summary! choso's always had strong feelings for you, his sweet, impossibly cute roommate. after dropping out of college and introducing you to his band mate suguru, things take a turn for the worst when the man starts to take an interest in you. drummer!choso becomes increasingly more jealous and agitated with each fucked up thing geto puts you through, and he finally snaps. his quiet jealousy turns dark, messy, and impossible to ignore. (jealousy, slight angst, messyyy, toxic relationships (suguru –> reader) comfort, fluff, smut.)
choso hated when geto was over.
“suguru! fuck! it’s too much— i can’t— i can’t!”
“shut up—god—and take it.”
your muffled moans and the creak of the bedposts drifted through the thin plastered wall of choso’s room. the one you’d shared since signing the lease over two years ago, back when you were just strangers hunting for a nice apartment during your freshman year.
back then, things had been simpler.
you'd gotten close to the mysterious boy in only a few weeks. just you and choso, figuring out school and life together, finding comfort in each other’s company.
he had been one of the kindest, coolest people you’d ever met, someone who listened to your fucked-up problems without judgment, who cleaned up after himself, who held you on the couch when winter felt too crisp.
the perfect roommate, in every sense.
“you’d make a good boyfriend, cho,” you’d teased once, stroking his hair lightly.
“hmm, you think so?” he’d grinned, lazy and carefree.
but things were different now.
choso had dropped out to focus on his band, 'exorcize'—gojo on vocals, geto on guitar, toji on bass, and him on drums.
the band had taken off, and after being personally invited to one of their gigs, a small introduction from choso had suguru immediately hooked.
that had been the moment everything shifted.
quiet nights of spectated drum practice while you studied or long meaningful conversations were gone, replaced by surprise visits from geto and sleepless evenings that left choso restless and uneasy.
deep down, in that hazy, stoned part of his mind, he knew he felt something for you. something raw, unacknowledged, and unrelenting.
“god, sugu—i seriously can’t! —oh my god!”
he heard your cries, felt his stomach twist with a mix of disgust, anger, and jealousy. he couldn’t endure another sober second of listening to you plead.
his hand found a pre-rolled blunt in his dresser, lighting it with a red lighter you'd gifted him months ago, the smoke curling around him like a protective shield.
“c’mon, you can do it, just a few more—fuck!—seconds!”
he hated him. but more than that, he hated the way suguru spoke to you.
the subtle degradation, the possessive control masked by perfect composure. choso knew you noticed it too. the way your fingers curled around anything you could grab when suguru got too close, too possessive. the way you'd shy away from him rather than leaning into him lovingly. and yet, you stayed.
it tore something inside choso, some raw, unpolished piece of himself that had never stopped wanting you.
“just a little longer, y/n, fuck—you can do that for me, can’t you?”
he closed his eyes and inhaled, letting the smoke fill his lungs, the only thing that could dull the constant back-and-forth inside his head when it came to you. the only thing that dulled the voice in his head, from when you used to talk to him like he was the only man in the world. his addiction, his only vice.
~
morning
the brunette boy sat slumped on the couch, one leg folded under him, the other stretched across the coffee table. sunlight crept through the blinds, painting uneven lines across his face. his hoodie hung half-off his shoulder, hair tied back loosely, a blunt tucked behind his ear like muscle memory.
he looked fucking wrecked.
you padded out from the hallway, wrapped in a big t-shirt that definitely wasn’t yours. it hung too low on your thighs, smelled faintly like suguru’s cologne, and that made something twist in your stomach when you noticed choso glance at it once, then away with a twitch of his eye.
“good morning, cho” you said, trying to sound casual, cheerful, like nothing weird had happened last night.
he didn’t look at you right away. his thumb was tapping against the armrest, slow and rhythmic. “yo.”
you bit your lip, moving to the kitchen counter. the silence pressed between you like humidity. it felt different now, awkward, thick.
you’d never had awkward silence with him before.
“uh, you sleep okay?” you tried again, voice soft, careful.
he finally turned to look at you. dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his tone came out flat. “where’s geto?”
your stomach dropped. “huh?”
“suguru,” he said again, leaning back into the couch. “where’d he go?”
you blinked, your throat suddenly dry. “oh. um. he—uh—left early, he doesn't really stay the night...he sorta just comes at night whenever he wants and leaves when we're done.”
choso didn’t say anything, just nodded slowly, eyes still half-lidded. but you knew that look—his patience hanging by a thread, the faint twitch of his jaw, that lazy exterior covering something sharper underneath.
“choso,” you said quietly, walking over a bit. “did you… uhm— hear us?”
his eyes flicked up to yours. “mhm.”
the word hit heavier than it should’ve. you looked down at your hands, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “oh my god. i thought you were asleep. i didn’t mean for you to—”
“s’alright,” he said, cutting you off, voice rough. “walls are thin, y’know, i get it.”
you winced. “was it—was it bad?”
he let out a low, humorless chuckle, the memory of his band mates grunts and your pretty gasps still fresh in his mind. “mhm. heard it all.”
you felt heat crawl up your neck, mortified. “shit, choso, i’m so sorry. i really didn’t think—”
“don’t worry 'bout it,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “i’ll just sleep the morning away, got the gig tonight anyway, so it should be fine.”
you hesitated, wanting to say something to make it better, to make him better, but his tone was a closed door.
so you offered the only thing that came to mind. “let me make you breakfast? as an apology?”
he looked up, studying you for a second before nodding. “right... sure.”
you exhaled in quiet relief and turned toward the kitchen, grabbing eggs and bread from the fridge.
you weren’t sure what he liked this early. he usually slept until noon, leaving trails of smoke and half-empty cereal bowls behind, but it felt right to do something. the clinking of pans filled the silence.
behind you, choso leaned his head back on the couch, eyes half open, watching the light catch in your hair as you moved. he wanted to stay annoyed, to keep that boundary up. but the sight of you—bare legs, hair messy, humming softly under your breath while cooking in the kitchen—hit him in that dull, sore spot inside his chest.
“you should come to the gig tonight, if geto didn't already invite ya',” he said suddenly, voice low.
you glanced over your shoulder, surprised. “yeah, you want me to come?”
“i do.” he stretched, reaching for the blunt on the table but not lighting it yet. “you haven’t seen us play in a while.”
you smiled a little, flipping a piece of toast. “yeah, sure. i’ll come.”
he grunted something like approval, pretending not to notice how your eyes softened when you said it, the way your face lit up as you moved your hands.
you’d seen clips online—crowds packed tight in dark venues, neon lights washing over exorcize as they played.
they weren’t just another college band anymore. they were it. the band everyone wanted to fuck, to be, to orbit around.
gojo with his wild white hair and stupidly perfect grin, toji’s quiet menace on bass, suguru’s calm confidence, and choso behind the drums, silent but magnetic, his hair sticking to his face, eyes half-lidded, lost in rhythm.
they all had that look, that raw, sexy allure that made people crave them like meth.
and you’d been there at the start of it. before the crowds, before the smoke machines and the afterparties. when it was just choso, hunched over a kit in the living room, half stoned, tapping out rhythms while you studied on the couch.
the smell of butter and coffee filled the apartment. you plated up the food—scrambled eggs, toast, a few slices of avocado—and brought it over to him.
“here,” you said softly, setting the plate in front of him. “a really shitty peace offering.”
he gave a small smile, lazy but real. “yum.”
you sat down next to him, tucking your legs under you. the couch dipped between you, and the silence that followed wasn’t as sharp this time. he picked at his food for a while, eating slow.
“seriously though, cho,” you said after a minute, eyes on your plate, “i’m really sorry about last night.”
he shrugged, chewing. “told you, s' fine.”
“it’s not fine,” you insisted, voice quiet. “that must’ve been… weird for you. i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
choso let out a low snort, setting his fork down. “y/n. you were horny. you got dicked down. shit happens.”
you froze, staring at him with wide eyes, face flushing deep. “ew,”
he smirked a little, leaning back. “what? just sayin’. it's no big deal.”
“yuck, don't talk to me like i'm one of your little junkie friends!”
“why not? we're not friends now?” he asked, in a tone that was so laid back and careless it made you anger, “what are we then? don’t get all shy now, i'm tryna lighten the shitty mood.”
you swatted his hand away, embarrassed but smiling despite yourself. “stop it, we're just friends... it's just— just shut up.”
“yeah,” he said, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “heard that before.”
you laughed under your breath, shaking your head. for a moment, it felt like old times again.
easy, unspoken comfort settling back between you. but under it all, he felt that same ache still there, low and constant.
the thought of geto touching you, of your voice on the other side of the wall, it looped in his head like a bad song he couldn’t skip.
he finished his plate, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
“thanks for breakfast, it was real good, y/n. you'd make a good housewife y'know,” he said.
“god just shut up,” you said with an all too dramatic eyeroll.
the quiet lingered again, softer this time.
~
the studio reeked of ash and stale beer. gojo was already shirtless, sprawled across the leather couch, strumming suguru’s guitar with no real purpose.
“bro, put that down before you break a string,” suguru said, tone bored but edged.
