Summary: Your four years of friendship with Joe starts to fall apart when he gets a new girlfriend who isn't your number one fan.
The first time Joe cancelled on you, he sent 3 texts.
Please don't hate me...
Claire already booked dinner đŁ
I'll make it up to you, promise đđŒ
And then a voice note, rushed and apologetic, his laugh awkwardly at the end like he knew it wasn't enough, trying to lighten the mood. You listened to it while standing outside the tiny cinema the two of you had practically lived in for 4 years.
The employee at the ticket booth gave you a sympathetic smile, "Your friend not coming?".
You forced one back, "Something came up".
She just smiled, "Haven't seen you both here together in a while".
Something always came up now. Still, you bought two tickets out of habit, part of you hoping he would text you a few moments later saying change of plans, on my way.
Before Claire, everyone joked that you and Joe were attached at the hip. You were there before his auditions, after bad press days, during insomnia spirals at two in the morning where he'd show up at your apartment with chocolate and a lot to talk about. He knew how you took your coffee, you knew when he was lying just by the way he scratched the back of his neck or his wrist. There was never anything romantic about it. At least, not intentionally. It was Joe being Joe and you being you.
That had always been enough, until suddenly it wasn't.
Claire was beautiful in an intimidating kind of way. She walked into rooms like she already owned them. The first time Joe introduced you, she smiled too brightly and said, "Oh. You're the best friend". Not your name, just the title. You ignored the weird feeling in your stomach. At the time, you told yourself you imagined it and everything's fine, but you didn't imagine it for long.
"She's here too?"
You looked up from your drink at Claire's voice. It was Joe's birthday, everyone on some rooftop bar downtown packed with his friends, and music thumping through the floor.
Joe frowned slightly, "Yeah? Why wouldn't she be?"
Claire shrugged, sipping her cocktail, "I just thought maybe tonight could be...you know, more couple focused. So I can enjoy the birthday boy".
The conversation around you died. You laughed awkwardly, "I can leave if you guys want-"
"No" Joe interrupted quickly, but he didn't sound angry.
Claire tilted her head, "Nobody said you had to leave" and rolled her eyes at her.
The damage had already been done. You spent the rest of the night pretending not to notice the looks everyone kept exchanging, and at this point giving up with trying to communicate with anyone here. Everytime you tried to speak with somebody whether it be Joe, or Sam, literally anyone in the group, Claire would collar them for a conversation right then and there.
Then came the cancelled plans. Coffee walks replaced with "Sorry, busy right now". Movie nights replaced with silence of him not there. Your texts went unanswered for hours, then days, and when Joe did reply, it was rushed.
Crazy week
Claire's having a hard time
You know how it is...
You didn't actually because when Joe needed you, you had always made time. Always.
The breaking point happened in his apartment. Ironically, during takeout and a movie that you finally squeezed in because he wasnt working and she was out. The old routine felt almost normal again of Chinese food cartons spread across the coffee table, and some shitty hallmark movie playing in the background. For the first time in months, you felt like maybe things could go back to the way they were before, then Claire walked in.
She stopped short at the sight of you curled into Joe's sofa wearing one of his hoodies. The atmosphere shifted instantly.
"Oh" she said.
Joe muted the TV, "Hey babe".
Claire stared at the hoodie, "Seriously?"
You immediately sat up, "It's just cold and Joe gave m-"
"She has her own clothes, doesn't she?"
Joe rubbed his face, "Claire..."
"No, I'm trying to understand" She laughed sharply. "Every single person says your relationship with her is weird, and I keep trying to be chill about it".
Your chest tightened. Joe looked exhausted more than angry.
"We're friends.." you said quietly.
Claire crossed her arms, "Friends don't act like this".
You looked at Joe, waiting for him to say something, anything. Tell her she was being unfair, that you mattered, or the friendship wasn't something shameful. Instead, he sighed and said, "Maybe we have been a little too close".
The room went completely still. You actually felt your heart break, no...shatter.
Joe realised too late what he'd said, "Wait, that's not-"
"No" you interrupted softly. You stood, pulling the hoodie off immediately like it burned, chucking it down on the sofa where you sat, "No, it's okay".
"It didn't come out right"
"But you meant it right?"
His silence answered for him. Claire looked almost happy for half a second before masking it.
You grabbed your bag with shaky hands. 4 years.
4 years of memories suddenly rearranging themselves into something humiliating. "You know what the worst part is?" Your voice cracked despite your effort to keep it steady, "I kept defending you".
Joe stepped toward you, "Please don't do this".
"Do what? Finally realise I'm the only one fighting for this friendship?"
"That's not true"
"You let her take shots at me constantly"
Claire scoffed, "I never-"
"You did" you snapped, turning toward her for the first time. "And honestly? Fine. You don't have to like me" Then your eyes found Joe again, "But you were supposed to".
The pain on his face almost broke you. "I think" you whispered, "I miss who you used to be before", then you left.
Joe called you 8 times that night, ignoring every single one. Then came the texts;
I'm sorry
You know you matter to me
Please talk to me
I don't know how to fix this
That one hurt the most because neither did you.
Weeks passed from there. Mutual friends stopped mentioning him around you, the group chats grew quieter and your life adjusted around the absence of him. Some nights you would still reached for your phone to send him things before remembering what had happened. Usually it's a stupid meme, or a new movie trailer, or some new place for them to try out. Then reality hit all over again.
It rained the day you saw him again. You were ducking into a small bookstore to avoid the weather when you nearly collided with someone coming out. Joe froze but you froze harder. He looked tired. His hair was damp from rain, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he didn't know what to do with them. For a second, neither of you spoke, till a small "Hey" left his lips. It almost destroyed you hearing his voice again.
"Hey"
His eyes searched your face carefully, "You look good".
You let out a tiny laugh, "Yeah and you look awful".
Shock flickered across his face before he laughed too. You missed that sound whether it was over the phone, in a voice note or laid on the couch together. You missed it terribly.
The silence afterward was gentler this time. "She's gone" he admitted eventually.
"Joe..."
"I'm not telling you because I expect something" He shook his head quickly, "I just...thought you should know".
Rain hammered against the windows behind him, honestly it felt like something out of a movie. You looked at the floor, "Did you love her?".
"I think I wanted to" Joe swallowed hard, "I lost you anyway, love or no love".
You closed your eyes briefly, because that was the tragedy of it, wasn't it? The fact that somewhere Joe stopped protecting the person who had never once let him stand alone. You really thought your friendship could survive anything that got thrown your way, everything a famous person has to deal with, but abandonment?
When you finally looked back at him, his eyes were watery. "I missed you" he said quietly.
You missed him too, that was the unbearable part, but missing someone wasn't always enough to bring them back to you.
"I know" you whispered.
Joe nodded slowly like he understood exactly what you weren't saying, why you didn't say it back. Neither of you moved or spoke up, but eventually Joe gave you one last smile before walking away.
Joe made it three steps before you said his name. He stopped instantly like he didn't have to think about it, like some part of him had always been wired to respond to you, "What?"
You hated how fragile his voice sounded. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, "Did you mean it?".
Joe frowned slightly, "Mean what?".
"When you said you missed me"
"Every day" he admitted. Joe looked at you carefully, like he was afraid one wrong movement would make you disappear again. "I kept picking up my phone to text you" he said quietly, "I still do". You stared at him. "I almost called you when I saw this terrible movie last month because I knew you'd hate it too".
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it and you saw his mouth twitch faintly at the sound. "And then I remembered I wasn't allowed to do that anymore".
Wasn't allowed.
Not couldn't. It was almost like losing you had become a punishment he accepted.
"Joe..."
"I know I fucked this up" He stepped closer, "I know I let things happen that never should've happened".
"But you did"
"I know I did"
"And you stood there while she humiliated me and said things"
His face tightened immediately, "I know"
The thing was, if he'd argued back, if he'd gotten defensive, maybe you could've stayed angry but he looked devastated in a way that felt painfully genuine. "I kept trying to balance everything between her and you" he said. "I thought if I just kept everyone happy, it would settle itself and it would be okay".
You crossed your arms, "So instead you let me take the hit. Person who's been there for you everyday for over 4 years compared to some girl you've known months?".
His silence confirmed it again.Joe rubbed a hand over his mouth. "You wanna know the worst part?".
You didn't answer.
"I knew she was being unfair"
That hurt more than anything else had because somewhere deep down, you'd always wondered if maybe you were imagining it. Maybe you were too clingy, maybe too present or too much.
"I saw it happening" he continued quietly, "Every time".
Your chest ached, "Then why didn't you stop it?"
His eyes met yours, "Because I was scared"
You blinked, "Of what?"
"That if I defended you the way I wanted to..." He exhaled shakily, "She'd leave".
You stared at him in disbelief, "And?"
"And she did anyway"
You did nothing but snicker.
Joe laughed once under his breath exhausted, "Turns out pushing away the best thing in my life to save a relationship was a pretty shit plan".
Best thing in my life.
You didn't feel like the best thing in his life. Thats for sure. 4 years of friendship suddenly crashed into you all at once. Midnight cinema trips, his terrible attempts at cooking, coffee walks where neither of you actually drank the coffee before it got cold because you talked too much. All of the couch naps, the inside jokes, the stupid arguments over movies. All of it.
You looked at him and realised the anger had never fully replaced the grief. Losing Joe hadn't felt like a friendship ending, it felt like part of you.
Joe's voice softened, "I don't expect you to forgive me".
"You keep saying that"
"Because I don't. I just..." He swallowed hard. "I needed you to know that none of it was because you didn't matter".
You laughed quietly then, tears suddenly burning behind your eyes, "That's the problem, Joe". His brows pulled together. "You acted like I mattered until someone asked you to prove it. You decided to think with your dick before your head. Do you know how fucked that is?"
The words visibly hit him. You saw it happen. Saw the exact moment he realised there was no defense for that. Joe looked down at the floor, "You're right".
You wiped quickly at your eyes, annoyed with yourself, "I was so angry at you" you admitted. "But mostly I just missed my friend and doing things with who I thought was my best friend".
Joe looked up immediately, "I'm still here".
The answer came too quickly from you, "No. You're not. You disappeared months ago". His face fell. "You were my person" you whispered. "And then one day you just...stopped choosing me".
Joe's eyes shut briefly, like it physically hurt him hearing you speak like that. When he opened them again, they were glassy, "I'd choose you now".
"That's the problem. Now. Not then"
Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Then quietly, Joe said, "I kept your mug".
You blinked, "What?"
"The ugly yellow one at my apartment" His lips twitched faintly, "The one you said made coffee taste better".
A startled laugh escaped you through your tears, "You hate that mug".
"I know"
"And you kept it?"
Joe finally smiled properly for the first time all evening, "I've spent the week reorganising the apartment, I couldn't throw it away".
Your heart betrayed you completely, part of you just wished none of this happened and you could just reach over and hug him.
The rain outside softened slightly, becoming gentler now.
Joe took one careful step closer. "If I asked you to get coffee with me" he said softly, "Would you say no?"
You should have. Probably, maybe definitely. But then you looked at him standing there soaked from rain, exhausted, hopeful in the smallest and saddest way and all you could see was your best friend. The one you lost, the one who hurt you, the one you still loved anyway. Not romantically, maybe, but still loved.
You exhaled shakily, "One coffee"
"One coffee" he repeated carefully.
"And if you cancel-"
"I won't"
"You don't know that"
"I do" The certainty in his voice made something shift inside you.
The next day, Joe opened the coffee shop door for you. For the first time in months, you walked beside him again. It wasn't quite the same, but close enough to remember what it felt like. The coffee shop wasn't one of your usual places but maybe that was a good thing. Too many memories lived in the old ones, too many corners where Joe had sat across from you, stealing the rest of your sandwich or talking about whatever ridiculous thing had happened that week. This place was an attempt at a fresh start. He sat opposite you, hands wrapped around his coffee cup and for a while, neither of you really knew where to begin. 4 years of friendship with 6 months of silence. There wasn't exactly a roadmap for that.
"So" Joe said eventually.
"So"
Then you talked, really talked. None of it was surface level conversation or careful small talk, it was the ugly, honest stuff that made you weep once or twice, "You made me feel disposable Joe".
Joe visibly flinched, "I'm sorry".
"I kept waiting for you to stand up for me"
"I know"
"You never did"
His eyes dropped to the table, "I know, and I'm sorry".
The repetition should have annoyed you, but for some reason it made your chest ache. He wasn't arguing, or defending himself. He accepted every hurtful thing exchanged between the two of you because he knew he earned them.
"I felt stupid" you admitted quietly.
Joe looked up, "Why?"
"Because everyone saw it. Hell, I even know some of the boys even fought for me yet it all still happened"
Your throat tightened, "Everyone saw what she was doing except you".
His expression twisted immediately, "No..."
You frowned, "No?"
"I saw it" Joe swallowed. "I just kept pretending I could fix it without confronting it".
You laughed bitterly, "Because that worked out well".
"No" His voice cracked slightly, "It didn't".
Silence settled between you.
Joe rubbed at his jaw, "You know what I missed most?" You raised an eyebrow, "Besides having somebody who actually answers my texts?".
You rolled your eyes, a smile flickering across his face, "What?".
"That look"
You frowned, "What look?"
"The one that says I'm an idiot". Joe's smile widened slightly, "I missed making you laugh".
You missed it too. More than you'd ever admitted out loud and definitely more than you'd wanted to. The conversation drifted after that to movies, friends, work, life, just normal things, and for the first time all afternoon, it started to feel easy. Nothing was fixed, but it started feeling familiar again.
Then Joe's phone lit up. You barely glanced at it, but you saw her name. A text. The screen went black and conversation continued, pretending it didn't matter. Then the phone lit up again with another text, Joe stared at it longer this time, followed by it ringing. Her. Neither of you spoke, Joe looked at the phone, then at you, then back at the phone. The familiar dread started crawling through your chest. You knew this feeling all too well. That feeling of being second, of waiting whilst someone else got chosen, but the fact he hadn't answered it yet thought maybe there was some hope to it all.
It wasn't until Joe sighed heavily, then stood. Your stomach sank. Part of him hesitated, you could see it in his posture, but he answered and walked away, "Hello?". He walked towards the far corner of the cafe, away from the table, away from you, away from you hearing whatever he spoke about. Your eyes fixed on your coffee suddenly unable to look anywhere else. The warmth of the situation as well as the coffee disappeared, maybe this had been a mistake, maybe you let yourself believe something impossible would happen. But in fact, people didn't really change and apologies didn't undo choices which happened.
Across the room Joe turned slightly away, still talking, and suddenly you were back in every cancelled plan, every ignored text and every moment you spent waiting for him to pick you up and never showed.
Your chest tightened painfully because maybe this wasn't fair and maybe he genuinely needed to take the call and there was context you didn't know. But none of that changed how it felt and feelings didn't care for logic in situations like this. You looked at him one last time, still completely distracted and wrapped up in whatever she had to say.
The decision came quietly. You stood, grabbed your coat and pulled your bag onto your shoulder, walked towards the door with nobody there to stop you. The bell above the entrance chimed softly and the cold hit you again. As soon as the door closed behind you, you faintly heard your name being called through it from inside. "Wait-".
You didn't turn around because you already knew what you'd see. You'd seen him standing there with his phone in hand trying to stop you leaving and explain, trying to fix something after it had already broken. You kept walking, hearing that same chime and your name being called again. A tear shed from your eye, you wiped and continued to walk. The hurt of it all was loud, and the memories were deafening. And that's when for the second time in your life, you walked away from Joe. Only this time, it hurt even more than the first.
The photos appeared 6 days later. You weren't looking for them, a friend who knew about the situation sent you a screenshot of them. No caption, or comment, just the images of Joe and Claire walking through New York, side by side, coffee cups in hand, looking exactly like a couple that had never broken up.
Your stomach dropped so hard it physically hurt.
You stared at the photo for a long time that somehow another appeared, then another. Someone had clearly spotted them and posted them online. You locked your phone and tossed it onto the sofa, a strange numbness settled over you. You thought about that coffee shop and how he said he missed you every day, standing and talking to you drenched from the rain, her name on his phone. You never heard his explanation for the call, you never gave him the chance to but seeing those photos made you realise that maybe you didn't want the explanation. The result was going to still the same either way, he chose her, again.
A month later there was a knock at your door around 8pm. You weren't expecting anyone, but the second knock came louder. You walked over quietly and slid the little cover on the door viewer to look who it was. Joe. You immediately froze and held your breath thinking you was breathing too loud and he wouldn't hear you. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets with slightly messy hair and tired looking. You slid the cover back on and stepped back silently. A second later his voice came through the door, "I heard that".
You squeezed your eyes shut.
"I know you're in there"
You held your hand over your mouth.
"Please..."
The single word almost got you but you stayed exactly where you were. Minutes passed and eventually you heard him exhale, "Okay", "I'm sorry" and footsteps followed. When you looked through the viewer again he was gone.
Two months. Two whole months. No texts, no calls, no random appearances. You spent your birthday quietly, usually you spent your birthdays together, dinner, going out, sometimes just a night in depending on what you wanted. You'd get each other a funny card and a gift you knew each other had been eyeing up for ages but never bought themselves. Joe didn't call, text or acknowledge it. Part of you noticed and the other half wished you didn't.
A week later you found yourself standing inside Kate's studio. The space smelled faintly of paint and coffee, canvases leant against the walls and half-finished pieces occupied every available surface. It was chaotic, yet creative. Very Kate.
During the time of becoming friends with Joe, his sisters would sometimes tag along on occasions and before you knew it, you and Kate were almost as inseparable as you and Joe were.
"You can finally stop complaining now" she announced dramatically while uncovering the painting.
Your jaw dropped, "Oh my god it's...stunning"
Kate grinned.
The painting was beautiful. Not just good, beautiful. The kind of gift that immediately made your chest ache. She had painted a photo taken just over two years ago that Joe had captured of the two of you looking out towards the ocean, beach in view, you remember the both of you wearing the smallest bikinis you owned in hopes you'd attract some rich guy who lived out in the Hamptons where you was all staying. The painting focused on more of the surroundings than it did of the two of you, but it was such a memorable vacation.
"Kate..."
"I know, I know" she said, waving you off. "I'm amazing, and I know how much you love this photo".
The two of you sat talking for a while after that. Catching up on things, discussing everything and nothing all at once. Then eventually Kate tilted her head, "You and Joe doing okay? Neither of you have mentioned each other in a while".
You looked down at your cup. The question everyone had carefully avoided.
You shrugged, "He has different priorities now. You know we had that coffee that ended...badly and we haven't spoken since".
Kate went quiet. When you glanced up, something understanding had settled across her face, "Oh...".
That one word carried a lot, because she knew her brother, and she also knew you and exactly what you meant. Neither of you said anything else about it, because there wasn't really anything to add.
Then the studio door opened. You looked up automatically, immediately wishing you hadn't.
Joe froze. You froze. Kate muttered something under her breath.
Joe looked between both of you, then landed on you, "Hi".
You looked at him, then turned back to Kate as if he hadn't spoken. You heard him close the door behind himself and his footsteps slowly edging forward.
You stood, carefully lifting the painting, "Thank you for this".
Kate smiled, "You're welcome".
"No, seriously" You looked down at it, "It's probably the best birthday gift I've ever received".
Kate laughed, "Only two months late but we're here finally".
"It still got here". You adjusted the painting in your arms. "Besides, it's the only thing I got for my birthday so I will treasure it with my life".
The studio went completely silent, Kate's smile disappeared. You heard something behind you, "Shit..."
Joe.
The word slipped out before he could stop it, and suddenly you knew the realisation had finally hit him. Your birthday. He forgot. You closed your eyes briefly, not because it hurt, oddly enough it didn't because it was 2 months ago, it just all felt inevitable just like the long list it already was.
You didn't turn around and acknowledge him, or rescue him from the guilt flooding his face. You simply hugged Kate around the painting, mentioning meeting up for drinks later in the week for a proper catch up, "Thank you again".
The walk toward the door felt strangely calm. Joe stepped aside automatically giving you room, and you walked right past him. Close enough to hear his breathing hitch, but you never looked at him.
For the first time since you'd met him 4 years ago, Joe became a stranger standing in a doorway.
The painting sat above your sofa. Every time you looked at it, you thought of Kate. Not Joe, Kate, which was probably why you loved it so much.
3 months passed, then 4. Life kept moving on, you started saying yes to things again like weekend trips with friends, work events, dinner invites, because you hadn't already made plans with Joe like usually would be the case for turning them down. During the second month you even went on a date. Not that it wasn't great, because it was, you just wasn't ready for that yet. You were enjoying the free time that you had, making the most of being young and in the city.
You stopped checking your phone hoping for a message that wasn't coming. Stopped wondering what Joe was doing. Stopped asking mutual friends questions you pretended weren't questions. Eventually, his absence became less of a wound and more of a scar. Still there but not bleeding anymore.
Kate remained in your life. That surprised neither of you. She refused to choose sides, and she shouldn't have had to. One evening you were helping her carry supplies into her studio when she suddenly sighed. A very dramatic, very Kate sigh. You immediately groaned, "What?".
"I hate this"
You frowned, "What?"
"This" She gestured vaguely between the two of you, "The fact that I have to pretend Joe doesn't exist every time you're around".
You looked away.
Kate immediately softened, "I'm sorry..."
"No, it's okay. You can talk about him, you don't have to stay clear of the subject of him. What's done is done, I'm a big girl".
She leaned against a worktable, "You know he's miserable, right?"
You laughed quietly, "Kate..."
"I'm serious"
"I don't need updates"
The subject dropped, but not before she quietly added, "He misses you".
You didn't answer because you already knew he did. The problem was that missing someone and choosing them weren't the same thing. You'd learned that lesson the hard way.
Winter soon arrived. Cold mornings, grey skies and hardly no sun. The city dressed itself in Christmas lights. One evening, after work, you found yourself walking through a small holiday market. The kind Joe would've loved and he would have dragged you to as you complained the entire time. It wasn't that you hated the holidays, it was just lonely. Loosing both your parents young and being an only child had its toll on you, but Joe made you enjoy the holidays where he could. There had been two Christmas' where he even took you back to Massachusetts with him to spend it with his family which was nice. But this year, you was completely ready to spend the day alone, watching shitty TV and probably eating some form of pasta.
Your phone buzzed. Kate, so you answered immediately, "Hey".
Her voice sounded strange, "Can you uh-come to the studio?"
You frowned, "What happened?"
"Nothing bad. Just...can you come?"
20 minutes later you pushed open the studio door, "Kate?".
No answer. You stepped inside, and the space was empty. Confused, you looked around, then noticed something sitting on her worktable.
A familiar yellow mug. The ugly one that Joe had kept and beside it sat an envelope with your name written across the front.
You stared at it for several seconds before slowly picking it up. Inside was a letter. Handwritten, messy and very Joe.
I don't know if you'll finish this. Honestly, I wouldn't blame you if you threw it away but Kate threatened my life if I didn't at least try.
You were right about everything. That's a terrible way to start a letter, but it's true. You were right when you said I stopped choosing you. You were right when you said I let things happen. You were right when you said I made you feel disposable and I've spent every day since wishing I'd figured that out before I lost you. I just can't believe it's been almost a year.
For a long time I thought fixing things meant convincing you to forgive me. I know now that's not something I get to ask for so this isn't me asking, this is me saying thank you.
Thank you for all the years of friendship. Thank you for every terrible movie you made me watch which I probably secretly enjoyed. Every coffee walk we shared or every midnight phone call. You showed up when I needed someone always.
Thank you for being my best friend.
You deserved better than what I gave you in the end and I know that now. And if our story ends here, then I wanted you to know that losing you changed me. Not because it hurt, because it did.
But because it forced me to become someone who wouldn't make that mistake again.
I hope you're happy.
I hope you're loved.
And I hope one day when you think about me, it doesn't hurt anymore.
Love always,
J x
You stared at the signature for a long time, then at the yellow mug, then at nothing at all. The studio was completely silent, and for the first time since everything happened, you cried.
It was full of heartbreak, relief, anger, grief, pain, hope, and endless cycles of everything gone. All that remained was love. The kind that survives disappointment and exists even when two people no longer belong in each other's lives.
When you finally left the studio, the evening air was cold against your cheeks from where the tears sat. You carried the yellow mug in one hand with Joe's letter tucked safely inside your coat.
Halfway home, your phone buzzed with a text from Kate.
You doing okay?
You looked up at the falling snow.
Yeah.
A moment later another message arrived.
You want to know something funny?
You rolled your eyes.
Always
Kate replied instantly.
That idiot still thinks coffee tastes better in that awful yellow mug
A laugh escaped before you could stop it followed by a single tear.
He's wrong.
Three dots appeared.
I know.
You slipped your phone into your pocket and continued walking. The city and the lights glowed around you, and somewhere out there was a boy who had once been your best friend, someone you would always care about and put before yourself. For years, you thought the story was about losing Joe, but walking home beneath lights, you realised it wasn't. It was about finding yourself again after he left, and for the first time in a very long while, you were finally okay.
A year later, Christmas lights hung from every available surface in Kate's studio. The place looked completely different from usual with paintings that had been pushed against walls, tables moved aside, strings of warm fairy lights draped across beams and shelves, music playing softly somewhere in the background.
People laughed, talked, drank too much wine. The kind of gathering Kate always managed to create, warm and comfortable.
It was a week before Christmas so Kate decided to throw a little party for everyone to celebrate a successful year. You couldn't believe how fast the year had gone.
You'd almost said no to coming, wasn't feeling it, but Kate had given you one of her patented guilt trips over the phone and somehow you'd found yourself standing in the middle of a Christmas party. Life was different now. Good, actually.
The past year had been quiet, peaceful, fast paced and somewhat chaotic all at the same time. You'd moved forward, maybe not completely but enough. Enough that seeing or hearing Joe's name no longer made your stomach drop, or enough that you'd finally started remembering the good parts without drowning in the bad ones.
You were talking to one of Kate's friends when she suddenly appeared beside you, "Merry Christmas!"
You laughed, "Merry Christmas"
Kate took a sip of her drink, "So what are your plans for this year?"
"Probably same as last year, treat it like another normal day. Breakfast, some TV reruns, walk round Central Park, whatever leftovers I have in the fridge and bed"
Kate's face just showed a sad smile, "You know the invites always there to come home with us".
"I know..."
