Work Text:
Shoko’s the one who doubles your physics study group from a measly count of two, you and her. "Geto’s the best tutor of his year, she says, willing to help out kids who’ve skipped a year."
His friend Gojo is standoffish, but he warms up to you after your knack for mental shortcuts and stupid mnemonics surprises him, saving him from failing a midterm.
"Holy shit, do that again," he says, poking your shoulder like there’s a button somewhere, and you swat him away. Shoko pokes you, so does Geto, and you squirm. You run away, knowing Shoko isn't the type to sprint if she can avoid it.
Gojo’s competitive side is electric. It shocks him into reaction. Before anyone can question it, he dashes after you. All you feel is a gust of wind before a tug opposite your direction latches on, jolts you backward, and you both tumble down the hill at the ass crack of dawn, frozen and bruised from the packed snow.
In your 2nd and 3rd year, you learn through several all-nighters together that Gojo really needs to know his shit academically and be the guy who's well-spoken, charming, and generous to appease his elders.
He complains he’s keeping it together by a thread, low on sleep and high on stress. Geto says that, "The only way out is through," deep in his self-help era. Shoko offers sympathies but admits, "I can’t relate, good luck."
You opt for a don’t-ask, don’t-tell policy, and just sprinkle 5-hour energy into his coffee. "Drink this." It works, because he’s the one who wakes you up just in time for your final, and he holds it over your head all semester.
By the 4th year, you guys have frolicked through hell and back together.
Gojo is ticked off when his rich friends restrict invites to certain afterparties and functions. He attends both, maintaining appearances, but deep down he much prefers to smoke out Geto’s room, the four of you fucking around board games, baking in Shoko’s apartment, making fun of noir films at yours, hitting the gym, and taking late night drives to scream at the ocean.
After graduation, you score an internship in the same city with Shoko, who’s relieved but also visibly upset that Geto’s going abroad.
"Uh, anyone gonna miss me, guys?" Gojo pouts, and everyone says "No," holding a pause for 3 second before launching apologetic slaps on his back. "Thanks guys," he says, sore, "If you forget about me, I’d die from sadness."
He squeeze Shoko's shoulder, "Don't worry, Geto showed me his calendar. He's got flights booked to see a certain someone," he pauses for dramatic flair. Shoko rolls her eyes, takes a drag, and blushes. Gojo winks at you like you had anything to do with securing this information, and you nudge Shoko. She gives you a shy smile.
So you, Shoko, Geto, and Gojo keep in touch after college. No one migrates the group chat, and it’s the busiest thing you’ve seen. Your phone doesn't shut up. Good mornings and nights multiple times a day, group calls that last hours. Occasionally, all or some of you meet up in each other’s cities for extended breaks and holidays. Pairs were easy, trios sometimes, rarely all four. Impromptu dinners would turn into overnight stays and weekend-long trips.
Near the end of the 1st year, Gojo rejects several of the group’s invites. He explains that he has a girlfriend. Everyone understands. You shoot a text congratulating him, say that it took longer than anyone expected. Shoko asks for a photo, you call him a cougar, and Geto asks to meet her father for an internship.
The three of you always bet that Gojo would be the first to split off, noting his life trajectory just seemed destined for a different road. The group chat only quiets a bit, but Gojo doesn’t seem to change much.
Year 2, Shoko reveals Geto's officially asked for her heart. She tell you through drunken whispers at the crack of dawn. You giggle, high off the lack of sleep and joy, mumble sweet congratulations as your eyes droop close.
You beg her to hear how it went down and she happily tells you how Suguru swept her off her feet, that suave bastard. Geto asks for a double date in the group chat, and Gojo jokes, "That’s really not a good idea, buddy." Shoko reacts with a question mark, and you send a frozen, shocked frog sticker.
In Year 3, the four of you rent out a cabin in the mountains to celebrate your promotion. Geto is the first to touch your drink with his, commencing the night with a short speech. To his credit, it’s good, and you credit his public speaking skills to the slew of literature he’s been reading.
Shoko leans on you, and Gojo surprisingly wraps you in his arms. I knew you could do it, is what he wants to say, lips so close to the shell of your ear. Instead he says, "Look at her, our token smartass strikes again."
Shoko spills your barren love history to the group during Uno. You fake mock betrayal at being subjected to mere gossip fodder. But it's okay, anyone that one that gets made fun of, affectionately, for the night, is actually an intervention out of care.
Shoko consoles you, "It’s okay, practice makes perfect." Geto laughs at your staunch theory of self improvement before entering a relationship, and Gojo warns you to stay away.
"Uh oh, trouble in paradise?" Geto asks. Shoko shakes her head disapprovingly. "Don’t listen to him, not every relationship is like that," and you’re happy to change the subject.
2 months later Gojo reveals he parted ways with his girlfriend to focus more on his identity and career. The reason is incredibly vague and none of you are able to pry more out of him, so Geto says, "Try finding better excuses, bro." Shoko gawks and asks "Stooped to hiding from us now?" And you send him the number to a hotline. Gojo fires back, laughs and giggles on all fronts, but he’s serious.