“relax, i’m blessing it,” gojo said, flashing him a grin.
toji sat off to the side, bass in hand, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the day. he didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to, his presence was enough to keep the room balanced.
gojo noticed the slight tire in getos purple eyes and decided to pry. “so,” he said, spinning a drumstick between his fingers. “you look fucked, man. late night?”
suguru stretched his arms overhead, dark hair falling into his face. he smirked like he couldn’t help it. “mmm, something like that.”
“oh, come on,” gojo said, grinning. “you can’t just say ‘something like that.’ i need details, you fuck some chick, or?"
toji gave a quiet snort but didn’t look up from his tuning. “you gossip more than a fucking teenager, huh?”
“yeah, keeps me in shape.” gojo’s grin widened. “so? do tell.”
suguru’s smirk deepened, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “you know, just y/n.”
“shit,” gojo said, sitting forward, elbows on his knees. “again? chosos little roommate? thought she was too sweet for you or whatever shitty excuse you made last time you slept with her and dipped.”
suguru shrugged. “sweet doesn’t mean boring.” he spoke like he was discussing a setlist, casual, detached. “can't stop going over to her place man. she's a great fuck, obedient, y'know? and tight as hell.”
gojo laughed under his breath. “oh yeah? she's sexy, sure, but i didn't know she had all of that going for her. you mind if i..."
“yeah, i do,” suguru said, unbothered. he leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. “she's only sucking my cock right now and i wanna keep it that way.”
gojo raised both hands in mock surrender. “fair enough. so does she know about all the other pussy you get or?..." he teases.
"no. and she's not gonna. thinks i'm some fucking saint."
the way he said it made the air go strange—like they were both too comfortable talking about someone so badly who wasn’t even there.
toji glanced at them, expression flat.
“so what’s the deal then?” gojo asked, voice dropping just slightly. “you two dating?”
suguru’s tone turned dry. “not exactly. it’s just casual, a bit messy.”
“that mean she thinks you are and you don’t?”
little did the guys know, choso was standing in the hallway outside the studio, leaning against the wall, eyes half-lidded, hoodie drawn over his head. the door was slightly ajar.
at first he just wanted to pass, maybe pop in later when they started playing. but then he heard it—
“she’s a little too attached. wants to talk about everything. i don’t do clingy bitches,” suguru said, voice casual, almost bored.
choso froze.
“it’s fine. she knows what this is, if she gets hurt, that’s not on me.”
choso’s jaw tightened under the hoodie. his hands curled into fists, then unclenched. the smoke haze that usually clouded his head felt sharper now, stinging like cold air.
"does choso care? i mean, he's pretty much always high off his face so i doubt he'd even notice, but still. you can't be quite even if you tried." gojo added.
"nah, choso doesn't give a fuck about anything, i'm sure he doesn't care."
gojo just rolled his eyes and nodded along, clearly geto didn't know shit about his supposed friend.
choso was classical stoned, sure, but he was a deep thinker. although the never really voiced his opinions doesn't mean he doesn't have any. and the assumption that he doesn't care about you, the one girl he can actually feel himself around, feel comfortable with? it's a punch to the gut.
“plus, maybe he’s some sick cuck, maybe i’m doing him a favor fucking y/n loud enough for him to hear,” suguru said next, the words like a punchline to the room.
gojo laughed, oblivious, egging him on. toji’s bass sat idle, a quiet observer.
choso’s stomach twisted, sour and heavy, but his face stayed blank. he’d heard enough. everything he’d felt last night—the jealousy, the heat, the ache—coiled into a tighter knot in his chest.
and yet. he didn’t react. didn’t slam the door open or yell, he was too level headed for that. he just let the words hang there, let the laughter roll over him. the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat became his anchor.
then, like he always did, he slipped into his usual mask. the hoodie covered his eyes, his hands shoved deep into the pocket of his baggy sweatshirt.
he pushed the door open, just enough to enter, and let his presence announce him.
“’bout time,” gojo said, lounging back on the couch, grinning like nothing was off, like he wasn't just talking questionably about him. “thought you were skipping rehearsal.”
“nah,” choso said, voice low, clipped, casual. “traffic was slow.”
suguru glanced up, immediately switching to his usual calm, lazy composure. “afternoon,” he said evenly.
choso gave a small nod, dropped his bag, and moved to the drum kit, adjusting cymbals without looking at anyone else.
but under the surface, the coiled anger, hurt, and frustration hummed. every tap of the drumsticks later would carry some of that weight, silent, restrained, but there.
gojo, pretending to be oblivious, grinned at him. “you good, man? look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“didn’t,” choso said, tone clipped.
gojo whistled, dragging the notion. “what, neighbor’s dog barking again?”
“something like that.” choso gave suguru a quick side glance before settling in further.
suguru’s hand stilled for a second on the fretboard. he didn’t look up, but he could feel choso’s eyes flick toward him.
toji caught the tension first, his gaze shifting between them. “you two done?” he asked dryly. “we practicing or what?”
choso exhaled, sitting down behind the kit. “yeah. let’s get it.”
the first few hits were slow, a warm-up rhythm, but every strike landed with more force than usual. the echo bounced around the room, sharp and deliberate, filling the silence that had started to suffocate the space.
gojo laughed lightly, trying to shake it off. “guess that’s a yes.” he adjusted his mic stand. “alright boys, from the top.”
the noise erupted again, guitar, bass, drums, the controlled chaos of sound. it filled every corner of the studio, pushing back whatever words had hung there before.
suguru played clean, precise, every note in place, but his mind wasn’t entirely in it. he could feel the weight of choso’s rhythm behind him, each beat heavy, almost personal.
choso kept his head down, sticks moving fast, steady. he wasn’t thinking about the music. he was thinking about voices in thin-walled apartments, about laughter that sounded just like this. about how easily people could talk about something that still sat raw in his chest.
gojo sang through the chorus, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes half-closed. toji’s bass lines held everything together. and choso, he hit the drums like he was trying to keep from saying something out loud.
when the song ended, there was a moment of quiet, the kind that comes right after noise when everyone’s heart is still beating too fast.
“tight,” gojo said, wiping sweat off his face. “we’re gonna kill it tonight.”
“yeah,” toji said simply, setting his bass down.
choso nodded once, not looking at anyone.
suguru adjusted his guitar strap, clearing his throat. “we’ll meet back here at eight,” he said, tone easy. “venue’s expecting us by nine.”
choso started packing up his sticks. the others were still talking, voices fading into background noise. he kept his head low, eyes on the drum kit.
“yo, cho,” gojo said suddenly. “you bringing anyone tonight?”
choso hesitated. “y/n said she'd show.”
“ahh, she better,” gojo grinned. “need a familiar face in the crowd.”
suguru’s hand tightened imperceptibly on his strap.
choso zipped his bag and stood. “mhm. see you later.”
no one stopped him. the door shut quietly behind him, the sound echoing longer than it should have.
for a second, the three of them just stood there. gojo hummed, breaking the silence. “yeah, i think he heard you, and he definitely does care.”
suguru didn’t answer. he just stared at the door for a long moment before setting his guitar down, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something and thought better of it.
toji rolled his shoulders and muttered, “doesn’t matter now. just shut up and focus on tonight's gig."
~
choso pushes the door to your apartment at around 7.p.m, his skateboard bumping against the wall as he toes his sneakers off. he decided to hit the skate park after the studio, and was just getting back now.
the apartment’s dark. not quiet-dark —off dark. no soft indie playlist humming from your room, no yellow light spilling down the hallway, no half-finished tea on the counter. just the faint hum of the fridge and the lingering scent of your coconut shampoo that always hangs in the air.
he squints toward the living room. nothing.
“yo, y/n?” his voice echoes a little. it sounds lazy, but underneath it’s got that edge, confused, half-worried. “you home, babe?”
nothing.
he pauses, drumming his fingers against his thigh. normally he wouldn’t think much of it, you liked to take long showers, disappear for coffee runs, but the place feels weird tonight. the kind of quiet that sits heavy.
“yo, for real, where the fuck are you?” he calls again, walking toward the kitchen, his hoodie half-zipped, hair still damp from washing it after practice. the smell of weed clings to him, mixed with cigarette smoke and a hint of cologne he must’ve borrowed from gojo.
he flicks on the hallway light, flinches a little at how harsh it is. the walls glow pale and flat. still no answer.
“y/n,” he mutters, a little louder now, “don’t fuckin’ do this horror movie shit.”
he checks the balcony. empty. checks the bathroom, light off, door cracked. nothing. his chest tightens even though he keeps telling himself he doesn’t care, that you’re probably fine, that he’s overreacting like some clingy idiot.
then he hears faint music. a muffled bassline leaking through your bedroom door.
he exhales, tension leaving his shoulders all at once, muttering, “jesus, fuckin’—you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
he knocks lightly, then pushes the door open without waiting.
and freezes.
you’re standing in front of your mirror, airpods in, the faint shimmer of your lip gloss catching the lamplight. you’re half-dressed, black skirt, sheer tights, tiny top, and your hair sits perfectly like you didn’t even try. your room smells like warmth and perfume and clean skin.
for a second, choso forgets how to breathe.