Then she wandered off again leaving you standing there sipping at your wine. It was about 20 minutes later when you saw him across the room talking to somebody with his bank turned towards you but seeing he's laughing softly at something they'd said. Part of you couldn't believe it's been a year since that letter, almost 2 years since you last spoke properly. He looked different, not drastically but just older, broader, somehow more attractive. The sight of him didn't hurt, but you'd be lying if it didn't make you sad because 4 years of friendship shouldn't have ended the way yours did.
You watched him for a moment, then sighed. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit, maybe it was growth, or maybe you were just tired of carrying old resentment. Either way, you walked across the room, and tapped his shoulder. Joe turned automatically, his smiling disappearing straight away and eyes widening. For a second he genuinely looked like he'd seen a ghost.
You almost laughed, "Hi".
The room suddenly seemed very quiet, and Joe just stared, like he couldn't quite believe you were standing there. "...Hi" His voice cracked.
For a moment neither of you knew what to say, but you offered a small smile, "Want to talk?".
Joe nodded so quickly it almost hurt to watch, "Yeah...yeah".
You ended up finding a quiet hallway away from the party. The music and conversations became distant. It was just you and Joe standing there and facing each other properly for the first time in over a year. And the second the silence settled, Joe broke. Not dramatically or loudly, but a small sound escaped him, almost a whimper. His hand came up to cover his mouth immediately like he was embarrassed by it, and your heart shattered into a million pieces just watching him.
"I'm sorry" The words came out immediately, shaky and desperate, "I'm so sorry". His eyes filled almost instantly, "I know I already said it but I'm sorry".
"Joe"
"No" His voice cracked, "I am". Tears gathered despite his obvious attempts to stop them, "I was awful to you". You stayed quiet letting him talk because it was clear he'd been carrying all this around for a long time. "I hurt you. I let things happen I shouldn't have. I missed your birthdays". The guilt in his voice nearly made you look away.
"I know"
His eyes shut. The words clearly still haunted him from your last conversation.
"I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for everything" and suddenly he was crying properly.
Before you even thought about it, you stepped forward and hugged him. Joe froze like he couldn't believe it, then wrapped his arms round you lightly, then tighter a few seconds later when he realised you wasn't pulling away. It was the kind of hug that comes from someone terrified you'll disappear if they let go. You stood there quietly in each other's arms listening as he apologised again and again. Listening as all of this guilt finally spilled out, and you let him. Because for all the anger you'd carried, you knew he meant every word.
Eventually he pulled back, eyes red and embarrassed, looking down at the floor.
You shook your head slightly, "Joe".
His eyes lifted, and you took a breath. A long one, because this part mattered, "I need you to understand something". He immediately nodded.
"I really need you to hear me".
Joe went still, "I hated what happened. I hated how you treated me, I hated the distance she caused. There were days I hated you and I missed you anyway. I missed by best friend".
His tears immediately returned, and you almost laughed. The idiot was crying again. "You don't get to cry harder than me" you muttered.
A watery laugh escaped him.
"As much as I hate everything that happened...and as much as I wish things had been different...I don't think we're done".
His eyes widened in complete shock.
You folded your arms, "What happened between us deserves more than a hallway conversation at Kate's Christmas party".
Joe actually let out a breathless laugh.
"Right?"
He nodded immediately, "Yeah..."
"So we need to talk properly"
His eyes never left yours.
"We need to discuss everything and we need to see if we can work things out"
He looked like he was going to cry again, and then quietly, almost fearfully, he asked, "You really want to?".
You stared at him. At the man who'd once been your favourite person, the man who'd hurt you, the man who'd lost you yet the man who somehow still mattered.
"I think I owe my best friend that much". Joe's eyes immediately filled again, "Oh my god, stop crying you idiot".
"I'm trying..."
"You aren't though"
"I know I'm not"
For the first time in years, you both laughed together. Not because everything was fixed but because for the first time since everything fell apart, you were finally heading in the same direction again and sometimes that was enough to start.
summary: when a crawl mission goes wrong, Steve and you have to find an escape. but the only way out is through the rift under lovers lake. and of the many problems you're facing, there's one that looms darker than the rest. you can't swim.
warnings: angst, descriptions of drowning, impending doom, no happy ending.
notes: I need to vent some of my personal angst and so I have unfortunately given life to this short little thing. I pumped this out in a few hours, so sorry if it's not the best. also sorry for the heart breaking I'm about to do.
âDonât worry about me- Iâm right behind you!â
Itâs funny.Â
Drowning is nothing like the movies make it out to be. When you think of it as a way of dying, you picture thrashing. Convulsing, like someone trying to crawl out of their own skin. Eyes bulging, mouth agape, trying to find oxygen.
But this.
This was different.
It was still. So still, you felt like you were frozen in time. A cold so deep and piercing, it burned. An icy fire tingling up and down your body, seizing every muscle, every movement, every memory-
It was all consuming. Everlasting.
Dark.
So dark.
It was hard to tell where the depths of Loverâs Lake began and where your darkening vision took over.Â
You imagine how you look right now, deep below the watery surfaceâs of Hawkinâs popular makeout spot. Former make out spot. Before the rumors about it being Eddie Munsonâs sacrificial grounds began and the government took over.Â
Youâre sure you look a mess, hair floating like stalks on a windy day, face pale and lined with exhaustion. The cut on your cheek from running through the upside down is surely bleeding still, likely leaving a plume of red to stain your skin.Â
You imagine youâre sinking. Itâs highly likely, considering all the layers you were wearing. The brown leather combat boots Murray had smuggled in for you a few months ago, heavy and worn. The thick puffer vest, torn at the pocket; jeans and a sweater youâd borrowed from Steve.Â
Heâd insisted really, handing you the soft gray thing before you could argue.
âItâll keep you warm. You look better in my clothes anyway.âÂ
It wasnât warm now. It was freezing in fact, soaked all the way through, clinging to your skin. Weighing you down, down, downâŠ
Despite your brain screaming at you to stop, to hold your breath, to keep fighting towards the surface, you breathe.
A deep gulp of lake water- fresh air- lungs burning as you try to find relief. You kick your legs upward, trying to push yourself towards the surface.
But you've lost all direction. Lost any sense of up or down, of life or death. Were you still breathing? Still thinking? Was this just the short space between one life and the next?
Was every breath leading you further down a path you weren't ready for?
It wasnât supposed to end like this.Â
You had plans. Big ones. A whole future mapped out with Steve. One you both had spent hours talking about in between crawl missions and shifts at the radio station. Hopes for a better future, one where you didnât have to hold your breath every time you passed the MAC-Z, or where your little town wasn't fenced in.Â
âWeâre gonna get out of here someday.âÂ
âOh yeah?â You smile. Steve nods, dipping his spoon into the tub of icecream you were sharing. Your legs were tangled together on the concrete floor of the stationâs basement, your shoulders resting together. âAnd where are we going to go, Harrington?â
âSomewhere far from here. Where we donât have to worry about any of this mess. Somewhere we can get a house together.â
âA house?â He nods.Â
âA big one. Two stories, with a little white picket fence Iâll fix up, and a roof that creaks when it rains. A kitchen thatâs a little too small but a living room big enough for company. Oh- and a backyard, spacious and green.â You laugh, stealing his spoon and scooping some ice cream for yourself.
âYou want a fixer upper?â
âOf course. We can fix it up on the weekends. Make it our own.â Steve smiles down at you, thumb rubbing a circle into your shoulder as he holds you. âAnd maybe, some day down the line, weâll have a few kids running around the house.â You raise an eyebrow.
âHow many is a few?â He smiles guiltily.
âSix?â You laugh again, smile bright.Â
âAlright, slow down Harrington. Iâve seen you with six kids and every time it just spells trouble.â He huffs, nose pressing into your temple as he kisses your cheek.
âSo we compromise. Maybe start with three till I can convince you we need a few more.â You think for a moment, Steve giving you those big brown eyes you couldnât resist.
âAlright Harrington, three to start. But Iâm not giving you any kids till you marry me.â He chuckles, looking away.
âYeah, well. Iâm working on thatâŠâ
You canât remember what else he had said. Youâre trying but the burning sensation in your chest is becoming all consuming.Â
You will your arms to move. Your feet to kick.Â
But nothing happens. Itâs all dead weight, pulling you further away from the surface.Â
Away from your future. Further into your memories.Â
âGosh, itâs cold.â you shiver, leaning further into Steveâs side. The sheets of the bed were doing little to shelter you from the winter settling around his house. Steve tugs you closer, hand rubbing up and down your arm.
âI got you baby. Just use me as a heater.âÂ
âHeaters donât talk.â
âHey,â he pinches your side. You let out a tiny yelp, Steve laughing as he tucks you into his chest. âI make a great heater. Stop complaining.âÂ
âIâm not complaining.â You sigh, settling into him, head resting on his chest. âYou make a nice pillow too.â Steve hums, fingers tracing shapes up and down your side. Heâs quiet for a minute before speaking again.
âDo you think weâll ever find him?â
He didnât have to explain who âhimâ was. You knew. You always knew. It was all anyone talked about. You sigh.
âI hope we do. We have to.â
âYeah. But sometimes⊠I donât know. SometimesâŠâ Steve trails off, searching for the right words. You shift to look up at him, his face soft in the dim shadows of the room.Â
âWhat, Steve?â He takes a breath, rubbing a hand down his face.Â
âSometimes I wonder if weâre all killing ourselves for nothing. If Vecna really is gone and weâre just digging through the upside down for a ghost.â You hum, reaching up to run your hand through his hair. Steve sighs, closing his eyes at the feeling.
âI wish that were true. But until we find a body-â
âWe torched him. We burned him to the ground. I- Vecna has to be dead.â You grimace, wishing you could agree with Steveâs sentiment.
âSteve⊠I canât in good faith say heâs dead until we see Vecnaâs body. Until I know that he wonât come after El or Will or any one of the kids ever again.â Steve sighs, looking at you through his lashes. You press a kiss to his shoulder, snuggling closer. âWeâre being careful. Every mission is carefully planned out. Weâre not killing ourselves.âÂ
âBut-â
âSteve. For once Iâd like to go to bed without dreaming about vines and Mikeâs grating voice on the walkie. Can we talk about Robinâs terrible taste in jokes or you getting a haircut please?â Steve groans playfully, arm wrapped around you tight.
âOh no, come on. Thatâs a nightmare in itself. My hairâs my best feature!â
âBut youâd look so good,â you tease. âCome on-â
âNoo,â Steve laughs-
Your chest burns and you feel your body jerk. You were trying to find air. To find relief.
But everything was just so heavy. And you were so tired. Tired from fighting against the current. Tired from running through the upside down.
Everything had gone so wrong.
Itâs funny really.
To remember how careful youâd both been, how alert and ready. Only for it to have never mattered in the end.
The mission was simple. A lap around the woods in the upside down, rendezvous with Hopper and Nancy back at the van and get home safe before bedtime. Steve had, of course, chosen you as his partner. He always did.
And it had been fine. The two of you walking through the Upside down side by side, being observant as always. Careful as alway. Eyes wandering occasionally to each other, a silent question.
You okay?
Soft smiles shared, elbows brushing each other. Maybe you hadnât been careful enough. Maybe youâd let your guard down a little. Too used to the safety being around Steve provided. Too reliant on the fact nothing bad had happened before.
Until it did.
The single demodog Steve spotted first, his hand reaching out with lighting speed to yank your vest. Youâd stopped, almost falling backwards into him. Eyes wide, fear beginning to course through you.
âDonât make any noise.â Steve whispered, watching the demo carefully as it sniffed the mulchy ground. âJust back up slowly.âÂ
You had nodded, taking a careful step backward, eyes darting between the ground and the dog. Steve backed up with you, one hand on your back, the other gripped around his bat.Â
Slowly.Â
Too slow.Â
The demodog had lifted its head, turning just as Steveâs boot came down on a rotten branch he hadnât seen. The loud crunch echoing through the woods.Â
And then running.
Your heart racing, pounding in your chest. Your throat constricts, keeping in the scream you wanted to let out. The scream which would just lead you quicker to an ugly demise.Â
Steve ran as fast as he could beside you, his head in a state of limbo, half turned between you and the demodog scrabbling through the forest towards you.
âRun! Keep running okay?â
âSteve!â
âKEEP RUNNING!â
You gripped his hand as heâd pulled you down the hill, the demo running into a tree, buying you some time. Steve led you out of the woods, to the edge of the lake-
The dry lake of the upside down. Nothing but creeping vines and the stench of rotten fish.Â
The lake which held the closest exit. An emergency call Steve had to make to save the both of you.
âYou have to run. Go to the rift and swim out of here!â
âSteve- you know I canât swim. I can barely hold my breath for long-â
âYou have to try. Iâll be right behind you. Iâll get you out of there.â
âI canât-â
âYes, you can. You have toâ
His dark eyes were wild. They were scared. His hand gripped your arm like a lifeline. Like he was willing you to trust him.
You trusted him. You always had.Â
The growling of the demo had grown closer. Steve pressed a kiss to your temple, pushing you towards the glowing rift. You had run, glancing back to see Steve shifting into position, his bat at the ready as the demodog charged.
You ran to the edge of the rift, the tear in reality pulsing a red- orange. You glanced back once more, watching Steve as he swung, the bat tearing open the demoâs side as it lunged.Â
Steve turns once yelling at you to dive. To get out.
And then you were diving head first into the rift, taking a deep breath before the water hit you like a cold wave.Â
The darkness was blinding, the pressure building too fast, leaving you disoriented.Â
And Steve.Â
Steve still hadnât come.
You want to close your eyes and sleep. Slip away into the soft dream that was calling you. Away from the darkness. Away from the cold. The pain. The confusion.Â
But you had to hold on. Steve was coming.Â
He had to be. He always came for you.
âIâll be right beside you. Not gonna let anything happen to you.â Steve tightened the strap of his pack, giving you a soft look. You roll your eyes, gently pushing his shoulder.
âYouâre such a romantic Steve.â
âWhat can I say? Iâm always going to be here.â
You want to go home. To wash the stink of the upside down away and slip into bed next to Steve. Watch as he puts on those ugly sweatpants you hate but he loves, turn on one of those terrible tapes you both liked to rent.Â
You wanted to go back to the Hawkins you remembered. The quiet streets and farm backroads, the town which once was lively and beautiful in a haunting way. The diner Steve liked to go for their flapjacks, the kind he drowned in syrup just so you could kiss the extra clean. The library where Steve had kissed you senseless in the study rooms, the two of you sneaking around like you were still kids.Â
You want the arcade where youâd tag along on his nights out with Dustin and the other kids. Watching as he argued about everyday things, Steveâs smile brighter than the sun when he was able to make Lucas laugh.Â
Nights spent playing board games in the Wheelerâs basement, not plotting the next crawl. Summer afternoons spent in the pool, teasing and kissing as the water lapped against your bare bodies, not sinking at the bottom of the lake. Waiting for Steve to rescue you.
SteveâŠ
Heâs the only thing you see besides the darkness. His face vivid against the back of your closing eyelids.
âHey. Sleepyhead.âÂ
You mumble, rolling over on the stationâs couch. You vaguely register Steve laughing, his hand warm against the back of your neck as he tries to shake you awake again.Â
âBaby, youâve got to wake up. Itâs time.â
âFor what?â You grumble.
âTime to go home.â
âHome?â
âYeah. Time to go home.â You blink, a soft smile on your face. Steve smiles down at you softly, thumb brushing against your hairline as he looks at you with all the love in the world.Â
âOkay. Okay, Iâm ready.â
"You got everything?" He asks as he helps you stand.
"Just you. And that's all I need, really."
SteveâŠÂ
Steve breaks through the surface of Loverâs Lake with a sobbing gasp. Itâs dark outside, the stars dim, the moon hiding behind the clouds. Like even the sky knew what they were about to witness was not something they wanted to see.Â
âCome on baby,â Steve gasps as he grips your limp body. You were pale, lips blue, lashes still against your cheek. âCome on!âÂ
He says it more for himself. As a reminder he had to push. He had to get you to land. To safety. Steve had promised heâd come after you. He promised heâd get you out of the lake.
You'd already been under for too long. Steve had been too long in making sure the demo wouldn't follow, too slow in running towards the rift. The demo had pounced, leaving a terrible, bloody wound in his side.
But when he had dove in after you, heart racing, his side aching from a hit heâd taken, his heart had dropped.
The change in pressure had been disorienting. The water freezing, the cold washing over him like a shot to the heart. It was challenging for him, a well trained swimmer.
It was a catastrophe for you. You who couldnât swim.Â
Steve had never swam so fast in his life before.
The lake laps against his face, and he shakes his hair out of his face, grunting as he pushes through the water. You bob behind him, head limp against your shoulder in a painfully still position.Â
âIâm here baby-â Steve pants as he finally reaches the shallow end of the lake, guiding your body towards the pebbly shore. He pulls you by the vest, the sound of your body dragging sickening. His hands are clammy as he checks your pulse, your skin frozen against his.
Steveâs heart practically stops when he realizes he canât find your pulse.
âNo, no. Hey, come on.â Steve peels off his wet sweater, tee shirt clinging to his skin. âCome on honey!âÂ
He begins chest compressions, hands working hard against your chest. Steve wishes he could look away. Wishes he could wake up from this nightmare; roll over and spoon you, tucking you into him in the way he always found comforting.
Steve yells your name out into the night air of the lake, his lips covering yours as he breathes air into your lungs. You had to wake up.
You had to.
âSteve. Have you seen my- is that an ABBA tape?â
âUh⊠yes.â Steve laughs nervously, hiding it quickly. âYou werenât supposed to see this yet.â
âWhy not?â You beam, coming beside Steve as he rifles through a box of things Murray had just delivered. âThis is my favorite song on the album.âÂ
Steve sighs, giving you a look.
âItâs for a surprise. And you asking questions is going to ruin it.â
âOh,â you nod, smiling. âWouldnât want that.â
âNo, we wouldnât nosy.â
âIâm not nosy.â
âYou are if youâre still here trying to see what else I got from Santa Claus.â
âWell, Iâm trying to see if my boyfriend got me those boots I wanted.â
âOf course I did. What kind of a boyfriend do you think I am?â
Of course Steve had. He never got anything for himself. Besides those stupid peanut butter boppers you hated but still shared with him because he insisted.
Of course he had gotten you that tape, because hearing you sing along in the car was one of the things that brightened his day. That made the nightmares a little less scary.
The one thing he had gotten for himself had still been for you. The little silver ring hidden inside the tape.
The one he was going to propose to you with.Â
The one which glinted uselessly on the shore now, falling out of the pocket of his sweater as he had tossed it aside.Â
âHoney, come on! I need you to wake up. Please wake up. I canât- you canât leave me. Not now. After everything-â
Steve presses his lips against yours again, trying to will the air into your lungs. Trying to pound the life into your heart as he presses down on your ribcage.
But itâs no use.Â
Youâre still at his touch. Lashes unmoving, lips still blue. Silent.Â
Not even a breath left to whisper an I love you.
Had Steve told you he loved you? Did you even know just how much he cared about you, how much he needed you here.Â
After everyone you'd lost, everything you both had been through. You couldn't just leave. Not like this. Your face wasn't supposed to become another ghost to haunt his dreams.
You were always in his dreams. The future heâd been planning, the thing that he held onto in the twisted routine of Hawkins, was just you. You were his future.
Steve was serious about everything. The house. The kids. The backyard.
But it was all slipping away, like the tide erasing footprints in the sand. Slipping away as he held your cold body, his throat raw and aching as he sobbed into your hair.
âWhy are you crying?âÂ
Steve looks up, palm wiping his wet lashes quickly. You frown in the doorway of the bathroom, pajamas loose around your frame.
âIâm not crying.â
âWhat- and you always let a few tears go in the middle of the night?â You cross your arms.
âItâs nothing,â Steve mumbles, looking away. You shake your head, padding closer, your arms wrapping around his middle.Â
âSteve⊠I trust you with everything. I have since day one. And I want you to know you can trust me too.â
âI do.â
âThen why are you crying.â Steve swallows thickly.
âI⊠had a bad dream. Itâs silly really.â
You hum, cheek resting against Steveâs back. Your fingers rest on his stomach, the presence of your hands already easing the tension of the nightmare.Â
âIâm sure itâs not.â Steve sighs.
âI dreamt you left me. One moment you were there and then, bam. You were gone.â
âThat sounds awful. I just left you?â
âIn the blink of an eye. And I couldnât do anything to get you back.â You slip your arms out from around Steve, hand reaching up to cup his cheek.
âHoney, Iâm right here. You donât have to be afraid.â
âBut-â
âSteve. Iâm not going anywhere. Youâre stuck with me. Iâve wormed my way into your heart,â you tap his chest.
âAnd Iâm going to love you till the day I die, Steve Harrington.â
âYou promise?â
âOf course I do.â
Steve just holds onto you.Â
Willing you to take one more breath. To hear one last "I love you."
warnings: enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort (because it's me, c'mon), lots of angst, takes place pre-season 5 and will continue as it progresses, 18+, smut in later chapters, steve being steve and trying to fix the past again :'((
summary:
you escaped hawkins the moment you graduated. ran from the gossip, the memories, the high school years you couldnât wait to leave behind. college was supposed to fix all of that.Â
but life has a cruel way of circling back, and somehow you found yourself returning to the town you swore you were done with. a job at the radio station gave you purpose again, something steady to cling to in a place that no longer felt like home.
then he walked back into your life.Â
steve harrington. the bane of your high school existence. the golden boy who managed to be every bit as infuriating as you remembered.
one look at him drags up memories youâve spent years trying to bury, and the worst part? heâs truly bought into this whole âchanged manâ narrative, acting like heâs shed the version of himself who helped make your teens miserable.Â
but when home begins to unravel in ways you never believed possible, heâs the one person you keep crashing into. the one who refuses to let you slip through the cracks no matter how hard you try.
and some awful, aching part of you is beginning to wonder if steve harrington might be the only one capable of piecing you back together. right as the rest of the world threatens to break you for good.
part one â prologue
reliving the humiliation that drove you out of hawkins and the moment steve harrington proved he was no hero, you realise that things never stray too far from "home"
part two â sanctuary
just as you finally settle into something that feels like comfort, the one person who took it from you all those years ago threatens to take it away once more
part three â interference
a late-night break-in shatters a fragile sense of safety, bringing the past crashing into the present
part four â collision
steve attempts to apologise for the previous night, but it quickly becomes clear he doesnât understand the weight of what heâs done
part five â terms
you give them a tour, not an invitation. steve learns just how much distance still lives between you
part six â first show
you bear witness to the station moving without you, and steve learns that doing everything right doesnât guarantee feeling whole
part seven â unscheduled
you return to the station expecting your orders to be followed, only to be confronted with the consequences of your own actions
part eight â infiltration
small victories blur into something riskier, and steve starts to understand that making things right may cost more than heâs prepared for
part nine â progress
a malfunction at the station results in boundaries tested, and the inconvenient realisation that some people donât stay the same
part ten â shift
an ordinary day winds down into an unordinary offer, where both you and steve realise the history between you needs to be confronted sooner rather than later
part eleve â reckoning
a forced conversation cracks open years of silence, and neither of you is ready for what spills out
cw- henderson!reader, steve harrington the d1 yearner, you are lowkey a little brat, steve is def into it tho, mentions of drinking, mentions of starcourt trauma, breakup :(, sexual themes (ish), LMK IF I MISSED ANY!!
from jules- as always, not proofread đ fuck it we ball. anyways i originally wrote this for my conrad x oc fic but i loved the set up so i straight up stole it LMFAO. quick little oneshot ig bc im procrastinating working on the other 10 unfinished projects i have :) I MEAN IT THIS TIME WHEN I SAY I WILL COME BACK TO EDIT eventually.
Even in your most volatile, unreasonable, borderline insufferable moments, Steve Harrington would never have wished this on you.
Which was saying something, because you had given him plenty of material over the years.
He didnât want to be here.
Not anymore.
He hadnât even known you would be here.
That seemed important, somehow. If anyone ever asked, he could point to that and prove this wasnât what it looked like. He hadnât shown up hoping to run into you. He hadnât parked outside some stupid house party with your name already caught behind his teeth.
He was here because of Robin.
Robin had spent half their shift at Family Video pretending not to worry about him, which mostly meant insulting him until he accidentally understood she cared. She said he needed to get out more. Steve said he got out plenty.
Robin had stared at him over a stack of returned tapes until he realized, with some irritation, that driving Dustin to the arcade and waiting in the parking lot like a divorced dad did not count as a social life.
So now he was standing near the wall at a party full of people he either barely remembered, actively disliked, or had once tried way too hard to impress.
Recognizing faces and no longer knowing what they were supposed to mean to him. Guys he used to laugh too loudly with in kitchens. Girls he used to flirt with because flirting was easier than having an actual conversation. People who had once looked at him like he was something worth watching, back when he still knew what to do with attention.
Parties like this used to feel built for him: too much beer, too much noise, too many people pretending they were having the best night of their lives because admitting otherwise would ruin the whole thing.
Once, Steve had been good at that. Great, even. He knew where to stand, who to smile at, when to laugh like he meant it. He knew how to make a room turn toward him.
Now the whole house felt like it was breathing wrong.
Heat pressed beneath the ceiling until the air tasted like stale beer, cheap weed, and something sugary enough to sour in the back of his throat. Music rattled through the walls and climbed the soles of his shoes, every bassline knocking somewhere behind his teeth.
People filled every corner of the house, laughing too loud, moving too close, spilling into doorways and hallways like the place had taken in more bodies than it knew how to hold
Someone bumped his shoulder without looking back.
Steve glanced after him, unimpressed.
Near the kitchen, a group of girls shrieked over nothing while some guy stacked empty cans into a leaning tower with the solemn focus of someone discovering architecture. Two boys argued over whose turn it was to pick the next tape. Somebody near the stairs yelled something that made half the room laugh and the other half pretend they had heard it.
Steve stayed near the wall, arms folded loosely, his eyes moving over the room out of habit.
Front door. Windows. Staircase. Kitchen. Backyard.
He found them before anything else: before faces, before music, before the girl laughing too hard from the arm of the couch.
It wasnât a decision anymore. His body did it for him now, the same way it still tensed at sudden footsteps behind him, the same way fluorescent lights could send pain flickering behind his eyes before he remembered why.
A few weeks ago, he might have hated himself for thinking like that at a party.
Now he barely noticed himself doing it.
He hated the noise, the heat, the sticky press of bodies pretending this was fun instead of a few hundred people trying to outrun themselves for the night.