Year 4, Gojo sends a picturesque photo of him in foreign land. Different mountains, a bright smile, surrounded by other friends. Geto sends a row of flirtatious smirking emojis, Shoko snarks about not being invited, and you bully him into purchasing souvenirs.
Your bullying results in a surprise FaceTime, just the two of you, with choppy audio and what should be an unflattering angle of Gojo’s chin, but is quite flattering, and he asks if the trinket he picks out is to your liking. It's bright, and the light softens all of his usual sharp angles.
After that, the calls don’t stop. He stays up with you when you’re knee deep in submitting to the scientific journal, or when you’re struggling with a recipe. You pick up when he calls, bored, but you know that despondent look means something’s actually wrong.
He calls you when anything good happens, too, triumph over his superiors, a fresh vine of tomatoes acquired, a cute dog that took a liking to him. You two spend way too much doing dumb crafts together, and you send a photo of the baked clay animals on your shelf. He sends one back, a picture of his desk. It’s serious, solemn, and gray, entirely unlike him.
Whenever he travels, and he’s always traveling, he flashes you his classic airport fit, says he got you a matching one, and you snort when the delivery arrives at your door. It smells good. He saves Shoko’s photo of you in the group chat, snapped after you picked her up in your car for a girls-only-weekend, all-inclusive of sleepover, wine, and a camping trip.
You’re sporting a hoodie in the shade of blue that only he would choose. "Is that yours or are you seeing someone?" She asks. "Uh, this is mine," you say. "I didn’t know you wore cologne," she comments, and you scramble for the truth. "It must be a unisex brand, it came like this!"
Year 5 goes by. Shoko isn’t shocked when you ask her to proofread your dating profile. You send it to the group chat for review. Geto gives you serious advice about "adding full body photos," which was also Shoko’s suggestion that you didn’t take, and Gojo says that you’re "washing down your personality in your profile."
"Why are you pretending to be someone else?" Gojo texts. You answer in earnest that you’re looking for love so you gotta sell yourself, embellish a but, and to send any handsome friends your way. Shoko sends you a list, Geto visibly stresses at how many good men she knows, and Gojo unsends a message.
You hit the jackpot with a nice, modest guy. He’s ambitious, caring, but you two aren’t on the same wavelength. You fall in love for a year and out of love in the next. It ends in year 6, when Shoko and Geto host their annual new years party.
You invite your boyfriend. Geto talks shop and gets along with the guy, Shoko is polite and impressed by his resume, and Gojo, who's able to make it in person for once, turns on business charm out of nowhere, flinging jokes that are particularly unfunny to you. Your boyfriend finds them hilarious, and he has a great time.
He leaves early for another event, without you, and Gojo motions neck-chopping in disapproval.
"C’mon, stop giving her a hard time," Geto scolds, "He’s nice and treats her well, that’s a start." Shoko comments, "On paper he’s great, but do you really feel he’s the one?" And Gojo rules him out, "You two can’t laugh about the same things, how’s that going to work?" For the first time, you’re genuinely embarrassed.
"Okay okay, wow I got the message guys!" You’re looking for your purse, suddenly tired, and Gojo grabs your arm. "Where are you going-" but you stop him, "I’m going to miss the train," and he doesn’t let go, "I can drive you back." And you say that’d be inappropriate, because you share an apartment with your boyfriend.
Unsurprising to everyone, within the next six months, you and your boyfriend come to the agreement that you don’t understand each other’s needs. It’s stale without a shared foundation, and you can’t get deeper before disagreements brew.
He apologizes that it has to end this way, and you thank him for the time. The train ride back from dinner is oddly not so different, and you DM Shoko. She calls you, and you two stay on the phone all night. She checks-in weekly. It’s the fifth week when your news ends up on speaker. Shoko's with Geto and Gojo.
"You’re in the area?" You ask. "Surprise business trip," he responds, taking out a bottle of aged whiskey. Geto looks at him, and you can tell there’s silent guy-to-guy conversation brewing. Shoko brushes their silent conversation aside, pours the whiskey, and asks you if you’re busy this weekend. Your eyes light up, and Gojo can't look away as you set your phone high enough to pack.
You toss an overnight bag in your car. Three hours later, you fling yourself onto them for a group hug. The four of you shoot the shit, take a walk way too long for 1am, load up the karaoke machine, and surprisingly receive just one noise complaint. There's cake, beer, vodka, fruits and vegetables per Geto's request, and fried chicken. A part of your heart sings and how good it feels to be back together.
Gojo takes the floor in the guest room and you take the bed. The two of you chat about everything but his love life. Instead, he’s more interested in yours. "What happened?" You’re on the mattress’ edge, and Gojo is already turned on his side looking at you. "Like you guys said, we worked on paper, but I could tell he wasn’t in love with me."
You whisper, "I did my best though."
Gojo huffs out a breath, ruffles his bangs. He reminds you, "It’s not about being the best. Perfect doesn’t exist... even though I’m pretty close," and you toss a pillow at him. He laughs, catching it easily. "But seriously, it’s a two way street. He wasn’t enough for you, either then." And you lay there, feeling better and more deserving than you ever did about the breakup.