“shit,” he says under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
you pull an airpod out and turn toward him, surprised. “oh my god, you scared me.”
he blinks slowly, eyes dragging up from your legs to your mouth, then back down again. “yeah, uh—my bad. place was dark. thought you got kidnapped or somethin’.”
you laugh softly, shaking your head. “kidnapped? really?”
he shrugs, leaning against the doorframe. “could happen. you never know. world’s fucked.”
you roll your eyes but smile. “well, i’m fine. just getting ready for the gig.”
“yeah, i can see that.” his voice dips lower without meaning to. “you look…” he pauses, tongue running over his teeth, trying to sound casual but it comes out rough. “fuck, you look hot as hell.”
you blink, heat crawling up your neck. “you think so?”
he nods, still rubbing his neck, eyes locked on you. “yeah. like, real talk, y/n, you’re gonna make it hard to focus tonight. literally everyone’s gonna be staring.”
you laugh, a little flustered. “you’re just saying that.”
“nah,” he says, finally walking into your room. “not just sayin’. like—you look fuckin’ insane. good insane.”
you smile, glancing back at your reflection, fixing your earring. “thanks, cho.”
he drops down onto your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “you mind if i chill here? watch the whole… transformation process?”
“be my guest,” you say, turning back to your mirror.
he leans back on his hands, watching you move. your drawers open, mascara wand twirling between your fingers, your skirt swishing when you shift. the music in your airpods leaks just enough for him to catch the rhythm.
he tries to stay cool, keeps that lazy look on his face, but his heart’s still pounding from the moment he saw you. his head’s full of too many things, practice, suguru’s voice, your laugh, the sound of his name coming from you.
after a minute, he says, “we gotta leave in, like, an hour. gojo’s picking up suguru and toji, you wanna ride with me or get there yourself?”
you turn around, surprised. “oh, i can come with you?”
“course,” he says, shrugging. “beats paying for parking. you'll be abit early is all.”
you grin. “then yeah, i’ll come with you, doesn't matter to me, cho.”
“aight,” he says, stretching his legs out, smirking just a little. “sweet.”
he’s quiet for a while after that. you keep getting ready, music still faintly playing, the smell of your perfume thick in the air. he fiddles with the ring on his thumb, his mind replaying suguru’s words like static.
she’s a great fuck, obedient and tight as hell.
she thinks i’m some fuckin’ saint.
maybe he’s some sick cuck.
the words crawl under his skin. he can’t stop hearing them, can’t stop imagining the look on your face if you knew.
he shifts, sits up straighter. “hey,” he says suddenly.
you hum in response, focused on your eyeliner.
“can i ask you somethin’?”
“sure.”
“what’s the deal with you and geto?”
you pause mid-stroke. “what do you mean?”
he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “just… what are you two, exactly? like, are you dating or is it just some hookup thing?”
you blink at his reflection in the mirror, half-smiling. “why, you gonna make fun of me again for last night?”
he shakes his head. “nah. i’m serious.”
something about his tone makes you turn fully, leaning against your dresser. “oh. um…” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “i don’t know. i mean, i like him a lot. we hang out, we… yeah. i guess we’re dating? hes never actually said it, but it sure feels like it.”
he stares at you for a long moment, his chest tightening.
“you guess?”
“yeah.” you laugh softly, awkward. “he’s not, like, big on labels, i think. but we spend time together. he’s nice to me. i like being with him.”
choso nods slowly, but his face doesn’t change. “right. 'nice to you.'”
you frown, studying him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
he looks away, picking at a loose thread on your blanket. “nothin’. just… didn’t figure him for the relationship type.”
“why not?” you ask, voice soft but curious.
he shrugs again, lazy like always, though his voice is heavier now. “he’s just… not the kinda guy who stays still, y’know? always got somethin’ else goin’ on. kinda hard to picture him with one person.”
you tilt your head. “you sound like you know him better than i do.”
“maybe i do,” he mutters.
“then tell me,” you say quietly. “should i be worried?”
his jaw tightens. he doesn’t answer right away. he wants to tell you, wants to let it spill out, the whole disgusting thing he heard at practice, the way suguru laughed about you like you were nothing but a story to pass around. it’s right there, sitting heavy on his tongue.
but when he looks at you, soft eyes, hopeful little smile, the way you look at him like he’s safe, he feels sick.
you’re too good for it. too sweet. too fucking naive to see how much he’s playing you, and he can’t stand the idea of being the one to shatter it.
“cho?” you ask gently.
he blinks. “yeah.”
“what were you gonna say?”
he opens his mouth, ready to just do it—to tell you everything, to ruin whatever fantasy you’ve built around suguru—but then your phone lights up on the dresser.
suguru calling.
you both look at it.
your heart jumps a little, that reflexive smile pulling at your lips. you grab the phone, swiping to answer. “hey.”
choso watches you, expression unreadable. your voice softens instantly, your tone sweet and familiar in a way that makes his stomach twist.
“yeah, i’m just getting ready,” you say, turning slightly away from him. “mhm… yeah, i’ll see you there, choso's driving me.”
his fingers drum against his knee. your voice is quiet now, almost a whisper. he can’t hear the words, only the tone—light, careful, like you’re trying not to say the wrong thing.
you laugh at something he says, that little laugh that used to be his favorite sound in the world.
and something in choso deflates.
he stands slowly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. your perfume still hangs in the air, heavy and warm.
“hey,” you say, glancing at him mid-call, mouthing, one sec, before turning back.
he nods, grabbing his keys from your desk where he’d dropped them.
you’re still talking, giggling now, saying something about how you’ll be there soon. he heads for the door.
“yeah,” you murmur into the phone. “love you too.”
his steps falter for half a second, then keep going.
the door clicks shut behind him, quiet.
you love him? god, how could he tell you after hearing that...
~
the venue’s already packed when you and choso pull up. neon bleeds across the cracked pavement, the sound of bass leaking through the concrete.
you can feel the pull of the crazy fans even from the street. drunk laughter, the sharp scent of cigarette smoke, someone yelling over someone else.
choso kills the engine and leans back in the driver’s seat for a second, watching people shuffle in through the side door. the light outside hits his face in flashes. pale, pink, blue, he’s fading between moods.
“you ready?” he asks, voice low, lazy, but you can hear something else under it.
“yeah,” you say, adjusting your skirt, checking your lip gloss in the visor mirror.
he glances over, eyes flicking briefly down your legs before turning away again. “lookin’ like that, you’re gonna cause a fuckin’ riot, man.”
you laugh softly. “you said that earlier.”
“yeah, and i meant it both times.”
you shake your head, smilin despite yourself.
inside, it’s chaos. the place smells like sweat and beer, lights flashing in dizzy loops, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. gojo’s voice echoes somewhere backstage, already hyping people up. you follow choso through the narrow hallway, your hand brushing his arm as someone shoves past. since when was he so muscular?
“sorry,” you say automatically.
he glances back. “nah, you’re good.”
he holds the side door open, letting you through first.
the band’s gear is scattered everywhere. amps, cables, beer cans, half-empty water bottles. suguru’s there, tuning his guitar, cigarette hanging from his mouth.
when he looks up and sees you, his expression softens into that easy smile that always used to make your stomach twist.
“hey, pretty thing,” he says, walking over.
choso looks away, jaw tight.
“hey,” you say quietly, leaning up to kiss him. his hand slips to your waist, the kiss short but a little too public, a little too look-at-me.
“you made it,” he murmurs.
“told you i would.”
behind you, gojo’s laugh cuts through the noise. “yo, choso, you finally dragged n/n outta her cave!”
choso smirks. “yeah, figured she could use a little culture.”
“culture, huh?” gojo grins at you. “hope you’re ready for noise complaints and groupies.”
“i’ll manage,” you say, smiling.
toji doesn’t look up from his bass, just gives a small nod in greeting. the whole room buzzes with the kind of pre-show tension you can feel in your teeth.
everyone’s running on nerves and caffeine and whatever else they’ve put in their systems.
choso tosses his hoodie onto a crate, rolling up his sleeves. he looks good like that—focused, hair half-tied, a strand falling over his cheek. he’s calm but sharp now, a different kind of energy from the stoned version of him you’re used to. the one who drifts through mornings in smoke.