Then he heard your laugh.
It wasnât loud, or even close to the sharpest sound in the room, but it was familiar enough that Steveâs body recognized it before his mind could argue.
His stomach twisted with the kind of recognition he hated, immediate and embarrassing, like some part of him had been waiting for you before he even knew you were there.
You were near the open windows, half-turned toward a cluster of people Steve didnât recognize, your hair loose over your shoulders and catching in the porch light whenever you moved. You spun once in a slow, careless circle, laughing at something one of them said, your skirt riding higher on your thighs than you seemed to realize. The red plastic cup in your hand tipped with every gesture, close enough to spilling that Steve almost managed to focus on that instead.
Almost.
You looked bright in a way that made the rest of the room feel badly lit.
It annoyed him, how easily his mind tried to do that. Steve had seen you with pillow marks on your face, old sweatshirts swallowing your hands, and Dustinâs cereal crumbs stuck to your sock. He had watched you threaten bodily harm over the last Pop-Tart at the Hendersonsâ kitchen table. He knew the real version of you too well to turn you into some untouchable thing under a porch light, no matter how badly his brain kept trying.
Still, his eyes stayed on you.
Judging by the glances you kept pulling from across the room, Steve wasnât the only one struggling to look away.
Attention gathered around you in small, ugly increments: a pause in conversation, a glance held too long, someone laughing half a second late because they had lost track of whatever they were pretending to listen to.
The whole room wasnât watching you.
A room full of staring would have been easier for Steve to hate.
The scattered glances made it harder to dismiss, because Steve could follow each one back to a face. One guy let his eyes stay on you until Steve noticed him noticing. Another looked away only after his friend nudged him, grinning into his cup like he had been caught doing something funny instead of something that made Steveâs jaw tighten.
Someone near the hallway watched your mouth while you talked, his gaze dropping whenever you laughed and your skirt slipped higher on your thighs. You kept smiling through it, loose and unguarded, and Steve couldnât tell whether you missed the looks entirely or had simply learned to move through them without giving anyone the satisfaction of flinching.
Heat crawled up the back of Steveâs neck. Another guy didnât bother hiding it at all, watching you openly with the lazy entitlement of someone who had never once been told to look away. Steveâs fingers flexed against his own arm before he forced them still.
He tracked a few more before he could stop himself, his attention catching on every glance that lingered too long. Steve felt his expression harden before he managed to pull it back into something neutral. His breath caught high in his chest, and he looked away for half a second as if breaking eye contact with the room might keep him from doing something stupid.
Steve reached for the safest explanation first.
Feelings involving you had always been easier to handle once he gave them someone elseâs name.
Tonight, that name was Dustin.
Dustin was his best friend. Dustin trusted him with things he probably should have questioned harder. Rides home. Monster plans. Secrets too big for kids. His sister, apparently, even if Dustin had never said that part out loud.
Dustin would lose his absolute shit if he saw his sister standing in the middle of this room, drunk and bright-eyed, surrounded by guys who treated wanting you like permission.
The logic felt thin even as he tried to believe it.
Thin enough that, for one dangerous second, Steve almost had to admit Dustin had very little to do with the way he was looking at you.
Your laugh still did something strange to his chest. His eyes still found you first in any crowd. The feeling he had spent years refusing to name had only gotten meaner with time, settling deeper every time he gave it another chance to leave.
He tried Dustinâs name again anyway.
It still sounded almost believable if he didnât look too closely.
You were Dustinâs sister, and there were rules to that kind of thing, even if nobody had ever bothered writing them down. Robin would tell him this counted as normal concern. The kids would expect him to do something. Any decent person would step in.
The excuse survived for about three seconds.
He had dated other girls. He had tried to like them fairly. He had tried to stop measuring every laugh, every argument, every easy silence against you. He had told himself, over and over, that eventually he would walk into a room and stop searching for you before he even knew he was doing it.
Sometimes he managed it for a little while, which almost made the failure worse.
By now, the truth had lost the courtesy of feeling new.
Realizations were supposed to arrive once, change everything, and leave you alone. This one had stayed with him for years, patient and humiliating, waiting in the background until the sound of your laugh dragged it forward again.
Someone shouted near the kitchen. Laughter broke over the music. A shoulder clipped Steve as he stepped forward, and he barely felt it.
His attention narrowed until the rest of the room blurred around the edges.
He hated how naturally his body knew where to go.
All that effort trying to move on, and one bad party was enough for his first instinct to betray him.
Before he could remind himself how badly this usually ended, Steve started moving.
He cut through the crowd before he could talk himself out of it, slipping between bodies that shifted too slowly and shoulders that knocked into him without apology. The room smelled like sweat, stale beer, and something sour-sweet that made his head pound harder with every step.
Someone shouted near his ear, and a drink sloshed cold against his sleeve.
Steve kept moving.
When he finally reached you, his hand found your arm before he had figured out what he was allowed to say.
His grip stayed careful, just enough to steady you when you turned too quickly and your cup tipped dangerously in your other hand. Your skin was warm beneath his fingers, your pulse jumping fast enough that his grip loosened on instinct.
You were too warm, though Steve couldnât tell if it was the crowded room, the August heat still trapped under your skin, or whatever you had been drinking.
He blamed the room first, because the other possibilities made his stomach tighten.
You startled at his touch and turned too quickly, your hair slipping over one shoulder as your eyes searched his face. For a second, your gaze stayed unfocused, caught somewhere between alcohol and surprise, before recognition slowly pulled you back to him.
âSteve?â
You said his name like you werenât sure whether to believe in him or be angry that he was real. Your voice came out softer than the look in your eyes, disbelieving in a way that reached him before he could protect himself from it.
It hit a place in him he had spent the better part of the past antagonizing weeks pretending into silence. Once, hearing you say his name like that would have made something in him unclench. Your voice used to be one of the few sounds that could pull him back into himself after a bad night, after a fight, after one of those ugly stretches when his parentsâ house felt too big and too empty to survive.
Now the same sound made him feel sick.
He hated how badly he still wanted it.
He hated that your voice could still make him hope before he had time to stop it.
âCome on,â he muttered, already glancing past you toward the door. âLetâs get some air.â
Your brows pulled together. âWhat? Steve, Iâm fine.â
âYeah,â he said, failing to keep the disbelief out of his voice. âYou look super fine.â
You made a sound that might have been a laugh if it had come out less confused, but Steve was already guiding you away from the group before anyone could decide they had earned the right to comment. He didnât drag you. At least, he didnât think he did. His hand stayed around your arm, loose enough for you to pull free if you wanted, steady enough to keep you from swaying into the guy behind you when the crowd pressed too close.
That was the version he could live with.
The hallway narrowed near the front of the house, bodies closing in on both sides, and Steveâs hand moved to the small of your back before he could think better of it. The motion came from habit before thought, the kind of habit he should have broken by now.
His palm settled there for half a second too long, warm through the thin fabric of your shirt, and the familiarity of it hit so hard he almost missed a step. He remembered guiding you through movie theater aisles that way, through crowded school hallways when you walked too close on purpose and pretended you hadnât, around the Hendersonsâ kitchen when Dustin left cabinet doors hanging open and you walked backward through the mess, laughing at something Steve had said.
Touching you used to be easy. You would have noticed his hand immediately back then, then made some stupid little comment just to watch him trip over himself. Closeness had felt like a dare then, something both of you kept pretending not to start.
He should have moved his hand.
He didnât.
Moving it now would prove he had noticed where it was. Leaving it there was probably worse, but then the crowd shifted and your shoulder brushed his chest, close enough to knock every decent reason for letting go clean out of his head.
Now the same closeness made his chest ache with everything he no longer knew how to do with. Whatever the two of you had become was too careful for casual touch, and Steve knew that, which made the fact that his hand was still there feel even worse.
Your laugh slipped out again, sharper this time, carrying none of the warmth it had across the room.
âYou donât get to boss me around, Steven.â
You twisted against his hold, trying to pull free, and Steveâs stomach dropped as he realized how it must have felt from your side. He let go so quickly that you nearly stumbled from the sudden lack of resistance.
âOkay,â he said, lifting his hands where you could see them. âOkay. Iâm not trying to grab you.â
Of course you fought him on it. You had never reacted well to being handled like a problem someone else had already solved. Especially by him. By anyone, really. Your stubbornness could look almost pretty from a distance, all lifted chin and steady eyes, until someone got close enough to feel how brutal it became when you decided surrender would cost too much.
Steve had told himself he hated that about you more times than he could count.
âYouâre drunk,â Steve said.
The words landed colder than he intended. They were easier than every honest thing he refused to say. He couldnât stand the way those guys had been looking at you. You were drunk and warm and angry, still close enough for every old instinct in him to start making promises he had no right to keep. Some selfish part of him still reacted to you like you were his problem. Like you were still his person. Even after everything.
Your eyes narrowed on him, and even through the soft blur of alcohol, the anger in your expression came through clearly enough to make his stomach sink. Beneath it was something wounded and familiar, the kind of hurt he recognized too quickly and still did not know how to face.
Steve knew that look too well to pretend it was only anger. You looked at him that way when you had already decided he was about to disappoint you and were bracing yourself to be right.
âSo you think I need saving?â you demanded, your brows drawing together as if the question itself offended you.
Your voice rose enough to draw curious glances from the people closest to you. Steve stepped closer when he noticed people pretending not to listen. The hallway had gone nosy in that awful party way, everyone glancing over while pretending their own conversations still had their attention.
He lowered his voice near your ear, close enough that no one else would hear him make the mistake he already felt coming.
âI thinkââ Steve stopped, jaw tight. âI know you deserve better than this.â
For one brief second, something in your expression shifted. The anger stayed, but it faltered long enough for him to glimpse the girl he used to know, back before every conversation between you became a contest in who could care less convincingly. The girl who used to sit beside him on quiet summer nights, talking until the streetlights hummed overhead and neither of you wanted to go home first. The girl who had trusted him once, before he gave you reasons to stop.
Before he got scared and dressed it up as honesty.
Before you believed him enough to leave.
Then you blinked, lifted your chin, and whatever he had almost reached closed off before he could touch it.
âGo to hell, Steve.â
You turned sharply and headed for the front door, pride carrying you almost three full steps before your foot caught on the bunched-up doormat. Steve reached out on instinct, then stopped when you caught yourself against the doorframe before he could touch you again.
Steve exhaled hard through his nose.
You were somehow even more stubborn when you were drunk.
Unfortunately for both of you, Steve Harrington had spent years learning how to survive stubborn Hendersons. That kind of knowledge didnât come all at once. It came from years of kitchen arguments, half-apologies in driveways, slammed bedroom doors, and Dustin shouting through walls like volume could fix emotional damage.
He had learned it from the way you stormed off mid-argument with your chin lifted high enough to make defiance look like a life raft. He had learned it from the way you refused to look at him and still somehow knew exactly where he was standing. He had learned it every time you tried to outrun your own feelings and ended up circling right back to them, furious with everyone else for noticing.
Mostly, he had learned that you didnât stop just because someone told you to. If Steve wanted you to listen, he had to give you a reason worth stopping for.
So when you pulled free with one hard twist of your wrist and spun toward the door, Steve didnât pretend to be surprised.
You moved fast, hair whipping across your shoulder as you shoved through the front door without looking back, disappearing into the night with the same furious certainty you brought to arguments you had already decided to win.
The door fell shut behind you. It barely made a sound, only a soft clap of wood against the frame, but Steve still felt it land somewhere behind his ribs.
For a second, Steve stayed in the entryway, caught between giving you space and remembering how often space had turned into silence between you.
The party swallowed him again the second you were gone. Someone shrieked near the kitchen. A bottle clinked against the counter. The music kept pulsing through the walls, thick and mindless, while the house carried on around him as if nothing important had happened.
When Steve pushed the door open and stepped outside, the night hit him all at once.
The open air should have helped. Before Starcourt, it probably would have. Now even quiet took him a second to trust.
Warm air clung to his skin, heavy with cut grass, damp pavement, and the dusty smell of the gravel road beyond the yard. Behind him, the music dulled as the door swung shut, sinking into the walls until it became a muffled thud beneath the softer sounds of the night: crickets in the tall grass, leaves shifting overhead, laughter drifting from the backyard where people lingered beneath the string lights.
The porch light spilled across the steps in a warm square and stretched his shadow across the lawn.
You were already halfway across it.
You walked like anger was the only thing holding you together. Your shoulders were tense, your posture rigid, every step aimed toward the road with enough purpose that Steve knew calling your name would only make you move faster.
For a moment, he watched you go.
Your hair moved against your back as you crossed in and out of the porch light, dark one second, gold-edged the next. From there, you looked untouchable, almost unreal against the ordinary Hawkins dark, and Steve hated how easily his mind still turned you into that. Into something distant. Something impossible. Something he had already lost before he even opened his mouth.
Steve exhaled hard through his nose and followed.
He knew calling your name would only make you move faster. He knew it before he opened his mouth, because you would cross the whole damn yard on pure spite before giving him the satisfaction of stopping.
He called after you anyway.
âY/N, wait.â
His voice carried too clearly through the quiet yard, cutting over the crickets and the muffled bass leaking from the house behind him.
You didnât look back.
Your pace quickened, your shoes brushing harshly through the grass as if you could outwalk the sound of him through sheer force of will.
Steve dragged a hand through his hair as frustration tightened behind his ribs. âYou know Iâm not just gonna let youââ
He stopped before the sentence could finish itself.
Let you what? Walk home? Be angry? Make your own choices?
The answer should have been simple. Standing there with you storming toward the road, it wasnât.
âY/N,â he called again, sharper than he meant to.
That one reached you. He saw it in the small break of your stride, in the way your shoulders tightened beneath the porch light while every part of you seemed to fight the urge to turn around.
Then you kept going. Faster, of course, because stopping would mean admitting his voice could still reach you.
Steve closed the distance in a few long strides. He cut across the lawn and got ahead of you, planting himself between you and the road.
You stopped short, your whole body pulling back as if the sight of him there offended you on principle.
âSeriously?â you snapped.
Steve lifted both hands, palms open, trying to look less like an obstacle after planting himself directly in your path.
âIâm not grabbing you,â he said, breath uneven from the quick walk across the yard. âIâm trying really hard to avoid making this worse.â
Your mouth tightened, and Steve could practically see the argument taking shape before you opened your mouth.
He got there first.
âLet me walk you home.â
You stared at him like he had said something much worse.
His voice came out lower than he meant it to, stripped down by the quiet yard and the sick feeling sitting beneath his ribs. The anger had gone out of him somewhere between the porch and the lawn. What remained sounded tired. Worried too, though Steve wished that part were less obvious. Honest enough that he knew he would regret it the second you found a way to use it against him.
âPlease,â he added, softer this time. âYou can hate me the whole way there. I donât care. Just donât walk home alone.â
His voice stayed low, stripped of the sharp edge he usually reached for when a fight started feeling too honest. The tiredness in it made you angrier. Honest Steve was always harder to argue with than defensive Steve.
âHonestly, Henderson, Iâm kind of counting on it.â He added.
Your brows pulled together.
âI donât need you,â you said, the words unsteady enough to betray the alcohol and sharp enough to pretend they hadnât. âAnd iâm glad you find this funny, asshole.â
Steve had the sudden sense that you had carried those words across the lawn like a weapon, waiting until you were close enough to make them hurt.
Steve kept his hands where they were. The instinct still pulled at him. He hated that most. Some stupid, panicked part of him still wanted to catch your wrist, hold you still, and make you listen long enough to understand that he was trying to help.
He kept his hands open at his sides and stayed planted between you and the road, like an idiot who had convinced himself that being less wrong counted as being right.
Your glare fixed on him with enough heat that Steve almost missed being ignored.
âYou donât get to do this,â you said.
He swallowed, even though he knew better than to ask. âDo what?â
âThis.â You gestured sharply between the two of you, like the word could barely hold everything you meant. âShowing up out of nowhere. Acting like nothing happened.â
Steve studied you for a moment, really looked, in the way he knew you hated because it made hiding from him almost impossible.
He saw the tight line of your jaw first, then the rigid set of your shoulders, then the way your eyes kept skimming over his face without settling for more than a second. You were trying so hard to look furious that anyone else might have missed the hurt underneath.
Steve didnât miss it.
He had never been good at missing you.
âWalking you home isnât exactly a crime,â he said quietly.
âThat is so clearly beside the point.â
âThen what is?â
That stopped you.
Steve watched the answer rise behind your eyes and get stuck before it reached your mouth. For once, your own silence seemed to catch you off guard, as if you had expected the anger to keep carrying you and hated him for finding the place where it gave out.
For all your sharp edges, all your big talk and practiced indifference, you were nowhere near ready to say it out loud.
You reached for anger again.
Your mouth tightened, and you tried to step around him, your shoulder brushing his as you made for the road.
This time, Steve let you pass. He turned with you instead, falling into step half a pace behind your shoulder, close enough to stay with you and far enough away to prove he had heard you.
Your frustration sharpened. âYouâre unbelievable.â
âSo youâve told me,â he said, because apparently self-preservation had abandoned him somewhere between the porch and the lawn.
âSteve,â you warned, and somehow his name sounded worse than an insult.
Your mouth tightened around the next words before you said them, as if some part of you knew exactly where they would land.
âI donât need you anymore.â
Steve went still.
For a second, the yard quieted around him. The crickets, the muffled music behind the door, the distant laughter from the backyard â all of it thinned until there was only your face and that sentence between you.
He could have argued. A younger version of him would have. He would have gotten defensive, said something stupid, and turned hurt into volume because volume was easier than admitting you had found the place that still bruised.
Steve swallowed once and nodded.
âYeah,â he said quietly. âI heard you.â
That threw you more than an argument would have.
He glanced toward the road, then back at you. âIâm not standing here while you walk home drunk in the dark just because youâre pissed at me. Let me get you home, and then you can slam the door in my face.â
Your eyes narrowed.
His mouth twitched, though the rest of his face stayed serious.
For a long moment, neither of you said anything.
The night settled closer around you, warm and humming with crickets, the music inside reduced to a muffled thud behind the door. You hated the way Steve looked at you then, like he could still tell which parts of your anger were real and which parts had been built to keep him away.
You wanted to shove past him. You wanted to say something cruel enough to make him finally stop looking at you like he understood. You wanted to burn whatever was left between you before he could find a way to touch it again.
You didnât move.
Something in you faltered, too small for anyone else to notice. Your anger stayed bright enough to hide behind, though for one brief second it lost its aim.
The silence stretched between you, crowded with everything the two of you had never learned how to say when it mattered. You could feel it in the careful space between his body and yours, in the way he held himself back, in the way your own feet stayed planted even though every sensible part of you knew they should move.
You wanted to step away. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone with enough conviction that he would have no choice but to believe you.
Instead, you stayed there, caught between anger and the part of you that still knew exactly how close he was standing.
Then you tried to move past him.
It was barely anything, just a shift of your shoulder and one stubborn step toward the road, but Steve reacted before either of you could think. His hand lifted, careful this time, catching yours for half a second when you brushed against him.
His thumb brushed once over the inside of your wrist.
Both of you went still.
His thumb had found the small birthmark there, the one he used to kiss when you were younger and reckless enough to believe tenderness could survive anything.
Steve dropped your hand almost immediately, as if the memory had burned him.
Your breath caught anyway.
The night settled around you again, warm and quiet except for the crickets and the muffled pulse of music behind the door. Whatever had opened at the brush of his thumb stayed open after he let go. It stayed there, fragile and awful, pulling the memory of your breakup into the space between you without either of you saying a word.
You broke first.
You pulled your hand back, firmly enough to remind both of you that the moment had gone soft too quickly and you were nowhere near ready to admit it.
Steve didnât stop you.
This time, he let you take the first step toward the street.
Then he followed at your side.
Neither of you said anything as you crossed the yard and stepped onto the road.
The silence had weight. It moved with you, caught in the careful distance Steve kept from your side, in the stubborn angle of your face turned toward the road, in the way you refused to look at him while still noticing every step he took.
Steve filled that silence with lies.
He told himself he did this for Dustin. For Claudia, too, because Mrs. Henderson would skin him alive if she found out he had let you walk home drunk in the dark. For Robin, who would give him that awful knowing look over the Family Video counter and ask when, exactly, he had become so committed to being an idiot.
He gathered excuses as you walked, one after another, and each one fell apart before the next driveway.
He wanted to be there.
He wanted to be the person walking beside you in the dark, close enough to catch the first unsteady step and far enough away to let you pretend his presence meant nothing. He wanted the miserable privilege of being near you after you had looked him in the face and told him there was no place left for him in your life.
He glanced over at you, at the stubborn line of your profile turned toward the road, and felt something old settle back into place with a pain so familiar it almost felt ordinary.
He had spent so long arranging his life around the loss of you that he had started calling the shape it left behind progress.
Walking beside you now, with summer pressing warm against his skin and your anger keeping pace beside him, Steve ran out of room to pretend.
He loved you.
He had built an entire life around keeping that fact quiet.
pairing: best friend!steve harrington x fem!reader
word count: 3.7k words
description: the summer changed you two forever.
important warnings: 18+ content, MDNI!!, no use of y/n or descriptors but reader has a backstory, no smut just angst, this one is heavy, mentions of intense depression and ptsd, flashbacks to childhood, steve's has medical issues in the aftermath of s3, reader is mentally unstable, mentions of using alcohol to cope with it, nightmares, using medication, rejection, kissing, no happy ending (yet).
this is a multi-part series: part one - two
author's note: hank you all for the love on this series. i have so much more to share with you. I promise the love and happiness is coming soon, just gotta get them through the rough stuff. pls like, reblog, and comment <3
playlist while listening: end of august by noah kahan / the cure by olivia rodrigo / fine line by harry styles / peace by taylor swift
You were a terrible smoker.
You were always attempting to take in more smoke than your lungs could handle. The coughs and hacks were constant and guttural.
But you needed something to fixate on that was not Steveâs shirtless body being backlit by the sunset across the lake. Heâs submerged up to his chest, wading and looking towards the same beautiful sky you were taking in. Every time you saw the expanse of his shoulders and his bare chest, you envision those horrible bruises that riddled his tanned skin. They have finally faded with time, but you can picture them so clearly.
August was always humid in Hawkins, but this past week, itâs been overwhelmingly muggy and potent.
You were going to miss moments like this. The simplicity and the sweat you resent now, but would yearn to feel going down your neck and spine later.
You take another puff, finally not choking immediately.
Steve finally moves from his swaying position to look back, eyeing you up on the rock formation you are sprawled across. You never swam in the lake, always taking up the real estate on the shore or tucking yourself up on a rock to observe Steveâs backstroke or look out for fish in the shallow end.â
âYou never get better with those things,â He mutters, standing up and brushing his hand across his nice-toned stomach.
He slowly moves up to the shore, dropping onto the muddy grass with an oof. He had not said much to you the entire time you two had been here, which you didnât mind. You were caught up in your own rattling thoughts.
It had been almost two months since the mall fire. Thatâs what the local news and townspeople have been labelling it.
You were grappling with the nightmares and living in a constant state of anxiety throughout every single day since. Being in public was overwhelming, which made your job search fruitless. Your parents were not pressuring you much. They knew that what you had gone through was crippling you from doing your normal tasks.
Your only partial solace is being with Steve. He made you feel safe in a way not even your mother made you feel. A shared experience and an unspoken understanding that no one in the world could even comprehend.
There was still this part of your soul that had been stripped away. You had been obsessive about trying to narrow down what made you so anxious, but you did not know if you should search for it or accept that this is how you would be forever.
You had been attached to Steveâs hip, sure, but heâs only a mere mortal. He cannot make you any better.
But he has yet to complain about you being near him all the time. If anything, it seems like he is enjoying your time together, distracting him from some of the weird medical stuff heâs been dealing with and that residual anxiety he tried to shield from your prying eyes.
Two weeks ago, you drove out to the audiologist a few hours away with him because of the constant ringing in his ears. He held your hand in the waiting room while his leg bounced. When his name was called, you gave him a reassuring smile as he dropped your hand to see if they could solve his problem.
But people are terrible at having answers for either of you.
As the days go on, you notice some slight positive changes, but they are slow to come back.
Heâs not shaking his head as much, telling you the ringing actually goes away for small increments during the day. You chalk it up to the variety of medications heâs on.
His fingernails are growing back and arenât bleeding as much due to his abuse of them. He gnawed them down to the cuticles and had bandaids on every other finger for a month.
Just last week, you were able to actually sleep for more than 4 hours. With the light on. Your doctor has not been notified about your sleeping habits. Or the fact that you cannot close your eyes at night without rehashing the Mindflayerâs wrath and the following days.
You numbed those intense, vivid memories with wine you stole from your fatherâs large wine cabinet in the basement. It was becoming the only thing you could rely on to pull your thoughts away from that entire incident. You knew it was bad. You knew that you could not get dependent on it. You had only done it three times when you were really desperate and exhausted. You couldnât shut your eyes without envisioning Steve sacrificing himself for Dustin. Even though that had not happened, your mind became obsessed with laying out that scene. The alcohol numbed you enough that it became a small crutch. But you were becoming uneasy with the idea that you would never feel at peace without it.
You promised yourself two nights ago that you would stop. And you have.
You just wanted to be normal again.
âThe more I smoke, the better I get.â
He grimaces at your response. Heâs quick to hop up onto your rock throne and snatch the unlit end from your fingers. âNope.â
âWhat do you mean nope?â
âMeaning I am not letting you get better at it. Find a new oral fixation.â
You roll your eyes when his dripping wet shorts leave tiny droplets on your bare thigh. He ashes out the cigarette, dropping down next to you.
He was not going to stop you from figuring out a way to redirect your traumatized brain.
âI think itâs time you change the subject.â
You wipe off some of the water with your pointer finger, focusing your eyes elsewhere.
âFineâŠI think Robin has a lead on a job,â Steve states as he stretches his shoulders and leans back onto his palms beside you. His long legs hang over the side of the miniature cliff, and he kicks them like a toddler on a swing. He can never sit still.
âOh, really?â You draw a heart with the residual water, right on your knee. âWhere?â
âBefore she left, she said that the new video store on Kersey was hiring. Apparently, she knows the manager.â
You hum before you speak, âThatâs great, Iâm sure sheâll get it. She knows a lot about movies.â
âMaybe we could all get a job there.â
You shoot him a glance. Heâs still looking over the lake, now wrapping his arms around his knees. He tucks himself inward, and as he does, his wet thigh brushes over yours.