Just then, your phone lights up with a dating app notification. Gojo watches you reflexively check your phone, and he sighs. "Delete it." He says. "Why?" You tear your eyes away from the screen, incredulous. He’s shameless, "because you’re with me right now and I need undivided attention," going so far as spamming pouts like a macro. You burst out laughing, "Fine you sad puppy, happy?" And he smirks, satisfied. Even though you just close the app, he feeds your willingness to please him, for weeks.
Year 7, Gojo’s frequently ripped away with business calls, surprise meetings, and emergency flights.
He still calls you though.
One Saturday, while you have Shoko over for another girls-only staycation. Shoko watches your chat about the day unfold over FaceTime, and when he drops the call she gives you a long look. "You two always do that?" She asks.
"Yeah, picked it up from our group calls, and with you." You over explain, dragging out some parts. Shoko knows you're trying to figure her out. She’s buffing her nails, her own nervous tick when she’s stewing on a thought, or decision.
"You alright?" You ask, and Shoko sighs, asks "Have you been on social media recently? Checked the news?" You narrow your eyes, well aware she’s digging for information to confirm her secret suspicions, but all you can say is "No, why?"
She pinches the bridge of her nose and texts Suguru. She doesn’t know, before answering you. "Nothing, I just overheard Satoru stress about something to Suguru when you slept over that weekend." You pout when she refuses to tell you what’s going on, and all she says is "Ask Satoru about it."
With uncanny timing, a text notification comes in. That’s not fair, Gojo’s contact lights up your phone. He’s texting you under the table of a board meeting. When’s our sleepover? Let me fly out so we can stop messing up each other’s sleep schedule.
You text back saying your humble abode is too modest to house him. He rolls his eyes, reacts with a middle finger, and he sends over his calendar, before abruptly being called to speak at the board meeting.
Shoko says she needs a smoke when you flip your phone over to her.
"Well if it's that important that it has to come from him, let's talk about something else. I really wanna try out this new pattern on your nails. Are you and Geto getting married anytime soon?" You shift the topic piece by piece. Shoko snarls. A cute, empty threat, but her cheeks are tomato red.
Gojo sends you his flight details next month, and when you pick him up at the airport, he’s buzzing with excitement. He's in a hoodie, a cap, mask, and those stupid circular sunglasses. Gojo runs and embraces you. It takes most of your strength to not fall over.
"I missed you," he says, something foreign coloring his voice. Looking back, you should have picked up on this. "I missed you... too? Are you good?" You pat his back and he only squeezes tighter.
"Yeah, just excited. Let's go." He hops into passenger and connects his aux.
The ride back is loud with classic rock, all easy enough to duet. The both of you are shouting, and mock crying to sad lyrics. You two detour and drive into the mountains, watch the sunset, and skip rocks into the fields. Dinner at the barcade is louder.
"We're kinda old now, don't you think?" He says, dropping coins into the machine. "No," you disagree, "My joints are still working fine. Maybe drink more broth? Else you're gonna lose all our matches from now on."
Gojo looks at you, and he laughs. "I've been slacking, but you just gave me reason to keep up my health." He's purchasing a ton, looks like you'll be here awhile. You two mosey over to hoops, then ski ball, then table hockey. "Sometimes I wish I could go back and change everything."
Your brows quirk, in disbelief. He looks deep in thought, so you send a fast one, hoping to score a point. "Everything?"
He shakes his head and laughs, "Not everything, I'm just being dramatic," effortlessly blocking your disc and sending it back down. "Hmmm, looks like my joints are working fine." You flip him a finger and glare daggers at him in mock rivalry.
When he serves, you ask, "What would you want to change?"
You block his serve and rally for a bit. In the end, you score the point, just narrowly. That's game. Gojo stretches, revealing a narrow sliver of his abdomen. You look away, but Gojo brings your attention back. "Not taking over my father's business," he finally answers.
Gojo motions you over to next game, trading shoulder bumps here and there. It's a game you developed to see who can knock over the other first. Stupid, pointless, but you two do it anyways.
"You don't enjoy it? I thought you loved the thrill, the game." Darts, easy.
"I do," he says. "I like bending the rules and seeing how far I can get. But the work's digging its claws into areas of my life I don't want it to."
You almost fly a dart into the owner’s faded family and friends photo wall, and the two of you scramble to hide it by rearranging other posters over it. When your knuckles bump into each other, you can’t help but intrusively think that Gojo moves like air, here if he wants to be, gone the next.
"Okay, you gotta be a bit more specific here. Like, unwanted under-the-table favors, grueling overtime on trips, shitty deals and projects. Are you getting bullied?!" You rationalize until it becomes silly.
Gojo chuckles, "Getting bullied is a great way to put it."
Gojo stands behind you, grabs your elbows and adjusts your stance. Oh, you think, this is... new, but not new. You guys gave each other points all the time, just not like this. Gojo's height blocks the overhead lamp. If he leaned down, it'd be easy to steal a kiss.
"Like who I marry."
Shock, surprise, jealousy splashes your bones. Wait, what? That last one doesn't belong there, you think. Your brain scrambles to recover, act normal.
"So, your family put it in super fine print or something when you signed it." Neither of you are really moving, but Gojo has half a mind to slip a dart into your palm.
"Yeah, I'm locked in a bad deal."