“five minutes,” someone calls out from the stage manager’s booth.
you hover near the wall, watching them all get into place. gojo bounces on his heels, suguru spins his pick between his fingers, toji stays silent. choso’s behind his kit, tapping his sticks against the snare like he’s talking to it.
the crowd roars as the lights dim.
you press closer to the side of the stage, the bass vibrating through your shoes.
gojo’s voice hits the mic, smooth and arrogant. “we’re exorcize. don’t fucking blink.”
the first chord screams through the room, and everything shifts.
the sound is huge. overwhelming. suguru’s guitar cuts clean through the noise, toji’s bass a low pulse under it all, and then choso—he owns the rhythm. every hit lands deep, every movement controlled but raw, like he’s drumming out something that’s been living under his skin for years.
you can’t take your eyes off him.
he’s sweat-slick already, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded. the lights flash white, then red, then blue across his face. every motion is deliberate, steady, like he’s trying to stay anchored in something only he can hear.
and even though the crowd’s losing their minds, it feels like it’s just him and the sound.
you glance at suguru. he looks good too—cool, collected, confident. but next to choso, he feels staged. rehearsed.
your chest tightens. you look back at choso.
there’s something different in the way he plays tonight. sharper. more aggressive. like he’s exorcising something, no pun intended. every strike on the snare is heavier, almost angry. you wonder if it’s just adrenaline or if something happened earlier.
when the first song ends, the crowd screams. gojo throws his head back, grinning, shouting into the mic. “holy shit! you guys showed up tonight!”
choso stays quiet, twirling his sticks, taking a long drink of water. his eyes flick toward the side of the stage, toward you.
you smile.
he doesn’t. just nods once, small, subtle, before looking away. the next song starts before you can think about it too long.
you dance a little, lost in it, letting the music carry you. but somewhere in the back of your head, you can feel his stare again. quick glances between beats, the way his gaze lingers just a second too long before he looks back down.
and for the first time, you realize you’re not sure which one of you it’s harder for.
by the time the set ends, you’re breathless from the noise, your voice hoarse from shouting. the band leaves the stage to cheers, sweat-soaked and buzzing. gojo’s the first to collapse backstage, laughing.
“we killed that shit,” he says, half-yelling.
“yeah, not bad,” toji mutters, towel over his head.
suguru grins, walking straight toward you. “told you we’d put on a good show.”
you nod, heart still racing. “you were amazing.”
he leans in to kiss you again, and you let him, even though your eyes flick over his shoulder for a second—to choso. he’s wiping sweat from his forehead, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the floor.
suguru pulls back, arm still around your waist. “so, you coming to the afterparty?”
you hesitate. “uh, yeah, i think so.”
“good.” he kisses your temple, then turns toward gojo to talk about something.
you stand there for a second, unsure of what to do with your hands. the noise of the room fills the space between you and choso. he finally looks up, trying to push aside the guilt he still felt for not being able to man up and tell you about suguru.
you smile, small and tired. “you were insane up there.”
he laughs, strong yet humorless, the phrase 'love you too' still haunting his every thought. “yeah? thanks.”
“no, really. i couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
his mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but doesn’t trust himself to. “yeah, well… guess i did my job.”
you step closer, voice soft. “you okay?”
he nods, eyes flicking briefly toward suguru, then back at you. “yeah. just… beat.”
you nod too, not sure what else to say. gojo yells something about shots, suguru laughs, and the night keeps moving around you.
but in the middle of all of it, you and choso stand there for a second, caught between the noise and the silence. like the whole night’s holding its breath, waiting to see which one of you breaks first.
~
the afterparty’s at some half-finished warehouse space two blocks from the venue, the kind of place that smells like spilled beer, sweat, and old amps. led lights are strung along exposed pipes, blinking unevenly. someone’s blasting music from a bluetooth speaker that keeps cutting out.
you walk in first, suguru’s hand laced with yours, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin. you look good under the dim light—like you belong there, like you’re glowing even in the noise and haze.
choso follows behind, slower, his hoodie unzipped and hair sticking slightly to his forehead. he already smells of weed; he’d lit up the second they left the venue.
people yell greetings, offer shots, hugs, congratulations. gojo’s already got his arm around two people he definitely doesn’t know, yelling about how they fucking killed it tonight. toji’s slouched near a speaker, scrolling through his phone like none of this matters.
suguru doesn’t let go of you. not once. he keeps you close, leaning down every so often to murmur something in your ear that makes you laugh. he’s magnetic in these settings. composed, charming, eyes sharp enough to make anyone feel seen.
choso sits on a couch near the edge of the room, elbow draped over the back, watching through half-lidded eyes.
you look happy.
and for a minute, that’s enough.
he takes a drag, holds it, exhales slow. watches the smoke drift toward the ceiling. you’re laughing at something suguru said, your head tipped back, eyes bright.
he can almost convince himself it’s fine.
you’re happy. maybe that’s all that matters.
but he can’t stop remembering the way suguru talked earlier at the studio, voice low, that half-smirk twisting his mouth as he said your name like it was something to toss away. you lean up and kiss suguru’s cheek, whisper something. he nods, still holding your waist.
“gonna go fix my makeup,” you say, smiling. “don’t move.”
he smirks. “not going anywhere, princess.”
you squeeze his hand and disappear down the hallway. choso takes another drag. exhales through his nose, slow. for a few seconds, suguru just stands there. then, like someone flipped a switch, his attention shifts.
choso notices it instantly, the way suguru’s gaze catches on someone across the room. tall girl. dark hair. red lipstick. she’s leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to some guy with a drink in her hand.
choso knows her. everyone does. she used to hang around the studio all the time. suguru’s old fling. the one he’d bragged about, laughed about, talked about like she was a good story, just like you. his shoulders tense.
suguru drifts over. slowly. easy. one hand tucked in his pocket, the other reaching for a drink as he greets her.
she smiles like she’s been waiting.
he says something that makes her laugh, that same half-grin sliding across his face, the same one he used when he looked at you five minutes ago. choso stares at them, heartbeat starting to pick up, jaw tightening around the joint.
he can’t hear what they’re saying, but he doesn’t need to. he can read the body language, the subtle lean-in, the flirtatious tilt of her head, suguru’s slow smile.
the same old act.
he feels something stir in his chest, something dark and heavy. he looks toward the hallway, half expecting you to come back. you don’t.
he looks at suguru again, and his mouth moves before his brain can stop it.
“yo.”
his voice cuts through the music, quiet but sharp.
suguru glances over his shoulder. “hmm?”
choso’s still on the couch, but his tone’s different—lower, edged. “you maybe wanna get your shit in order before she gets back?”
the girl blinks, looks between them, then takes a step back.
suguru raises an eyebrow. “huh?”
choso leans forward, elbows on his knees, smoke curling around his fingers. “you heard me.”
the room feels quieter even though the music’s still playing.
suguru laughs once, soft, incredulous. “you serious right now?”
“deadass.”
he looks away for a second, shakes his head like he’s amused. “you’re high, choso.”
“not that high.” choso stands up, slow and deliberate. “i just don’t like watching you act like a fuckin’ idiot when she’s not even gone five minutes.”
suguru’s jaw tightens, that calm exterior starting to crack just a little. “what’s it to you?”
“what’s it to me?” choso echoes, stepping closer. “she’s my roommate, dumbass. i actually give a shit if she gets hurt.”
“roommate,” suguru repeats, his smirk returning. “that what we’re calling it?”
“yeah,” choso says flatly. “that’s what we’re calling it.”
suguru laughs again, but it’s sharper this time. “come on, man. don’t tell me you’re getting protective. that’s cute.”
choso doesn’t smile. doesn’t blink. “just don’t be the asshole i know you can be, yeah?”
for a second, something flickers behind suguru’s eyes. annoyance, maybe. guilt. or nothing at all. he looks away, taking a sip of his drink. “you don’t know what you think you know, choso.”
“nah,” choso says quietly. “i know exactly what i heard.”
suguru’s gaze snaps back to him. “what?”
“the studio,” choso says, voice steady. “you should watch what you say when you think nobody’s listening to you talk shit.”
suguru freezes, for a long moment, neither of them move.
then suguru laughs again—soft, controlled. “you think you know what that was about.”
“don’t need to think,” choso says. “you said it clear as day.”
“she’s a big girl,” suguru says after a pause, voice low. “she can handle herself.”
choso’s eyes narrow. “you mean she trusts you. that’s not the same thing.” suguru doesn’t respond.
choso takes another step forward, close enough now that the smell of smoke and alcohol mixes between them. “if you don’t give a fuck about her, fine. just don’t stand here pretending you do.”
he steps back, drops the joint into an empty cup, and turns toward the hallway, he almost bumps into you.
you’re back, smiling, oblivious, still glowing from the night. “hey, what’d i miss?”
both men go still.
suguru’s mask snaps back on instantly, smile smooth and easy. “nothing, babe. just talking band shit.” you nod, glancing between them. choso’s eyes are hard to read. too calm, too quiet. you loop your arm through suguru’s. “oh! okay. drinks?”
“yeah,” he says, kissing your temple. “let’s get you one.” he leads you toward the kitchen, the two of you slipping back into the party’s pulse.
choso stays where he is, arms crossed, jaw tight. from across the room, he watches as suguru hands you a drink, laughs at something you say, leans in close like nothing happened.
and for the first time in a long time, choso feels the kind of anger that doesn’t burn out, it just settles. slow, deep, and quiet.
he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his lighter, flicks it once, twice. the flame dances for a second before he shuts it off.
he takes a breath.
then another.
the music swells again, the noise swallowing everything.
and still, all he can hear is suguru’s laugh and the echo of his own restraint cracking, one hairline fracture at a time.