âI wouldnât count on that, Steve.â
He smirks, his hazel eyes finally meeting yours. You would not dare look away from him, now. Â He looked too pretty in the orange and pink hues that took over the entire sky. His hair is slicked back, but three tiny strands are curled onto his forehead. He hasnât shaved for the last couple of days, so his face is a bit more stubbly.
You wonder if he notices the small things about you. You wonder if he can read your mind and see that you are hiding something from him.â
âBut just imagine! You, me, Robin,â His brows raise in excitement, âWorking in a video store with endless movies to watch.â
âYeah, itâd be cool, but I am not putting my faith into something like that.â
His face slightly droops, obviously annoyed by your passiveness. You had not been that gung-ho about anything lately. You were overly cautious to really put all your eggs in one basket. And with Steve, he tried to be optimistic if it was something that came to you.
His shoulder pushes you, shifting your ass across the rough platform you were on, âWhy are you being a stick in the mud?â
You manage a half-assed giggle, âIâm just being realistic.â
âWell, Iâd like to daydream about a world where I get to work with my best friends.ââ
You stare out over the bugs that are settling over the haze of the lake water.
Life seems simple here. The outdoors have always made you feel some sort of freedom you yearned for growing up. Thatâs why you loved driving around, too. Fresh air, open road, your best friend by your side. You did not have to worry about the pressure of doing anything. No one was waiting for you. No one needed your input or opinion.
You didnât have the constant reminder that your childhood was basically behind you.
This summer was really hammering that home.
When September hits, you wonât be able to sit in this spot without a hoodie or jeans on. You liked the piercing sun on your bare legs and shoulders, not the frigid overcast that Indiana was permanently stuck in during the fall.
There was a time when you didnât mind it. When you got together with friends during October to go trick-or-treating. The fall festival Hawkins always hosted in the town center. Thanksgiving at your Grandmaâs, and your uncles would pile a bunch of leaves for you and your cousins.
It was the season you started getting close to Steve.
6th-grade chorus Christmas concert. You two were stuck next to each other on the risers, and he would intentionally sing the wrong note to make everyone laugh. You would nudge him to keep him on track, and somehow that spiraled into you two walking home side by side every day.
He was easy to talk to. He was enthusiastic about just about everything you said. He would get this twinkle in his eyes when you would talk about your new favorite song or all the boys you had crushes on.
That twinkle had faded quite a bit over time, but on rare occasions, youâd catch a hint of it when you teased him.
You click your tongue, thinking of a way to steer the conversation. Faux optimism. Thatâll get him.
You nudge him with your shoulder, âIf you get a job there, maybe youâll meet some chicks.â
His face flickers, staring in the opposite direction. Itâs almost like the comment made him uncomfortable. âI think that ship has sailed.â
You donât know why heâs being weird now. So you double down, trying to joke more, so maybe he will give it back to you.
âWhat do you mean? You trying out guys for size?â
âDonât be an ass,â He gives you a hint of a smile, scanning your face, âNo, like, I donât know. I just feel like⊠I want to focus on me. Figure out what I really want.â
You bite your lip, only encouraging him to continue. âThat is important.â
âWith Nancy, I felt like I knew exactly what I wanted. But the more IâŠâ He pauses, really contemplating his next words. His fingers tap on his bare knee, âI guess getting older shines a light on different parts and people in your life.â
Itâs endearing to hear him talk like this. Steve is a lot of things, but heâs rarely sentimental. So hearing that he is taking into account different people in his life, and their meaning to the bigger picture, made you happy.
âAw, Steve Harrington gettinâ all old and wise on me?â
âHopefully.â
The intense rise of bugs buzzing and making noise makes you believe you misheard him. Your brow twitches as you scan him all the way from his feet to his suddenly very serious expression.
âHopefully?â
âYeah, hopefully I get old and wise with you.â
Your eyes flicker down at his lips. Only the briefest glance before locking back onto his eyes.
âThatâs not what I meant.â
He looks at your lips, âBut itâs what I meant.â
It makes goosebumps rush across your skin.
You needed to create a barrier. Distance. Deflect. Something.
You slide off the slicker part of the rock, finding your footing in the mud below. You trek through, not saying anything because you are already sick of the way Steve has been making you feel lately.
Like thereâs something unsaid. Something that lies in wait, waiting for you to pull back the curtain.
But you were sick of that. Having to be the one who pressed forward when things got too real. It made you feel stupid and anxious.
You could count on one hand the sly comments like this Steve had made towards you in the last week.
Heâs all talk.
Because if there was more intention behind what he said, there would be a follow up. A kiss. A holding of your hand. A heated gaze. Something.â
But it always resulted in some casual joke or him averting his eyes away from you.
As you work your way up to the tall grass and dirt path, you hear Steveâs rapid footsteps behind you. His bare feet splatting on the mushy ground, his breath uneven.
âHey!â
You instantly begin rambling, trying to disconnect from what just happened. âWe should get home, itâs getting dark.â
âWhat just happened?â
You try to play stupid, but it sounds strained, âWhat?â
He does his normal stance. Both hands on his hip, one leg slightly jutted out. Eyes narrowed, his nose slightly scrunched.
âI think we should stop dancing around this.â
You cross your arms over your chest, not wanting to hear much more from him. That was until he moved from his spot, inching closer to you with those oogling eyes.
âFor fucks sake, Steve.â
His face flickers, âWhat!?â
When his hand reaches out for your hand thatâs placed on top of your forearm, you snatch it away. Maybe these physical queues were not enough after all. You still did not want it. You felt like this was wrong somehow. Like your best friend must have really gotten his brain rattled in his skull during his fight with the Russians a couple of months ago, and caved into a delusional world that centered around his genuine feelings for you.
âYou donât feel that way about me, okay? You canât. You donât.â
He looks offended, but his hand still tries to reach out again to yours. You let him take it this time, but you donât wrap your fingers around his knuckles.
âYou donât get to tell me how I feel about you!â He barks, pulling you closer. You brace yourself against his chest, trying not to fall too much closer into him, âJesus, do you hear yourself?â
âYes. Loud and clear,â You whisper, dropping all physical contact with a quick swivel.
With your back turned to him now, you take three steps before his voice rings out again.
âIs it me? Am I-â
You shift back, head snapping towards him to stop him mid-sentence, âSteve, stop.â
âIâm not good enough?â
You shake your head, knowing heâs about to jump down the rabbit hole of self-deprecation.
âThatâs not it at all.â
âThen tell me!â
His voice is shaking, and he looks uneasy, like he may throw up.
âI am not someone you need to love because Iâve just been around for a while,â You state before biting down on your lips, as if to seal them off from saying more. There was more to your rationale, but it felt like the wrong time to say it.
His face relaxes slightly, like he was about to change your mind. Like this was just a misunderstanding that he could fix with a confession. âDid you not hear me earlier?â
You did, but you wish you hadnât. You are mad that this conversation was even sparked because you were not ready to have it.
âI am an idiot because I didnât see you earlier, Bug! God, I was the biggest idiot ever! Because everything that I could possibly want has been here the entire time! Nancy was great, and yeah, I have had other crushes before, but I was always trying to be something else for them. Iâm me when Iâm with you. I want that. I want you.â
It was like your entire life flashed before your eyes as he poured his heart out. You see yourself falling in love with him, spending every holiday together. Then a wedding by a beautiful lake, just like the one youâre currently at. Then children. Two or three. A small baby in your arms while two toddlers run around the backyard of the beautiful home that Steve fixed up. Going to soccer games and hosting birthday parties. When they grow up, you and Steve fall into a lifeless routine where you make dinner when he gets home from his 9-5, and you watch TV together on the couch. Then repeat that every day. Until youâre old and the grandchildren come by to try to fill that void you are harboring.
Then you die, old and miserable and completely unfulfilled.
And the entire time you watch this flash go by, you recognize the lifeless eyes you display. That residual ache that is currently lingering in your bones stays around forever, and youâre never fully present in every small moment that truly matters. Sure, you can share those happy moments, but youâre truly unfeeling.
All because you had a part of you ripped out of you when you were a teenager. All the love Steve gave you wasnât enough. Your children were never enough. You were never fucking enough. Your brain and heart were toxic and poisonous, and you remained stuck in one place the entirety of your life.
It makes you sick to your stomach. You cannot put Steve through that.
âYou can be you around me. I love that,â You say gently, as a single tear drops from your eye, âMore than you even know. But Iâm⊠Iâm not me, right now, okay? Iâm⊠Iâm not ready. Iâm anxious, and my brain is fucking muddled with all these racing thoughts all the time. I am not me with you. Or anyone. Not right now. If you had said this at the beginning of summer, sure. I was different then. I was normal. But you donât want me like this.â
Heâs quick to respond, reaching back out and pulling you towards him. Heâs pleading now. âI do.â
Your lip quivers as you speak, âYou wonât. You donât.â
âIâm with you every day, already. Why does a label change that?â
âIâm not going to be your girlfriend because I need to fix me first, and I cannot do that when you want something from me! Iâm not going to be someone you deserve.â
He cradles your face, looking down at you with the utmost admiration. His eyes are slightly misty, but at this angle, you can only really focus on how much green is laced throughout his iris, mixing in with that golden brown.
He was so goddamn pretty you wished your heart was ready to fully take him on. But you know youâd be doing him a disservice. You needed to figure some shit out first. You didnât know what, but there was something.
âCan I justâŠâ His thumb sweeps over your chin, âCan I kiss you?â
You feel like you almost look through him when you respond, âItâs not going to change my mind.â
âI donât care, I just need to.â
You donât know why you nod, but you do. â
In all honesty, you hope that it will change your mind. That the electricity of finally kissing Steve after years of pining after him would heal you and wake you up from whatever youâre dealing with.
He presses his lips into yours, but instead of melting into it, you go completely rigid. His right palm cradles your cheek as his fingers pass your hairline. His left hand travels down your shoulder, making you more aware of where itâs passing through and not the fact that heâs trying to get you to move your lips with his.
His hand finally stops right on your elbow as he withdraws from your mouth.
His eyes are still closed, and thatâs when it hits you that you had your eyes open the entire time. â
He doesnât say anything, just stands millimeters from your face. The air grows tense the moment you unintentionally exhale loudly. Like a sigh of relief that the kiss is finally over. â
That rubs him the wrong way. It would rub you the wrong way, too.
He is quick to start towards the car, snatching his t-shirt from a nearby branch he used as a hanger, âLetâs get you home.â
You blink rapidly, suddenly feeling the need to tell him what youâve been meaning to tell him. Maybe this was the right time.
âIâm going to live with my aunt.â
He stops dead in his tracks, his t-shirt balled up in his hands like he wants to throw it like a basketball. âWhat?â
The plans had been confirmed the evening prior. Your mom reached out to her sister, and she agreed to have you stay with her in the city. Your struggles did not need to be Hawkinâs problem. You needed to be somewhere else.
Your eyes well up with tears. Itâs the first time you cried since that night two months ago. âI leave next week. I donât know when Iâll be back.â
He races towards you, stopping about 2 feet from you. âBug, what the hell?â
You hate the expression he has on his face. Itâs already morphing into resentment. â
âMy mom thinks itâll be good for me to get a change of scenery. My aunt knows a good therapist in South Bend that I can go see-â
He cuts you off, his nostrils flaring, âYouâre leaving?! Four hours away?â
A single tear drops across your cheek, and you instantly wipe it away. You swallow, knowing that if you donât do this, the resentment would go both ways. You did not want to hate Steve, but you knew you could push through him hating you.
He was never quick at coming around to things, but once it happened, he was usually grateful no one listened to his plan.
âI need to. I need this, Steve.â
His demeanor changes when he hears your shaky voice. He stucks in a sharp breath, letting his eyes travel towards the woods that line the lake.
âIt seems you already made up your mind,â He whispers, the sounds of locus practically covering up his words, âAnd I donât think Iâd be wise to try to change it.â
Summary: When you were a child you had a best friend, a little blonde boy who you used to do everything with until the reaping came and he was stolen away from you. His face is muddled in your memory now, his name a whisper on the tides you roamed in District 4 until his horrible fate became your own. Katniss Everdeen was not the first girl to volunteer for one she loved. This is the story of a girl and a boy, a tribute and a game, a victor and a rebellion;
This is your story.
Pairing(s): Finnick Odair x District 4!fem!reader
Warning(s): MDNI! Canon typical violence, descriptions of gore, a less kid-friendly take on the Hunger Games universe, mentions of SA and forced prostitution (Finnick is the love interest guys bfr), some chapters contain smut, read the hashtags for the rest!!
Word count: 54.681k
âââââââââââ Chapters đ
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
âââââââââââ Headcannons and Art đ
Y/n and Scyllaâs Reaping Outfits â (Spoilers for Chapter One)
Y/n and Blytheâs Tribute Parade Outfits â (Spoilers for Chapter Three)
Y/n and Blytheâs Interview Outfits â (Spoilers for Chapter Seven)
Y/n and her Allieâs Arena Outfits â (Spoilers for Chapters Eight/Nine)
synopsis: it was just supposed to be a routine mission. but when things start to go wrong and time starts slipping through his fingers, gojo realizes a little too late he might lose you too.
pairing: astronaut!gojo x f!reader x teacher!choso
wc: 14.8k
content: mdni. HEAVY ANGST. smut. character death. inspired by interstellar, time dilation, sad ending, hurt no comfort, unprotected piv sex, teasing, kissing, gojo is so incredibly in love and obsessed with reader, accidental pregnancy, twins, pining, yearning, complicated emotions, misunderstandings, choso is also a lovesick puppy dog, video messages, gojo cries and throws up, moving on, absolutely sadness and despair
art is by @to00fu !! div by @tsumiinum !! this was an incredible commission to write for @dayanim <333
âYouâre literally the prettiest girl on the planet.âÂ
You giggled, your mouth curving up into a painfully cute smile as his palms spread your soft thighs further apart. Perfect face tilting to the side as you arched an eyebrow, âJust this planet?âÂ
âAll of them,â he easily chuckled, pressing a peck to the inside of your exposed thigh, admiring the expanse of your bare skin, completely naked in his sheets. Sprawled out like his favorite feast, waiting for him to devour.Â
If he could, heâd swallow you whole and take you with him to space.Â
Pack you up and bring you with him.Â
But unfortunately, NASA probably wouldnât approve of him stowing you away on his final official mission before he moved to a different position.Â
âI donât want you to go,â you pouted at him, running your fingers through your hair as he returned to dotting more kisses up to your hips, down to just below your belly button, trying to memorize the way your skin felt on his lips.Â
âI know,â he sighed, struggling to justify why he was going to you when he could hardly convince himself these days. âItâs just six months.âÂ
A routine mission.Â
It was far from his first. He knew how it would play out. Shoko and Suguru would join him on the crew, so at least the time wouldnât totally drag by. He hadnât planned to join, but with what they promised to pay for it, it was sorta hard to refuse. Especially when he was still saving for a wedding and a house down payment.Â
Still, considering the fact that heâd only just gotten back from one less than a year ago, he knew that it wasnât just him it was hard on.Â
âIt feels like forever,â you complained, a crease between your brow as your hand shifted to cup his cheek, lift his face up to look at you. The cool band of your engagement ring resting on his skin reminding him of the promise he made to you when he popped the question. That heâd give up exploring the reset of the universe if youâd be his wife. âIâm so tired of missing you.âÂ
âBaby,â he frowned, heart slamming into his rib cage at the disappointment he detected in the lines of your face.Â
He didnât want to do this to you. Didnât want to be the guy that wasnât there for you.Â
But this was all just temporary. Soon heâd have secured a future where you could both permanently settle in a beautiful little house with a big yard for mini-yous and mini-hims to run and play.Â
Climbing back on top of you properly as you huffed at him, caging you in underneath his muscled arms, not stopping until your bodies were connected, skin-on-skin, his forehead resting on yours as your eyes met his.Â
âDonât baby me,â you defensively murmured.Â
âBut youâre my baby,â he pouted back at you. Your body shivered a little, thighs pressing together before he used his knee to nudge them further apart. âAnd youâre gonna be my wife when I get back.âÂ
He liked the ring of it.Â
His wife.
All his.Â
He proposed to you the day he got back from his last mission. Maybe he should make it a tradition and marry you the day he returned this time.Â
Skip the whole big wedding he talked you into the past few months in favor of a courthouse ceremony. Maybe drag Suguru back after the landing to be the witness.Â
You made a face, nose scrunching up and lips parting like there was something you wanted to say, but you stopped yourself.Â
âThis is my last mission,â he reminded you, a weak attempt at reassurance as his thick cock rubbed against your clit. Your breath hitched, getting caught in your throat as he dragged it over the sensitive bud.Â
âYou said that about the last one,â you reminded him, and he didnât have an argument to counter it.Â
âWell, I mean it this time,â he muttered softly. He wasnât particularly good at being soothing. Spectacularly bad, sometimes, actually. But you still stayed.Â
Still smiled at him when he sucked at being what you needed.Â
The moon hung heavy outside the window, a thick crack running across the glass pane as the night sky filtered through it and bathed the room in soft light. The apartment you shared wasnât much, pretty shitty honestly, but it was just a stepping stone. A way to save money for when youâd really need it.Â
Soon, youâd have the best.Â
âBesides, I canât leave again once you start having my babies,â he teased, moving a hand down to your stomach, feeling your soft skin. Dreaming of a future where youâd be waddling around his kitchen pregnant, trying to decide if heâd prefer a boy or a girl â only to land on wanting both.Â
âSo youâll be here for them and not for me?â You huffed.Â
âI just want to make sure I make a good life for all of you,â he replied, struggling to sound confident when you were looking at him with a faint hint of hurt shining in your eyes.Â
You wanted to believe him.Â
âUh-huh,â you exhaled.Â
He supposed heâd just have to remind you another way that you had his heart. That even if he left the planet for a few months, heâd always have to return back to you.Â
His home.Â
Your thighs opened up for him, letting him shut up all those awful thoughts with a kiss as he pushed the first few inches inside your pretty pussy. Felt you sucking him in, losing himself in your warmth as he pushed past that first ring of resistance. Filling you up until you were stuffed full, your head tilting back, lips parting in his favorite moan â his name falling from them in broken little gasps.
âSatoru,â you whined, wiggling under his weight as he leaned down to start trailing kisses across your jaw. Down the delicate skin of your throat, sucking greedily just to see what other sounds he could draw from you.Â
âMhm, sweetheart?â He hummed, pausing to drag his tongue over all the sore spots heâd left, tempted to sink his teeth back over them, to leave little bruises just so youâd have to keep thinking about him even when he was planets away.
âI donât want you to go,â you huffed, forcing the words out between little whimpers, your body shivering as his cock slowly thrusted in and out, deliberately taking his time to stretch you out. He hesitated mid-pump, lips still pressed just above your collarbone as he tried to come up with something that would make it better.
âI donât want to either,â Gojo softly admitted, kissing you again as if it would cure the ache in his heart or the one in yours.Â
There was a moment of silence, seconds slipping by with tension that wouldnât dissolve, and he wasnât sure if he should keep thrusting or pull out.
But then your hips shifted, and his cock twitched, and he was already readjusting, palms moving to push your soft thighs against your chest with his cock still keeping you plugged up.Â
And really, you couldnât blame him for how pretty you looked in a mating press.Â
Fucking you faster, the wooden bed frame creaking and bumping into the wall with every rough thrust, each harsh snap of his hips against your skin as he plunged his cock in and out, in and out.
Watching your face screw up in pleasure, lashes fluttering and nails scrambling for purchase in the sheets as his thumbs dug into your thighs. Holding onto you, keeping you firmly pinned between him and the bed, like he could imprint every ridge and vein inside you, supposing heâd just have to be satisfied with leaving the shape of both of you on the mattress.Â
âI love you so goddamn much,â he murmured, chest constricting, heart racing as the pressure built and mounted in the pit of his stomach. Some invisible thread being pulled tighter, or maybe it was just himself, wrapped around your finger without you even realizing it.Â
Ready to break just thinking about not getting to hear your voice every day, not getting to touch your skin, like he wasnât still buried inside you.
âI love you too,â you whispered back, your voice quivering as you looked up at him with glossy eyes.Â
He kissed you hard, teeth nearly bumping into each other as his tongue slipped past your lips. Tracing over your canines, tasting the hint of toothpaste on your tongue. The remnants of the candy-flavored lip gloss youâd been wearing earlier too.Â
You were returning his fervor, squeezing down on his cock like you were trying to suck him dry like he wasnât already struggling not to cum.Â
He had to hurry to shift his hand, fingers rushing to find your clit, rubbing rough circles over it just to swallow every cute moan of yours that tried to escape. Cock twitching and aching for relief that he refused to give it, keeping an iron grip on his restraint as he waited for that familiar tremble, for you to really clamp down on him as shudders wracked through your body.Â
Until you were crying his name in his mouth, whimpers muffled as he soothed you through your climax, rolling that sensitive bud between his thick fingers, only breaking the kiss to purr in your ears that it was all going to be okay.Â
âThatâs it, baby. Just cum for me, okay? Itâs gonna be fine,â he promised, his voice cracking on the final word as he came with you. Finishing with warm spurts of cum filling you up, each thrust pumping more into you as he groaned your name, head collapsing into the crook of your collarbone.Â
Sweat making your skin stick to his, your breathing mixing together as you both came back down to earth from your high.Â
âFuck,â you murmured, trying to shift underneath him, roll out from his heavy body.Â
But he refused to budge, burying his face deeper into your neck just to smell your soap and shampoo, nuzzling his nose against your neck.Â
He didnât want to let go.Â
And for a second, part of him considered cancelling. Backing out of the mission, coming up with an excuse or calling out sick. They had back up astronauts.Â
They had a few people, perhaps not as qualified as him, but still acceptable, on standby that could take his spot.Â
He might get fired. Shoved back to some bottom-tier desk position.Â
But heâd get to stay with you.Â
Would get to spend the next six months sleeping like this instead of alone in a spaceship compartment.Â
âSatoru,â you softly said his name, shifting as he finally released your thighs, letting you lay them back down more comfortably â but still kept you caged in.Â
âCanât I just lay here for a while longer?â He groaned, jaw tightening at the idea that this was the last night heâd get this. You.
Cock still twitching as the last of his cum leaked out, some of it starting to spill down your thighs as he refused to take it out.Â
You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching a spot behind his ears, sifting through the silky strands with a long sigh. âSure.âÂ
That was just who you were.Â
What youâd do.Â
You gave him what he wanted.Â
Even when you didnât like what he asked for.Â
âIâm sorry,â he muttered.
âDonât be sorry,â you replied gently. âJust be sure youâre coming home.âÂ
âThe stars canât keep me from you,â he promised, moving to leave another kiss on the tip of your nose as you rolled your eyes at him.Â
But you giggled, and that was good enough.
âLetâs get married when I get back,â he suggested.Â
âWe already-âÂ
âLike, the same day, sweetheart,â he insisted, lips curling up in a smile as he snagged your left hand, bringing it to his lips so he could press a kiss to your engagement ring. The big diamond glittering in the moonlight, accented with small gemstones that same shade as his eyes set in a white-gold band. One you picked out with him once upon a time.Â
âYouâre ridiculous,â you laughed, shaking your head like you werenât grinning at the idea too. âDidnât you want, like, the whole huge wedding?âÂ
âI just want you.âÂ
Gojo could make it six months if it meant youâd be waiting there for him when he got back. Â
He just didnât think everything would go to fucking shit in sixteen weeks.
Clinging to the same dream of you, the same memory his brain had chosen for comfort as he opened his eyes for another difficult day in a long line of them.Â
Waking up to a window that only overlooked the cold, dark expanse of space instead of the familiar city. Missing your warmth in bed â trading it for a sleeping bag and a stiff compartment that they somehow still hadnât figured out a better alternative for despite how advanced their rocketships had become.Â
Sure, they could figure out how to simulate gravity inside the living areas now. But no, getting a good nightâs rest was still impossible.Â
They were only supposed to be running a supply drop off. Sending equipment to a planet a few other astronauts were previously sent to, one theyâd recently started establishing a settlement on. Shoko was planning on staying behind there to be their medic â but he was supposed to return with Suguru.
It wasnât the only habitable planet that had been discovered. There were a few, all being explored, data being collected and catalogued by various astronauts like themselves, sent back periodically and retrieved by relief missions like the one they were on.Â
All just a galaxy away.Â
It meant going through a wormhole to get to them, but according to all the calculations and the previous voyages, it was safe.Â
Risky, sure, but itâd been done before.Â
And to be fair, getting through it hadnât been the problem.Â
The problem was they were just outside the orbit of the wrong fucking planet.Â
Whether one of them had bumped into the navigation system, inputted the wrong thing at the wrong time, or maybe some internal error was to blame, it didnât matter.Â
No, a more pressing issue had presented itself.Â
A distress signal was being sent up.Â
Someone was below â and begging to be rescued.Â
âI have a bad feeling about it,â Suguru murmured, scowling at the screen as if he could make the message go away just by glaring at it.Â
âYou always have a bad feeling,â Shoko hummed, dark circles under his eyes as she scanned the data on her screen.Â
âI think we should just continue to the correct planet. Itâll be a waste of fuel and time,â Suguru scoffed, ignoring her as his fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting either calculations or coordinates.
Satoru reclined back in his seat, fiddling with a pencil as his friend glanced up at him like he was looking for support here.
âArenât you supposed to be the one who wants to save people?â He asked, cocking his head to the side just to get a scoff. Heâd known Suguru most of his life. Went to school together, graduated from the same program just to end up colleagues too. Between both of them, Suguru was always the altruistic one. The guy who thought of everyone else before himself â even if he was looking down at them from his moral high ground half the time.Â
âNot if it means putting our mission at risk,â he argued, lips pressed together in a thin line. âOr us.â
âThe last reported conditions there seem fine,â Shoko shrugged as she directed their attention back to what little data had been collected so far.Â
Most of the planet was made of water, a massive sea dotted with a handful of islands, some mountain ranges that rivaled the highest peaks back on Earth. Two fellow astronauts were supposed to have been there for the last nine months.Â
âYou really want to just leave them?â Gojo asked, not sure how exactly to feel about it himself. Not wanting to totally throw away Suguruâs hesitation â but reluctant to just leave another astronaut stranded.Â
âThere are other people counting on us,â Suguru insisted, and Satoru knew he was right. Knew that you were counting on him to come back in one piece. âWe can just send a message back to Earth and let them decide.â
Suguru knew as well as he did that doing that would most likely mean death to whoever was sending the distress signal.
