiful scenery turned into sporadic meetings across the month. This was the gap. You wanted to see him again. See him often. Even if acknowledging each other for the first time was no longer than ten minutes, you found familiarity and contentment in his presence once more. It would be bashful to say you missed him— he was a mere stranger at the time. Despite that, you came far. The fall crept, but it seemed fast and unimaginable. You didn’t expect to magically see Satoru in a new light after text messages. The observation made your nose crinkle. You felt like a middle schooler again when crushes formed over nothing.
He made you feel cherished, wanted, and appreciated. There was hardly a dull moment between you— voices carrying an endearing tone whenever you would talk to one another. Whether it was electronically or in-person, each conversation left a glow on your body. Curiosity ate at your peers every time they saw you, but something prevented you from spilling. Satoru and you never brushed up on how to navigate with other people, and the thought of disappointing him left a burn in your throat. Keeping details of your life away from the people you care for most left a bad taste in your mouth, so it didn’t take long before the topic sprung up.
“How would you feel about going public?”
It was harmless. Soft. A small nudge that blew you back in return. The shadow that crossed over his features was hard to forget, your own face dropping even after he recovered and gave you an unconvincing excuse that went in one ear and out of the other. But you noticed. It was hard not to. The dip of his brows. The way his lips frowned. The way his eyes averted yours. The sight haunted you that night and the following evenings where you cuddled under him in fragile silence. What exactly was the problem? You first tried to convince yourself that he was protecting you from his crazy, obsessed fans who had a serious case of parasocialism, but the ache of rejection only came back to rear its ugly head whenever your mind wandered back to that night.
Anticipation turned into something more confusing. You never brung it up again. You made a personal agreement to live in the moment and have fun. Easier said than done, but you tried your hardest. The issue was easy to ignore once you were under him with moans and grunts captured by spirits roaming through his high-end neighborhood, but indignation afterwards hit you with as much force Satoru’s thrusts had given you prior. The sex was great— he’s blessed in look and skill as expected— but having to witness him on the sidelines in public sent ire through your entire being. Openly flirting with people who look nothing like you. Always answering “no” whenever a lover was brought up in his interviews. It made you want to spiral altogether and expose a picture of his bicep around your neck before disappearing out of the country. But, you didn’t want to lose him. It would wreck you if something that seemed so precious shattered after it just formed.
So, you stayed. Settled. You scarfed down the yearn punching at your chest and forced a false narrative of things not being so bad down your throat. You still smiled, just not as hard. Work still kicked your ass, but it didn’t ground you as much as it used to. You sworn you were lucky. Sworn you were exactly where you wanted to be, but the lie can only thin so much. The frayed edges cut at you every time Satoru came around, the ache sharpening into a pain harder to ignore. You didn’t hate him— you couldn’t. Doubts just became harder to overcome, and conclusions you formed left your body cold. What you felt for him wasn’t exactly unrequited, his actions never left room for that belief, but wanting more wasn’t reciprocated.
You felt greedy. Regretful. A part of you wished you could take what he’s giving and run off to the stars with a happy heart and mind, but that wouldn’t be natural. That would never be you. Casualty isn’t normal in your head, and you’ve never participated in it for this exact reason. You’re always thinking further than the now— the future has always held itself over your head as if it’s unachievable. As if it’s some faraway dream that’s destined for someone else. It’s not as if he’s intimate with another— as far as you know. There hasn’t been any sign of another party, aside from him keeping his charismatic image up in public by winking and throwing comments in that suggestive tone you learned to adore. He even went as far as to tell you it meant nothing whenever he’d see your knuckles whiten on the note card you held assigned to one of the hot shot celebrities in your wake. His reassurance only fell on deaf ears, because it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. It wasn’t enough. And that killed you more than his previous rejection did.
If Satoru noticed your change in behavior, he never commented on it. Or maybe pretending became an easier thing to do, the theatre classes you took doing its numbers in this disjunct beat your bodies dance to. The shift was slight, but noticeable. As if a record skidded subtly, but the melody still jumped to everyone’s attention. Silence was no longer comfortable, it was suffocating. You chose to speak less, the slight fear in fucking things up taking a bigger toll on you than you thought. Questions go unanswered because you don’t ask, and the piled up emotions sitting on your tongue will probably surface as you blabber on like you used to. That was when your guard was down. That was when you weren’t afraid of an outcome that never crossed your mind before. Now, it’s front, center, and devastatingly invasive.