.
a few hours later
choso doesn’t mean to, really.
but the tight, burning knot in his chest, the one suguru’s smirk planted there, the one that grew watching him flirt with that old girl, the one that pulsed every time he saw your smile linger on suguru instead of him. fuck, it’s unbearable.
he’s been quiet, slow, keeping that lazy, half-asleep stoner mask on, puffing on his joint like everything’s fine. but it isn’t. it never has been.
he promised. always promised. no pills, no hardcore shit. just weed. the band worried enough about him already, addiction has always been a shadow he could never quite shake, and they knew if he went deeper, it’d swallow him.
but now, standing in the pulsing warehouse light, the noise vibrating up through his shoes, the alcohol and smoke thick in the air, he’s feeling something foreign. anger. jealousy. raw heat that makes his chest ache and stomach twist.
“yo, kamo,” he hears a guy drop down next to him, some old friend from college, he's leaning in. “nice to see you man. it's been ages."
choso just nods along, letting the guy talk about whatever he thinks is so important, his ears only really peeking up when the guy says, "you look like you need somethin’ a lil stronger.”
choso looks at him, slow. “mm, like what.”
the guy holds out a small baggie. pills, little white caps. “just some party shit. everyone here's doing it."
choso stares. his promise to the band, to you, floats somewhere in the back of his head , only weed, nothing heavier.
you'd all told him how addictive he could get, how dipping his feet into any sort of hardcore drugs wouldn't turn out great for him.
he takes the bag anyway. too pissed if to give a shit about anything other than numbing what he's feeling. "yeah, alright.”
“sweet,” the guy says, handing him a drink to wash it down.
the high hit him slow at first, a gentle fog wrapping itself around his chest, legs, fingers. choso felt the kind of calm that usually made him drift through a morning on the couch, hoodie loose, blunt tucked behind his ear.
but tonight, it was different. it hit like a wave he couldn’t ride without tumbling. and the warehouse, sticky, crowded, glowing in neon and sweat, was the perfect storm for it.
he wandered through the party, each step lazy, like he was moving through molasses, yet every sense screamed sharper than usual. the bassline rattled his chest, people’s voices blurred into a constant hum, the smell of booze, perfume, and sweat mixing into a heady cloud.
he took another long drag from his joint, holding the smoke, letting it curl around him, thinking it might shield him from the gnawing coil in his stomach, but it didn’t. not really.
“hey, choso,” a familiar voice broke through the haze. a fan, a girl maybe nineteen or twenty, pressed forward with wide eyes and a camera phone. “can we… like, take a pic? i love your band, dude, you’re insane on drums..
choso blinked slowly, the effects of the drug tangling with his words. “ahh, yeah… fuckin’ yeah, for sure.” he motioned lazily to the spot, half-smile tugging at his mouth. he let the girl snap a few pictures, asked her dumb little questions, about the band, gigs, where they got the idea for that last song—and he answered, voice drawling and thick, slurring words just slightly.
every few minutes, though, his gaze flicked back to you. and every time, there you were. pressed against suguru, who had that impossible grin plastered on his face, thumb brushing your hip while making conversation with someone else. choso’s stomach twisted. you weren’t tense. you laughed at something suguru said, head tilted back—but his jaw clenched.
and then he noticed it. suguru’s eyes, dark and dirty, sweeping across the room, lingering on every passing girl with a flash of that smug, possessive look. choso felt something sour bloom inside him, anger. jealousy. something he hadn’t felt in a long time, something sharp and alien.
he sucked in a long drag of his joint, letting it burn down slowly, but the warmth didn’t soothe him. the high pressed against the raw edges of his chest, amplifying the foreign heat that bubbled with every glance suguru threw.
the way his lips curved slightly at you, and yet his eyes traveled over the figure of every passer by, made choso’s fingers itch to smash something, anything.
and then it happened. a girl, tall, laughing, hair loose over her shoulders, crossed the warehouse floor, and suguru’s gaze latched onto her, heavier than he had been doing.
just like that, he leaned down slightly to you, whispered something, and before choso could register it, suguru excused himself.
"gonna step out for a bit,” he said smoothly, voice low, eyes catching choso’s once before he disappeared through the side door.
you watched him go, smiling like it was nothing. like you didn’t notice the tension he left behind.
choso’s lips parted slightly, and for the first time tonight, he felt some clarity in the chaos—the haze, the crowd, the thrum of the bass—all of it funneled into one magnetic point: you.
he made his way through the crowd, knees a little wobbly, mind thick and messy with high thoughts, each step pulling him closer to you.
when he reached you, he leaned against the wall beside the couch, blinking slowly, trying to anchor himself despite his brain telling him to just spout nonsense.
“yo,” he said, voice low, a lazy drawl that was already fraying at the edges. “hey… hey you- you look… fuck, you look like— like somethin’ really fuckin’ hot. like, goddamn, don’t even—don’t even talk, just stand there, yeah?”
you looked at him, frowning slightly. his eyes were glassy, unfocused, but they held a sharp, almost wild intensity.
“cho… did you..? what did you take?” you asked carefully, voice low, hands resting lightly on the couch back. “you’re really high right now, aren’t you?”
he blinked slowly, shaking his head, hair falling into his face. “nah… nah, it’s… just… the whole place… it’s like—fuck, it’s like the world’s spinning.”
he ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting to you, then back toward the doorway where suguru had disappeared. “man, I swear, every time I look… he’s lookin’… like—fuck, like he’s owning somethin’ that’s mine. not yours, mine.”
you frowned, stepping closer. “cho… slow down. breathe. you’re not making sense.”
“sense? ha!” he laughed, sharp and hoarse. “fuck sense, you’re… you’re standin’ there, and I’m… I’m—shit, I’m like, all these fuckin’ feelings,” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at you, voice cracking a little with the intensity.
“cho,” you said softly, moving to grab his arm, trying to steady him. “look at me. what did you take?”
he shook his head violently, sitting down on the edge of the couch, hands tugging at his hoodie strings. “nah… nah, can’t… fuck, can’t tell. you'll be mad at me. but you… you’re like… god, you’re fuckin’ everywhere in my head.”
you bit your lip, exhaling through your nose, letting a faint groan of frustration escape. “hey… listen to me. you’re too high. you’re spiraling. it’s not healthy. come on… we’re going home.”
he blinked up at you, expression softening slightly, but the haze still clouded his gaze. “home?” he muttered, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. “fuck… home. yeah, yeah, you… you’re home.”
you knelt beside him, voice gentle but firm. “yeah. c’mon, we’re leaving, you're fucking soaring.”
he blinked at you, then laughed softly, a little shaky. “you… you’re fuckin’ bossy, y’know that? like… goddamn, bossy as hell… I fuckin' like it. I like it a lot.”
you shook your head, smirking despite yourself. “yeah, well, bossy is gonna save your ass tonight. now get up.” you extended a hand. he took it slowly, fingers brushing yours, gripping tightly for a moment.
as you led him through the crowd, you leaned slightly toward gojo, speaking over your shoulder. “hey, tell geto I’m leaving for the night. also tell him not to come over later.”
gojo’s grin faltered slightly, but he raised a hand in mock salute. “yeah, yeah. whatever.”
you didn’t answer, just kept walking, guiding choso toward the side door. the night air hit him like a splash, sharp and cold, clearing some of the fog from his mind. he shivered, pulling the hoodie tighter around himself, looking at you with wide, almost pleading eyes.
“fuck, it’s… it’s cold out here,” he muttered, voice rough. “but… yeah, fuck… you smell, like… everything good.”
you rolled your eyes, smiling, tugging gently on his arm. “c'mon, get in the car you big baby.”
he followed, shuffling along beside you, shoulders hunched, hands fumbling with the hem of his hoodie. he let you guide him into the passenger seat of his sleek black mercedes, heat and regret and longing pressing together as you let go of his arm.
“yo… you know,” he said suddenly, voice low and rough, “I… I like you. fuckin’… like… goddamn, like really, really… yeah.”
you glanced at him, surprised, hand resting lightly on his arm. “cho… you don't know what you're saying,” you said softly, voice steady. “now let’s just get you home before you do anything stupid.”
he grinned, shaky but wide, and leaned slightly into you as you guided him along the sidewalk. “yeah… yeah, okay… home… yeah… but fuck, I swear… I swear, I’m like… all my feelings… all of ‘em… you’re fuckin’… yeah, you’re it.”
you laughed softly, shaking your head. you were starting to get really anxious. he's ever like this, never so open, never so talkative. “you're high. i don't want to hear any more of this nonsense, okay?”
~
you open the door to your apartment with a slightly more sober choso trailing behind you. normally, it was warm here, soft, your little refuge from the chaos of the outside world. tonight it was cold, unfamiliar, as if every object, the counter, the fridge, the chipped mug in the sink, was holding its breath.
choso was already inside, leaning against the kitchen bench, sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his eyes.
normally, even high, he was lazy, drifting. tonight he was… heavier. darker. like every beat of his pulse carried some of the tension from the warehouse, every breath filled with something raw, sharp, desperate.
“cho?” your voice was soft, tentative, as you stepped closer. the door clicked shut behind you and the sound seemed louder than it should have been. he didn’t answer at first, just watched you, eyes glassy but unblinking, half-shadowed in the dim light.
then he moved. suddenly, decisively. one long step forward, and he was close enough that you felt the heat from him, smelled the faint mix of weed, sweat, and his cologne. before you could react, he caught your wrist and guided you toward the counter, pressing you lightly against it.