It would probably be months before they sent another ship up.
And given that they didnât have the data to know how fast or slow time passed below. No way to know when the signal they were receiving had started.
There was a heavy pause, all three of them weighing whether or not to take the gamble â and imagining what itâd feel like to be the one stuck on the planet praying for someone to come save them.
âI think we should check it out,â Satoru eventually spoke up, although he wasnât exactly excited about it.Â
He just wasnât sure he could stomach the alternative. If he could handle coming back home to you and telling you the truth.
Risk you leaving him like they were about to leave the stranded astronauts.
âThe extra data they have would be useful,â Shoko pointed out, tilting her head appraisingly. âIf we needed to, we could bring them back to the other settlement.âÂ
âTwo minutes,â Suguru begrudgingly gave in, irritation pricking in his voice as he stood up, rubbing his temple. âWe shouldnât spend more than ten on the surface when we donât know how much time we could lose. Get there, see whatâs salvage, get the fuck out.âÂ
Whether it was data or people, theyâd just take what they could and leave.Â
There was a chance that the relative time on the planet was off. That even just an hour on the planet could be the equivalent to a year back on Earth.Â
âYeah, agreed,â Satoru waved him off, watching him walk off, probably to start preparations for landing.Â
He told himself it was the right thing to do.Â
That it was what you would expect from him.Â
He stood up too, walking around to one of the communication terminals they set up â where they could send and receive messages.Â
Youâd sent a couple videos, unofficial ones, of course, something he arranged in advance when he agreed to join the mission â that heâd be able to contact you and youâd be able to do the same. They were short, just a few minutes of you updating him on life back on Earth. How you were doing, how wedding planning was going, murmuring that you missed him in a soft voice before leaning in to kiss the camera.Â
But a new one was waiting for him as he popped his headphones in to listen, leg bouncing nervously as it loaded, automatically smiling when your face popped up.Â
âHi, Satoru,â you greeted, but then you awkwardly looked down, fiddling with your fingers out of frame like you were shy all of a sudden. Biting your bottom lip, the skin there already broken like youâd been busy chewing it.Â
He wanted to touch the screen.Â
Caress your cheek and ask you what was wrong.Â
âI, um, was gonna wait until you came back. But, uh, I donât think I can keep it a secret that long,â you breathed, eyes glancing up at the camera like you were imagining him on the other side of it.Â
And then you were picking something up, holding it out in front of you as the camera refocused and-Â
Holy shit.Â
âSurprise,â you excitedly called out from behind the tiny onesie in your hand. âYouâre going to be a father.âÂ
A baby.Â
He was going to be a father.
His brain stopped working. Shock freezing him in place as you peeked out from behind the onesie like you could see his reaction. Pride glimmered in your eyes as you grinned, his entire world sitting in front of him a galaxy away. His future wife and child just waiting for him to return.
âI wanted it to be a surprise, but itâs been so hard holding it in,â you continued, and he craved you even more than he had in the past few months combined. Dying to pick you up and press kiss after kiss to your lips, your cheeks, your stomach.
Aching to wrap his arms around you and start talking about baby names and nurseries, to take you out shopping for baby furniture and be there for your appointments.Â
âThereâs something else,â you said, reluctance creeping in. Glancing down at your lap again before pulling up a second onesie.Â
No. You surely didnât meanâŠ?Â
âIâm having twins,â you announced, a little awkward like you started second guessing how heâd take it. âAre you surprised?âÂ
It didnât take his brain long to calculate the fucking odds of that, but his mind had a hard time accepting it, discomfort coiling in and mixing with the exhilaration in his stomach at the idea of you back in bed, carrying his babies, while he was up in fucking space.Â
Unable to be there for you. To rub the lotion on your stomach, to sing terrible impressions of lullabies to them, to drive you to the doctor and hold your hand throughout all of it.Â
You didnât seem too bothered, or maybe just too excited to show it, holding up the ultrasounds next, proudly showing him baby A and baby B, talking about how you should find out their genders in just a couple weeks.Â
âYou better be back before I have these two,â you murmured into the camera, fixing him in a serious stare, your eyes shining in the fading daylight drifting in through your window. âDonât make me go to the hospital alone.âÂ
Never.Â
Heâd fucking be there.Â
âI love you, Toru,â you spoke softer, hesitating over actually hitting the button to stop recording. âPlease donât do anything stupid.âÂ
Heâd already done something stupid by saying yes to coming here, hadnât he?Â
Still, he plastered on his best smile, sitting awkwardly in front of his own camera, recording you a message back. Making you a million promises, telling you how proud he was of you, how thrilled he was to be a dad. Selling you dreams of a life he was desperately trying to buy for your future family of four.Â
âWeâre, uh, about to go down to a planet to check out a distress signal, but, itâll be fine, baby,â he informed you, hearing how stiff the words came out as he forced his palm to press down on his thigh to stop his leg from bouncing. âItâll just be a quick pitstop before the supply drop, promise.âÂ
He paused, having to clear his throat, his tongue suddenly dry as he made himself look directly into the camera.Â
âIâll come back for you.âÂ
Gojo didnât want to admit Suguru might be right when he had to sit with the heavy feeling in his stomach after he shut the camera off and sent the message back â knowing it would probably be a couple days before you saw it.
But it would be fine, wouldnât it?
In a year, heâd be waking up in bed with you, laughing about how worried heâd been while you each held one of your babies. This would just be a memory.Â
He wasnât sure how long he sat there. Staring at the screen long after it shut off, replaying your voice in his head, itching to really hear it, to feel it on his skin, to touch you instead of just clinging to a digital copy of you.
âYou ready?â Suguruâs voice called out to him, and he snapped out of his daze.Â
Found his mouth opening, about to say no.
Tell him he changed his mind. Say he was wrong and that they should just save their fuel.Â
But if you knew, if they knew, that heâd left someone to die just to come home to them sooner, would they look at him the same way?Â
Would he be able to look his children in the eyes?Â
He swallowed hard as he glanced towards the doorframe Suguru was standing in, slowly nodding instead of saying what he really wanted to. âYeah.âÂ
Gojo wanted to believe that between their three-person crew, theyâd be able to handle it.Â
He just hadnât realized that only two of them would make it back to the ship.Â
đ„ Ę Ë
âYou should move on.â
It didnât matter how many people said it. How many times your therapist pleaded with you to put the past behind you.
You couldnât let go of him.
Six months turned into six years without Satoru.
The one thing you were terrified of had come true.
You lost him.
Didnât even have the fucking confirmation of his death. Just a gravestone with an empty casket, a plot picked out for you next to it â even if youâd never get to be buried by him.Â
Wasnât that the funny thing about taking risks?Â
You always know what could happen. You just never think it will happen to you.Â
Itâs always someone else.Â
Until itâs not.Â
Until youâre the one waiting for a phone call youâll never get or a knock on the door that will never come.Â
âItâs not exactly like men are lining up to date me,â you muttered into the phone, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you frowned at your reflection in the mirror, reaching up to fix a stray hair just for your still-shiny engagement ring to shimmer in the sunlight. Swallowing the lump in your throat before you turned away, nearly tripping on a toy. âWith the twins-âÂ
âGuys like MILFs,â your friend teased in your ear, and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you bent over to pick up the stuffed bunny and toss it in an overflowing toy basket.Â
You doubted theyâd like one still in love with their babiesâ father.Â
Still holding out hope heâd show up with that stupid smile and wrap you in a crushing hug.Â
Even if the rest of the world thought he was dead.Â
When the government had declared his ship missing and him deceased. Cut you a check for it even though you werenât technically Satoruâs spouse yet since you had his babies. A little boy that could be his clone and a girl that looked a little too much like you. Â
Their check had been enough to get you out of your crummy apartment, to move the three of you in a small house in a quiet neighborhood.Â
Suguruâs mother had ended up moving next door, offering to babysit and watch them during the day so you didnât have to send them to daycare. Helping you raise your children while her child was still out there in space somewhere.Â
She didnât talk about Suguru with you. And you never spoke of Satoru.Â
But you knew she understood anyway. Coped with it the same way you did. Skirting around their existence like it would lessen the hurt.Â
âI know a guy who-â Your friend started, and your stomach lurched at the thought of being set up with someone who couldnât come close to the man you were supposed to marry.Â
âLook, Iâve, uh, gotta go get the kids. Their teacher wanted to discuss Apolloâs behavior. I guess he bit someone,â you muttered, heels clicking as you slung your purse over your shoulder and snagged your keys.Â
She was disappointed, mumbling a goodbye that you tuned out, hitting end and dropping your phone in your bag with a sigh.Â
You wondered what Satoru wouldâve thought of it.Â
If he wouldâve laughed at his son picking fights at school or if there was a stern side to him buried somewhere beneath his goofy grins and cheesy jokes.Â
You tried to pick out names heâd like. Even if sometimes it stung a little to think about.Â
Apollo and Artemis.Â
After the space missions. Heâd think it was cute. Probably dress them up like little astronauts and kiss their foreheads, promising that he loved them way more than just to the moon and back. Paint stars on their ceiling and hang planets up on strings in their nursery.Â
To be fair, you had done it in his place.Â
Worn one of his old t-shirts as you bit your lip and bent over your swollen belly to get all the corners, carefully standing on a ladder to hang everything on the ceiling, standing in a nursery full of furniture you built yourself a month after his return date came and went.Â
The last thing you heard from him was a video message where he promised heâd come back. If you shut your eyes, you could still see that look on his face, the flicker of nervousness that flashed across it as his mouth curled down into a frown before he admitted that they were about to go check out a distress call.Â
And then nothing.Â
NASA never told you if they had any additional information on it. But the conclusion they came to was obvious.Â
Their mission was a failure. And your husband was forever missing.Â
Somewhere youâd never be able to reach.Â
You snapped on the twins' first birthday. You hadnât even managed to bring yourself to throw them a party when Satoru wasnât there to take the photos, to pick them up and blow out the candles for them.Â
Carrying them next door to Suguruâs momâs place, asking for her to watch them for a few hours just to come back home and rip down every stupid space-themed piece of decor youâd once painstakingly picked out. Throwing them all in a big, black trash bag before running out to the store to grab tarps and more paint.Â
You didnât stop until the entire room was drenched in shades of blue and green, alien toys traded in for sea animals.
At least the ocean was on Earth.Â
It wasnât like they were old enough to understand.Â
But you couldnât fucking stand the idea of losing them too.Â
You had kept both their convertible cribs in your room since the day you brought them home from the hospital, unable to sleep without them in the same room. The crippling fear that youâd some intruder would sneak in and snatch them if you werenât right there to stop it didnât actually go away until they were big enough to toddle and talk.Â
Now they were old enough to be in school, no longer babies, no longer toddlers, big enough to ramble on about what they learned every day, bicker over their toys and pick them back up before they went to bed.Â
And Satoru had missed all of it.Â
Every first they experienced tainted by the never-ending reminder that he wasnât fucking here to see a single one.Â
And like an idiot, you just kept recording message after message, setting up a camera and trying not to cry as you recorded yourself talking about the twins, showing them off to someone who shouldâve been by your side every step of the way. You still had a few contacts with his old colleague, one who promised heâd send them all up anyway.Â
Just in case Satoru was still out there in space. Still trying to come home to you. Â
There wasnât a single day that passed yet where you didnât think about it.Â
Him.Â
But it appeared your attempts to keep him alive, to teach your kids about their dad, werenât going so well when you replayed the voicemail youâd been left an hour earlier requesting you come in for a meeting after school was over when you picked up the kids.Â
The soft voice on the other end apologetically explaining that Apollo had gotten in an argument with another kid to defend his sister, that no action was being taken, but that heâd still like to speak with you in person over it.Â
You stared at the brick building of the elementary school, readjusting your purse as you swiped away another message from your friend sending you contact details of a man you certainly were not going to contact, steeling yourself for an uncomfortable conversation as you walked through the door and went into the office to get a visitorâs pass before you started navigating through the halls to look for the twinsâ class.Â
Suguruâs mom handled most of the pick ups for you, kept them at her place until you got back home from work in the evenings.Â
Your boss had been annoyed that youâd taken off early, but you had to put them first. You were the only parent they had.Â
You heard Artemis first. Her soft giggle twinkling as your steps picked up, her brotherâs grumpy voice scolding her as you stopped just outside an open classroom door, pausing as you looked inside and saw sitting cross-legged on the floor with another boy who looked a couple years older, a bunch of toys dumped out between them on a carpet with the alphabet on it.Â
âAre you their sister? I thought their mom-â A low voice spoke up, your head snapping over to see a dark-haired man stepping out from behind a desk. Warm brown eyes scanning your face as you stiffly shook your head.  Â
âIâm their mom,â you interrupted him, swallowing hard as you pushed your sunglasses back up in your hair before holding your hand out to shake.Â
His hand was surprisingly soft when he took it, gently shaking it a few seconds too long before awkwardly letting go.Â
âIâm Choso, their teacher,â he said, and you forced a small smile.
âI, uh, know,â you muttered, averting your stare back to where they were playing.Â
âYujiâs my little brother,â he added, pointing out the boy playing with yours, plucking out a toy from the pile and handing it over.Â
You wondered if it would be awful to just ask him to go ahead and skip all the polite niceties, that you didnât need them.Â
âSorry for making assumptions,â he awkwardly apologized, his dark eyes dragging over you again. âYou just looked like youâre around my age, and I guess I forget sometimes that itâs normal for us to have kids of our own now.â
You blinked at him, trying to decide what to make of his slightly nervous rambling just for his mouth to open again.
âI wasnât trying to comment on your appearance or anything, I mean, youâre beautiful-â His lips abruptly shut, cheek flushing pink in a painfully familiar way.
Your chest hurt.
Ached at the thought that Satoru was no longer the last person to call you beautiful.
âUm, thanks,â you murmured, looking at your outfit a little self-consciously. Wondering if he was just saying that to make you feel better or if he really meant it. You didnât think you looked terrible. But without Satoru around, youâd sorta forgotten what it felt like to look in the mirror and see something pretty when you were struggling to survive most days.Â
âIâm sorry,â he apologized, glancing down to the ring on your finger. Your throat started to close, palms getting clammy as he ran his fingers through his hair. âI didnât realize you were married.âÂ
âIâm not,â you answered, a little too quickly as you folded your arms across your chest. Putting your left hand underneath your other arm as if it would make you stop thinking about it. Him.Â
âOh, um-âÂ
âI was engaged to the twinsâ dad,â you explained, watching them giggle and pretend to eat the plastic food with their new pink-haired friend. âBut, uh, he passed before they were born.âÂ
People usually asked too many questions if you told them the whole story.Â
âIâm sorry for your loss,â he apologized, face falling the way everyone elseâs always did. Regret etched into the soft lines of his face, nose scrunching up as the tattoo across his nose crinkled. âI had no-â
âItâs fine,â you lied, waving it off like Satoru didnât still cast shadows across your thoughts. âSo, um, what happened with Apollo? Is he in trouble?â
âNo, no, one of the other kids tried to take a toy from Artemis, and he stepped in to stop it. I actually wanted to speak to you about him having a hard time making friends outside of her,â Choso spoke softly, obviously trying hard to pick his words carefully. âI was thinking of recommending they get put in different classes next year to help them socialize.âÂ
You bit the inside of your cheek.
Torn between immediately shutting the idea down and trying to argue against it before second guessing whether or not your parenting was actually just fostering codependence.Â
Satoru would know what to do.
But he wasnât here.
And all the decisions were yours to make.
Artemis was the outgoing one, inherited her fatherâs personality even if she pretty much got your face. Bright and brilliant, easy charisma that shined even at her small size. Apollo was reserved. Serious.
Scowling if he wasnât with his sister, grumbling at the world like he already realized how it screwed them over.
âTheyâre just five,â you muttered, glancing over at where they were still distracted with his brother.
âWell, I guess we can see if there are any changes throughout the rest of the school year. I, uh, coach a boys soccer team on the weekends. Heâs welcome to join, if youâre interested,â he said, running his fingers through the ends of his hair.Â
You guessed if it meant your twins wouldnât be split up in school, youâd sit on the sidelines to watch little kids try and fail to kick a ball across a field.Â
Not that he was that happy about it when you told him heâd have to spend his Saturday morning in a soccer uniform with kids he barely spoke to before instead of playing with his toys at home.Â
Choso grinned when you first showed up, one of those crooked ones that gave away his surprise when he saw you setting up fold-out chairs for you and Artemis. Even jogging over to tell you he was happy you came, squatting down to get on Apolloâs level to ask him if he knew how to play.Â
He didnât.
To be fair, after watching a single game, it was clear none of the other kids did either.Â
Still, you left it with a schedule of practices and games stuffed in your purse, a couple of them circled and marked for your days to bring snacks and juice boxes for the team.
You told yourself that you were being an active parent.Â
Showing up to every single school event. Refusing to miss a single soccer game even when Apollo spent half of it plucking weeds from the field to give to you afterwards.Â
Taking him to play dates with his new soccer friends before taking Artemis to sleepover with her school friends, juggling their new social lives with your own work.Â
And somewhere along the way, you supposed youâd made a new friend in their teacher too.
He went out of his way to talk to you at every game, greeting you at their school stuff with a shy smile and considerate questions while he updated you on how they were doing.Â
The kids loved him, coming home chattering about what he planned and taught them during the day, complaining whenever he was out sick and they got stuck with a substitute.Â
Wasnât it normal to like someone if they made your children happy?Â
Smile back when they spoke to you?Â
Find your thoughts lingering a little on their dark-haired teacher when your son excitedly exclaimed that Choso promised to be his soccer coach next year too, your stupid heart stalling for a second when Artemis casually dropped that he helped her make a motherâs day card for you as she stuck it to the fridge with a magnet.Â
You definitely didnât pick them up from school yourself more often, swearing to Suguruâs mother that you were just trying to spend more time with them.Â
But eventually, the school year wrapped up.Â
You couldnât really comprehend why some sliver of you was disappointed by that.Â
Still, you suspected that it wasnât just because Satoru wasnât here to see it.Â
A strange flutter in your stomach stirring watching Choso pass out printed graduation certificates to the class, plastering on a bright smile as Artemis proudly bounded over to show you hers. Toothily grinning as you sat and clapped for her in a cramped chair, a paper plate with a tiny slice of pizza in front of you as the other parents tried wrangling their own kids.Â
Apollo was half-sitting on your lap, sneakily stealing your pizza after he polished off his own plate, enjoying their classroom party just to start bickering over which mini cupcakes they each wanted, eyeing the boxes Choso hadnât given out.
âAre you excited for next year?â You asked, barely able to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at their arguing.Â
âNo,â Artemis smiled immediately flipped into a frown as she flopped in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. âWeâll have to get a new teacher.âÂ
âDonât be a baby,â Apollo huffed at her.Â
âSânot fair, heâs still your coach,â she whined back, right in time for him to show up, holding out a plastic container with cupcakes to let them choose.Â
They were quick to snatch them, thank yous muffled when they stuffed their mouths the next second, but to your surprise, he held out the box for you to pick too.Â
âI, um, got enough for the parents too,â he awkwardly said, eyes hesitantly flicking up to meet yours as you chewed the inside of your cheek before accepting.Â
âThanks,â you murmured softly, selecting one with purple frosting as he smiled softly at you.Â
It was nice of him.Â
This was nice, actually.Â
A classroom of sugar-fueled kids and hastily strung up party streamers wasnât exactly where you pictured youâd be spending your afternoon a decade ago. Being a single mom had never been a part of your plans.Â
But it wasnât terrible.Â
You loved your children. Loved being their mom.Â
Maybe you could learn to love your life too.Â
You stayed behind once the party wrapped up to help clean the classroom with a few of the other parents, stuffing greasy and frosting splattered plates into trash bags while the twins excitedly caught up with Yuji after his teacher dropped him off after the bell rang.Â
âHey,â a quiet voice startled you, your head snapping back to see Choso stiffly standing next to you, nervously raking his fingers through his hair.Â
âHi,â you breathed back, just as awkward. âThe party was great. I think the twins will miss you next year.âÂ
You didnât want to consider if you would.Â
âTheyâre great kids. I know theyâre gonna succeed some day,â he earnestly said, your mouth curling up as you nodded.Â
You didnât really mind if they succeeded or not. Wouldnât hold them to the same standards their dad once held himself to.Â
All you really wanted was for them to be happy.Â
âThanks, um, seriously,â you swallowed hard, throat constricting as you thought about how much Apollo had started to come out of his shell thanks to him.Â
Chosoâs intense stare swept over your face, scanning over your features like he was searching for something there.
His eyes were dark.Â
Not blue. They didnât shimmer, didnât sparkle when the sun hit them.Â
But they were deep. Warm.Â
âIâm glad I got to meet you,â he started, speaking slowly like he wasnât sure if he should even say it. âGetting to know you, um, itâs been great.âÂ
âYeah, it has,â you agreed, actually meaning it too.Â
He stepped a little closer, taking a deep breath as his gaze settled on your face. âYou can like, slap me if Iâm out of line here-â
âIâm not going to slap you,â you intercut, biting back a laugh as his brows knitted together seriously.Â
âWould it be totally inappropriate to ask you on a date?âÂ
đ„ Ę Ë
Their mission was fucked.Â
Suguru was dead.Â
Body stuck on a planet of water and waves, left behind with the other astronauts that had died long before they even received their distress call.Â
Swept under a fucking tsunami, unable to make it back on the ship on time in an attempt to save a stupid fucking data recorder.Â
Now they had neither.Â
The ship had been damaged in the process too, fuel wasted and plans derailed as they barely managed to get it off the planet before all three of them ended up as corpses. Water corrupting important systems as Gojo slammed his fists against the hard metal frame of a door, throwing off his helmet as Shoko said something his brain refused to process.Â
Grabbing his arm to pull it back before he could fuck up his suit. Telling him to just take it off and cool down before he damned both of them too.Â
Like his best friend wasnât gone.Â
Heâd never get him back.Â
No one would.Â
Gojo just had to leave his body there for the tides to take. What the hell was he even going to say to his mom? How was he supposed to tell her that her son wasnât coming home?Â
He barely managed to get his suit off, stripping down and throwing it on the ground without giving a shit about proper protocol, storming off to his private compartment to stop himself from losing it in front of the only other person up here now. Shoko said something about getting everything back on course, but he wasnât listening as he turned his back from her.
God, he felt like he was going to fucking hurl.Â
The edges of his vision kept blurring, going in-and-out of darkness as he forced himself to change clothes, sitting hunched over the edge of his bed and burying his face in his hands, replaying the look on Suguruâs face when he realized he wasnât going to make it.Â
Rewinding and searching for some other way to change the past as he screwed his eyes shut.Â
But he couldnât save him then and there was no way to save him now.Â
He wished you were here.Â
Wished youâd wrap your arms around him and run your fingers through his hair and promise him that it would still be okay. That Suguru wouldnât blame him.Â
That his best friend was somewhere better.Â
Even if everything scientific in his body swore that there was no better place waiting for him.Â
Gojo pushed himself back up to his feet, jaw locked tight as he walked back over to the one piece of you he still had access too, tapping away at the controls to see if you sent any videos while he was out there making the worse fucking mistake of his life.Â
Foot impatiently tapping against the floor as he reclined his head back against the floor, wishing that heâd never even come on this mission in the first place â if he hadnât, Suguru wouldnât have even answered the distress call, would he?Â
Heâd still be alive, and Gojo would be with-
The computer let out a beep, interrupting his thoughts as the screen came to life, loading everything up as he sighed with relief.Â
Seeing your smile, hearing your soft words might not heal him, but it was the only thing he could think of to help the raw wound of loss ripping through his chest.Â
Until the automated computer voice made an announcement right as he popped his headphones in.  Â
Loading messages from the past eleven years.Â
No. No no no no no.
It was wrong.
It had to be fucking wrong.Â
The computer had to be fried. Some water must have somehow gotten in it and fucked with the wiring and-
Before he could even hit a single button, try to troubleshoot, there you were in front of him, your hand on your swollen stomach, scowling in the camera as you asked where the hell he was. Fear creeping in your pretty voice that no one had heard anything from any of them â reminding him that he promised to come back.Â
He did. He would.Â
The small lump in his throat getting bigger and bigger as the video auto-played into the next one, where you were obviously about to pop, filming in a space-themed nursery, your anger twisted into worry, telling him that you didnât want to do this alone.Â
Begging him to not make you.Â
Gojo froze.Â
Shoulders stiff as he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, stunned as his own brain short-circuited, the guilt swimming in his stomach threatening to drown him as you ended the message.Â
Part of him wanted to hit stop.Â
Like if he paused it now, he would be able to freeze time and somehow make it back to Earth in time to not miss any more of it.Â
But his fingers werenât fast enough.Â
And the next frame came with the audio of a baby crying.Â
Two babies. One swaddled in blue and the other in pink. Their names on knitted hats he already knew Suguruâs mom mustâve made, a strangled sob escaping him before he even realized he was crying.Â
The twins. His twins.Â
Sleepily yawning and opening their eyes just a peek, enough for him to see his son had the misfortune of inheriting his looks while his daughter came out like a miniature you. Someone else was recording you in the hospital bed, but you were talking to the camera like it was him, face soft as you giggled that he would probably bawling harder than the babies when he realized he missed this.Â
Suguruâs mom laughed behind the camera.Â
He was.Â
Tears falling freely as the videos just kept playing. One after another.Â
His children were growing up without him.Â
From tiny and fragile bundles to bumbling toddlers to fuck, full-sized little kids.Â
In what? Fifty minutes?Â
Five entire years of their life, condensed down to a handful of clips. The first steps he missed, the birthdays and holidays and fatherâs day heâd never get back.Â
They didnât even look at the camera half the time. Too busy playing and giggling and laughing while you did your best not to cry in front of them. They didnât know him.Â
Their father was barely more than a fucking video camera being pointed at them.Â
And you, god, his pretty, perfect you.Â
Still sending him these even when you had to think he was fucking dead.Â
Dark circles under your eyes and a hollowness to your face that only got worse over the years. Exhaustion in your expressions as you spoke to him like you didnât think he was listening.Â
You mostly updated them on the kids' life. Skimmed over the details of a job you obviously didnât like. Told him how Suguruâs mom had basically become their grandma. Sometimes Artemis would be on your lap, squinting at a book or playing with a toy while you talked.Â
His girls a wormhole away.Â
Gojo wanted to scream. Shout at the world to stop fucking spinning for a while so he could make it back to you.Â
But five years turned into six, and six turned into seven, and he watched in horror as it started to set in that he was losing you too.
