˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

ob87 ☆

[femalegifsource]

OLIVIA RODRIGO BBC Radio 1 Live Lounge

[dreamstars]

"Flower Nails", made by Masaharo Ono (2005)

[snoopyoftheday]

snoopy of the day

[butterccuping]

i guess ill have todieew

[musatoru]

three words

clingy gojo never gets tired of hearing you say you love him.

“baby.”

you woke up to the familiar sound of exaggerated sighing coming from the other side of the bed. not just any sigh –no, this was the full satoru gojo special: a long, theatrical exhale that somehow managed to sound both heartbroken and annoyingly smug at the same time. you cracked one eye open, already knowing what was coming.

“do you even love me?” he whined, voice muffled against the pillow he was now clutching like a jilted lover.

you groaned, burying your face back into your own pillow. “satoru. it’s literally seven in the morning. i haven’t even had coffee yet.”

he rolled closer, slinging a long arm over your waist and yanking you against his chest with zero effort. “exactly. seven in the morning and you haven’t said it once. not a single ‘i love you, satoru, my handsome, amazing, perfect boyfriend who deserves all the sugar in the world.’ i’m dying here. wasting away. look at me– i’m practically translucent from neglect.”

you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. this was routine. as routine as his daily sugar intake and his insistence on wearing those stupid designer sunglasses indoors. you’d been together for twenty five months, three weeks, and four days (he kept count, obviously), and not once had the man gone more than twelve hours without fishing for verbal confirmation that you were still obsessed with him.

you wrote him letters. you baked him those stupid mochi waffles at 6 a.m. on sundays. you once spent an entire evening color-coding his sock drawer. it didn’t matter that you left sticky notes with terrible poems on the bathroom mirror (“roses are red, your hair is white, i’d fight a bear for your morning bite”): he’d decided your full-time job was proving your affection on demand.

you twisted in his arms, cupping his ridiculously pretty face in both hands. “satoru gojo, i love you more than i love sleep. more than i love the last slice of matcha kasutera. more than i love when you shut up for five whole seconds. happy now?”

he leaned in, peppering your face with loud, obnoxious kisses until you were giggling and shoving at his chest. that megawatt grin probably got him out of traffic tickets and into your heart in the first place.

“say it slower. with feeling. and maybe throw in something about my calves.”

you flicked his forehead. “you’re such a drama queen.”

-

you were flipping blueberry pancakes –extra chocolate chips, edges slightly burned because he once declared ‘crispy is a personality trait’– when familiar arms wrapped around your waist from behind. a chin that weighed approximately one metric ton of clinginess dropped onto your shoulder.

“baby.”

“yes, satoru?”

“you love me?” he purred, voice still sleep-rough.

you didn’t miss a beat, sliding a pancake onto the plate. “satoru, i woke up just to make these because you sent me three tiktoks about them at midnight. i think the answer is yes.”

“okay, but do you really love me? or is this all an elaborate prank because i’m too hot and you’re trying to humble me?”

you flipped a pancake with more force than necessary. “i wrote a haiku about your eyes last week. again. and i hate poetry.”

he chuckled. “read it to me. right now.”

“i’m not reading anything out loud again. you recorded the last one and set it as your ringtone.”

he pouted –full bottom lip jut, baby-blue eyes wide and glistening like he was one second away from fake tears. “so you don’t love me.”

“satoru.”

“it’s been twenty whole minutes since you said the l-word. i could die.”

you rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “i love you.”

he tightened his grip and hummed like he was thinking very hard. “okay but… would you rather get your entire face atrociously burned off in a freak pancake-related grease fire… or watch me go on one single date with another woman?”

you froze mid-flip. the spatula hovered. you slowly turned in his arms, eyebrows raised so high they were basically in your hairline.

“are you serious right now?” you poked his chest with the spatula. “satoru, i spend forty-five minutes on skincare every night so i can look like a glazed donut. i visit my dermatologist once a month, that gives you a hint of how vain i am. besides, our face is our calling card to the world. so yeah. i’d rather watch you go on a date with someone else.”

he gasped like you’d stabbed him. “you’d let me date another woman?!”

you couldn’t resist him when he got like this. you wiped your hands on a dish towel, pulled open the junk drawer, and retrieved the folded papers.

“i’d sit in the café across the street, eat my feelings in the form of their entire pastry case, and then kidnap you on the way home while blasting our song. because i’m not an idiot and i know you’d text me memes the whole date about how bored you are.”

he stared at you for half a second, then burst out laughing so loud the neighbor’s dog started barking. he scooped you up, spun you once, and planted a sticky chocolate-chip kiss on your cheek.

“you’re so mean when you’re logical. i love it. marry me right now.”

“you already asked yesterday. i said yes. again.”

“yeah but you didn’t say it with enough enthusiasm.” he stole a pancake straight off the spatula, burning his fingers and not caring. “say it like you mean it this time.”

you sighed, clearing your throat. “satoru gojo, light of my life, thief of my pocky, i would marry you in a denny’s parking lot at 3 a.m. wearing crocs and a trash bag if that’s what you wanted. now sit down before i actually burn my face on purpose to escape this conversation.”

he cackled and plopped into his chair like an overgrown puppy. you set his plate in front of him –extra whipped cream, because he was a child– and sat across from him with your own.

“there. evidence of love. delivered fresh daily.”

-

you were comparing two brands of hojicha powder when satoru materialized at the end of the cart like a teleporting menace, holding up a family-sized bag of strawberry kitkat.

“baby,” he said, voice dropping into full dramatic mode as usual. “how much you love me?”

you didn’t bother to look up. “i love you enough to let you buy the jumbo pack even though last time you ate them all and then complained your stomach was staging a coup at 2 a.m.”

he abandoned the kitkats in the cart and draped himself over the handle. “would you rather break your nose and never have it set properly again… or break up with me?”

you finally met his eyes. he was using his letal weapon: pouting. the characteristic bottom lip, sparkling blues, the whole oscar-worthy performance. a passing grandma actually slowed down to stare.

you leaned on the cart, deadpan. “seriously? i need my nose to breathe, satoru. besides being functional, the nose determines the shape of the face. and i am allergic to dust. having it permanently broken would cause me a lot of trouble. so yeah. i’d rather break up with you.”

he clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “you’d break up with me?!”

you patted his cheek. “i’d cry for three days straight, eat ice cream in your purple hoodie, and then show up at your door with a powerpoint titled ‘reasons we should get back together’ that includes graphs of how much i spoil you. because i’m logical, not suicidal. now help me pick the good hojicha before i add ‘makes me answer dumb questions in public’ to the breakup slide.”

he stared, then started laughing so hard an employee three aisles over dropped a jar of mayonnaise. he rounded the cart, lifted you clean off the ground, and spun you until you were both giggling like lunatics between the wasabi and the instant ramen.