You always had a tendency to take someone’s attraction and try to force it into the love you fantasize about. Once your heart becomes involved, a sense of impending doom never lags too far behind. It was like a loop that only targeted you whenever your hopes start to come up off the bar in hell. Satoru has always showed you affection. Kisses linger, hugs drag on seconds longer than needed, words drop onto your heart covered in honey. Every action dedicated to you made the sun shine a little brighter, and he soon became your muse. The desperation came almost instantly. You wanted him to love you, to devote all his time to you like you would for him. To move mountains like you would do for him. You constantly yearned to give as good as one gets, but it seems as if the rug is always pulled from under you whenever victory appeared plausible. The three words that makes time stop hasn’t been uttered, you talk yourself into thinking that his secret kisses in passing show better than telling, but you wish he could express it proudly. Loudly. Publicly.
Days pass and you’re in his arms again, silk sheets wrapped around your half naked bodies. The breeze is cool to your skin, but your body made no move to climb down in temperature. Heat settled stubbornly across your body, mind anything but quiet as different sounds play on Satoru’s phone sitting at the top of your head. In times like this, you could relax. Breathe deeper. Succumb to the softness of Satoru’s bed that should be illegal from how comfortable it is. Not tonight. You remained bushy tailed. Melatonin didn’t hit you as usual after having sex, and it only drove you to be even more agitated. This was so stupid. You wish it all could be so simple, but emotions always made themselves more complicated than necessary. Just when your mouth was about to open, a headliner is announced from the speaker of the device about Satoru having a potential lover. You were spotted?
Your head turns to face the screen, the tips of his fingers red as the grip on his phone becomes knuckle-tight. You didn’t say anything. The lady kept speaking, following with a blurry image of you two leaving a restaurant you recently attended together. Thankfully, you’re anonymous, but Satoru’s abnormal hair could never be overlooked. The phone dies with a click, room darkening as the arms around your shoulders tense up. His lack of words was somehow worse. Can he say something? Anything? You were dying for a comment. Breadcrumbs. But they never came. He just scooted closer and fell into a slumber not too long after, soft snores piercing your lungs.
Confusion cleared once you chose to face reality instead of protecting your own feelings. Shortly after that, he stopped taking you out. He settled on ordering private chefs and renting out places instead of handling things how you preferred. No public statement was made, further raising suspicion among observers and fans, but his personal reason to you never wavered.
“I don’t care about what the internet has to say.”
Understandable. Mature. But it’s still not what you want. Going out in public was your one chance to keep the delusion alive, but he took that lens away. Feigning confidence was becoming harder every time you holed up in his mansion after being dropped off by an ordered driver. The restrictions, the low expectations, they all became too much to bear. You no longer felt cherished. You no longer felt appreciated. You felt like a secret. A piece of entertainment for his eyes only. Was it really only you who wanted to take things further? Was it really only you who was proud of the chemistry you two shared? You couldn’t let your heart stutter any longer. You couldn’t let any more things go left unsaid, but what is it you want to say? You had no idea on how to bring your desires to the surface, fearing getting shut down with another excuse that may leave you with guilt.
The burden of your inner turmoil dimmed your motivation to do things you used to look forward to. Eating was no longer exciting, stomach full of distain at what you allowed. At what you still wish to have. Your body can’t seem to catch the hint— heart insistent on lurching at the sight of his name. His face. His existence. The organ inside of your chest bleeds, but reaches out to treat the wounds of another regardless of her own demise. That wound being Satoru. Your heart swears she can convince him. Fix him. Swears that if you become more adamant and try, things will change. But you have no fight left. There’s nothing you could do. You can’t force someone to share the same desires as you. It doesn’t seem to work like that, no matter how many times your hands clasped together in silent prayer.
Your attachment didn’t budge as much as you would’ve liked it to. You let this… situation play out a little bit longer. Long enough to put your heart at ease, but short enough to not latch onto the last few strings tying you to Satoru Gojo. You let him inside of you again. Let him plan a special, fancy dinner that ceased to fulfill the role you would like to be. Let him steal your laughter and plant kisses on your body that’s sure to leave a mark the following week. You cherished every moment, word, and emotion as if it were the last. Because it was. You had your fun, even if it was short lived, but suffering was becoming tiring. Endless. As much as walking away impacted you, it was for the best. You were done swallowing pills that didn’t affect you.
Fading away was far from easy, but it was needed. Required. You needed to finally step out of the loop that succeeds in ruining you. Not by force, but by choice. You and Satoru could’ve kept at this far longer than it did, but the mental torture no longer felt like a game. It was a nightmare, and you were hellbent on waking up to save yourself and loved ones. Your replies became dry. Enough to feed, but only to mere satisfaction instead of the buffet you would usually give. Then, hours would pass before you responded. Hours turned to days, days turned to weeks, until you completely disappeared. You picked up work in a new area, slate polished and redirected as you focus on prosperity instead of love. The future you embrace isn’t what you depicted as perfect in the past, but now, it’s perfect enough for you.