Unattainable, the label crosses your mind again.
The cool plastic brings you back, and you send it into the center. Your body is on autopilot. It's off by just a millimeter, and you do your best to feign annoyance at the score difference.
"Well, maybe it'll be like college?" You step away and grab the next dart, dropping the dart in his hand. "You meet some pretty cool people in those circles up there, I imagine."
"Sure, but-" Gojo pauses, words caught in his throat.
"Buuut...?" You flick your head towards the board and sit on the empty pool table's edge. Gojo tosses it without looking, landing dead center.
He moves toward you.
In two seconds, he's caged you against the rim. You put a hand on his harm to stable yourself. Internally, Gojo laughs at himself for how close yet far away you are. It took two seconds to have you within his arms, yet years to say these four words.
"You know me best," Gojo confesses.
Your mouth hangs, and Gojo could lean forward right there. Seal the deal.
"I'm pretty sure that spot belongs to Geto, and by proxy, Shoko." You don't back down, deflect so hard that it slaps him in the face.
"Have I been reading you wrong?" He asks, voice thin. There's too much tension for either of you to stitch all the pieces together. "Do you like me?"
"Even if I did, it wouldn't work." You conclude, all by yourself.
"Don't say that," Gojo pleads, asking for room to negotiate. You're sickened by how good he sounds begging for you.
"I just don't see how it'd work under your terms and conditions," you weakly joke.
"Can we at least try?" It's not too late, he lies to himself.
Gojo doesn't look away, but his jaw ticks. He hasn't quite figured out the situation himself, but he wanted to work on it with you. He drops his head on your shoulder, and you pat his back. You wouldn't admit that the weight of his body is a salve to your cracking heart.
"We'll... always be here for you. Invite us to your wedding, okay?" You say, kicking yourself.
You camp out in your living room with him later that night, a makeshift tent with plenty of snacks, unfinished board games, and a video game paused on the screen. You two agreed to go home after the Darts conversation.
Late night sugar rush and stupid movies end with your knees pressed together, heads resting on shoulders, sober, slightly sorrowful, and ready for bed, against the couch.
In the dead of the night, right before you get up, Gojo opens his palm. "Hey, I need to be honest with you about one more thing."
"Oh no," you think aloud. "Are you dying?" You joke, poking his palm.
Gojo flicks your finger and you flick back. Something shifts in the air and he’s quick, moves his palm down, snakes a finger from your wrist to palm, breaking open your loose fist. Your heart stutters, neither moving when he weaves you two together, hands rougher than you expected, cold and hot in places that keep you guessing.
"Not dying literally. Just metaphorically. You should see the news." News? Shoko flashes in your memory, and you’re reminded how different Gojo is now, expectedly feeling far out of your reach, he’s not just the doofus of your friend group, yet he still is.
He asks for your phone, does a quick search of his name on social media. Gojo lets a smile appear on his face when he sees your For You page. No wonder you hadn't heard anything yet. It's all cats and recipes.
So weird to see him use my phone, you think. Your attention sways, and he watches you, face lit and flickering by the TV mirroring your device, unable to prevent time from stopping.
WALL STREET BUZZES Insurance Titan's Daughter to Wed Private Equity Dynasty’s Heir in Deal of the Decade
You scroll the aggregation of news outlets and they all use the same words scrambled in different orders. You’re not sure whether a cold congratulations or heated scolding is in order, but you know that the stone forming inside your gut is not the thing to focus on.
Rather, your immediate reaction is to pull your hand away, but Gojo doesn’t let go. "Wait-" he says, and with uncanny timing, Gojo’s phone lights up. It’s the same woman’s name on the TV.
"Oh my god," you say, horrified, dropping your phone, successfully ripping your hand away this time.
Gojo doesn’t stutter when his own phone rings. Terrible timing. He picks up, a silvery voice comes through, the speaker deathly calm and elegant, asking about his whereabouts. Your gut twists imagining yourself in her position, of being in dangerous proximity to getting tangled up in some stupid emotional affair.
Gojo is too calm, and too nonchalant about her slow descent from generous kindness to suspicious tension. He ends the call without any resolution, saying they’ll talk during the week to formalize papers. Your stomach twists and you want to heave.
"My fiancee," Gojo sighs, before attempting to lay on your shoulder. "What the hell?" You move away entirely, as if activating his barrier for him. Gojo sits there. "You’re engaged. Have some decency. I don’t play this game." He looks at you. "There is no game," he says, not thrown off at how fast you accuse him of adultery. "We’re arranged," he says rehearsed, "It’s business." He doesn’t seem enthused by it, and that far away look returns to his eyes.
"You couldn’t have said anything?" You pry, and Gojo admits, "I didn’t like talking about stuff out of my control. I was trying to reign it in, call it off, renegotiate, but there was no other way around it. You’re right, I needed to tell you earlier so you could be part of it. I’m sorry."
You’re silent, and your head is a mess. He’s desperate to find out why you’re so hesitant to speak, and he pokes your shoulder. "What are you thinking about right now?"
"You need a serious lesson in risk aversion and transparency." You say, "What just happened didn’t need to happen. Or, you're right, this could have all happened earlier." Years ago.