“you’re ridiculous and i’m obsessed.” he murmured against your hair. “i’m keeping you forever. even if you’d dump me for breathing.”

“only temporarily. i have receipts for every sweet i’ve ever bought you. that’s legally binding in at least four countries.”

-

evening rolled around and you were curled up on the couch watching some mindless action movie he’d picked because “the explosions remind me of how my heart feels when you walk into a room.” (his words, not yours.)

you were half-draped over his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back under your shirt. all of your letters were proudly taped to the fridge like kindergarten art projects, as they should.

during a quiet scene he suddenly tightened his hold. “baby.”

you already knew. “yes, satoru?”

“do you even love me? like, love-love me? the forever kind?”

you twirled a strand of his snowy hair. “i spend fifty minutes every morning rhyming your name with something different each time. i think we’re good.”

he looked down, chin digging into your head, eyes sparkling with revelry. “would you rather i move to another country… or get hit by a bus?”

you blinked slowly, processing the new level of ridiculous. “that’s not even the usual format. but i’d rather you get hit by the bus. at least then i could camp out at the hospital, yell at doctors, bring you all your favorite sweets, and nurse you back to health while you’re stuck being extra clingy and dependent on me for months. if you move to another country, i’d be stuck with long-distance, terrible time zones, crying over video calls, and worrying you’re out there eating better yakitori without me. no way. i’d take the bus every single time.”

he tried to hide his smile. “you’d let me get flattened for dairy?!”

you booped his nose. “priorities, bae. i’m keeping you near me. now shut up so we can finish this movie.”

he tackled you into the cushions, kissing your face so aggressively his glasses went flying somewhere into the void. between kisses he kept muttering: “you’re so mean… so logical… i love it so much… more than sweets… more than winning… more than–”

you laughed and cupped his stupidly pretty face, kissing him quiet. “i know, you big dramatic baby. and i love you so much it’s embarrassing. i write you letters because texts feel too temporary. i say it every day because you deserve to hear it every day. i put up with your ridiculous hypotheticals because they make you smile like an idiot and i’m weak for that smile. you’re my favorite person in the entire world, satoru gojo.”

he melted and pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck with a happy little hum. “you’re the best, i swear.”

-

you were half-asleep, curled against his chest, when the question came again, softly into the dark. he couldn’t help it.

“baby… do you love me?”

you didn’t open your eyes. you just hooked a leg over his waist and mumbled. “yes, honey; enough to spoil you rotten and be logical about it. now go to sleep before i change my mind.”

for a long moment, there was only silence. no dramatic gasp, no theatrical clutching of his chest. just the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your hair, the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the half-drawn curtains. then his arms tightened around you –not the usual playful squeeze, but something deeper, almost desperate.

“god, i love you.” he murmured in a way that made your sleepy heart stutter. his fingers traced lazy circles along your back, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked just a little. “i never got to hear those words before. no one truly loved me until you came into my life. you choose me every single time, even when i’m such an insufferable brat. i don’t know what i did to deserve you, but i’m never letting go.”

you felt the heat of his smile against your temple, soft and genuine. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“you big sap,” you whispered, voice thick with affection. “i’m keeping you forever too. even if you keep asking me every day for the rest of our lives.”

-

the next morning, gentle sunlight slipped through the curtains as satoru slowly woke up. his arm reached out across the bed on instinct, searching for the cozy warmth of your body curled against his. instead, his fingers met cool, empty sheets.

he blinked, lifting his head with a sleepy little pout.

“baby…?”

before disappointment could settle in, his eyes landed on a neatly unfolded napkin resting right on your pillow –your fancy handwriting covering it in careful black ink.

he sat up, a small smile already tugging at his lips as he picked up the note and read:

« my dear satoru,

i woke up early because i saw online that a super special limited edition of those premium sakura daifuku from the exclusive wagashi shop just dropped this morning. i ran out to grab a fresh box for you before they’re gone. i’ll be right back! but in the meantime, i hope this will be enough:

i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you (x∞) ♡

ps: missin ya rn. »

satoru stared at the paper, his thumb gently tracing over your enthusiastic words. his heavenly irises softened in that rare, unguarded way only you ever got to see. another warm, genuine smile bloomed across his face as he pressed the napkin to his chest, right over his heart.

in that moment, with your loving note in his hands and the promise of your return, satoru knew without a doubt that true love only comes once in a lifetime.

[butterccuping]

#alive

[keepmypeace]

[butterccuping]

hmm hmm mm thinking thinking thinking

[perriaeyjeve]

[hinamie]

this guy is so shaped it makes me angry

[butterccuping]

CRAVING JJK MANGAS SO BAAAADD

[rini-yaki]

Apple Cider.

wc: 4.5k

ꕥ basically satoru is paired up with you for a bigg project and when the subject of his stress aren't his grades anymore but rather his project partner.

college au | gn! reader x frat! gojo (fluff, innocent crushes ig??)

extra: uhhhhhh, yeah i made fratjo so nervy and like a loverboy lowk, bad dialogue prolly, probably very OOC from how others would write him,,, + pining???? + gojo is just a anxious guy in love and idk if u can feel the 'fratness' of him... + sneaking refs to fratkuna from my other fic blehhh

inspired by this post by @megumour (and @rue-the-simp in the reblogs), vibe inspired by 'Apple Cider' by Beabadodee + but i kind of stray away from the og idea with what i was thinking when writing...