“hey,” he murmured, low, rough, voice shaking just slightly. “don’t… don’t move. just… just listen.”
you froze, pulse jumping. normally he was lazy, teasing, stoner-lazy. not like this—not intense, not… commanding in that way that made your lower stomach tighten.
“choso—” you started, but he silenced you with a sharp glance, his eyes flicking up to yours, desperate, pleading.
“i… i’ve been keeping something from you,” he said, voice tight. “something stupid. something i should’ve… fuck, should’ve told you about a long time ago.”
you swallowed, your heart picking up. “hmm?… what is it?”
he exhaled slowly, hands brushing against the edge of the counter near your hips, close but not overbearing, just there enough that you felt trapped in the tension he carried.
“it’s… it’s about… suguru,” he said, jaw tightening. his voice caught in his throat for a second, then he pushed through. “about all the… shit he’s said. about you, y/n.”
your stomach dropped. what the hell was he talking about? he was clearly fucked out of his mind, slurring his words as his jaw twitched. you wanted to put him to sleep, tell him to calm down, but he looked too controlling, like he'd explode if he didn't get this out.
“suguru, he… he talks about you like you’re nothing,” choso continued, hands tightening around the edge of the counter as if he needed the anchor. “like… like he’s the only one with a right to… to even fucking look at you. he… he laughed, y/n. we were at the studio, and... he said—he said such shitty things about you."
your breath caught as he leaned in closer. "l-like what?..."
"shit... he said that he likes you because you’re obedient, you're 'tight as hell', a good fuck, like you’re… like you’re just… I don’t even know, a thing for him to screw. and then—”
he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, dark eyes flicking to yours. “—then, tonight, while you were in the bathroom, doing your makeup, he went straight to his old fling, the girl he used to bang and brag about, just… just to… to prove something. he looked me dead in the eye. like he was… like he’s proud of it.”
you felt your throat tighten. your hands gripped the counter instinctively. “oh choso... i'm sorry you had to hear all of that… i—”
“no, no,” he cut you off, urgency flashing. “don’t you fucking start apologizing. don’t. you didn’t do anything. it’s all him. it’s… it’s just… i hate him. i fucking hate him, y/n.”
his voice was raw, breaking a little on the last word.
the smoke curling around him made him look sharper somehow, the dim light accentuating the edges of his face, the dark lines under his eyes. you’d never seen him like this. vulnerable, angry, but also… unflinchingly honest.
“choso... he's your band mate, i know what he did to me was shitty, but don't let that ruin your relationship with him... cmon…” your voice was quiet, unsure. you weren’t sure if you were supposed to comfort him or run. your chest hurt at the honesty in his voice.
“no. i don't care, y/n... and that’s not the worst part,” he said, leaning just a little closer, hands still on the counter, gaze locked on yours.
“the worst part is… i can’t—i can’t stop thinking about it. about him touching you, talking about you, laughing at the way he’s—fuck, i don’t even know. it makes me… it makes me feel like i’m losing my mind. like my chest is… i don’t know, ripping in two.”
your lips parted slightly, unsure what to say. his usual lazy, stoner-laden grin was gone. this was… desperate. needy. almost like he couldn’t stand not saying it out loud.
he was slurring his words, looking frantic.
“and i… i want to—” he paused, swallowed, voice rough, low. “i want to tell you… that i’d never… i’d never do that. not to you. not like him. not even close. you… you’re too good, too… i don’t… fuck. you’re not like that. and i… i like you, y/n.”
the words hit harder than you expected. you’d thought he was joking before, rambling high, maybe even teasing. but this… this was different. he was standing close, breathing uneven, heart thudding in his chest, eyes pleading, and you realised, he meant it.
“choso…” you whispered. you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, your chest tight. “you… you mean that?”
“yeah,” he said, a harsh exhale of smoke escaping his lips. “i mean it. i’ve liked you for so long, and i… fuck, i just… kept it buried. kept it lazy, kept it… i don’t know, hidden. i didn’t wanna make it weird, or fuck things up. but tonight… tonight i saw everything. you with him. and i couldn’t hold it anymore.”
he reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. his hand lingered, trembling slightly. “you're... you're really special to me, y’know? not like… possessive or some shit. just… like… i need you. i need you to know i don’t want anyone else doing what he did. talking about you like that. looking at you like that. not ever."
you bit your lip, heart racing, conflicted. the intensity of his confession, the anger at suguru, the neediness, it was… a lot.
you didn’t know how to feel. your body was leaning slightly into him, the pull of him against you magnetic, but your mind was spinning. suguru. choso. confusion and lust and relief all knotted together.
"why are you just telling me this now...?" you ask, shyly as he inches closer, grabbing your jaw and holding it loose.
"because i'm off my fucking face, y/n."
it was sudden, and you even giggled. because he was right. sober choso, stoned choso, he'd never been this open, never this vulnerable.
"... i don't know what to say, this is all so— fuck— it's so sudden. what am i supposed to do about suguru..." you ask, he closes his eyes and responds with his forehead pressed to yours.
"if i had it my way... you'd block his ass, never speak to the mother fucker again, and spend your nights wrapped up in my bed, instead of his. letting me take care of things, keeping you close so you'd know i was yours, asking you out like a proper fucking guy. not using you like some sort of pocket pussy."
that hit. because that's all you'd ever really wanted from someone. companionship, love, the kind of respect you just didn't feel from suguru no matter how many times you'd try make yourself think you did.
he finally let go of your face and stepped back, rubbing his hands down his own thighs like he needed the grounding. “c’mon,” he muttered, voice rough, low. “bed. i… i just wanna… be near you. just… lie down, okay?”
you nodded, still unsure, heart pounding, but the pull was magnetic. his bed was just down the hall, soft, slightly messy, with a blanket he probably hadn’t folded in days.
normally he was too stoner-lazy to care about anything resembling organization, but tonight the bed felt like a sanctuary. he moved ahead of you, swaying a little, still fumbling with his hoodie, and you followed, careful not to trip over the rug in the hallway.
once inside, he lowered himself onto the mattress with a groan that was half frustration, half relief. he patted the space beside him, a small, awkward gesture but charged with meaning. “get in here,” he said, voice soft now, almost pleading. “just… be here. with me.”
you perched at the edge for a moment, looking down at him. he looked vulnerable in the way you hadn’t seen before—high and open, yet completely raw. then, slowly, you slid in beside him.
he shifted slightly, making room, then wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. your head rested lightly against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, the soft heat of his skin beneath your cheek.
“fuck… you feel good,” he murmured, voice thick and rough. “like… like everything i’ve been waiting for, all at once. i… i don’t want to move,"
you exhaled softly, heart hammering. “i’m here,” you whispered. “i won’t go anywhere.”
he pressed his face into your hair, a quiet groan escaping him, not sexual, not demanding, just… relief. he was holding onto you like no one's business, like proximity to you was the only thing keeping him tethered.
“i… i fucked up tonight,” he said, voice muffled against your hair. “i know… i was all over the place. off my face. but… you gotta know… i meant everything i said. every word. you’re the only one i want to be… like… close to. like this.”
you shifted a little, looking up at him. the sharp, high tension in his face had softened, replaced by a mixture of haze, exhaustion, and longing. “cho… i get it,” you murmured. “you don’t have to explain anymore. just… be here.”
you let yourself sink against him, chest pressed to his, but your mind was a storm. part of you was still sharp, aching with betrayal. the thought of suguru’s words, his casual cruelty, it stung, too fresh to be jumping into anything emotionally taxing as of now.
it left a sour taste, a tight knot in your stomach. you hated that you’d ever tried to make excuses for him, that you’d tried to convince yourself his calm exterior meant anything other than manipulation.
and yet, lying here with choso, pressed close to him, his warmth and his raw honesty wrapping around you, it felt like a shield. the tension, the anger, the hurt—they softened at the edges, dulled by the simple fact that he was here. that he wasn’t pretending. he wasn’t playing games. he didn’t want to own you—he just wanted you near, wanted to take care of you in the quietest, simplest way.
your chest warmed despite the lingering anger, the betrayal still gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. and yet, in this space, tangled together, pressed close in the dim glow of his bedroom, you could let yourself be content. content with the one person who’d always been honest with you, who’d finally shown you exactly how much he cared.
for now, that was all you needed.