Gojo snorts, and you frown. "I’m serious, where are your morals?"
He says point blank, "There aren’t any feelings involved between us, so I don’t see the need. I'm sorry for trying to sort this out without involving you."
You move further away. "I... just hate the feeling of anything done in secrecy. It’s gross. It feels wrong."
You withhold expressing any more indignation, lest some premature pettiness seeps out. And I’m not some appointment you can book and leave at the drop of a hat, you manage to not say.
It's too late, you whisper.
Realizing the severity of the situation turns his own expression grim. He searches your face and finds nothing hopeful. You say with enough finality that settles in Gojo’s jaw, "You should go back to her."
He looks past your TV, past the walls of your small apartment, and you know his mind is whirling, rejecting the current situation.
"She didn’t sound too happy," you point out, snapping Gojo out of his thoughts with a sigh, clearly upset and confused. "Suddenly so considerate about a stranger, now?" He pins you with a hard question.
You don’t have an answer, so you do what you know best. "Why not give the whole thing a chance?" You say the first thing that comes to mind. "You sound miserable. You don’t have to be. That kinda lifestyle might be what you want, in the end. And her..." you swallow, "she could be the one, you know?"
The words come out easy, all too familiar with this role. "Stop changing the subject. I know what you’re doing," He says, unable to read but feel you. "Just thinking about your happiness," and you awkwardly look away. Gojo sighs and forces you to look at him, "You are my happiness."
"Okay," you say, and the two of you have nothing more to say. You sleep on the couch, and Gojo’s on the floor, but your backs are turned away from each other. He doesn’t move very far away, though. He stays close to the foot of the couch, and it’s a sick, confusing, relief to you.
You see him off in the morning.
The chat between you and Gojo naturally goes quiet. Out of respect, boundaries primarily, alright? It’s the first time he takes forever to respond, chat bubble disappearing and reappearing periodically. He calls you, "I don’t care about a PR disaster," he says, and you realize some people just need to say things they won’t actually do.
Gojo interacts with you only through group chat after, which is consequently lively as ever, and your heart finds some relief in keeping pretenses.
The chat flares one day when Suguru asks when Gojo's wedding is, and if they get VIP seats. He drops the bomb for everyone’s sake, you guess. Gojo texts back that the arranged marriage and consequentially, business merger happens in June.
Invites will be sent out shortly. I’ll die if you guys don’t show up. Dramatic as always, Geto texts. Shoko is inquisitive, So, what does this change? And Gojo shoots a quick reply, Nothing, just better omakase for y’all. You stay quiet. I hate fish, Shoko supplies, and it manages a weak laugh from you. Wait, I love fish. Give me yours at least, you text back.
When you respond, Gojo breaks your rule fast and texts you privately. You don’t have to come, but I need to see you before, or after. You let it go unanswered, despite his increasing frequency. Call me selfish, call me stupid. You sigh, looking at the new chat. Just say something.
You’ve removed his contact, only to end up remembering his phone number. Anything. You delete the chat again. You’re rarely online for a month, needing time and distance to squash any unrealistic ideas in your head and accept the gravity of where your delusions will take you. Alone.
The four of you manage to meet up at the hot springs leading up to the wedding. Gojo never addresses the ghosting or silence from your end. "Have you been feeling unwell?" He asks over dinner, and you half lie. "A new proposal, a need to secure a grant, I’ve just been using my phone less."
Shoko withholds her truth, since your frequency of sending each other cat memes has remained steady. A trinket lands in your palm, a matching watch that adjusts to his timezone, and his to yours. "Just thought it’d be cute."
He sticks his tongue at Geto and Shoko,"Out of respect, you guys don’t get the watch, just the wine glass set Shoko always wanted. They sound beautiful."
Geto rolls his eyes, "I’m soooo jealous," absolutely negative jealousy seeping through his voice. You realize Geto must have known everything, more than either you or Shoko, for a while now, and you feel the pity from his eyes. Shoko scoffs, "You wouldn’t pick the right color either way."
Gojo sighs and picks up the pieces as best as he can. "It’s just a front, guys."
"That’s not the main problem," Geto says, and you can’t help but feel like it’s your turn to say something, utterly reminiscent of a work meeting. Shoko looks at you, and you look for any reason not related to the unprocessed feelings in your chest. You fidget with your fingers and look out the window.
"Uh yeah... remember what Shoko said? Hiding things from each other, not cool." And Gojo looks at you, wishes you’d say more, knows you’re not being honest. Ironically, everyone can tell you’re hiding from them. Shoko and Geto retire early, and Gojo walks you to your room, lingering in the doorway. You thank him for the watch, bid him goodnight, and he chases your touch.
A few weeks later, you receive a letter in the mail from Gojo. "Since you’re not using your phone as much, I thought we’d try something new." You almost throw it out, but write him back to keep pretenses. A part of you rots inside, but you write just to keep pretenses up. You process mechanically, turmoil fresh and dirt after rain.
The problem isn’t a scandal. I wish you told me sooner so I never felt anything for you. You’re untouchable, always have been. I need some time away. Seeing you only hurts.
Gojo doesn’t reply, and you can’t help but think how cruel that is. Suddenly hatred is easier to deal with than heartbreak.