Master Binder

you're definitely going to give this professor a horrible rating on rate-my-professor because there's no way this project is worth nearly (basically) half your final grade. it's make or break from here on out, and there's a fun little bonus! it's a partner project.

you felt your mood wither at the announcement, and couldn't even muster a pained look when your one and only trusted classmate was looped with someone else. you could only pray you wouldn't get the kids in the back that's only here for the attendance.

and you got the next best(?) thing, satoru gojo.

you silently shuffled your things to the seat next to him as everyone else was doing, he was twirling his pen at a speed only people with too much free time can do. you both barely exchanged a greeting when doing so, mumbled "hi"s disappeared as soon as you said it. though when yours was more out of common courtesy, his was a bit chopped and awkward.

it was after exchanging socials that you realized that you went to the same high school as him. scrolling led you to the post that marked his graduation day, he hasn't changed much. same crooked and charming smile, bright eyes that made heads turn, the glow of his snow white hair stayed the same, just a bit longer.

but you didn't have much time to dwell on it, for you had a different lecture and a hangout with friends, so you left your little investigation right there.

and talking about socials, you didn't really post anything other than the occasional scenery photo on your story that had a one in a hundred chance of being saved as a highlight. so gojo didn't have much to work off of, but it's not like he really needed it. after all, he recognized you from high school right away but didn't say anything.

from his perspective, the two of you guys were barely acquaintances, it wasn't because of any bad or good particular reason. it's just a simple situation where the two of you just never really crossed paths, the crowds you were in was nothing like his.

you were more quiet, spent more time with a smaller group, melting into a calmer atmosphere, you were there but your presence never commanded attention. contrast to him, he was always in the big "popular" group, drowned in girls and guys alike, attention, camera flashes— nothing your style.

you just thought of him as another frat boy, nothing to write home about. from satoru's perspective, you weren't anything he hasn't seen before. he was just an energetic firework of a human being, and you were just another face in the crowd.

the two of you held no expectation for each other because it was mutually agreed that neither of you could afford a bad grade on this project final.

color yourself surprised, you half expected the fratboy to just leave all the responsibilities to you. but who knew, satoru gojo also had a sense of responsibility.

its right after he waves you off after the first session in the library to get the general layout is when satoru realizes how lucky he is to be your partner for the biggest project of the semester.

sure, he understands the big parts of the lecture's points, but it's not even close to what you know. you know the footnotes of each bullet point he's half remembered, then the asterisks of said footnotes almost perfectly. he can't lie, you make him feel a little dumb. but from that stoic demeanor of yours, he knew it wasn't intentional.

but he is a bit surprised at how authoritative you're being with him for the project, but he's not complaining.

during the session, he watches you pull out your planner and start pointing with your muji pen on dates that worked for you, already planning your next meeting with him. your tone is neutral, never bored, never mad, never surprised, just thoughtful and shy of blunt.

though it does close some casual breathing room for satoru though, it feels a bit too unnatural to crack a joke when he sees a furrow in your brow as you set up the shared doc and typing a checklist of whats required.

but it's a scene he doesn't want to look away from either, so it's a win for the both of you… I guess.

then the next time rolls around. you meet in those private study rooms with a whiteboard. there, your day must've been really good because you seemed a lot lighter than before.

that's where satoru discovers the small, sour zest of sarcasm that you have, it slithers through your tone when he said something dumb.

like a lemon added to a beverage, adds a feeling of freshness to the one who drinks it. it kind of reminds satoru that just like him, you have your own personality, and it was like unfamiliar friction against his senses. but he was never one to turn down new things.

but by the end of the progression session, he's managed to see you cover a laugh with a sigh. it makes him pause when it happened, he didn't even do anything that crazy, just cracked a pun with the professor's name.

it surprised him. up until this point, in this class, you were always so stone faced, you got your good grades and didn't stay for pleasantries, so to see you break this character he thought of you wasn't something he wasn't entertained by.

"you can laugh?"

"get back to work."

"yes my liege…"

"…" you give him a look to shut him up.

tough crowd huh.

but satoru gojo is never deterred!

the third meeting the two of you share is over lunch. he was eating some random wrap he bought with a red bull, it tasted like shit in his opinion. and you were eating a lunch of your own at a table when he arrived. the two of you hovered over your laptop, entranced with your academics. nerds.

mumbled suggestions and thoughtful nods, guess that red bull really got him into the thinking head space, "flow state" or something. but there was something else, perhaps it was that cool outfit you were wearing, the soft glow from the sun on your piercings or accessories, the soft scent of the perfume or deodorant you wore that he never noticed until now.

his friends pass by, he gives them a wave, a lot wave back, a single guy yells: "good luck!" in tone you can only interpret as annoying and "jocky" , like he was wishing satoru good luck with you and not the project. you recoil a bit, satoru doesn't notice a thing.

the fourth time you meet for the project is right after his practice, sweaty and half still in his sports wear, he pauses when he sees you sitting in the area you both agreed to meet at. you were wearing a particularly nicer outfit for some reason, it felt like you were dressed a bit up more than usual, and an unnameable feeling washed over.

he headed to the nearest bathroom to freshen up a bit more, when he does arrive, he's a lot more put together, striking you with a beaming smile as he sits down, sliding his bag next to yours.

you don't even look up when you address him, "if you're gonna be late, at least let me know." he freezes and brushes it off with a "yeah yeah, coach was on my ass today, give me a break.", you give him a lighthearted glare.

"excuses excuses.." you sigh, clicking your tongue.

the white haired male scoffs with a grin, "you're sassier than you let on.". you shrug, then point to your screen, ready to start being productive, and he is no one to stop you.

his cheek rests on his palm when your eyes are glued to the report you two made thus far, he is listening. but his eyes are all on you, staring maybe too intently. he forces himself to look away for the sake of himself.

due to your schedules, sometimes, you two had to call to make progress. which wasn't that much of a problem, at first.

the first call was completely normal, though you two got off track when his roommates barged in with a room tour, to which you were subjected to seven minutes dedicated to him and his roommate bragging about his medals and awards.

and despite you being quiet the entire time, you took the information in sincerely, thoughtful nods that satoru has grown to recognize as genuine participation. he smiles a bit more earnestly.

the second call that had to be made was later at night. what started as a productive call ended with you ranting about your recent troubles, whether it be overlapping assessments, loud peers, dropping your coffee, satoru just adds a snide comment that makes you start a new tangent.

he watches you, originally, he was in front of his computer, but now he's on his bed, staring at you.

you weren't dressed up, your hair wasn't set, no makeup or anything, and sure, he's seen disheveled guys and girls, but none of them really gave off the same charm you alluded through the screen.

it's almost soft, the way he looks at you through the screen. you're on your chair, knees bunched up to your chest, sometimes you switch positions to get more comfortable.

this is the most expressive he's ever seen you, and it's beyond charming to see you take hold of a casual conversation.

"and it is just beyond me because why does he think thats normal—" you inhale sharply.

"so he's a liar and piece of shit?" satoru asks, pitching in to let you know he's listening.