What if it was too late?Â
What if you moved on? What if your life had no room left in it for him by the time he made it back to Earth?Â
The twins were already in school and playing sports and clearly didnât miss the man theyâd never met.Â
Would you stop missing him too?Â
He didnât know how many videos he watched. Guessing the time jump between each one based on how much the twins had grown in the background.Â
You looked more mature now too. More put together, hair styled differently, no longer bare-faced when you turned the camera on, in a different room that obviously belonged to a house that wasnât his home.Â
Toys werenât scattered around everywhere in the background anymore. But sometimes the twins would run through with one of their friends, some pink-haired kid that seemed to come over often judging by the way you barely blinked when they passed behind you.Â
Gojo felt like a stranger.Â
Some creep looking in the window of a happy family and thinking it should be his.Â
âMom,â Apollo whined, trying to tug on your sleeve as his shaggy white hair hung around his shoulders, attempting to drag you away while you were in mid-sentence. âMe and Cho made a cake. Come try it.âÂ
âSure, honey,â you softly said, cringing a little before glancing back at the camera apologetically before signing off.Â
Was Cho one of his friends? One of yours?Â
He didnât actually want an answer.Â
But the next video seemed to clue him in on one anyway.Â
You were wearing a shirt that was too big for you. The collar of it stretched out, your hair mused and down as you softly spoke, like you were trying not to wake someone up.Â
It wasnât Gojoâs shirt.Â
An awful feeling settled in his bones. One that etched deeper with every little off detail he noticed.Â
A pair of menâs shoes in the background. A watch left on your desk, barely in frame. The Cho the twins occasionally chattered about affectionately.Â
Who apparently was taking them to soccer games and science museums like he should be doing right now if he heard them correctly.
Gojo didnât want to believe that you were dating again. Even if he knew that it would be the normal thing to do.Â
Completely reasonable for you to move on after not hearing a word from him in nearly a decade.Â
But the idea of you loving another man, letting him into your life, letting him take his space-
He puked.Â
Head between his knees as he got sick on the floor, throwing up a mixture of salt water he swallowed earlier and the freeze dried breakfast he had this morning. Funny, wasnât it? Heâd lost over ten years with you and his best friends in just a day.
An hour on that horrible planet had cost him a decade.Â
Body wracking with shudders as he coughed and spit, wiping the back of his mouth just in time to look up at you while those pretty lips of yours pressed in a thin line. Sadness shining in your eyes, frustration and disappointment you rarely let show evident in your trembling frame.Â
âItâs hard to keep hoping for you,â you admitted, reaching out to shut off the camera, and he desperately wanted to scream for you to not give up, to just fucking wait.Â
But then the computer chimed in that there was one video left the second the screen went black after you ended it.Â
His hand reached out, desperate to touch you, desperate to stop you, but your world was spinning faster than his was.Â
And your face was back on screen, something inside him wilting and withering at the realization that another year had probably passed for you, maybe even two, more that he would never be able to get back.Â
A few more faint lines were etched by your eyes, subtle creases left as a sign of all the time he missed with you. But you looked healthier. Happier.Â
His beautiful girl sitting there and smiling at him instead of screaming like you shouldâve been. Cursing his name for not coming home sooner, scolding him for being a piece of shit that shouldâve stayed on Earth. Â
âHi, Satoru,â you spoke softly, fiddling with your hands. âBeen a while since Iâve made one of these.âÂ
He was terrified to know how long.
âThe twins are good. Theyâre gonna be ten next month,â you continued, not looking directly at the camera as you talked. âTheyâre both smart, like you. Apolloâs been more into soccer than school these days though.âÂ
He wanted to see him. See both of them.Â
Hold them too, know his children outside of the information you would tell some distant relative, even if that was all he felt like right now.Â
âArtemis wants to be a scientist when she grows up. She sits on the sidelines of his games with her nose buried in books,â you told him, a little smile reflexively curling up on your lips just from talking about them. âI wish you could see them. Wish you were here.âÂ
His chest hurt.Â
Gojo didnât know he stopped breathing until his body forced him to suck in a breath, lungs screaming for air as he stared at the woman he was supposed to marry.Â
This wasnât how it was supposed to happen.Â
The mission shouldâve been routine. Simple.Â
Suguru should be setting up the navigation. He should be begrudgingly agreeing to being his best man and coming to the courthouse to witness the rushed ceremony.Â
âSometimes,â you started, swallowing hard as your gorgeous eyes welled up with tears that threatened to spill out. âI dream of you. Us. Back in our old apartment in the creaky bed and the broken window. I wake up thinking Iâm still there.âÂ
The hard lump lodged in his throat was threatening to choke him entirely, the taste of bile still on his tongue as his nails digging crescent moons into his palms as he watched your mouth quiver.Â
âThe government declared you dead a few years ago. One of your old colleagues came by one day, said that no one really knew for sure what happened, just that you missed the supply drop. Used a bunch of big words like I was too stupid to understand that the bottom line was that you werenât coming home. Tried to make me feel better about it too,â you bitterly scoffed at the memory, resting your chin on your knees as you exhaled. On the brink of crumbling just recalling it, âTold me that you mightâve settled on a colony on a different planet or got stuck in some fucked-up time dilation. That you might still be alive out there somewhere.âÂ
If his throat wasnât already raw, he wouldâve screamed at the screen that he was.Â
Wanted to beg you not to fucking believe whatever bullshit everyone else was feeding you and believe in him.Â
âYou donât feel dead,â you added. Sniffling a little, using the back of your hand to rub underneath your eyes. âMaybe itâd be easier to move on if you did.â
Even his relief was tainted by guilt, ruined with his own worry that he was ruining your future by wishing youâd be stuck on him forever.Â
âMy therapist thinks Iâm wasting my life waiting on someone whoâs never coming back,â you murmured, speaking to him more like you were talking to your diary than truly believing he was going to hear any of it. âBut how am I supposed to tell her Iâm scared that some day you will, and I wonât be here?âÂ
Everything hurt.
His body, his heart, his soul.Â
Aching for everything heâd lost. Everything you lost because of him. His own kids growing up without a fucking father because he was an idiot who put a career before his family.Â
The life heâd spent years carefully building towards lost because he miscalculated.Â
âI know itâs not fair, but fuck, thinking about you moving on with another girl, or fucking starting some colony up in space and having kids with someone else, makes me wanna throw up,â you admitted, clueless that he had just puked at the idea of someone else being the stepfather to his twins.Â
You hadnât even confirmed-
âIâm being a hypocrite,â you muttered, burying your face in your hands to hide the fact you were crying â and thatâs when it hit him.
The engagement ring on your finger wasnât his.
Smaller. More subtle. A different cut and style.Â
No. You couldnât-
âIâve, um, been dating a guy for a few years. Heâs sweet. Everyone loves to tell me how much you wouldâve liked him,â you admitted, twisting the ring around your finger anxiously like you were confessing a sin. He didnât like him. Already hated whatever bastard had snuck in and swept you off your feet. âThey keep saying that youâd want me to move on.âÂ
What a load of fucking shit.
The last goddamn thing he wanted was for you to move on. The idea of you marrying another man was enough for him to gag again, bile rising from his stomach as he struggled to stop it.Â
âI still love you,â you shrugged a little, guilt of your own etched in your face as his eyes stung with more tears. âI just love him too.â
Gojo would take getting stabbed over hearing those words from your lips again.
âChoso said maybe itâd make me feel better to make another video for you, yâknow, get everything off my chest,â you exhaled. âIâm just so tired, Satoru.âÂ
Okay, well, that kind of felt like being stabbed.Â
Knowing that this was all his fault and you were the one bearing so much of the burden.Â
âI know youâre probably never going to see this, but youâd want me to be happy, wouldnât you?â You asked, eyes big and wavering as you struggled not to sob, reaching up to play with the silver chain of your necklace tucked under your shirt. âWould you hate me for choosing someone who cares about me and our kids?âÂ
He could never hate you.
Even if you married ten other men while he was gone.
He would just always hate the man who got to call you their wife. Jealous of whichever one got to take family photos with you and take you on vacation and sleep next to you every night.Â
Gojo wanted to be that guy. Wanted to get down on his knees next to you now and dry your cheeks, kiss your mouth and murmur anything you wanted to hear just to make you feel better.
âIâm getting married in four months,â you murmured, wiping the tears away from underneath your eyes, mascara smearing on the back of your hand as you sniffled. âAt that chapel we picked out. The one with the pretty hydrangeas out front.â
No no no.Â
He could still make it.Â
Couldnât he?Â
If they skipped the supply drop entirely and went straight back through the wormhole?Â
Hadnât he lost enough?Â
Gojo refused to let you slip through his fingers a second time. No matter how fast the hourglass was running out of sand.Â
You stood up, walking out of frame for a few seconds as he heard the sound of something unzipping. And then you came back, holding out something white and-
A wedding dress.Â
âYou never got to see me in one, so I thought-â You didnât finish your sentence, just swallowing hard as you draped it back down on furniture just out of sight.Â
The camera barely focused on your body as you peeled your clothes off, his breath hitching at the intimate sight of you slipping the dress on, struggling to zip the back by yourself before walking closer.Â
You looked like an angel.
And Gojo sorta wished he was dead.Â
Stuck in the stunned shell of his body as he watched the way the dress clung to your chest and flowed to the ground, his heart thrumming loud enough he was sure it was about to break through his ribcage.Â
And then a noise in the background startled you.Â
The thud of a door shutting. The excited clamoring of children, a girl giggling as a man said something he couldnât quite make out.Â
Your face scrunched up, a million different emotions flashing across it as you both heard it at the same time. âWeâre back, baby.âÂ
Another man was calling you baby.Â
Footsteps echoing down a hallway heâd never gotten to walk down, your own body rushing over to block the door before it could open.Â
âIâm trying my wedding dress on, Cho,â you called out, lips pressing together in a pretty pout. âItâs bad luck if you see.âÂ
âYeah? We brought back your favorite takeout, want me to put it in the fridge or-â he started asking, his voice deep, gravelly.Â
âYou can leave it out,â you replied, your voice softening as you spoke to him. âIâll be out in a minute.âÂ
You glanced back at the camera, guilt returning the second your stare hovered over at it.Â
And before Gojo could even really appreciate what a beautiful bride you made, you were rushing to get out of it, biting your lips before stuffing it back into a garment bag, putting your clothes back and returning to your seat.Â
âIâm sorry,â you said, fingers trembling as your hand reflexively reached for your necklace again. âI wish things were different.âÂ
But of course, he had to be annoyingly attractive, dark hair hanging around his shoulders and bangs that reminded him of the best friend he just damned as he casually walked over to you, concern etched into his sharp face as he leaned in to press a kiss on the top of your forehead.Â
âEverything okay?â He asked, but then his eyes shifted and he noticed what you were filming. âOh, baby.âÂ
The sound of someone who knew you were hurting. Who cared.Â
âIâm okay, really, Iâm just saying goodbye,â you murmured, like they both couldnât tell how close you were to breaking down.Â
âIâll give you a few minutes,â he spoke gently, his touch lingering on your skin like it really was his now. âApollo and Yuji want to go spend the night with one of their friends.âÂ
Gojo wanted to strangle him.Â
Fly through the space and stars just to give him a black eye for just how casually he spoke about his son.Â
Although some sliver of him was well fucking aware that Choso had probably been more of a dad to Apollo than heâd ever gotten to be.Â
âThatâs fine,â you shrugged, nodding a little as your body relaxed, tension lifting from your shoulders the longer you looked at him.Â
Gojo hated that he could see that you really did love him in your eyes.Â
See that familiar glimmer shining in them as you looked up at a stranger instead of him.Â
Choso left the room, but his presence didnât.Â
You stared at the door for a few moments after it shut, but you didnât say whatever you were thinking. Kept it bottled up before you eventually looked back at Satoru.Â
Not that you could even see him.Â
You thought you were talking to a ghost.Â
Thatâs all heâd become to you. To his children. A phantom haunting rooms heâd never entered. Lingering in empty spaces he shouldâve been. A spectre living in the shadows of your heads.Â
âI miss you,â you murmured, reaching for the button one last time to shut it off. âI donât think that will change. But I canât keep believing youâre coming home.âÂ
No. Please no.Â
He was.
âI love you, Satoru,â you half-whispered, choking the words out. âGoodbye.âÂ
The screen went dark.Â
His reflection staring back at him. Cheeks wet with tears that wouldnât stop, breaking down as he fell apart, nausea swirling as he forced himself to stand and step around where heâd thrown up, pacing the floor as his brain struggled to work through a problem he didnât know how to solve.Â
He went back to the console, frowning when he tried to start recording to send a message back out to you, to beg you to just give him a little more time, but nothing happened.Â
Body and brain barely working together to frantically tap buttons, staring at what data was available to see if he could find when the transmission was received.Â
A faint flicker of hope stirring when he realized it had only been two days ago.Â
You werenât married yet.Â
Maybe there was time.
And even if there wasnât, heâd do his damndest to get there and wreck your marriage if it meant winning you back.Â
He was a wreck, stumbling out of the room to rush to find Shoko, nearly tripping on his own feet as he found her by the controls, her neat brunette brows scrunching together in disgust when she saw the state he was in.Â
âWhat the hell-âÂ
Gojo wasnât sure he was even speaking in full sentences when he started rambling about time dilation, about how they already missed a goddamn decade, her mouth curling down into a tight frown as he got into the details of how they needed to go home now.Â
âWe donât have the fuel,â she deadpanned, drawing his attention to the data on screen. âWe can make it to our supply drop, but unless they have some there, weâll probably be stuck on their settlement until another crew comes along.âÂ
That wasnât a fucking option.Â
They had to make it.
But even when he spent the next forty-eight hours crunching the numbers and calculating different ways to return, he still came to the same conclusion â Shoko was right.Â
And still said âI told you soâ when he said fine to going to the planet for the supply drop, figuring that at least if the load was lighter, he might be able to make what they had left stretch.Â
He was barely showering.Â
Barely eating.Â
Manic energy getting him through the long days and longer nights to avoid the dreams that would only mock him for all his failures.Â
They were just filled with your face, with Suguruâs, of children that called another man dad.Â
Filling his notebooks with different calculations he was desperate to get right this time.Â
Skin crawling with the fear that heâd fuck this up and lose you forever.Â
He didnât get to mourn Suguru. Couldnât mourn the years he missed.Â
Not if he didnât want to miss the rest of them.Â
By the time they made it to the next planet, he was a wreck. Practically shoved in the shower by Shoko to get cleaned up before they landed, feeling ill when he was forced to get his suit back on, praying to whatever higher power might be out there to let there be fuel. Let him go home to his family.Â
This planet wasnât full of water. Wasnât one big ocean.Â
Landing in a lush green field, not far from real buildings, actual structures erected, fellow scientists rushing out to greet them as Shoko worked fast to unload the supplies with their help.
Gojo knew he probably sounded like a lunatic rushing to get his request for fuel out as soon as possible, counting the seconds in his head as he hoped that they werenât months passing for you back home.Â
âIâm sorry,â their de facto leader apologized, an astronaut he once grew up looking up to frowning at him as he glanced around at their simple setup to search for anything that could help him. âWe donât have any. Thereâs going to be another supply drop in a month, more people coming to live here. You could probably go back with them if-âÂ
âNo,â he accidentally interrupted, the word ripped from the back of his chest as he recoiled.Â
It couldnât end like this.Â
Heâd be too late if he stayed.
âSatoru,â Shoko hissed, pulling him back as his breathing got ragged, on the verge of a panic attack.Â
âShoko, they donât-âÂ
âI know,â she cut him off, swallowing hard as she fixed him with her steady stare. âLook, Iâll stay here. You take the lander back. Without me and all this stuff, the fuel should last.âÂ
âYou want me to leave you?â He asked, automatically shaking his head no at the absurd suggestion.Â
âI donât have anyone waiting for me back on Earth anyway,â she shrugged.
He didnât have the seconds to debate it.Â
âAre you sure?â He asked, his chest already aching at the idea of being alone on the ship.Â
âGo get your wife back,â she huffed. âName one of your next kids after me.âÂ
âDeal,â he breathed, throwing her arms around her in a rushed hug before he had to sprint back to the lander.Â
Both his best friends left behind on planets he knew heâd never get back to.Â
And still, he wasnât sure if heâd even be able to make it back to the one they came from.Â
He wasnât even meant to be the navigator.Â
Wasnât supposed to be the one frantically typing in coordinates and rushing through checklists to get back home.Â
Struggling and squinting at the consoles, breathing heavy when everything was inputted, running the numbers again and again.
He should make it.
Although, his current path put him at landing in some random field in the middle of nowhere, NASA would probably be rushing to get there once they realized it was one of their landers.Â
If only he could send out a fucking transmission.Â
He tried to figure out why it wouldnât work, fiddling with it almost every day in failed attempts to fix it and rewatching your videos when his energy threatened to run out.Â
Gojo hadnât cut his hair in months. That was something Suguru usually helped him with. It was nearly touching his shoulders, looking like a stranger in his reflection in the fogged-up mirror on the occasions heâd make himself shower and scrub his skin until it was practically red.
But maybe you liked men with longer hair now. Wouldnât mind the fact that he changed too.Â
When he slept, he made it to the chapel just in time, rushing through the double doors right when the officiant asked if anyone objected.Â
He would whisk you away, dip you down and kiss you, fingers sinking into the silk of your wedding dress as he begged you to still be his.Â
Some part of him felt like it was all light years away.Â
Up until Earth was outside his window, his heart thrumming at the thought of you down there, sharing a bed with someone else while he was fighting so hard to come back to you. Did he fuck you as good?
Make sure you finished every single time? Dot your face with kisses and carry you into the bathroom? Make all your favorite foods and worship the ground you walked on every day?Â
Gojo didnât know if heâd be able to handle knowing.
But fuck, if it meant heâd still get to have you, heâd share you with that asshole.Â
Gojo still couldnât send a transmission, had no way of actually notifying anyone when he got in the lander, flipping switches and changing settings as he got behind the controls.Â
Shutting his eyes for a few seconds as he set the coordinates, palms sweating as he clutched the controls. If his math was right, today would be the day you were supposed to be standing at the altar.Â
He could do this.Â
Failing wasnât an option.
Not after everything that had brought him here.Â
âIâm coming home, sweetheart,â he murmured, a little aware that he had probably lost it if he was talking to himself up here.Â
But he hoped you could feel him.Â
That even if you were wearing your wedding dress right now, you would be able to sense him somehow. Clinging to the hope that yours hadnât completely faded yet.Â
The landing fucking sucked.Â
Hitting the ground too hard, his head snapping forward fast enough he was pretty sure he had a concussion or whiplash, body bracing for the impact as it skidded to a stop in a corn field an hour from that chapel he just toured with you last year. Even if itâd been more like twelve to you.Â
It still didnât stop him from rushing to get out, nearly kissing the ground as he stumbled out. Sucking in the fresh air as he glanced around, his legs trembling as he forced himself to keep moving, well aware he definitely looked like shit even if he tried to clean himself up before his, ah, crash landing.Â
âAre you okay? What the fuck is-âÂ
Gojo grimaced as he glanced up to find someone who pulled over on the side of the road, a stranger squinting at him and the wrecked lander in disbelief.Â
âUh, could you give me a ride?âÂ
Maybe the universe had decided to cut him some slack. Give him a helping hand as he sat in the passenger seat of a beat-up truck, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes as he noticed the new phone in the cupholder.Â
âDo, uh, you mind if I make a couple calls?â He asked, the distant sound of sirens echoing as they put mile after mile away from the lander â and inched closer and closer to you.Â
âSure,â his new friend shrugged, using his face to unlock his phone at the next stoplight and passing it over.Â
Gojo still had your number memorized.Â
Even if you didnât pick up the phone for him.Â
No voicemail box set up either, just the generic âplease leave a message at the beepâ he didnât have it in him to oblige. He hurried to dial one of his old contacts from NASA he remembered, not sure if Ijichi would pick up either.Â
But they did.Â
âHello?â Ijichi croaked, almost sounding like he just woke up, or maybe was sick.Â
âHey, itâs, uh, me,â he said, tapping his fingers on the side of the window. âI sorta crash landed. You guys are gonna want to send someone out to take care of clean up.âÂ
âSatoru?âÂ
âYeah, itâs, um, been a bit, hasnât it?â He awkwardly chuckled, rambling off the coordinates twice, sure that Ijichi was scrambling to get them down before he exhaled. âLook, Iâve got a wedding to crash. Iâll check in later.âÂ
Gojo hung up before he could get caught up in any more stupid space bullshit.Â
He was finished.Â
Ready to spend the rest of his years devoted solely to you and his twins.Â
Would you be happy to see him?Â
Let him pick you up and press kiss after kiss to your mouth and promise that you missed him?Â
Heâd spent so long daydreaming about it that he didnât really know what to do when the truck pulled into the very much empty parking lot of the chapel.Â
Was he too early?Â
Too late?Â
Walking up to the double doors and pulling them open to find barren pews illuminated by stained glass windows. He walked around like an idiot, something pricking at the back of his brain that he wouldnât listen to as he looked outside at the cemetery next to it.Â
He didnât have a real reason for going back out there.Â
Just some invisible string tugging him there as he held his breath, searching for proof in the last place he wanted to find it.Â
And there it was.Â
Sitting underneath a willow tree waiting for him.Â
He stared at the gravestone. Your name etched into the stone â with another manâs last name attached to it.Â
His knees gave out. Collapsed underneath him as a broken sob racked through his body, hitting the hard ground as his body surrendered to the pain. Fat tears rolling down his cheeks, sucking in shallow breaths as he cried for the life you had.Â
The one he hadnât been there to give you.Â
You couldnât be-Â
Someone tapped on his back.Â
He turned fast, shaking as his eyes landed on your face. His pretty girl, probably a good twenty years older than him, aged like a fine wine as your mouth fell open in a surprised gasp. He reached out, fingers trembling as he nearly touched your cheek from his position on the ground, but you froze.
âDad?âÂ
It wasnât you.Â
Artemis tried helping him up, tears springing up in her eyes as she immediately hugged him, his brain fractured as he realized that his daughter was here. His daughter was older than him. How much time had passed? How fucking off was he?Â
âOh my god, itâs actually you, when I got the call, I didnât think-âÂ
âArtemis?â He breathed her name, wishing heâd gotten the opportunity to say it to her a million more times. âYouâre-âÂ
âHoly shit, I have to call everyone,â she grinned, her smile hurting his chest when it looked so much like yours. âApollo isnât gonna believe it. You know, youâre already, like, a great grandpa thanks to him, by the way.âÂ
Every word was a fresh punch to the gut.Â
A great grandfather.Â
He never even got to be a father.Â
Missed his kids growing up, getting married, having kids of their own, and even them having kids.Â
âHow long has it been?â He asked, his voice raw, broken chords of disbelief as Artemis' face twisted up, looking behind him as it struck her that he hadnât known any of it. Â
âSince you left?â She awkwardly spoke, tilting her head as she scratched the back of her neck. There was a wedding band on her finger. Did your husband walk her down the aisle? âUm, about fifty years?âÂ
Four months had been forty years.Â
Gojo couldnât stop himself from crying again, wiping away his cheeks faster, ashamed of what heâd done.Â
A fool masquerading as a man.Â
Artemis awkwardly wrapped an arm around him, trying to soothe him as she used her free hand to send texts like he couldnât see through the tears.
Sobs wracking through him as the dam inside him broke, reduced to rubble as he fell apart. Painfully aware that he was only inches away from you, and still no closer at all.Â
Heâd never hold you again. Never touch you again.Â
Wouldnât get to see your smile or hear your laugh, feel the warmth of your affection.Â
His children wouldnât need him.Â
For a while, his daughter just sat there with him. Let him cry until he managed to halfway collect himself, his eyes swollen and sore as he struggled to breathe, body aching and stomach starving despite how sick he felt every time he looked up and saw your grave.Â
âShe passed away last year,â Artemis muttered. âSheâd been sick for a while.âÂ
God, he felt like he was going to die right now.Â
Figured it would hurt less than hearing about everything he missed.Â
âShe talked about you a lot. Made you out to be a big hero,â his daughter smiled softly, obviously trying to make him feel better. You shouldâve turned him into the bad guy. âI actually work at NASA. God, she was pretty pissed at me when she found out I even applied, but I promised that I wouldnât go to space so, uh-âÂ
It seemed like she inherited his ability to shove his foot in his mouth, her lips clamping shut as she realized that maybe this wasnât the time.Â
âApolloâs a teacher now,â she abruptly changed the subject, and he didnât know what to say.
Just staring at her in shock, unable to form proper sentences when he thought he was coming home to a preteen â not a fully grown woman who looked so much like you it hurt to breathe. âOh, there he is.âÂ
He looked over to see his son was walking down the path with an old man, talking between each other with furrowed expressions.Â
Watched the shock register on their faces when they saw Gojo there.Â
He didnât know what to say when they finally approached, the thick silence and tension simmering in the air as he stared at Apollo.Â
Strands of silver in his white hair, blue eyes burning with emotions he didnât blame him for. Resentment. Reproach.Â
âYouâre-âÂ
âIâm sorry it took me so long,â he heard himself say, voice cracking painfully.Â
âYeah,â his son huffed, arms folding across his broad chest. âUs too.â
âApollo,â the older man next to him scolded, giving him a fatherly look that seemed so natural on his face before throwing Gojo a look that was almost like âkids, right?â âItâs nice to finally meet you. Iâm Choso.âÂ
And despite the fact he had to be in his seventies now, Gojo still sort of wanted to hit him.
Rip the golden band off his finger and start a fight over the fact heâd gotten to spend decades with the love of his life.Â
âWas she happy?â He asked instead, hollowed out, no strength left in him to stand.Â
âShe was,â Artemis softly confirmed, patting his shoulder like he was a child. And he wondered if she had kids too, or if even his sonâs children were older than him now.Â
âShe missed you,â Choso added, more mature than Gojo suspected he would ever be.
Because right now, he was filled with hate.
Anger and rage boiling and burning under the surface at the injustice of all of it. At everything he missed. Everything that shouldâve been his that ended up in the hands of someone else because he was too stupid to hold onto you tight enough.