What you don’t know is that Gojo’s fiance finds your opened letter on his desk. She reads his response mid-draft, has half a mind with blind rage to snap a photo, and delivers the evidence to her father. Gojo walks in too late. She turns around, cold and unreadable, and he realizes she had hoped for something more.
Gojo’s fate is sealed under severe legal contracts, a fickle thread with billions of dollars threatening to snap the line if a scandal breaks.
All his devices and movements are monitored, tracked as part of the terms to rebuild reputation with his fiance’s family. "If you damage the family business and reputation any longer, you never see the light of day," his father threatens. The meeting concludes promptly, yet the only thing Gojo can’t stop thinking about is you.
Until the merger goes through, Gojo’s fate is sealed, sacrificed to act as a dutiful son, groveling on the behalf of his family.
He grabs Geto for drinks, asks him to pass on a message. Shoko sighs when he comes home late, suit jacket worn from the rain's scent. He recruits her, and they invite you over for dinner. Only then does your exterior crumble, and you wipe away a single tear in their bathroom.
You attend the wedding. The venue is stunning, it’s full of news reporters and cameras and televised. The only source of comfort you have is your private table with Shoko, Geto, and some old high school friends. Gojo’s able to make his rounds once. He trails the deep velvety brown dress on you and ends up locked in your gaze. You tear away, motioning the group for a photo together. He makes sure to get another one with just the four of you, and he’s off. You down the champagne and find escape in passing time.
You end up finding common ground with Gojo’s cousin on the dance floor instead. Except you don’t know, because you never ask her relation to the wedded couple, afraid of the answer being a relative or friend of Gojo’s wife. Three toasts in, the last with Shoko and Geto, and you’re drunkenly chatting away about creative hobbies and endurance training and the latest development in environmental sciences with her. She introduces you to her siblings and her best friend, and you have to pull in extra seats around your table. It’s a great night.
Gojo disappears from the group chat after, leaving more than just one broken heart, you discover. Geto is ticked off and grumpier for months, Shoko smokes heavier than usual, and the scent blends into your clothes. You celebrate three holidays, birthdays, and friend anniversaries together.
Just like that, years 7 and 8 go by. The group chat is quieter. You’re dating again, growing in your career, making new friends that come and go, a few stay. You’ve bought a house, started new and continued old hobbies. You grow into your features more, and Shoko loves experimenting with your makeup.
She asks you how you’re feeling now. You shake your head and say, "Everything works out the way it’s supposed to." You two cheers to that.
Sometimes you see headlines, photos, gossip articles infect your feed. You like photos and comments absentmindedly. You’ve fought the algorithm when the wound was fresh, quickly accepting the stalemate when the algorithm was irresponsive to any hiding, muting, and blocking from your end.
In Year 9, Shoko and Geto get married. They have the gall to do a destination wedding with a small intimate group, family and close friends. The price tag makes you croak, only because you're stingy. But it's Shoko out of all people, and suddenly everything feels free. That’s how you end up on the Greek Islands, sun-toasted and making small talk with the locals, sending texts off to your new friends.
You meet Shoko early, finally available after attending rituals, ceremonies with her parents and in-laws who retired particularly for the night. Geto swings by and you give him a congratulatory hug. He slips away. You and Shoko giddily chat about her becoming Mrs. Geto in less than 24 hours.
The both of you are buzzed, halfway down a glass of orange wine, before you question Geto’s absence. She admits he’s picking Gojo, out of all people, and his security up from the helicopter pad.
You shut up, sip your wine, and smile. Surely, Shoko and Geto must have met and made up. You’re not the one to pry, but Shoko catches you receiving it all too well. She holds your hand and tells you to "Trust me, it’ll all make sense very soon." You wave her off, say, "Focus on having a great, trust me on that, okay?"
So you make sure a seat is ready for him, to be polite. There’s no way you could let Shoko focus on anything other than herself the night before her grand day.
Dinner is, surprisingly, infectiously joyous like old times. You gush over Geto’s thoughtful proposal. Gojo asks about future plans. Bucket list ideas, aspirations, property, assets, god forbid kids? Honeymoon, Brazil, Southeast Asia, skiing, no kids, Shoko shoots back, like she’s been waiting for someone to ask. Geto nods like he had any definite say in the itinerary, you laugh. Gojo refers to a friend in real estate. You help Shoko pick the best unediteds from her photographer.
Shoko retires early and you say you’ll be there right when she wakes up. Geto follows behind, patting Gojo on the shoulder. They seem to be in cahoots. The waiter finishes pouring the rest of the bottle, leaving you in the warm coastal breeze, alone with thoughts of the present, and past. It’s not something you want to face tonight, so you leave, "Catch you tomorrow-"
Gojo gets up, "Wait, don’t go," and he catches your wrist, eyeing his watch comfortably snug against your wristlets. "Please tell me Geto told you what happened," and you don't move. Gojo sees the hesitation emerge on your face and walks over. From his pocket emerges a very familiar rectangle. Ivory. Faded, surprisingly pristine. He unfolds it and hands it over to you. You don’t do anything, but your own words reflect back.
He kept the letter all this time.