"well absolutely—"

"then stop talking about 'em." he says matter of factly.

you give him a death glare, a hand shoots out towards your phone in a halting motion, "savannah slow down." you say. (/ref)

he laughs, you roll your eyes.

a comfortable dynamic, the two of you slide into the positions without a hitch. polite laughs were soon replaced with ugly chuckles and snickers. an atmosphere not unfamiliar with friendships.

satoru notices that despite your first appearance, like a lot of other people, you have different sides thatyou choose to not show. your interests weren't exactly something he was expecting, but it made you so much more interesting, like an onion, and he couldn't wait to peel back the layers.

you never really talked in full detail about what it was you liked, but gave him just enough to entertain the both of you, and the way your energy shot up when he mentioned he knew about it did something silly with his stomach. (liver failure)

and regardless of the obscure hints because he could hint you were a bit embarrassed to talk about it to a project partner- no, him.

had this been anyone else and had this project not been a breaking deal for your grades, maybe you wouldn't be so uptight. but still, you were aware of the rumors subjecting the frat boys on campus.

how they were rowdy and erotic, loud and popular, loved and envied. you haven't heard anything more cliché, but did that mean you didn't believe in them? …well, let's say that you've seen the guys like sukuna on campus, during the first party, it told you enough.

the white haired boy noticed the way you lit up easily around him after that, your guard was let down a bit more. maybe it was his imagination, since y'know.. this project was the only thing keeping you guys from not talking to one another.

and he doesn't know how to feel about that.

so he pushes it away, buries that strange unsettling feeling that makes him restless in his seat. all he knows is that he is starting to enjoy your company, more than he thought he would come to like. it's… strange.

but maybe that is the appeal.

nonetheless, much to his happiness- this fun and new dynamic stays for the rest of the time you both needed to share together to complete the project.

what a breath of fresh air you were. you were relatable with your workload, never needed his support to do what you needed to do. it's like, you were a functioning human being, y'know? you weren't one for hierarchies and delusions, you were grounded in music and your own little bubble, and after floating across the skies for so long with constant commotion, satoru can't help but be drawn to your calming presence.

you were so different from what he's been surrounded with, you had your spikes in tension but nothing blown out of proportion. bad jokes and personal references shot between the two of you like firecrackers, warming the air with a special kind of warmth.

the night before submission, the two of you called to do a final revision.

it was nothing special, just a call at midnight.

and maybe it was how unusually quiet satoru's dorm room, or maybe it was the fact he noticed you were wearing your favorite jumper (heh, he remembered after you told him about it),or maybe it was how the lighting was giving you optimal angles. or maybe that's how it was always set up and since tonight marks the night he loses the excuse to call you, he notices all of that.

you weren't looking at him, mumbling under your breath as your cursor breezes through the final product, eyes scanning for mistakes when his eyes are scanning you. the familiar furrow in your brow, the tension in your shoulders.

he nods without thinking and hums a song he vaguely remembers, he had the shared project open on his laptop and yet he was just staring at your icon at the top.

before he knew it, the end of the call was drawing near.

"sorry, it's late, we should probably submit it now," you finally rasp, popping a joint or two as you skim to the submission page. satoru finally comes back from his strange staring intermission.

"what? yeah, sure. thanks." his words are stiff, cut off, in nature of someone who's been caught off guard.

a pause, you were waiting for the file to load. an idea pops into your partner's head.

"hey,"

"hello,"

"you doing anything this saturday?"

you finally look at your screen, look at him.

it shouldn't fluster him that much, he's seen you like this a lot, the same eyes, same nice hair, same jumper. then you look away, looking at something that satoru guessed was your planner.

"..no, not this time. why?" you ask, looking back at him.

his throat closes, you're right: why? why did he ask that?

"nothing, thought we'd celebrate a job well done." he shrugs, masking that jump in his heart beat, "over a lunch.. or something." he trails off, swivelling in his chair. you shrug, "but do we like each other that much?"

"ouch, thought we bonded well my liege," he pouts, you cringe, he softens, you sigh in an over dramatic manner.

"let's see if i can fit you in my very busy schedule." you groan like it was the biggest chore in the world. he has come to know you better than that.

but by the time the file had been submitted to your professor, the two of you have decided to meet again to celebrate in two weeks at a cafe, regardless of the grade you recieved. though the two of you were confident to think that the both of you would be just fine.

when the call ends, satoru doesn't move.

the feeling just hit him, like the gavel smacking down on the desk, like the one that the grouchy law student that he came across the other day.

it was really nice to talk to you.

like.. to the 'he already missed your voice' level.

the flush on his cheeks grows as his mind replays the final few minutes. his head swings back as he stares at the ceiling, grouping his legs on top of his chair, he hugs his knees in thought.

and for some "strange" reason, his mind starts to replay all the moments he's shared with you, your antics, your likes, the way you speak, your humor. it charms him until he falls asleep.

so yes, our local fratboy is half way through the denial stage, settling into his feelings with the help of his emotionally connected freshman friend, yuji, and overhearing that even sukuna has been caught staring- the days blend as your little meet up comes closer.

and as for you, the feelings settle slower.

would you say you have a type? maybe not, but whatever it was, the image you had in your head certainly wasn't satoru, the fratman of campus (what?). whenever you saw people of his category, you couldn't even imagine interacting with them.

but then you were bunched with satoru, you saw the appeal that everyone saw. how easy going and charismatic he was, how the playfulness and doting act simmered under the lid of his head turning appearance.

you weren't as immune to his charm as you originally thought.

a few days pass, and for some reason, you feel like satoru has been appearing everywhere you go.

the dining hall, visiting your friend's dorm with sukuna??, the library, on the way to your lectures.

it was.. strange.

and everytime you saw him, you'd freeze a bit, the rhythm of your step thrown off beat when you saw him laughing at some joke, sometimes he'd noticed you and smiled, to which you tried to smile back. but with the setting, you couldn't help but shrink when the rest of his posse turned to you, making you flee a bit faster.

sometimes when you'd pass him, your arm twitches to wave, you swallow the action when some girls call his name.

and despite people frolicking to be at his side, in the corner of his eye, he saw you, and he'd wave above the crowds, it made your stomach jump, feeling like a hot blanket was thrown over your shoulder, and you could only take it off when he disappeared from your sight.

and it only got worse as the meeting drew closer.

for the both of you.

one night, you were sitting on your dorm bed, you couldn't sleep.

because that morning, you were leaving your lecture a bit late due to asking the professor a question, and had rushed to get your things to leave.

in amidst your hasty actions, you had left your pen behind, and right as you were about to exit the door, someone tapped your shoulder.