He hated Choso. Hated space. Hated the universe.Â
Mostly though, he hated himself.
âWe should go get some food,â Artemis artfully pivoted away, trying to tug him upright. âYouâre probably starving, right?â
Gojo thought he nodded, not that he was totally in tune with his body, dazed as he tried to sort through the thousand thoughts flooding through his mind.
Numbness creeping in now that he knew it had all been for nothing.
âBefore I forget,â she murmured, taking off a necklace he hadnât noticed her wearing. The thin silver chain weighed down by two rings dangling at the end. The engagement ring he once gave you â and a plain band of white-gold. âMom always wore it. She told me she bought the band for you before you were supposed to come back and could never bring herself to put either of them away.âÂ
She dropped it in his palm, his pulse pounding in his ears at the proof you never fully gave up on him. One last thread of you in his hands as he automatically unlocked the clasp and put it on himself, the weight of it sitting over his chest and tethering him back to reality.
To the two children he made with you standing in front of him now he was still lucky enough to meet.Â
Artemis interlocked her arm with her brother, laughing at something he said before immediately beginning to bicker about where to eat at, who to call next.
Giggling about their sister, his throat closing at the confirmation you had another baby after him. That you lived a full life heâd only get to see second-hand. Through photos and stories instead of in person.Â
Apollo grumbled something under his breath, throwing a glare back at Gojo, still protective over you after you passed. Artemis just elbowed her brother though, tossing the hair back over her other shoulder that reminded him of you.
And some depressing part of him wondered if thatâs what you and him wouldâve looked like together one day if he stayed.Â
He would never get to know.Â
His eyes drifted back to your grave. And then the one next to it.Â
His name etched next to yours. A plot you must have purchased for him back when you thought youâd never get his body back.Â
Itâs his fault tonight, as is most times. He loves you. He wishes he could do whatever you asked of him. But, Jujutsu society has other plans for him sometimes.
Work. Itâs always work that takes immediate priority. Time and time again.
Itâs two in the morning. His brain feels like itâs been scrambled fifteen times over and cooked on medium heat, then refried again and finally lit on fire. The cursed spirit he spent the last eight hours exorcisingâwith a technique of immediate reincarnationâleft him to utilize hollow purple in rural-side Japan to avoid casualties, his reversed curse technique to heal himself constantly when he was exhausted, and then teleport way too far of a distance just to get back to you.
Even if it was hours after the date night you had planned for him.
It makes him wince when he tries to envision it allâcandles and rose petals decorating the penthouse. Takeout since you canât cook for the life of you. Waiting at the dining table in that pretty red dress he bought for you last month, hair and makeup done, practically begging to be ruined by him afterwards. Eating dinner by yourself when you realize that maybe he isnât showing up and heading off to bed.
He wanted to text you, really. But that fucking curse knocked his phone from his pocket mid-air and sent it into the brush of the prairieâthe screen cracked and device completely unusable.
âSweetheart,â he starts softly, his voice echoing in the uncomfortably empty space. He recalls when he left the place practically vacant aside from his mattress, not even caring to furnish the place until he met you. Made a home with you.
He toes his shoes off and tosses his uniform jacket on the couch as he passes the threshold. His bandage hangs loosely around his neck, his Six Eyes barely able to ascertain anything while a grimace of pain passes his face. His cursed energy reserves are running low, and he doesnât have the power to heal himself right now.
He can only recharge with you.
He makes his way to the bedroom, stumbling and trying not to trip over his own feet. Exhaustion hangs heavy under his eyes, weighing down his limbs. Youâre probably asleep seeing as itâs the middle of the night, but a part of him hopes youâre awake. Even if you yell at him, or hit him.
Pushing your bedroom door open, he sees your form under the sheets, facing away from him. Your breaths are slow, rhythmic.
His chest tightens.
He doesnât have the battery power to even undress himself, slipping into the sheets beside you. He smells like curse, and he has a feeling youâll cuss him out in the morning for sleeping without getting cleaned up.
His head hits the pillow, milky hair creating a halo of white around his head. The need for sleep hits him quickly, before you stir.
âI donât want to do this anymore, Satoru.â
Despite how soft and careful your words are, they hit Gojo like a truck. Air is stripped from his lungs as he stares at the ceiling. He doesnât say anything for a moment, despair leaving him to spiral. âOkay. Okay,â he turns over to stare at your back, even though it feels like his ribs are being split. âUhm, Iâm sorry, baby. I know how much this date meant to you andâ.â
You push air from your nostrils and Gojo stops talking, his gut churning violently. He can taste bile on the back of his tongue. You then turn to face him, and itâs alarming how composed you look. This decision has probably been weighing on you for quite some time, seeing as this wasnât the first date where heâd had to stand you up. Letting you down, time and time again.
âJustâ stop. I was well aware of your role in the Jujutsu world when we started dating, even if you introduced me to it all. I still am now. I just thought⊠Iâd be able to handle it. I guess I was wrong.â
You arenât even looking at him, slowly appraising the charred holes in his black compression shirt revealing slips of skin. At some point, Gojo couldnât hold up Infinity and exorcise the curse simultaneously. So, he lowered it, taking a great number of hits trying to kill the fucker. Heâs never looked this disheveled beforeâhis hair a mess and perspiration clinging to his skin. It makes your throat close up.
Thereâs an awkward moment where you pick at your nails and Gojo canât peel his eyes from you.
Fuck, he hates this. Hates that he has to contest with both his personal and work life. Again. And again.
If only the fate of the world didnât hang between his fingers.
Youâd never make him choose, either. Abandoning his position to make time to grow the life you both want. Which is why you took the choice from him.
Desperation starts to claw at the edges of his mind, his pulse roaring in his ears. Heâs not thinking clearly, lips curling downwards. âBaby, please. I-I know I fucked up, but Iâll make it up to you. I love you. Please, just. Donât leave me?â his voice, barely a whisper now, wavers with each syllable.
Finally, you look up. Youâre both crying. Tears run down his pale cheeks, his eyes a deep crimson red. Youâre sniffling, your heart wound too tight.
This hurts. Itâs hurt for a while now, and youâre certain it wonât stop hurting. You canât keeping living like this.
âI donât think Iâll stop loving you, âToru,â you hiccup. You lean forward, cupping his cheeks in your hands. Your palms are warm against his icy skin. Then, you press tender kisses against his cheeks to erase the tears. âAnd thatâs why I have to leave. I have to. Youâre hurting me,â you mumble, chewing against the inside of your cheek.
A sob punches itself from his chest. Youâve never seen him cry beforeâyour pretty boy that teases you incessantly, tugging at your hair and kissing you until youâre flustered. Spoils you like heâs got an endless chest of funds, which he probably does. Finds immense comfort in coming home to you. Heâs been adverse to vulnerability since the day you met him, and you can sympathize why. When it gets dark for him, itâs really dark.
His arms, bulky and heavy, ensnare around your waist as he buries his face into your chest. He doesnât stop crying for a while, your name on the tip of his tongue, the fabric of your chemise damp.
âStay with me tonight,â he mutters after a while, fingers curling against you. âPlease.â
You nod quickly, wiping your tear-streaked cheeks with the back of your hand. âOkay.â
You already feel selfish enough, staring at your packed bags tucked in the dark corner, ready to head out in the morning.
If he needs you for one last night, youâll give him that. Even if itâs the last thing youâll give him.
pairing: Frank Langdon x reader ; Dennis Whitaker x reader (not at the same time)
word count: 2.1 k
warnings: ANGST, fluff, love triangle???? This is more of a Frank Langdon story!! Mention of rehab (implied addiction - Frank), mention of divorce, kissing, jealousy, cursing, mention of falling asleep together on the same bed
a/n: I felt angsty, and typed it out. I really wanted to explore this dynamic, inspired by Frank and Dennis this season. The ending is sort of open ended (I may do a part 2đ)
Let me know if I should add more warnings
Feedback, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Thanks!
NO SMUT but Minors DNI
â~â~â~â~â
After coming back from rehab, Frank was still finding his way back to his old colleagues, some were more accepting, some well-
When Perlah and Princess planned a birthday party for Dana, and everyone pitched in, even if Frank was not in the mood for socialising he agreed, he needed to feel⊠like he belonged there.
They all head out together after work. Dana truly was the glue holding everyone together and Frank felt happy being there to celebrate her.
Mel and Frank were chatting about her sister Becca when Whitaker arrived.
âSorry sorry, weâre here now, hey,â Dennis informed and hugged Dana, a little curiosity peeked in Frank as he turned his head to see who âweâ were. And curiosity shredded the cat in pieces when- he saw you.
Dennis Whitaker was the star kid of the ED currently, and Frank? No longer the golden boy for sure. From Robbyâs support and praises, to colleagues trusting him more, Dennis had everything which he once did. But the final straw? You.
An old face from the past, his past. Before he realised what he was doing he excused himself, got up and walked to you.
You stood beside Dennis, smiling, wished Dana a happy birthday, as Dennis introduced you to her and everyone as his-
âGirlfriend?â Frankâs voice made you turn your head. Frank Langdon. Your Frank- no no not yours, notâŠ
There was a split second of awkwardness when Dana cleared her throat and patted Langdonâs shoulder
âFrank-â you open your mouth as Dennis looks at you.
âYou guys know each other?â he asked
Frank and you look at one another.
Frank Langdon, your neighbour once upon a time, Frank Langdon, your first love, Frank Langdon, who left.
When he visited home after finishing med school to celebrate, during a summer night when his parents hosted dinner for few neighbours, you were awkwardly sitting on one of the lawn chairs when he had walked up to you.
âYou still donât like to socialise?â He asked casually, didnât look at you yet. You look up at him, there he was, your crush, the charming Frank Langdon. He never really talked to you much before as kids so you were surprised to see him interact with you, and also that he noticed you didnât like to socialise much.
âNot reallyâ you chuckle, thatâs when he looked at you and boy were you in trouble?
He was more charming than you remember and Med school definitely gave him more confidence and maybe a slight air of arrogance too which you didnât want to acknowledge, too focused on how soft his hair looked.
That night, Frank and you talk, laugh, get to know one another better, your silly crush was more in that moment, he was sweet really, underneath that confidence, he was still that nerdy neighbour you remembered.
âYou still around? Iâll be here a couple of weeksâ Frank asked and you nod, hopefully not too quickly, but his smirk suggested otherwise.
âHow about we go to the theatre sometime hm? Watch a movie, grab something to eat later?â
âSounds great, Iâm in.â
You exchanged numbers. He suggested a movie, you fixed a date and time and there you were. Frank picked you up in his car as you drove to the local theatre nearby.
âIâve heard good stuff about this movie, oh do you know those arenât special affects, itâs real, and also I heard many of the actors performed their own stuntsâ As you needed out about the movie, Frank had one hand on the steering wheel, his gaze flicked between the road and you. A soft smile on his face.
You ignored when your hands brushed together reaching for popcorn, sitting beside each other. The little shiver it sent down your body and you swear you heard a faint chuckle from Frank amidst the loud theatre speakers.
The two of bantered and argued playfully about character arcs, tucked away from the world in a corner booth of the local diner, when he offered you fries from his plate.
âSharing?â you ask
âPeace offeringâ Frank smiled
Frank dropped you home like gentleman and opened the car door as you stepped out.
âHad funâ you told him
âSame hereâ Frank leaned in a little, very gently brushed your cheek. But took a step back just in time, looked away.
âI uh- do you wanna do that sometime again? Maybe we can have ice creamâ He suggested, felt like a topic change really, topic being him leaning in to-
âSure yeah, Iâd like thatâ You smile politely, pushing away the pang of disappointment, maybe you read into too much.
One night when you were hanging out in your room, you mentioned about going to New York
âWow, the big apple? Youâll do goodâ Frank looked at you
âThanks, I hope so. And you?â
âMaybe something with Emergency Medicineâ
âThat sounds intenseâŠâ you trailed off but smile âYouâll fit right in, Frankâ And in that moment Frank finally took the step he wanted to the first time you went out. He kissed you, slowly, softly, before touching his forehead with yours.
âMaybe I can visit you in New York sometimeâ He murmured
âYeah?â You asked with hope. Frank didnât use his words, kissed you again instead, deeper this time, rough, his fingers trailed on the back of your neck, used it as leverage to pull you closer.
Summer was gone, and so was Frank. He was busy finding his path in the world of medicine. You had messaged him from New York, even sent a picture his way but there was no reply. But then he was busy of course. Or that was what you had told yourself for a couple of weeks, that turned into months, finally years. You never heard back from Frank.
So when Dennis asked if you knew each other. That man in front of you? Tired, dark circles under eyes, hair a little greasy. You didnât know him, not anymore.
âYeah-â Frank tried to say firmly but came out shakier than he expected. Dana gave him a quick look before she focused back on Dennis.
âSo howâd you two meet?â
âDonât tell Trinity but Iâm glad she had bullied me to join a dating appâ Dennis chuckled and looked at you. You smiled back at him.
âReally? A dating app?â Frank asked pointedly, his gaze on Dennis borderline scary.
âYes.â You answer this time. Formal, polite but firm.
Dennis took you aside to introduce you to Mel, Victoria and Samira excited, you had met Trinity already. All while Frankâs gaze was on you. He wanted to- scratch that, needed to talk to you. But how could he after-
âSo how long has this been going on for?â Victoria asked, her eyes sparkled
âWent on our first date four months agoâ You told her as Dennis blushed, oh he was so sweet. Frank overheard (eavesdropped).
âGirlfriend in four months, give me a breakâ Frank murmured to himself, jaw clenched. Robby who had just arrived saw Langdon brooding from the side. They were still not on the best terms after everything, Robby gave in anyway.
âWhy the long face?â He asked and looked at Frankâs direction
âAh, is that the girl Whitakerâs been chatting about a bit too much in my ER?â Robby chuckled but Frank didnât find it funny. Not one bit. Robby didnât comment.
âLangdon-â
âWhy? Why him?â Frank said more to himself. And he really wanted to know, why Dennis Whitaker out of everyone. Why was Dennis taking everything? How? Or was Whitaker just an easy target to just for Frank to stop blaming himself and blame someone else for a second. What a cruel turn of events.
You came out of the restroom only to stumble into a wall, no wait, a person, Frank Langdon.
âCan we⊠please can we talk?â Frank could hardly look into your eyes. You didnât answer, instead attempted to walk away. Frank gently held your hand.
âDonât touch meâ Frank let go.
âSorry⊠just- please can we talkâ
âWhy?â You ask âWhy now?â
âI donât know, I never thought Iâll see you again-â
âOh I think you mean âI never wanted to see you againââ
âThatâs not⊠Iâm sorryâ
âI donât give a fuckâ you turned away and walked away. Went back to where Dennis and his friends were. Frank kept standing there.
Frank had messed up a lot of things in his life. And to think his life could have been completely different if only Frank didnât get cold feet, if only he had replied, if only he didnât get scared of those intense feelings and simply reached back to you.
Maybe that could have been his life, he thought to himself as you wrapped one hand around Whitakerâs arm.
âIâm not trying to intrude but I did sense weird vibe between you and Dr. Langdonâ Dennis observed rather than questioning. He was driving you back to your apartment. The one you had moved into not very long ago, six months, almost seven, after moving to Pittsburgh.
âYou okay?â Dennis asked, out of concern not doubt. You nod. But didnât really comment on the Langdon thing and Dennis didnât push. When he dropped you, you asked him to come upstairs.
That night, lying on your bed, Dennis hugged you a little tighter, pulled you closer against his bare chest, you smiled. Gradually Dennis had drifted off but you were wide awake. You untangled from his gentle embrace, kissed his forehead and went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.
You picked up your phone to double check if it was charging properly when it buzzed.
Inbox. New Message. Frank.
Should have replied long time back, should have not screwed this up royally. Iâm sorry, I know that doesnât cover it but I really am. So much has happened but none of them are excuses. Iâm trying this thing where Iâm making amends⊠Well thatâs a whole story really, I wonât drag this too much. I donât even know if you still have this number. But in case you do. In case you even read this. Iâm really sorry. I was scared back then, didnât know how to balance my upcoming career and my feelings. One thing lead to another and I tried to pushed those feelings away. Wanted to prioritise my work. I thought I was doing the practical thing, wasnât ready⊠I saw that picture by the way, of you in New York. Smiled to myself seeing that, but couldnât reply, didnât want to get involved. Fuck, Iâm sorry! If you never want to talk to me Iâll understand. But if you do, please give me a proper chance to apologise. Take care.
You planned on ignoring the message. Why bother? Frank didnât reply back then. Frank didnât bother to. You left him on read. Got back on the bed, covered yourself. Dennis felt warm and comfortable beside you. The phone buzzed again and you were about to put it on silent when against your better judgement you opened the new message. An image.
It was Frankâs working ID after Med School. Another text followed.
I had gotten my ID the same day you sent that picture. This would have been my reply. I got into Emergency Medicine. I wanted to send this, but made the mistake of staring too long at the picture. The heavy weight of becoming the best doctor. Wanted to prove myself. Only if I knew about the life ahead.
You had almost hit block contact. Frank on the other side of the screen kept his phone away. Of course he didnât expect a reply. Stared up at his ceiling, wanted to curse at the world. Wanted to scream-
Buzz
Inbox. New Message.
I donât owe you anything. Not even a chance to explain, you took a decision, and thatâs that.
Frank bit his lip harshly, he fucked up. He was typing a reply when another text popped up.
You looked like shit today. And nothing like the guy in the ID anymore.
Frank typed back quickly
Iâm not that guy
This had to stop. You had no intention of texting another man while lying beside your boyfriend. One last message.
Iâm happy Frank, I hope you can be too.
With that you blocked his number. And turned to face Dennis.
Frank closed the phone when his messages werenât delivered anymore. Closed his eyes and went back to that night in the theatre. When even the engaging movie didnât intrigue him as much as your bright smile did. Frank fell asleep thinking about your smile. Perhaps dreams would treat him better than life did.
It's been a long ten months for Frank Langdon. Rehab, endless meetings to prove he's fit for his job, and losing you.
It's his own fault. He knows that. He couldn't handle the pressure of his entire life going to shit, and combusted, destroying your life in the process. If things had gone to plan, the two of you would've been married by now. Instead, you're near strangers, and Frank doesn't know how long he can watch you date a guy that absolutely doesn't deserve you.
Until you turn up on his doorstep, with nowhere else to go after being kicked out by your ex.
And so, Frank Langdon's second chance begins.
warnings: 18+, mdni! this fic will feature medical gore, a little bit of violence, and explicit sex. more detailed warnings on each chapter individually
pairing - dennis âhuckleberryâ whitaker x reader
word count - 6.9k (nice)
summary - dennis' blue eyes are the calm in your storm.
cw - workplace assault, choking, men (derogatory)
a/n - lowk wanna do something like this for all the pitt babes. already have one kind of planned for robby. happy pitt finaleđ„Č
---
You remembered too well what it was like to be new. Not just new, but new in one of the most stressful, fast-paced places in the world. The pitt, any ER really, was enough to send anyone spiraling.
There were a few days from your life that were ingrained into your memory, whether you wanted them to be or not. Senses heightened, vivid imagery, things you played over in your mind late at night when you couldnât sleep. Some were hard. Like the day your grandmother died, or the day of the PittFest shooting. Others were less so, like your eighteenth birthday your brother flew in for from overseas, or the day you adopted your cat, or your graduation from nursing school.
Your first day working at the pitt was hard. Hard to live through, and hard to relive even years later. You were a new grad RN, fresh-faced and naive, ready to help patients and make the world a better place. However, you were also a twenty-two year old with no real experience and crippling anxiety.
That day, two different doctors yelled at you for accidentally feeding an NPO patient before surgery, you managed to lock yourself into the clean supply closet to be rescued by an agitated resident, and a patient projectile vomited into your face.
Worst of all? Dana, the charge nurse you had so quickly come to admire, looked into your teary eyes and told you to pull yourself together.
You cried all the way home and well into the night, sure that you were the most incompetent, ridiculously idiotic nurse on the planet, and everyone at your new job knew it.
You couldnât help but freeze sometimes. You forgot common medication side effects, took three pricks to get a blood sample, and rushed off to get the ârealâ nurse for things you knew you knew. The weight of decision making and pure responsibility clouded your judgement and had you running for mommy.
The next few days were much better. You found that taking a deep breath and listing the facts helped you focus up. Your first patient that day was a grumpy old man who started yelling when you missed his vein. Apparently, he wanted a doctor to do it, not some stupid kid with no real degree. Shaken and embarrassed, you went to get Dana.Â
Stupid. Unqualified. Unteachable. Failure.
To your surprise, Dana didnât say any of those things. She didnât scoff, storm ahead, or chide you. Instead, she took your shoulders and fixed you with a hard stare.
âHeâs a scared, most likely bigoted old man who doesnât know his ass from his elbow,â she had said. âYouâve got four years of school under your belt. Youâve done this before. Donât let him talk you into your own head, kid.â
Before you walked back into the room, youâd stopped. Your head was still spinning. You glanced around, searching for solid ground. It was an old exercise, one your drama teacher from middle school used to suggest for stage fright. Pick a color, and find it around the room.
You took a long breath. Green. Green pattern on the privacy curtain. Green shoelaces. Green water bottle at the nurseâs station.
When you opened the door, it was just how you left it. The patient was still yelling, and you still hadnât found a vein, and you still had a full bag of normal saline to hang. But your heart was calm, and you got that IV in, gave him the call bell, and wished the grump a good day.
It wasnât magically fixed after that, you still had plenty of difficult days, days that left you wondering where you really belonged. But every day got just a bit easier to manage, and within the year, you were unrecognizable. Cool, collected, and willing to ask questions.
You still remembered your first day as a hard day, and it was. But it was nice to look back on how far youâd come.
The day you met Dennis was a good day. Well, the first half, anyways. He was big eyed and shaking, eager to make a good impression but without an ounce of self confidence. He reminded you of you, on your first day all those years ago.
You took him under your wing, so to speak, giving him all the pearls of wisdom you could offer. He didnât believe you when you told him about your first experiences, on about his third pair of scrubs. When the shooting was over, and you finally clocked out hours after you were meant to, you gave him your number. You told him to call you if he needed anything, and he did.
So, yeah, maybe your intentions werenât purely professional, but to be fair, neither were his. At first the questions were understandable, like âwhatâs the hospital policy on line patency?â and âhow do I get on Princess and Perlahâs good side so they donât talk shit about me?â But after a while, it became obvious he was using every excuse in the book just to hear your voice or have your name light up his phone with a text.
âWhat type of coffee do you keep in the breakroom?â
âShould I call in if I have a fever?â
âIâm studying and I just wanted to double check â Tylenol and acetaminophen are the same thing, right?â
You humored him, albeit teasingly. And eventually he plucked up the courage to ask you out⊠albeit, over the phone.
âIâm having some trouble with telemetry strips again⊠maybe, if you were free, we could meet for coffee, and you could quiz me? If you wanted to.â
There wasnât much talk of heart rhythms at that cafe. Youâd ended the night with a kiss, and the rest was history. Almost a year later you were still together. Everybody knew, but nobody knew. You never talked about it at work, never let yourselves get touchy, never even called him Dennis, although there was a certain softness in the way you said Huckleberry that Trinity definitely didnât share.
You were practically âoutâ with just one little exception. Management. You were sure fraternization amongst coworkers was frowned upon, no matter how many times youâd seen it with your own eyes. Trinity and Garcia, Robby and Heather, Robby and Noelle, you were sure something was going on with Robby and Abbot⊠really it was mostly Robby, the slut. But Dennis had only just been offered residency, and you loved your job. You didnât want to risk it.
âI just think the longer we wait, the worse itâs gonna be if they find out,â said Dennis anxiously, one cold morning.
âWhy would they find out?â you asked, pouring hot coffee into two travel mugs. âUnless someone ratted us out, which they wonât, or unless we were caught fooling around at work, which we have never and will never do.â
Dennis sighed, wringing his hands together.
âI just think, maybe, it makes more sense to appropriately document it with HR,â he said.
âGod, youâre such a square,â you teased, and he rolled his eyes.
âItâs not like weâd be the first ones!â he said. âLook â I donât want to pressure you into anything, but youâve told me before that youâre never planning on leaving PTMC, right?â
âProbably not,â you agreed, pouring a hefty serving of cinnamon creamer into Dennisâ coffee.
âRight, well, Iâm gonna do everything I can to get an attending position there, too,â he said. âAnd if weâre never leaving, andâŠâ he got suddenly shy, eyes diverted to the kitchen floor. âI mean, Iâd like to stay together, for as long as possible, soâŠâ
You smirked, putting down the creamer and wrapping your arms delicately around your boyfriendâs pinkening face.
âAw, Denny,â you said. âWeâre not breaking up. Not if I can help it.â
He cleared his throat, not bothering to hide his timid smile.
âWell, good,â he said, hands brushing your waist. âSo, if we arenât breaking up, and we arenât leaving, then weâll have to do this at some point. I mean, what happens when we get married?â
Dennis knew heâd made a mistake the second that shit-eating grin took over your face. He stuttered, desperate to backtrack, but it was far too late, and who was he kidding? He meant it.
âI â if we do, if â or â I mean ââ
His face was bright red. You were giddy.
âYou love me,â you sing-songed, too happy over his discomfort. âYou think Iâm gorgeous, you think Iâm sexy, you wanna marry me!â
âAlright, alright,â he said through your giggles, glancing anxiously at Trinityâs closed door. âYes, I love you, very much, okay?â
âThatâs so embarrassing,â you said, poking his tummy and making him yelp. âI canât believe you have a crush on me, ew!â
Still, you pressed a lingering kiss on his lips. He pulled you closer by the hips, smiling into you and your familiar taste.
âBy the way,â he said, when you moved your lips to his cheeks, âI got a reservation at Golden Gai for Saturday.â
You hummed happily, brushing some stray curls away from his face.
âMm, putting that resident money to good use, huh?â you said.
âFinally,â he sighed, touching his nose to yours. âJust wait until Iâm an attending, youâll never pay for anything ever again.â
âI donât know,â you said lovingly. âI think weâll have to split some wedding costs. Realistically, I mean.â
Dennis could only nuzzle into your neck, face burning once again. You took a sip of coffee over his shoulder and checked your watch. Just as you realized the time, Trinityâs door opened and she came bustling out into the kitchen. The look and noise of disgust was instant, as she saw the two of you tangled up together. Dennis didnât raise his head, just flipped her the bird.