You dumbly nod and say, "You didn’t write back. You couldn't. That was pretty clear." Gojo shakes his head and confirms, "No, I couldn’t." You squint, accusatory, "It was hard to believe," but Gojo steps into your space and explains.
"She found your letter. No one was happy about it. I couldn’t see you until certain legal terms were met. Gojo clears his throat, but you never left my mind." You gasp. Hearing the story from his own mouth, you never thought it'd happen. Yet there’s still anger rising, just lagging in refusal to hear what else he has to say.
"You kept me sane," and Gojo takes out his phone, unlocks it and it’s a screensaver of you, in that blue hoodie. He opens up his photo album, and there’s a private set of folders, full of memories of you, with you, and ones with Shoko and Geto. He scrolls through, you notice he captured moments you weren’t even aware of. You’re stupidly sentimental, not even creeped out as you should be.
It clicks why he was able to keep in touch with Geto. You decide to fit another piece of the puzzle. "What changed, then?" Your stomach churns, afraid of stepping onto another rollercoaster.
"The newest exclusive is- I’m done. Free. Divorcing." Gojo catches you flinch and something lights up, electric, "The board’s finally happy. Relationships are good, we got the acquisition." You recompose, choose to have a conversation with the ocean instead, the quiet lapping of waves responding back. "The marriage can be dissolved quietly. People will talk for a day, two tops-"
"Slow down," you say, but Gojo can’t stop.
"I have to get something else off my chest," he says, and you groan.
"Not this again. Maybe keep it to yourself this time?" He thinks about it, but shakes head, rejecting your attempt to shut him down. Gojo motions you down to a pier for privacy. You sigh, and lag behind him, and he looks just as young nearly 10 years ago when you two snuck out to the beach after another all-nighter project. Except this time, he helps you down a steep edge, and you two are sea-level, waves lapping at your sandals.
"Stop," you say right as he opens his mouth. It effectively extinguishes the kindling fire in his excitement. You two stay there, wait for the wind to clear out the smoke. Gojo’s throat slowly, slowly dries up like sand. He swallows to wet his throat.
Were you taken? Were you tired of waiting, unwilling to see this through with him? Did he ever make you feel like second place in his heart? Arrogantly, never did he consider a reality where he’d actually lose you. A stone starts forming in his gut and he stays quiet.
But fate bestows him luck, because the shakiness in what you say next betrays you. He watches, hears you in slow motion. A memory forms, and all he can think about is that time you, Shoko, Geto failed miserably in surprising him for his birthday.
You were tasked with distracting him, except you couldn’t find a good reason to keep him out of his home. We should stay, to avoid traffic. He watches you fidget with your nails, same as before. Traffic on the train? You breathing destabilizes the same as back then. Uh, well, we haven't gotten our daily amount of sun. And just like back then, you’re unable to make eye contact, looking away. Hey, look at me, should I teach you how to lie? C'mon, let's go back to my place already. Checkmate.
You breathe out, ""I’m not interested. Anymore," still looking at the water.
"You’re lying." He brazenly accuses, effortlessly, confidently.
"I really can’t, it’s too late," You break a nail, and he glances down.
"Did you find someone else?" He probes. You feel the weight of Gojo's gaze, but you refuse to look at him. Strange, you think, that both of you know the question doesn't apply to Gojo.
"No," you sigh, "There isn't anyone else." There never will be, your heart responds.
"So, what's wrong? We can start fresh. Please, please tell me what you're thinking." Gojo touches his shoulder to yours, You stupidly realize he's doing good on his word. I should have been involved early on. He's not making that mistake again.
A lump in your throat betrays you. "I’m not interested in being left behind again." Gojo takes this quietly, seriously. "It’s been so long. I believe everything about your story, but that doesn’t change that you’re here, then you’re gone, then you’re here again. What if, you're in another situation you can't get out of. How can this possibly work?"
He breathes, takes a bold turn and closes the distance between you. "Will you let me show you? It’ll take a lifetime for me to prove that nothing will take me away." You swallow and dodge his gaze. "And if it’s not everything you expect it to be, I’ll die trying to make it up to you. You won't be able to get rid of me."
You look at him, angry, brows furrowed, tears glistening in your eyes. Gojo thanks the heavens you’re looking at him, and he thinks you look beautiful in the light, that you’ll crack your neutral, everything’s okay exterior around him. The part of you that's raw, honest, that's what he misses so deeply about you.
He opens his arms and so boldly asks for forgiveness.
You hate his invitation.
...
Yet you lean in.
Suddenly a dam breaks inside your heart. You’re sobbing in his arms, and he pulls you in tighter.
"I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." He holds you close, so tight you can't breathe, and kisses your hair over and over again, cherishing each kiss. And you just end up leaving snot on his suit.
"I'll read the fine print, next time," he grins. You look up, furrow you brows, and slap his chest. He's happy you're looking at him again.
"That's. The. Bare. Minimum." Obviously you two are talking about more than just contracts. Gojo takes the opportunity to cup your face, wipe your snot, but he leaves your glistening cheeks. You look beautiful.