~
the weeks had slipped past since you’d messaged geto to fuck off. you hadn’t spoken to him since that curt text, and honestly, it was quieter than you’d expected. no drama, no confrontations, just the dull ache of his absence.
the apartment felt calmer for it, too. you and choso hadn’t talked about that night, about the confession, the intensity, the things he’d admitted, but it hovered in the space between you like a low hum, unspoken but insistent.
and slowly, almost imperceptibly, a rhythm emerged. mornings were quiet, coffee mugs and peeling toast and sleepy smiles. afternoons slipped by on the couch, half-watching a show, half-dozing, your knees brushing against his.
evenings smelled like takeout and weed, music humming in the background as he sprawled lazily on the carpet, drumsticks idly tapping against his legs.
there were moments where it almost tipped, where the electricity between you made your fingers tremble and your stomach twist. a brush of hands in the kitchen, a shared laugh over something dumb on your phone, and for a heartbeat it felt like you could collapse into each other right then and there.
but choso was careful. patient. giving you space to breathe, letting the sting of geto fade, even as his gaze lingered longer than it probably should. he still wanted you close, but he held himself back, letting you set the pace. only on your own terms would he get close, letting you slip into his bed when you got lonely, letting him rub your back when things got stressful. the little things.
the band had its own tension.
practices had become sharper, more pointed, the edges of old frustrations showing. suguru’s sulking was more obvious these days, jaw tight, fingers always on his guitar strings like he was ready to snap at any moment.
he hadn’t forgiven you, or himself, for the way you’d just ended things. toji sighed more than usual, muttering about drama infecting the rhythm of the band.
gojo, predictably, had made it his life’s mission to tease both suguru and choso mercilessly. apparently, choso had spilled every detail from that night to him, and gojo’s sharp, smug grin had never left since.
“yo, cho,” gojo called during a rehearsal break, plopping onto the bass amp with a lazy flop. “have you swooped her up yet? any new updates on your little scheme to make her your play thing?"
choso’s eyes flicked up from the drumkit, one stick lazily twirling in his fingers. “shut the fuck up, gojo. that's not what i'm doing,” he said, voice flat but amused, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
he was back to his usual rhythm now. easy, teasing, present, but the underlying tension in the studio hung there anyway, like the air before a storm.
suguru scowled from the corner, tuning his guitar obsessively. “idiots,” he muttered, voice sharp. “both of you.”
toji snorted. “cho’s chillin’, you're the only one sulkin' man.”
the drums hit again, slow and steady, choso’s stick tapping a rhythm into the carpeted floor.
back at the apartment, it was quieter. the city hummed outside the windows while you and choso settled into something gentle, unspoken, almost tender.
one night, he was sprawled on the couch, hoodie pulled over his head, knees bent, and you were perched at the edge, flipping through a magazine. your hands brushed, his fingers lingered just a little longer than necessary as he gazed into your eyes like a man starved, the pull was undeniable.
“choso… we shouldn't just…ignore it.” you started, heart hammering.
he cut you off with a soft hum, eyes still hidden beneath the hood. “i know. but i’m… i’m trying… letting you breathe. letting you… heal first.”
your chest tightened. “it’s… it’s still weird. still raw. geto… he—”
“fuck geto,” he interrupted softly, voice low but firm. “he’s out. he’s done. i’m… here. for you. not asking for more than you can give.”
and that was enough. the rest of the night passed in quiet, soft laughter over dumb shows, slow music, the faint drumbeat from his sticks echoing against the walls.
no confessions, no admissions, just presence and the weight of his calm, steady warmth.
practices were intense now. the band had a gig coming up, the biggest they’d ever do. every session was longer, every riff tighter, every cymbal crash deliberate.
choso’s drumming drove the rhythm, his usual lazy charisma replaced by a quiet focus, punctuated by moments of laziness where he’d just lean into the kick drum and let the beat flow through him.
and through it all, you were there with choso. kitchen chats between sessions, lounging on the couch while he absentmindedly tapped his sticks on your coffee table, brushing against your knees when you passed by.
the apartment was your sanctuary and your battlefield, tension and warmth coexisting, your bodies close but boundaries carefully observed as you'd talk about everything.
"so, will i see you at the gig?"
"duh. i'll be front row screaming your name."
god, he wishes you would scream his.
~
the venue pulsed with energy. bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with sweat, smoke, and anticipation.
you could feel the bass thumping through the soles of your boots before the band even came on. a low chant started somewhere in the crowd—ex-or-cize, ex-or-cize, ex-or-cize—and spread fast, a heartbeat made of strangers.
you were front and center, caught in the current of people, hands gripping the barricade. your chest was tight, a knot of nerves and excitement wound together. this was their biggest gig yet—bigger venue, bigger crowd, the kind of show that could push them up a tier.
the lights went low. a hush fell. and then gojo’s voice hit the mic, clear and cocky, dripping with that smug grin you knew even without seeing it.
“alright, alright, you sexy motherfuckers,” he drawled, drawing out every syllable. “we’re exorcize, and we came to make your night filthy.”
the crowd erupted. lights flashed red, then white, smoke rolling over the stage. suguru stepped up first, guitar slung low, hair slicked back, jaw set tight.
toji followed, head down, fingers flexing around the neck of his bass.
choso came last, sliding onto the stool behind his drumkit, sticks already spinning between his fingers. the moment he sat, everything in the room seemed to lock into rhythm.
you couldn’t take your eyes off him.
the set kicked off hard; gojo’s voice raw and teasing, suguru’s guitar slicing through the noise, toji’s bass thick and grounding. but choso… god, choso was something else entirely.
his body moved with the rhythm like he was the rhythm. sweat already glistened at his temples, hair falling into his eyes as he leaned into each beat. his arms flexed with every strike, the muscles shifting beneath the fabric of his tee, drumsticks flashing in the lights.
it was hypnotic. enticing. you felt it low in your stomach, that steady pulse syncing with his.
geto was there, of course. you’d spotted him near the sound booth, head low, arms crossed, pretending he didn’t care. the sight of him twisted something sharp in you at first, but it faded fast, burned away by the heat rising from the stage.
because when choso hit that first solo, nothing else mattered. not the press of bodies, not the alcohol hiring your tounge, and definitely not suguru geto.
he tilted his head back slightly, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as his hands blurred.
you’d seen him play before, countless times —but this was different. this was him, stripped down, alive. raw talent and rhythm and restraint all breaking loose in front of a crowd that screamed his name.
and you were screaming it too.
every cymbal crash sent a jolt through you. every roll of his shoulders, every flick of his wrist made your breath hitch. your fingers gripped the barricade harder as heat coiled low in your belly. you couldn’t stop watching him. didn’t want to.
gojo grinned into the mic between songs, sweat dripping down his jaw. “give it up for the best damn drummer in tokyo—my guy choso!”
the crowd roared, and you swore you saw choso’s mouth twitch into the faintest, shyest grin. his gaze swept across the crowd for a fleeting second, and when it landed on you, your stomach dropped. he saw you. he felt you.
the rest of the set blurred together, grinding guitars, crashing percussion, gojo’s voice splitting the air like lightning. when they closed out with exile mind, their heaviest song, the crowd went feral.
choso drove the final beat like he was trying to break through the floor, and when the last note hit, he threw his sticks high into the crowd. one disappeared into the sea of hands; the other bounced off the barricade and landed right in front of you.
you picked it up, clutching it tight.
the lights faded. the crowd’s roar slowly dissolved into chatter and laughter, the sound of the night spilling back into the open air. the band vanished backstage, swallowed by cables.
you slipped through the press of bodies, heart still pounding, the drumstick warm in your hand. a couple of drinks from the merch table had loosened your nerves, and you could feel a confident heat rolling low in your belly, pressing against the restraint you’d been holding onto all night.
when you found him outside—behind the venue, near the alley where the smoke from the back door curled upward—he was leaning against the wall, hoodie half-zipped, head tipped back, still catching his breath.
“you were…” your voice caught, breath slightly slurred and warm from the drinks, “holy shit, choso, you were incredible.”
his lips quirked, soft and tired. “yeah?”
“yeah.” you stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face, deliberately letting your hand linger a second longer on his chest. “i couldn’t look away. like… i don’t even have words. you sounded—” you lowered your voice, letting the warmth of the drinks give you boldness, “you sounded so good. so fucking good.”
his gaze flicked to yours, something dark and quiet sparking in it. the pull between you was immediate, electric, and you let your fingers brush his hoodie again, teasing, deliberate.
“you think so?” he asked softly, voice rougher, more ragged than usual.
you nodded, stepping closer until your body nearly pressed against his. “yeah. you made me feel it. every beat.” your lips curved into a half-smile, half-grin, letting the alcohol fuel a boldness you usually didn’t give yourself.
after weeks of pretending like there was nothing going on between you, this was definitely the breaking point.
"i couldn’t stop thinking about you, how i'm so lucky to have such a talented friend.”
he swallowed, shoulders rising, that lazy grin cracking just slightly as he stepped a fraction closer.
for a second, the air felt so thick you could barely breathe.
the back door swung open then, and gojo’s voice cut through the air.
“yo, you two!” he shouted, grinning under the streetlights. “afterparty at mine. everyone’s invited. you better show up, cho—you owe me a joint and a round of beer for that call out, man.”
choso didn’t even glance back. his gaze stayed on you, dark and intense.
you tilted your head, voice soft but teasing, letting the boldness roll over your words. “maybe skip it,” you said, hand still lightly resting against his chest. “the last afterparty didn’t go so well for you, remember?”
his laugh was low, slightly hungry, genuine. “yeah,” he murmured. “fair point.”
“come home,” you said, your body brushing against his side as you spoke, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of his hoodie. “come home. with me.”
he hesitated a heartbeat, then exhaled, eyes softening, a slow smile tugging at his lips.
“yeah. home sounds really good.”
.
as soon as the door clicked shut, the air between you ignited. his hand found the small of your back before you could even react, pulling you flush against him. your body pressed to his chest, heart hammering, pulse racing, every nerve alight with anticipation.