"oi you left this." you freeze but your head turns around against your better judgement.

there stood satoru, the two of you haven't been this close in proximity in a while, and even though it meant nothing to you before, this time, it made your cheeks warm. too warm.

"thanks." you respond coolly, snatching your leftover eraser, fingertips brushing his for one millisecond (which is one millisecond too long).

when you leave, a bit too hurriedly in your opinion. a thought bubbles into satoru's head against his will. "they're so cool."

oh if only he knew.

he's not even that funny, or good looking, or cool, or charismatic.

it's not like you like him.

but then behind your eyes displays the scene of him today. and your body temperature spikes, the urge to scream into your pillow or kick your legs swarms your senses.

"…fuck."

was the only thing you could say without combusting into air and water.

satoru feels like he should be doing more. it's dumb, he already has a set date with you, oh how the word alone makes him giddy, so he shouldn't be worrying about it at all.

but what if you forget? (you won't, you write down your schedule somewhere always.)

what if you get the location wrong? (you won't, you've been on campus for as long as he has.)

what if the two of you failed? (he has the rubric memorized from the times he spent with you.)

what if you hate him by the time you meet? (really?)

satoru is a strong and brave guy, but is he show-up-to-your-dorm-alone-at-a-convenient-time-because-he-knows-when-you're-free level of brave? i wish.

like we established, you were nothing like the crowds he was used to, he didn't want to overstep and do something that would ultimately sway you away from him. he didn't know you super duper well, but that's what he wants to do- get to know you better.

he's dumb, you guys already agreed to meet up again, he really doesn't have to be in your face again before then..

and despite the rationalizing from his friends, he finds himself in front of your dorm room, the sigh of the door being closed taunted him.

after what felt like an eternity of standing, a giggle from your neighbor slapped him out of his daze. the voices of doubt and his egotistical subconscious finally simmered down, leaving him with nothing but his jumbled and unorganized feelings for you.

when he knocks, he braces himself to see your familiar face.

but it's not you.

it's someone who he recognized as your roommate, at least it's not another guy. they're startled to see the one ninety one centimeter popular frat guy that people fawn over constantly right at their door. but why does he seem so anxious? might as well have a bouquet in his hands like a boyfriend meeting the other's parents for the first time.

"can i help you?"

"oh- have you seen your roommate?"

your roommate only grows a bit more puzzled, they look up in thought for a moment before answering, "uh, they're out on a club activity right now…", they look back at him.

"do you want me to tell them to text you?" they ask in pure curiosity, the man at the door panics internally- not sure what to say, being caught trying to look for them suddenly felt way more lame than it was before.

"no. it's- it's fineokaythanksbye."

and so satoru leaves, his stature even stiffer than before. his cheeks are burning with embarrassment, how stupid was he to go and find you.. he knew you're a busy person.

"he asked for me? why?" you ask too quickly when you come home, sitting at your desk and looking at your roommate like they were withholding the secrets behind ensuring world peace.

"fuck i don't know, he just left before i could ask.." they shrug, swiping on their phone, they look up at you with that look. you clamp your mouth shut before you could incriminate yourself further.

this little incident lived in the heads of both of you, no, you never texted him about it- you never could muster up enough courage to even open his contact.

that night, you two went to bed with faces buried in the pillow and hearts pounding a beat too fast and restless.

the day of the meet up comes before you could even register it. you're freaking out in areas you never thought you would, you never knew you would worry about things like this, you always felt like you never really cared.

words that you've heard people in love would mutter and things they'd fuss about are now starting to arise from you.

you chose your nicest outfit and paid extra mind to your hair, checking over everything more times than you could count. ignoring the looks from your roommate as you scurried out the door.

you arrive a bit too early out of nervousness.

the feelings were too real, too familiar, too soft to be anything else. you're mentally condemning yourself in your head over and over again as you shift your weight from your right to left foot. mindlessly playing a song in your headphones but it felt every single one of them just had a lingering sense of romance that was throwing you off your game so bad.

gojo arrived a minute late, and you both did a stiff, yet familiar greeting.

but don't worry, the conversations started moving back to their normal rhythms, believe it or not.

you both are sitting with your food set in front of each other. and satoru won't shut up, which is for the better this time because if it weren't for his long catch up about how his life has been, you would've been stuck with the realization that the set up looks awfully like a date…

the conversation flies by, the two of you were exchanging information, and without the tension of a big project being due, you were much more relaxed (or as relaxed as you can be in front of someone that you've been losing sleep over.).

soon enough, an hour passes and you both split the bill (neither of you were brave enough to cover for the other in worries it might make things awkward.).

he was walking you back to your dorm, just because "his friend lives nearby" and you let him for you really don't have the heart to turn him down at this point. not when the sun was making him look unfairly fine. you can't even look at him for too long without feeling like you were looking at him too hard- which was a problem you never had before!

and before he could expect it, the two of you were in front of your door, and as you unlock it and open, satoru feels the doors of opportunity close. his mind flies back to a conversation with nanami the night before.

"do what you think is right, but patience, and quote: slow burn, only works if you're initiating things just as much. remember, you don't have any real reason to contact them after tomorrow, so if you're mentally ready to face the fact that if you do contact them—"

"OKAY OKAY I GET IT!"

and under satoru's breath he mutters, "and for the record i did go to their room, they just weren't there."

a sigh marks the end of that conversation.

and the memory whizzes over his head so quickly that the moment you even step back into your room, satoru opens his mouth.

"do you wanna come with me to a party this friday?" he blurts. good lord is he out of his territory. asking people to parties is like a language to him, one that he understands well, and yet, he crumbles at the thought of you saying no.

"…sure." you blurt without thinking, you were also sulking at the thought of not having to see him anymore honestly. his dumb face grew on you faster and stronger than you had expected.

"But, parties aren't exactly my thing.."

He smiles, the anxiety of you turning him down blows away like dust on an antique, so he impossibly a bit more, ecstatic about the prospect of hanging out with you more.

"You'll be fine! i'll be with you the entire time." he gives you a cheeky thumbs up, your initial worry and shock subsides quietly, you return the expression.

"Well, then let's give this thing a try."

allat for a C btw... /j yall passed with flying colors (i was the prof)

hope you enjoyed, i think i ended it too abruptly....

maybe i just cant write sassy people (this is so bad i might crie)

[dumdogs]

SWEET IRON - CHOSO KAMO

CHOSO'S EXHAUSTED - from the fight, from all the yelling, from you. his eyes drift shut as your hands work their way down his chest, and he wonders what your boyfriend would do if he knew.