Annoyed at yourself, you toss him a bone. "It’s just so much easier to shut you out. You hurt me, and I boxed you into this neat little, easy to handle box of mine, but you just won’t stay put. You’re like a misbehaved dog." He dutifully Woofs, and you can’t help but laugh.
"So what I’m hearing is, you’re giving me a chance to change your mind?" Gojo’s voice is crystal clear now, a medium timbre. "If you refuse, you’re a dummy," he says. You snort, "What happened to smartass?" You ask, and he smiles, "Mmm. we don’t always get what we want."
You wait for him to finish his quip, to make himself an exception, to say that he’s invulnerable to all of fate’s misfortune. It doesn’t come. You look up at him, and you don’t think you’ve seen this gentle smile on him.
"I know what you’re gonna say." He brushes your hair aside. ‘Satoru not getting what he wants?’ Impossible, I thought so too." He leans into you, and you have to remember that he’s still contractually a married man, so you stay just a breath away, simply touching foreheads.
"I've been carrying out duties I never asked for, waiting for them to end." You shiver, feeling the heat radiate off him. "They’ve been keeping me away from who I really want to make happy. I just hope she’s waiting for me at the end of this road."
He bumps your head. "I'm so excited to build a life with you." And like a bandit, another tear slides down your cheek, out of your control. He eskimo kisses your nose in comfort, and you sniffle, years of suppressed emotion spilling out.
"What if it all goes bad, years down the line?" Gojo cups your cheek and tsks you.
"Now you're making a version of me up inside your head," and you can’t help but burn from embarrassment. "Look at me. That won’t happen." He shakes his head, and you’re about to surrender. "Let me prove it to you, please, as long as it takes, so you know I won’t."
He wipes your tear away and you finally give in, no way to out-logic his offer. Gojo looks at you, asks for permission to kiss you through his gaze.
You cover his mouth. "We can’t do this right now," you whisper, "You’re still married, on paper." He closes his eyes, mumbles against your palm. "I know, but just don’t avoid me any longer." And you nod.
You have no fire left to fuel your insecurities. Of Gojo being so far out of reach that he'd drop you at any whim, and him being so detached in his current romantic bind that he’d treat yours the same way, of him not sticking into your side like a thorn through thick and thin.
—
Year 11, Gojo’s divorce breaks the news for a day, two tops. Any photos of him caught with a mysterious woman in a different city is subdued in favor of new gossip. What does make headlines for longer than a week happens a year later, when his second wedding announcement, to a woman whose identity remains protected, floods social media just out of people being nosey.
Year 12, Gojo makes good on a promise whispered in the early hours of dawn years ago, and moves to your city. While his real estate agents scout the neighborhoods, he calls, "Let me sleepover again?" And you’re willing to host him without question. Kick me out if you get tired of me, he texts. You thumbs down the message and send a laughing sticker, one of those cartoonish rabbits, but find his modesty oddly sweet.
He sends an official announcement to the group chat one morning. You’re only able to finish reading his text before a knock sounds, leaving several of Shoko’s video call attempts unanswered. When you open the door, his sparkly blue eyes peek above a bouquet of peonies, and you reversely mirror his confident steps into your home.
You’ve learned how to fit into all of his angles when gathers you in his embrace, lifts and carries you to your bed. You have the nerve to jokingly ask him how long he’s been eyeing property your city, and he answers "I’ve been eyeing you since we graduated. I'll go wherever you go." He slots against your mouth before you can respond, and you two lose yourselves.
When Gojo loves you, he worships you. You thought it’d be the other way around, but the way he looks at you through his snowy lashes, when he’s imprinting and melting kisses into your neck, softly kneading your chest and torso like he’s learning how to sculpt you, it’s saintly. You mark his shoulders, his back, as he dives into you for hours, closes you in with nowhere to go.
You two wake at noon, return online two days later. Satoru makes lunch, an unbelievable sight. He serves a full breakfast, pancakes crispy, your favorite.
You prepare a tray of ridiculous coffee toppings, whipped cream, cinnamon, strawberries, honey, and he kisses you for too long after eyeing it. Your coffee’s cold after sloppily making out and not so innocently feeling each other. He looks good there sitting at your dining table, like he’s always lived there. He’s just shirtless now.
Gojo finally calls the group chat back after you two dress. Shoko picks up, coughs on her salad, seeing the two of you together. Normally that’d be nothing out of the ordinary, but Satoru’s pulling your waist back in between his legs anytime you try to establish some sense of decency. Geto vomits at the PDA, and you issue a public apology.
"I’m just addicted to being seen with you," Gojo whines, and you’re horrified at how you spoil him, easily letting him have this one addiction. "Do you still have that brown dress?" You cough, further surprised by the specificity.
"The one I wore to your first wedding?" The question sounds insane. "Yeah, please wear it," he begs, and you can’t help but feel like his muse when he takes utterly beautiful photos of you in another country on a date. He snaps a private photo in his memory when he undresses you.
Year 13, another destination wedding to attend, except this time you’re the one cutting the cake and listening to speeches, meeting his parents, and oh my god, I’ve been waiting for this, is how you meet Gojo’s cousin again. The shock leaves you just in time for photos, and the sun sets just in time for your dance. Center stage doesn’t feel lonely tonight because Satoru’s the one pulling you in.
X