“fuck,” he breathed, forehead leaning to yours, voice low and rough, vibrating in your chest. “i can't take this anymore. i can't keep ignoring this.”
you swallowed, breath hitching, hands braced against his shoulders. “cho—”
he cut you off with a growl, lips brushing against your jaw as his hands slid down to grip your hips firmly, anchoring you to him. “no. fuck that. i mean it. i… i’ve been holding back everything. every word, every look, every feeling.”
your stomach fluttered, heat pooling between your thighs, and you couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down your spine. he tilted your chin up, eyes dark, heavy with desire and something softer, something raw and unguarded. “i can’t… can’t stand it anymore, y/n. that night, everything i said… everything i’ve wanted… i need you so badly.”
“choso…” your voice was breathless, half warning, half pleading, but your body betrayed you, leaning in closer, the tension unbearable.
he laughed, low, rough, almost a growl. “jesus, look at you. you're so fucking beautiful… i want you all to myself, all of the time. i don't know how i control myself most of the time, y/n.” his hands roamed lower, teasing the curve of your waist, thumbs brushing against the soft line of your hips.
“i need you. i’ve wanted you… every lazy, fucking long day i’ve spent here in your vicinity, it's like i can't breathe properly without you.”
your chest tightened, mind spinning, everything he’d said that night pooling back into focus—his confession, the anger at suguru, the raw truth. you’d thought it was a high, a ramble, but now… seeing him, feeling him, you knew it was real.
“ i—” you started, voice trembling, then cut yourself off as he leaned in, pressing his mouth to yours.
the kiss hit first soft, lips delicately meeting for the first time, then it grew demanding. a low growl vibrating from his chest, hands gripping your hips tighter, rolling you against him like it was the only natural motion in the universe.
you gasped, fingers tangling in the back of his hoodie, pulling him closer, feeling the press of his hardness against you, the undeniable weight of him. your body arched instinctively, pressed to his, heart hammering, chest rising and falling in sync.
“tell me,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough, low. “tell me you want me… all of this… me.”
your eyes fluttered open, heart in your throat, and you met his gaze. you looked him up and down and pulled him in tight, letting your lips do the talking.
"does that answer your question?"
he groaned, a sharp, feral sound that made your stomach clench, and pressed harder, pinning you against the door like it was his god-given right. “good,” he breathed, tilting his head as his lips sought yours again, slower now, tasting, teasing, claiming. “i need to… i need to ask, too.”
“ask?” you whispered, breathless.
he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing along your jaw. “be… mine, y/n. completely. no games, no half-assed shit. i want you. all of you.”
your chest tightened, eyes swimming with heat, desire, and relief. “yes,” you breathed, voice trembling, letting everything spill out.
that was all he needed. his grin cracked wide, teeth grazing your lips, and he dove back into your mouth, hands wandering over every inch he could reach, lips and tongue claiming, teeth grazing just enough to draw gasps from you.
you pressed into him, hands clawing at his back, hips grinding, the friction of his body against yours setting you alight. each kiss was sharper, heavier, demanding, full of need and want and something that had been simmering for years.
he backed you into the hallway, every step making the tension coil tighter, until finally he spun you gently, but with no less force, toward the bedroom. the air was thick, your breaths ragged, hands clutching at each other’s clothing, trying to close the distance you both had held back for too long.
“god, you’re perfect,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and you shivered violently. “i’ve needed this… wanted you… for so long.”
you couldn’t hold back anymore. “me too, cho. so badly.”
he groaned, a deep, rough sound vibrating through your chest, hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer as you crossed the threshold into the bedroom. the door shut behind you with a definitive click, muffling the city outside, leaving only the sound of your hearts, your breaths, and the magnetic pull between your bodies.
and then… he kissed you again, slow and searing, full of hunger and want and heat, pressing you onto the bed as your legs tangled together, bodies seeking, finding, consuming.
he’s all teeth and tongue, biting, sucking, nipping at your neck, shoulder, jaw, dragging low, urgent groans from deep in his chest that make you ache and melt at the same time.
your nails rake down his back, pulling him closer, and he leans in, grinding, pressing, heat and hunger radiating from him in waves that make your knees weak.
“fuck, choso—” you gasp, but he swats your hands away gently, lips still devouring yours, teeth grazing, tongue probing, tugging, tasting.
every touch, every snap of his hips as he grinds his clothed cock against you, makes your clit pulse with anticipation.
his fingers slip under your shirt, pressing and pinching at your hardened nipples, trailing down your sides slowly, dragging heat across your skin.
your hands clutch at him, tugging his hoodie off of his body, anything to get more of him, more contact, more friction. he responds with a low, guttural growl, teeth sinking into your shoulder, hips snapping hard, testing, teasing, driving you insane with want as he tears off his shirt.
you catch a glimpse of the body you'd see on the daily, a perfect chiseled masterpiece, only this time, it was all yours.
he doesn’t just kiss you, he devours you. hands roaming over your pretty body, he slips your skirt off next, and slides his big, veiny hand down, down, until the thick pads of his fingers tease and prod at your wet bundle of nerves. you hiss in reply.
"fuck! choso— that feels— so good!"
he smirks at your confession and slowly pushes his thick digits inside, scissoring them back and forth, driving you up the wall as you let out pretty, breathless moans.
"ch-choso!"
his mouth drifts lower, teasing the swell of your breasts, biting just enough to make you arch and cry out.
after working you open, he kisses your lips tenderly before pulling down his pants and underwear in one swift motion. his rock hard cock springs free, and, wow. just wow.
"th-that's not gonna fit..."
"we'll make it fit, baby."
and fit it did. he slowly pushed his fat tip past your puffy lips, whispering reassuring praise as you squeezed your eyes shut from the streeeetch.
"aww— you can do it, ma. you're doing so good for me. that's it, just keep breathing baby."
his hips jerked forward, letting the last few inches fully stretch you out, earning a porn star worthy moan rip from your throat.
"holy fuck— holly shit! choso, you're so big!"
he groaned in satisfaction, your cunt swallowing him whole as he slapped his hips back and forth over and over again, cursing and moaning deeply into your ear.
his pace turns brutal, like all of his emotions were being poured into fucking you nice and deep, the way you deserved.
he dips his face down impossibly close to your face to capture your quivering lips in a kiss. he smirks against your skin, letting lewd comments tumble out of his smirking lips.
"you moan so prettily for me baby— shit— nothing— hah— gets me harder than hearing you whine like a slut while i fuck you fast."
you arch, grinding against him without thinking, letting the friction and his raw heat take over, body trembling beneath him. he groans into your neck, claws digging into your thighs, holding you open, guiding, punishing, claiming.
he’s insatiable. every roll of his hips, every snap, every deep press of him against you makes your body combust, trembling, gasping, aching for more. your moans, ragged and loud, fuel him, and he leans in, tongue and teeth and lips all at once, relentless, like he’s trying to imprint himself into your skin.
you can’t think. can’t breathe. can’t do anything but ride the fire, hips rolling into him, chest pressing into his, skin slick and shivering. he drives you higher, deeper, grinding with unrelenting intensity, low growls vibrating through his chest, vibrating through you.
"fuck! baby— gonna cum— gonna fill y' up, shit!"
you locked your legs around his torso as his thrusts become more and more feverish, the sheer pace making your face squeeze tight in ecstasy.
he's breathing heavy, holding your hips against him so hard you're sure his hands will leave bruises, your cunt being relentlessly pounded as he finally lets go.
"fuck— y/n! fuck i love you, i love you so much!"
you gasp at his words and blurt out a response like it was muscle memory, like it was the most perfect irrevocable truth.
"i love you too, choso— hah!—,"
when he finally drives the both of you over the edge, it’s explosive. he pants and collapses immediately, groaning into your chest as he caresses your hair, speaking soft praise into your ear.
"god, that was so good. you did so well f'me... holy shit, y/n. you're so perfect, so good... you took me like a fucking champ."
you were too busy coming down to fully comprehend, but you cradled his head against your chest all the same.
he doesn’t pull away. just holds you, chest pressed to yours, lips brushing your forehead, arms tight around you, skin slick and sticky, breaths mingling, pulse still wild. the tension hasn’t left, it’s just simmering now, a coiled heat between you two that promises this is only the beginning.
you’re still gasping, shivering, trembling in the aftermath, but it’s… thrilling, dark, messy, and perfect. he leans down, brushing his lips over yours once more, teeth grazing, murmuring something low and rough that makes your stomach knot again.
"i love you, y/n. you're mine. i don't fuck and dip, this is a forever thing now, okay? i promise, i'm never letting you get away from me."
the world outside is gone. it’s just the two of you, tangled, fevered, and utterly, terrifyingly alive.
you reply through breathless speech, looking deep into his beautiful, tired eyes.
"i know, cho. and that's all i've ever really needed."
ya’ll ever seen someone so pretty? i wonder what it takes to please him, that’s the job i want, i wanna be good at it bad at it, i wanna get promoted fired corner office hostile takeover workplace accident. im on my knees praying worshipping begging, whatever he wants
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