<- back to masterlist

CONTENT WARNINGS: unhealthy/abusive relationship, violence, drinking, cheating, boxer!choso, hook ups, modern/no curse au, mental health issues, neighbors to lovers, everyone is literally so out of character

if you would like to be added to the taglist, please reply to this post!

chapter one - exchanges

chapter two - coming soon

dumdogs - do not copy or repost

[musatoru]

sleeping beauty

megumi visits you in the hospital while you're in a coma.

the sun is doing that thing where it spills across the linoleum in heavy, golden slats, making the hospital dust motes look like tiny wandering stars. it’s too quiet, but for the first time in years, the silence doesn't feel like it's suffocating megumi.

tsumiki is sitting up. she’s laughing –a real, bright sound that catches in her throat– as she tucks a stray hair behind her ear. she’s going home, finally. the paperwork is signed, the discharge papers are a crisp weight in megumi’s jacket pocket.

“i’ll just be a second.” he mutters, his voice still carrying that low, gravelly rasp. “i need to go get the last of the ginger ales from the breakroom fridge. we shouldn't leave them.”

tsumiki smiles, that soft, knowing look that says she knows he just wants a moment to breathe and process that she’s actually okay. “don’t be long, megumi. the taxi is coming.”

he wanders down the hall, but he misses his turn. maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s fate being a little less of a jerk than usual. he ends up in the long-term care wing, a place he knows too well. but he stops in front of a door that isn't tsumiki’s.

it’s a double room. one bed is empty, stripped bare. in the other, there’s you.

you look like you’re made of porcelain. the sunlight hits your pillow, but you don’t blink. there are no cards on your bedside table. no ‘get well soon’ balloons shriveling in the corner. just a plastic water pitcher and a heart monitor that hums a steady, lonely rhythm.

he asks a nurse later, under the guise of ‘just wondering’. no family, she says with a sad, tired sigh. an orphan. nobody’s come for months.

megumi looks at the empty vase by your bed and feels a sharp, familiar ache in his chest. he knows what it’s like to have the world move on while you’re stuck in place.

-

he comes back three days after tsumiki is settled at home. he tells himself he’s just ‘passing by’, which is a lie because this hospital is forty minutes in the wrong direction from his school.

he slips into your room, feeling like a shadow. he’s holding a bunch of white primroses –the ones that mean i can't live without you, or maybe just i'm sorry you're alone. he doesn't know flower language that well; tsumiki is the one who memorized the books.

he sticks them in the vase. they look a little lopsided.

“i’m fushiguro megumi.” he says to the quiet air. his voice feels too loud. “my sister was in the bed next to yours. well, not this room, but... you know. she’s better now.”

you don’t answer. your eyelashes are dark against your pale skin, unmoving.

“you shouldn't have an empty room,” he grumbles, pulling up the uncomfortable plastic chair. “it’s bad for the soul. tsumiki says that if you don’t have beauty around you, your mind forgets why it’s trying to wake up.”

he stays for an hour. he mostly just looks at his shoes, but before he leaves, he touches the edge of your blanket, straightening the crease.

-

it becomes a ritual. tuesdays and thursdays.

he brings blue hydrangeas. then sunflowers. then lavender because he heard the scent helps with ‘neural relaxation’ or some other medical jargon he read on a late-night wikipedia spiral. he starts talking more. it’s easier to talk to you than anyone else. you don’t judge his brooding; you don’t ask him why he’s so tense. you just listen with the infinite patience of the sleeping.

he starts learning flower language, not out of any real interest at first, but because the silence in your room feels like it needs more than just his voice. it feels like it needs a vocabulary. he finds an old, forgotten copy of a floriography dictionary in a used bookstore, its pages yellowed and smelling of dust and lime. he starts small, bringing you two tulips –one yellow for a cheerful smile, one red for a declaration of love he’s not brave enough to say out loud. he tells you their meanings, his voice low and awkward, as if confessing a secret. “the yellow one is because… i don’t know. i hope you’re having good dreams, even if you can’t tell me. the red one is… well. it’s complicated.” he leaves it at that, but the next week, he brings three. the third is white, for forgiveness. “for taking so long to find you.” he mumbles to the vase, arranging the stems so they don’t crowd each other.

one tuesday, he’s telling you about yuji. “he’s an idiot.” megumi says, a faint, almost-smile on his lips as he arranges a bouquet of pink carnations, their ruffled edges soft against his fingertips. “he eats like he’s never seen food before and he has the volume control of a rock concert. but he’s… good. he’d probably try to make you laugh until you couldn’t breathe. i think you’d like him. he’d make this place feel less like a waiting room.” he pauses, his fingers stilling on a stem. “i told him about you. not… specifics. just that there was someone i was visiting. he said i should bring you a toy from the arcade. can you imagine? a giant stuffed panda in here. it would be tacky. you deserve better.” he settles on the carnations. i’ll never forget you. it feels too on the nose, too desperate, but he leaves them there anyway, a vibrant splash of color against the sterile white.

it’s on a thursday, after a particularly grueling training session with gojo that left him feeling hollowed out and bruised, that the real confessions start to spill. the room is dark, save for the sliver of moonlight through the window. he didn’t bring flowers today. he just brought himself, the weight of his own body a heavy burden in the uncomfortable chair.

“before you,” he begins, his voice barely a whisper. “before tsumiki woke up… i thought it was just me and her. that’s it. that was the whole world. and if i lost her…” he trails off, the thought too ugly to finish. “i felt so small. like i was standing at the edge of a cliff and the wind was pushing, and there was nobody behind me to grab my jacket. i thought my family was just… a list of names. a dead mother and a father who might as well be.”

the name hangs in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. “toji.” he says, and the word is laced with a poison that’s been festering for years. “i hate him. i hate that he left us. i hate that he looked at me and just… decided i wasn't worth the trouble. he gets to walk around, do whatever he wants, and we’re here. i was always here. i used to wonder what was so wrong with me that he could just… go. was i not enough?” his hands are clenched into fists in his lap, the bones of his knuckles pressing hard against the worn denim of his jeans, a dull, grounding ache. “and for a little while, there was gojo. he’d show up sometimes. not like a guardian, nothing that… structured. he was just… there. he’d bring weird snacks, things a kid shouldn’t eat. he’d ruffle my hair and call me ‘megumi-kun’ with this stupid, cheerful voice. i think he was trying. in his own useless, annoying way, he was trying to be something. but then my dad was gone. and gojo was gone, too. and it was just me and tsumiki again. so it was almost worse, knowing there was someone else for a second, and then having them disappear too.”

he takes a ragged breath, the anger giving way to a deeper, more profound sadness. “and my mom… i don’t even have a picture. just a few fuzzy memories. the way she smelled, like pineapple and clean laundry. the sound of her laugh. i get so mad that i don’t have more. that i didn’t get more time. that i’ll never know if she liked the rain or if she was scared of spiders or if she would have been proud of the person i’m trying to be.” he looks at your still form, his vision blurring. “i was so angry for so long. at him, at the world, at myself. but sitting here… with you… it’s different.”

it’s true. the quiet isn’t empty anymore. just quiet– the kind of quiet you can breathe in.

-

“tonight we’re gonna see more stars.” he says one evening when the sky outside is turning a bruised purple. he leans back, staring up at the ceiling tiles as if he can see through them. “tsumiki taught me about them. she used to say that if you’re lost, you just have to find the hunter. orion. he’s easy to find because of his belt –three stars in a perfect row.”

he points to a spot above your head.

“see, right there. if the ceiling wasn't there, he’d be standing over you. he’s a protector. i think he’d like you. he’d appreciate the silence.”

megumi’s fingers trace the air, drawing invisible lines between imaginary points of light.

“and there’s pleiades. the seven sisters. they’re a cluster, always together. tsumiki liked them best because they never leave each other behind.” his voice softens, dropping an octave. “i think... i think you’re one of those stars that drifted a little too far from the cluster.”

he shifts, angling his body toward the window, though the curtain is mostly drawn. “there’s one… a story i think about a lot. it’s about two stars. vega and altair.” he pauses, gathering the threads of the myth, his voice dropping into the cadence of a storyteller. “vega is a princess, a weaver. they say she was so skilled she could weave the most beautiful fabrics on her loom, clouds of silk and silver. altair was a cowherd. they fell in love. but when they did, they forgot their duties. the princess stopped weaving, the cowherd let his herd wander. the gods got angry.”

he leans forward, his elbows on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours. the last of the daylight catches in his dark hair, turning the edges to ink. “as punishment, they were banished to opposite sides of a great river –the milky way. they can only see each other from across the water. but once a year, just for one night, a flock of magpies forms a bridge across the sky, and they can finally be together.” he looks from the window to your still face, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “most people call it a sad story. a story of longing. of waiting.” he reaches out, his hand hovering over your blanket, not quite touching, as if he could feel the warmth of your skin through the thin fabric. “but i don’t think it’s sad. not really. it’s a story about faithfulness. about waiting all that time, across an entire galaxy, just for one night. it proves that some connections are strong enough to survive anything. even distance. even silence.” his voice is barely a whisper now, a secret meant only for you. “it’s a promise. that even if you’re stuck on one side of the river, someone is always on the other, waiting for the bridge.”

-

it’s raining. a heavy, grey downpour that makes the hospital feel like an island in the middle of a dark sea, the sound a constant, shushing roar against the windowpane. megumi is tired. it’s a deep, bone-weary exhaustion that settles in his marrow. his hands are scraped and raw from training, a dull throb of pain that matches the one behind his eyes. he’d messed up a simple technique today, his focus shot, and gojo’s usual cheerful commentary had felt like needles. he’s here, though. he’s always here.

he’s brought a book this time –some classic he was supposed to read for class– but the unopened paperback rests in his lap. he finds himself just watching the way your chest rises and falls, a slow, steady rhythm that’s the only thing anchoring him to the room. the rain outside feels like the world is weeping, and a part of him wants to join in.

he reaches out, his hand hesitating in the space between you. he eventually lets his fingers rest on the back of your hand. your skin is cool, so much softer than his calloused palms, a stark contrast that makes his own roughness feel like an intrusion. the pressure is light, barely there, but it’s everything.

“hey,” he whispers, his voice cracking on the single word. he clears his throat, but the lump doesn’t go away. “tsumiki asked about you today. i told her you were still resting. she told me to tell you that the cherry blossoms are starting to bud. she said you’re missing the best part of the year.” he squeezes your hand, just a little. “come on. wake up. i’m running out of constellations to tell you about. i’m going to have to start making them up soon, and i’m not very creative. i’ll end up naming a star after my dogs or something stupid.”

he tries to laugh, but what comes out is a small, broken thing, a choked gasp that’s more sob than sound. the sound of it seems to break something inside him. the carefully constructed dam of his composure, held together for months, finally crumbles. he doesn’t make a scene. there are no great, heaving sobs. instead, a single, hot tear escapes, tracing a silent path down his cheek. he quickly wipes it away with the back of his free hand, a gesture of frustration and shame. but then another follows. and another.

he leans forward, resting his forehead against the cold metal railing of your bed, his shoulders shaking in silent, violent tremors. he cries without a sound, the tears soaking into the sleeve of his jacket. he cries for tsumiki, for the fear that still clings to him like a shadow. he cries for the father who left and the mother he can’t remember. he cries for the stupid, botched technique and the disappointment in gojo’s eyes that he probably only imagined. but mostly, he cries for you. for the profound, aching loneliness of your silence, for the unfairness of it all. he cries because he’s so tired of being strong, and here, in this quiet room with only the rain and the steady beep of the monitor as witnesses, he doesn’t have to be.

he stays like that for a long time, a huddled, grieving figure at your bedside, his hand still clinging to yours as if it’s the only solid thing in a world that’s dissolving around him.

finally, the storm inside him subsides, leaving him hollowed out and empty. he lifts his head, his face feeling tight and swollen. he looks at your peaceful, unmoving face, and a new wave of yearning washes over him, so potent it steals his breath.

“please,” he whispers, his voice raw and shredded. “it’s lonely being the only one who knows the map.”

-

“tsumiki always tried to make me sing to her.” he says one day, his voice raspy. he scratches the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’s never been able to shake. “when we were kids. she said i had a nice voice, but i hate it. it feels… too much. like handing someone a piece of your soul they didn’t ask for.” he lets out a short, humorless breath. “she never gave up, though. would hum some stupid pop song until i wanted to throw a pillow at her.”

his gaze drifts to the open door, a rectangle of muted light from the hallway. a pair of squeaking sneakers passes by, then fades. the coast is clear. he looks back at you, at the profound stillness that has become his compass.

“stupid.” he mutters to himself, but his feet don’t move.

he takes a small, hesitant step closer to the bed, leaning over you. the scent of the stargazer lilies and clean linen fills his senses. he clears his throat softly, and then, so quietly it’s almost indistinguishable from the outside, he begins to hum. it’s a low, uncertain melody at first, a simple, wandering tune without words. it’s not a song he knows, but something he’s creating in the moment, a sound born from the quiet space between you.

then, the humming coalesces into words, sung in a whisper so fragile it feels like it could shatter.

“kumo no hate ni… hikari ga matteru…” (beyond the clouds… a light is waiting…)

his voice is deeper than he expects, rough around the edges but with a clear, melancholic tone that he usually keeps locked away. he sings the next line, his eyes fixed on your face, searching for any flicker of recognition, any sign that the sound is reaching you.

“yoru ni mayotte mo… samayou kimi o…” (even if you’re lost in the night… you, who are wandering…)

-

time makes wonders. the days bleed into one another, a soft watercolor wash of grey mornings and quiet afternoons. megumi no longer counts them in tuesdays and thursdays, but in the subtle shifts in your room. the way the light hits the vase of white chrysanthemums he brought this week –you are a wonderful person, a friend’s worth, he’d mumbled, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate. he remembers, not long ago, the feeling of being a ghost haunting his own life. the thought of death used to be a quiet, constant companion, a cold stone in his pocket he’d reach for and turn over and over in his mind. it wasn't a dramatic desire for an end, just a weary acceptance that if he were to fade out, to stop, it would be a relief. a quiet erasure.

but now, he’s starting to forget death.

it’s not a conscious decision. it’s like the slow, creeping warmth of spring after a long winter. he’ll be walking to the hospital, the morning air crisp, and he’ll realize his mind isn’t on the last fight or the next one, but on whether you’d prefer the pale pink roses or the deep crimson ones. he’ll catch himself humming that lullaby under his breath. it’s an allegory he’s living. he’s learning to start forgetting death by remembering you. he’s forgetting the end by focusing on a beginning, one that exists only in his imagination for now.

today, he’s brought you a small, smooth river stone, dark grey with a thin vein of white running through it. he found it by the training ground, a perfect, quiet thing. he places it in your palm, curling your cool fingers gently around it.

“it’s for strength,” he says, his voice soft. “or… maybe just for something to hold. i don’t know.” he sits, pulling the chair closer than usual. he doesn’t talk about constellations or angry fathers today. he just tells you about his day. about the way yuji had tripped over his own feet during sparring and how gojo had laughed so hard he’d cried. he tells you about the sweet bun he ate on the way here, how the red bean paste was just the right amount of sweet.

as he speaks, he finds himself reaching for your hand, his fingers lacing through yours. it’s a natural, unthinking motion now. he’s no longer a hesitant visitor asking for permission. he’s a fixture. he’s the hunter, standing guard.

“i’m starting to forget what that quiet felt like.” he confesses, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. the other kind of quiet, the empty one, it’s being replaced by this. by the sound of your breathing. by the weight of your hand in his. he looks down at the stark contrast of his rough skin against your smooth flesh.

he doesn’t think about the end of the story. he just keeps wondering what happens on the next page. with you. he’s not waiting for you to wake up anymore. he’s just waiting with you. and in the waiting, he’s forgetting how to die.

-

the air in the room feels different today. it’s electric, humming with a current that sets the fine hairs on his arms on end. megumi is mid-sentence, explaining the myth of boötes the herdsman, his thumb idly stroking the side of your wrist. he’s brought lilies again. –because the irony wasn't lost on him. the scent is thick and sweet, filling the small space, a perfume he’s come to associate with hope.

“...and so he was placed in the sky to forever chase the great bear away from the pole.” megumi says, his eyes fixed on the window, watching the last sliver of sun disappear below the city skyline. “it’s a long cycle. everything in the sky is just a long, beautiful cycle of–”

your finger twitches.

it’s not a spasm. it’s a deliberate, tiny flick against his thumb, like the flutter of a trapped moth’s wing. the world stops. the story dies on his lips. the sound of the monitor, the perfume of the flowers, the steps outside –it all vanishes. there is only the faint, impossible pressure of your finger against his skin. he freezes, his breath catching in his throat, a painful intake of air. he doesn’t dare breathe, doesn’t dare move, terrified that this fragile, miraculous thing is a figment of his exhausted, yearning imagination.

then, your hand –the one he’s been holding every week for months, the one he’s memorized the shape of– slowly curls. it’s a monumental effort, a slow-motion clenching of fingers that haven’t moved in an age. your pale knuckles press against his palm. it’s a grip. it’s real.

“…yomu?” he breathes, your name a prayer, a question, a desperate hope.

your eyelids flutter. it looks like a struggle, like you’re trying to lift the weight of the entire world just to see the light. he leans in close, his dark hair falling forward to brush against your cheek, his breath hitching in ragged, uneven bursts.

“it’s okay,” he whispers, his voice cracking, splintering under the weight of a joy so immense it’s overwhelming. “you’re okay. just follow the stars back. i’m right here.”

and then, like a curtain being pulled back after a long, dark night, you’re there.

your eyes are unfocused at first, hazy and clouded with the remnants of a thousand dreams, but then they settle. they settle right on him. the light from the hallway catches the deep, night sky of his eyes, and for a second, you think you’re still dreaming of the constellations he spent months describing. he looks just like you imagined him to be.

your voice is nothing but a dry rasp, the sound of stones grating together after a century of silence.

“...orion?” you breathe, the words barely audible, a puff of air that carries the weight of his stories.

megumi’s face breaks. it’s not a small smile; it’s a total collapse of his usual walls, a seismic shattering of the composure he’s held together with grit and willpower. a choked, half-laugh, half-sob escapes his lips, and his eyes crinkle, shining with an unshed rush of tears he’ll never admit to shedding. the sheer, unadulterated relief washes over him, leaving him trembling.

“yeah,” he chokes out, his hand tightening around yours, a firm, grounding pressure that says i’m not letting go. “he’s right here. he stayed the whole time.” he leans his forehead against the edge of your mattress, the cool plastic a shock against his feverish skin. he lets out a breath he’s been holding for ninety days, a long, shuddering exhale that sounds like relief and agony all at once.

“welcome back.” he whispers, his voice muffled by the blanket. “i have so much more to show you.”

[butterccuping]

estoy a nada de matarme

[snoopyoftheday]

snoopy of the day

[dreamstars]