âYouâre roommate works nights, why canât you go be gross at your place?â she whined as Dennis picked up his own coffee. âThis is a common area, you know.â
âBecause my cat freaks out if we shut the bedroom door, and he canât see us have sex, thatâs sick,â you said, chuckling as Dennis inhaled his sip of coffee.
âUm, ew?â said Trinity, rubbing her eyes. âI didnât need to know that.â
âOh please, you and Garcia rattle the walls,â you laughed, opening the fridge. âAnd I bet she never gives Dennis an apologetic Monster, does she?â
All transgressions were instantly forgotten as you tossed the can to Trinity. Her face cleared, shoulders relaxed, as she cracked it open.
âWell, maybe you should stay over all the time?â
âI thought so.â
***
âIâm starving.â
You collapsed next to Dennis, head in crossed arms. Wordlessly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a granola bar. You took it gratefully.
After a few bites, you found words.
âHey, youâre free tomorrow at three, right?â you asked.
âNo, weâre working,â he said.
âRight,â you nodded. âBut you think youâll be able to find a window? Because I told HR weâd be there by then.â
He shot you a look.
âYou made a meeting with HR?â he asked. âYou meanâŠâ
âThatâs right,â you said, poking his cheek. âFor our anniversary, I got you a frightfully uncomfortable conversation with Linda from HR to talk about our intimate relationship. Happy one year!â
He laughed. He wanted to hug you, kiss you, tell you he loved you, but that would definitely be counterproductive. Especially if you were going to try and convince management that you had only just started dating. Instead, he gave you a high five.
âThank you,â he said.
And as you were called away to south six, you realized that today would probably go into your good-day book. It was funny, how you could wake up on a random Tuesday, not knowing it would be a day to remember. Not knowing it would be a day, no matter your desire, that you would never be able to forget.
âOkay,â you said absently as you entered, eyes focused on the tablet in hand as you pulled the curtain shut behind you. âMr. Hammarath?â
There was a grunt in response. You placed the pad on the cart and grabbed some gloves.
Mr. Hammarath was fifty-four, tall, and beefy. He had rough looking hands, like he worked with them, and mean eyes that followed your every move. You knew almost instantly that he wasnât about to be easy, but you shook it off. Part of the job was offering the patient the benefit of the doubt.
âHow are you feeling today, sir?â you asked.
âYou know Iâve been waiting for seven goddamn hours?â he grumbled.
âIâm very sorry about that,â you said, giving your best apologetic smile. âI see youâve got some chest pain. When did that start?â
âI already told all this to that other nurse,â he snapped. âWhen am I gonna get to see a fucking doctor?â
You took a deep breath.
âOnce I run just a few more tests,â you said. âHas the pain changed at all since ââ
âIâve had enough fucking tests!â he said, growing more and more irritated by the second. âCanât anyone tell me whatâs wrong with me?â
You locked your eyes on your watch. It was gold. The face was pink. Youâd had it since high school. It hadnât failed you yet.
âNot without these tests, Iâm afraid,â you said, rounding the bed to set up the monitor. âIâm gonna hook you up to an ECG, that will tell us about your heart rhythm. Then ââ
âDonât you think I know what a fucking ECG is?â he said. âIâve had enough of âem waiting around here.â
You ignored the outburst, just grabbed the pulse ox and held it out to him.
âIf you could just put your finger in this ââ
He snatched it from you before you could finish your sentence, jamming it onto his own finger. You were right, his hands were rough. He was probably strong, too. You glanced nervously at the sliver of glass you could see behind the curtain, but continued on with blood pressure. He stuck out his arm so quickly, his fist came within inches of your face.
You jerked back a bit, pulling the cuff tightly around his arm. You had dealt with more difficult patients than this. All you needed to do was diagnose this man with GERD and send him on his merry way.
A part of you wished Dennis was observing, though. You tried to imagine his calming presence in the tense room as you finished blood pressure, and wrapped up the rest of the vitals. You were happy to be done.
âBlood pressure looks good,â you said, tapping at his chart. âHeart rate, good, spO2 97%. So far you seem stable.â
âOh, Iâm fucking stable?â
You scratched your nails along the bottom of the tablet. The tablet was black, just like the monitor.
âSo far,â you said evenly, grabbing a needle and an alcohol wipe. âBut I need to grab some blood from you ââ
The reaction was instant.
âNo, no, no,â said Mr. Hammarath, jumping to his feet. âYouâve taken enough.â
On his feet, he towered over you, breathing like an angry rhinoceros and red in the face. You forced yourself to keep your feet planted where they were.
âIf you have been having an undetected heart attack,â you started to explain slowly, lowering the needle, âitâs possible certain proteins would only show up late ââ
âI donât want anymore fucking needles,â he growled. âYou keep that away from me.â
âSir,â you said calmly. âYou do not have to consent to any tests you donât want. However, ââ
It happened in a split second. You turned to place the capped needle onto the cart. Perhaps he misconstrued it as an advancement towards him, maybe he was just angry and looking to take it out on someone. Whatever the reason, you suddenly found yourself up against the cold wall with a crack, his large forearm pressed across your throat. Your hand, needle now long lost, he had in an ironclad grip, squeezing hard, certainly hard enough to cut off circulation.
Was this real? Ten minutes ago you were talking to Dennis. Now, you were staring into the spitting, fuming face of a man, a man who you knew nothing about but that he wanted to hurt you, and he was. You didnât struggle like you normally would, thrashing and pulling until you reached freedom. You were frozen.
Your watering eyes swiveled desperately around the room, but you were alone, and the curtain blocked you from view. You could hear your pulse in your ears, that turned into a gravely rushing sound. You were running out of oxygen.
You opened your mouth, willing a scream, a yell, anything, to call attention towards you. All you managed was a dry squeak. Blindly, your free hand jerked out, away from you and towards whatever it could find. Your shaking fingers made contact with something hard. Vision blurring now, you scrambled for the object, whatever it was, and slowly they began to close around something. It was hard and flat, an edge.
Darkness was pressing in around you, pulling you from the room. With your last ounce of strength, you yanked your hand back towards you, with the intent of causing a commotion. If it worked, though, you didnât know. Your head was filled with static. Your eyes were fixed upwards, away from the dark, angry irises glaring down at you.
The ceiling was white.
In the distance, you heard yelling. Or was that your imagination?
The ceiling was white.
Dennisâ eyes were blue.
***Â
Back home in Nebraska, if he could even call it âhomeâ anymore, Dennis had no one. He loved his parents and his brothers the way any good kid would. He wouldnât call them close, and he definitely wouldnât say he regretted leaving.
Especially not after meeting you.
He had been nervous for his first day at the pitt, but those nerves were dwarfed by the ones you brought out. By the grace of god, his hopeless fumfering seemed to endear you somehow, and he spent the next two months trying to work up the nerve to ask you out on a proper date.
Oh, how many nights had he spent writing and rewriting texts, desperately trying to sound aloof, then devoted, then cool, only to scrap the whole thing? Agonizing and âsimpingâ, as she called it, to Trinity became an evening ritual. He hoped youâd never find out, but she was the reason he managed to send that text he did, the one that started it all.
âCall her tonight, ask her out, or Iâm setting her up with hot Jordan from my gym.â
He did, and you said yes, and the last year had been the happiest of his life. Never before, even with his awkward, month-long girlfriend in a high school of fifty kids, had he had someone who he loved so fiercely, and who loved him back just the same. Late nights spent together with you tucked under his arm, he couldnât help but marvel at it as he watched you breath calmly in your sleep. How did he manage to have you, blazing, boisterous, quick-whitted you?
It was this thought that clouded his mind as he watched you head off to south six at Langdonâs request. Chest pain in fifties, been waiting for seven hours, troponins negative, strips clear. Just get some blood, vitals, ECG, you know the drill. You did. There were at least ten patients with chest pain admitted every shift, you could do the work up in your sleep. So, Whitaker didnât think anything of it.
Until he heard the crash.
At first, he assumed it was a clumsy med student, or maybe someone had passed out again. Then came the yell. It was Emmaâs voice, the new nurse, and she sounded terrified.
âHula hoop!â she bellowed.
Even as Dennis jumped up to help, you were the last thing on his mind. He knew the statistic and had seen assaults happen many times before. But in no scenario, no wildest imagination, could he ever have conjured up the terrifying image he saw as he rounded the corner.
There was Emma, looking pale, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Just ahead of Dennis, Robby and Trinity dashed into the fray. Behind him, he could hear Ahmad rushing to the scene.
It was you. He caught just a glimpse of you pinned up against the wall, before your attacker was being yanked back. You slumped to the floor, unmoving, but your wrist was still trapped in the manâs grip. It took this, this link unbroken yet, for Dennis to take action. Trinity, Emma, Robby, and Ahmad were all struggling to keep hold of the massive man, who towered above even the attendingâs head.
With a fire foreign to him, Dennis jumped atop Mr. Hammarathâs arm, prying at his fingers until they released you. He felt very hot, steaming, even as the man was pulled onto his back. Dana appeared with a syringe, but everything after that was unseen and unheard by Dennis. With the threat neutralized, his attention snapped onto you.
Careful of your neck, which had no bruises but already looked flushed and irritated, he cradled your head in his hands. You were out cold, not even stirring as he turned you onto your side to inspect the wet spot on the back of your head. His shaking hand came away red.
Staying coolheaded in a crisis was an essential skill to have as a doctor, but right now, Dennis felt sick to his stomach, and a little lost. He attempted to check your pulse, radial, then when he couldnât keep his hand steady enough, carotid.
âI canât ââ he breathed, pressing under your jaw. âI â I canât ââ
All he could feel was his own pulse, thrumming painfully through every artery, every last inch of his body. He couldnât tear his eyes away from your deceptively peaceful looking expression, now with a smudge of your own blood adorning the skin.
âEmma!â barked Dana, helping tie restraints. âGo assess!â
Emma quickly broke away from the group to join Dennis on the other side of you. Trinity followed her without a word.
Right, thought Dennis vaguely, as Trinity took out her stethoscope and pressed the diaphragm to your throat, airway.
âClear,â said Trinity stonily, while Emma examined your wound. âNo stridor, airway secure for now.â
âThe head might need a stitch or two,â said Emma, holding a piece of gauze firmly in place. âBut itâs just a laceration.â
Dennis thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he should move, give them full access. But he didnât budge from your side, and they didnât ask him to. They worked around him, speeding through.
âPupils good, PERRL.â
âReaction to pain.â
âCan you hear me? Open your eyes.â
Dennis watched intently, fixed onto your face. As Trinity tapped your cheeks hard, your eyelids began to flutter. He held his breath, bringing your hand to his chest. When they finally slid open, he could see the sclera was pink, in great contrast to your irises he knew so well.
As soon as they registered the light, they were falling closed again, scrunching in that familiar way he saw when you were waking up too early. But now, there was no accompanying dramatic whine, or grumpy smile, or arm reaching for him. The groan pulled from your throat was raw and broken, and immediately had you wincing.
Someone handed Trinity a cloth, Robby maybe, and she slid it carefully under your head. Dennis was scared to move, scared to speak, clutching your hand too tightly. He eased his grip as much as he could stand to. Trinity nudged him.
âTalk to her,â she said, watching him carefully.
Slowly and cautiously, he brushed a hand gently across your forehead. He could hear your breathing start to pick up.
âSweetheart?â he said, hushed, swallowing thickly. âCan you hear me?â
Your eyelids fluttered again, but you couldnât seem to keep them open. Someone clicked the overhead lights off. Your lips parted and formed a word, but there was no sound.
âWhatâs that?â he asked. âTry again.â
With difficulty, it seemed, you swallowed, then opened your mouth again. The sound that came out was barely a whisper, but he watched your lips move closely.
âArm?â he asked.
He shifted his attention briefly from his face to your right arm, but when he tried to lift it, you hissed in pain. He quickly lowered it.
âWe need to get her up,â said Robby. âCan someone get a board ââ
Before anyone could make a move, Dennis slid his arms carefully under your shoulders and knees and lifted you easily onto a bed. Not the one your patient had sat on â the sanitation department would need to strip the whole room. Dennis tried very hard not to look at the spots of blood spattered on the wall as he helped wheel you out.
He placed a hand over your eyes as you fell under the lights of the corridor. People stared as they passed. Kiara and the nurses shook their heads darkly, muttering to one another. He was glad to stow you safely in a dim room with the curtains drawn, hopefully as far away as possible from the one who did this to you.
As Trinity got out the suture kit, Dennisâs fear began to grow into anger. He wasnât violent, never had been. He was the boy who got teased for crying when the pigs got slaughtered, and who would take the time to trap and release spiders rather than squish them.
But that was before he had ever experienced life with you, and worse, thought for a short but very real moment that he was going to lose it. Life with no more you wasnât life worth living.
As Trinity gloved up, he stopped her.
âIâll do it,â he said coldly.
She raised a brow.
âDonât worry about it, man, I got it,â she said.
He rolled the table away as she reached for a swab. His eyes had never looked so hard.
âIâm going to do it,â he said, grabbing his own pair of gloves.
âWhitaker,â said Robby firmly. âYou know we canât work on family members.â
He kept his head down, arranging his supplies.
âWeâre not related.â
Robby crossed his arms, eyes filled with pity.
âGirlfriends. Partners.â
âWeâre not technically dating, either,â he said sharply. âNot according to the hospital.â
Robby placed a hand on Dennisâ chest, not too pushy but not soft, either. Dennis shoved it away. Trinity looked on with worry.
âDr. Santos will do the sutures,â said Robby, with an air of finality. âIf you canât handle that, then you need to step outside.â
âAre you kidding me?â he said, getting heated. âYou think Iâm leaving her, after she got attacked by a lunatic?â
âYou donât have to if you just calm down,â said Robby evenly. âYou know sheâs in good hands.â
âDennis.â
The sound was so quiet they almost missed it. Dennis leapt to the other side of the bed, falling to his knees at your side. Your eyes were open just a slit and took a second to focus on his anxious face. Beyond his field of focus, Robby motioned at Trinity to start working.
âHi,â he breathed. âHi. Youâre okay. Youâre okay.â
You flinched as the cold antiseptic was brushed against your wound, and he grabbed your good hand. The other had been put into a splint while they waited for x-ray.
âTiny pinch,â said Trinity.
Your face, already tightened with discomfort, barely changed as she inserted the lidocaine needle. Your eyes stayed locked onto his, however drowsy.
You muttered something he didnât catch.
âWhat, honey?â
âBlue,â was all you said.
His heart clenched in a terrible ache at the sound of your voice, rough and scratchy and forced. It would likely only get worse as your vocal cords continued to swell.
âBlue?â he said, blinking. âOkay. Blue.â
He looked around the room, familiar with your ritual by now. It had saved him more than a few times as well, brought him back from the edge of panic.
âBlue⊠blueâŠâ
The room was dim, the only light coming from the cracks in the curtain and the lamp Trinity used to see her work. He rubbed your hand soothingly as he searched.
âRobbyâs hoodie,â he said. âRobbyâs hoodie is blue. And Trinâs shirt, thatâs blue. AndâŠâ
He raked the space over with his eyes, desperate. The fact was, these clinical rooms were awfully barren.
âThe soap,â he said. âAnd â and the caps on the collection tubes.â
He held one up, but you didnât look at it. Your eyes were still fixed onto his.
âBlue,â you said again. âYouâre blue.â
He took a deep, trembling breath and leaned his forehead against your hand.
Just then, the door opened, and in walked Gloria. She didnât look well, obviously nervous and a little frantic.
âI just heard,â she said in a low voice to Robby, who ushered her into a corner of the room. âWhat happened?â
âWeâre not sure,â he said heavily. âWe havenât been able to ask her, she was knocked unconscious and seems a little hazy. Definitely a concussion, hard to grade since we donât know if the LOC was from the blow or the choking.â
âJesus,â said Gloria, rubbing her forehead. âThe patient?â
âBehavioral two,â said Robby. âWe had to administer a sedative to get him to calm down. No history of mental illness in his chart, no meds, no indication that he wasnât acting in full awareness and intent.â
âPolice?â
âShould be here soon.â
Dennis watched you as they spoke, wondering how much you were processing, and how much was lost in the daze. Trinity finished off the suture by clipping your hair up away from the injury at the base of your skull. He could feel her eyes on him as she cleaned up.
The door opened again, and Emma entered with some pills and a cup of water. As she got closer, Dennis noticed her eyes were rimmed a little red, as though sheâd been crying. Poor Emma, he thought. You had become something of a mentor to her, when Dana wasnât working, and he knew you took a liking to the sweet girl, and she to you.
Your eyes, which had closed again, were opened as Emma raised the head of the bed, just enough to facilitate swallowing.
âOne thousand Ibuprofen,â she said, holding them up to your opened mouth, and following with the straw.
It was painful to watch. Your hand flew to your swollen neck as you swallowed, eyes squeezed as you forced the pill to pass. Your heart rate on the monitor spiked as you tried to breath your way through it, and let your head fall back onto the shitty hospital pillow.
Dennis stroked your knee, ignoring Gloriaâs presence in the room. You rolled over onto your back, wincing all the way. First your shoulders, which were surely bruised, then your head, then your wrist. Trinity quickly grabbed an extra pillow to lift the braced arm.
âThank you,â you croaked.
Emma nodded, looking tearful again.
âOf course,â she said, brushing a hair out of your face. âHow are you feeling?â
You seemed to struggle to find the words.
âIâŠâ you stopped to rub your throat. âI donât know. Dizzy.â
âHopefully the meds will help,â said Robby. âWhereâs the pain?â
âThroat,â you said. âHead. Back. Arm. Everywhere.â
Trinity stepped forward and asked you to follow the pen. As she moved it, it was clear that your eyes were having trouble tracking the object. They jerked ahead, and in the end you had to close them, complaining of pain. Trinity pocketed the pen, looking somber.
âDefinite saccadic pursuit,â she said. âCT, MRI.â
You didnât seem to be listening. Dennis leaned forward, heart in his throat, and asked a dreaded question.
âDo you remember what happened?â
You stayed quiet for a long time, but he could tell by the way you moved your fingers, middle rubbing against thumb, that you were thinking.
âChest pain,â you rasped eventually. âHe was in⊠for chest pain.â
âMemory, good sign,â Trinity muttered to Robby, who nodded.
Dennis waited patiently for you to continue. It seemed to be hard work.
âHe was angry,â you said, and Dennis had to bite his lip. âBeen waiting⊠didnât like needles.âÂ
âIs that when he got violent?â asked Emma softly. âWhen you stuck him?â
You rubbed your eyes tiredly, looking distressed.
âNo, he â I didnât get that far,â you said.
Robby pulled Trinityâs stool forward and sat at your bedside. He looked slightly guilty as he continued questioning.
âDo you remember the attack itself?â he asked. âDid he hit you?â
Your heart rate was steadily climbing on the monitor in the corner of Dennisâ eye.
âI â I just remember his arm against my throat,â you said.
âAfter you sustained the laceration on your skull?â
âI â I ââ your lip began to quiver as you hid your face in your hand. âI donât know, Iâm sorry.â
âOkay, no more questions,â said Dennis harshly, taking the tissue Emma handed him and wiping your tears as they fell. âItâs okay, sweetheart. You donât have to talk anymore, okay?â
The door opened yet again, revealing a scrawny looking kid with a fearful expression.
âUm,â he said. âIâm here to take a patient to radiology?â
âThat was quick,â said Robby. âGood.â
The boy looked relieved, and rounded the bed to turn off the wheel brakes. Dennis began pulling up the side rails.
âIâm going with her,â he said.
Gloria looked at Robby with a hard-to-read expression, and he sighed, rubbing his neck.
âI think youâre more needed down here, Dr⊠Whitaker,â said Gloria, reading his badge.
âShe just got attacked!â said Dennis incredulously, and Robby cringed. âClearly security isnât capable of protecting the nurses, and if I have to do it, I will.â
âThe aggressor is well supervised and is no longer a threat,â said Gloria, calmly but with a bit of an edge.
âForgive me for not having much faith in this hospitalâs ability to protect its staff, when this is about the tenth incident Iâve personally witnessed in my one year of working here!â
âOkay!â said Robby raising his hands and stepping in between the supervisor and intern. âDr. Whitaker, you may accompany the patient to radiology. Gloria, you and I should continue this discussion elsewhere.â
It was certainly an awkward group that meandered out of North two. Emma was quick to find shelter at the nurseâs station, perhaps fearing another shouting match.
The x-ray was unclear, but the MRI confirmed a hairline fracture in your radius bone. That had Dennis suppressing the urge to storm down to BH two and take matters into his own hands, but luckily your brain looked fine. No bleeds, no skull fractures, no longterm damage, just a nasty grade two concussion and two weeks off work.
When you returned to the pitt, now able to sit upright for more than a minute without vertigo, and with sunglasses provided by Princess, there were two officers waiting for you, and you were ready to talk.
âIâm proud of you,â said Dana, helping Robby as he did your cast (âThe Chief Attending himself? Iâm honored.â). âThat assholeâs getting what he deserves. You did good, kid.â
âThanks Dana,â you said, voice still sore and rusty. âBut Iâm willing to bet this isnât his first rodeo.â
âWell, if anyoneâs gonna bury him, itâs you,â she said confidently. âI bet he thinks twice before pulling some shit like that again. You gave him a nasty bruise when that cart fell over.â
âDid I?â
There was a knock on the doorframe, and Jack stuck his head in.
âHey, Robby â woah, woah, woah, what the hell happened to you?â
âA man,â you said as he looked you over.
He clicked his tongue.
âItâs always a fucking man,â he said, sliding your sunglasses down your nose to peer into your eyes. âTell me youâre pressing charges, Slugger.â
âFuck yeah, Iâm pressing fucking charges,â you said. âFuck that guy!â
âHeâs still in BH two,â said Robby. âTalking to the cops. And in case you were wondering, it was GERD.â
You humphed, and Dennis rubbed your shoulders.
âWell, the night shiftâll provide special treatment,â said Jack with a mischievous grin. âHey, was this damaging enough to put you off of the day shift and join us?â
âStop trying to steal my nurses!â said Robby.
âOnly for a pay raise,â you said cheekily.
âI can get you that.â
âWell, in that case ââ
âNuh uh,â said Robby, giving Jackâs hip a good push in the direction of the door with his elbow. âOut!â
***
All things considered, it probably wasnât your worst day at the pitt. And, although you wouldnât voice it, you were quite happy to take a hit if it meant your fellow nurses wouldnât. Emma had already been assaulted once (talk about a hard first day), and you were prepared to go toe to toe with anyone who messed with that sweet baby angel again.
And speaking of sweet baby angels, you were realizing as you were helped into the car, Dennis wasnât about to leave you alone for at least two weeks. This was all good and well; you probably wouldnât want to leave him for long if the situation was reversed, and you never minded alone time with him. But you would have to figure out a way to convince him not to miss two weeks of work, and pay, just to watch over you.
âHow does your head feel?â he asked as he pulled out of the parking lot. âAny nausea? Dizziness?â
âItâs fine, just a little achey,â you said. âReally, Den. Iâll let you fuss all you want for the next week, but Iâm okay. Okay?â
He huffed, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
âHow can you say that?â he whispered. âDo you know what it was like in there? You lost consciousness, you were on the ground, you â you werenât moving.â
Your left hand smoothed over his curls.
âIâm sorry you had to see that,â you said.
âSee it?â he said incredulously. âIâm sorry you had to live it. I should have been there. I shouldâve noticed, or something, I mean you were ââ
You shushed him gently, scratching his scalp.
âDonât even go there, Den,â you said. âNo one could possibly have known what was gonna happen. And what are you gonna do, come with me to every room with every patient I ever see, just in case something bad happens again?â
He cocked his head, considering.
âNo,â you said quickly. âThat was not an invitation. Thatâs crazy, and no.â
âAlright,â he said sadly. âItâs just â I donât ever wanna see you like that again.â
You bit your cheek.
âHoney, you might,â you said. âItâs a hazard of the job. It shouldnât be, but it is. You want to do something, then talk to Gloria, talk to the board. Thatâs the only way anythingâll change.â
He took your hand from his curls and held it on his thigh, fingers intertwined.
âI just love you,â he said, eyes burning. âSo much. You know that, right?â
âI know,â you said with a smile. âI love you too.â
He lifted your hand to press a kiss to the back. You sat in comfortable silence for a while, then, as Dennis always did, he broke it with a blurted thought.
âWe should move in together.â
Your eyes widened.
âWhat?â
âI mean,â he said, chewing his lip. âIf you wanted to, Iâd â Iâd love that. To see you all the time. I know itâs kind of stupid, but⊠I donât want to miss another second, ya know?â
You could tell he was nervous by the pink of his cheeks, visible even in the dark car, but he kept his gaze straight and his hand steady.
âWell, if weâre already getting married,â you said with a smile, âI guess it only makes sense that we live together, huh?â
He started to smile.
âWait, are you joking?â
âIâm not joking Dennis.â
He turned to stare at you, moon-eyed. His smile was one of pure love and disbelief.
âSo⊠weâre gonna live together? Just you and me?â
âJust us,â you said. âAnd Jericho, of course.â
âCanât forget him,â Dennis muttered, still in awe.
Someone honked loudly from behind and jolted him into motion. He had to take his eyes off you, but he never removed his hand.
Jericho was all over you the minute Dennis helped you through the door, purring and howling, though you knew Dawn always fed him before she left. Dennis had to work around him to remove your coat and shoes, while you stroked his head and his ego.
You felt okay, a little too exhausted to fully comprehend the events of the day, but undeniably rattled. A patient had never knocked you out before, nor had been so easily able to overpower you, and as the memories returned more and more, you knew they would refuse to leave again. But with Dennis by your side? It certainly felt a little less daunting.
âYou know what?â you asked as Dennis ordered some pizza.
He didn't really know what love was. Wasn't raised with it. Never understood it.
But he loved you.
The pretty servant girl who would sneak into the dreary hallways in which he would guard his brother's room. With your bright eyes and sunny smile as you prattled about your day.
His first friend, is what he called you. One of the first people to look at him and see something more than a failed attempt. Who looked him in the eye and saw more than just his brother's six.
His first friend, his first love,
And his greatest failure.
Satoshi wished he had never held your hand, that day under the moonlight when he snuck you both into the garden.
Satoshi wished he never let you fall asleep in his arms, that night where your dreams frightened you and you crawled into his bed at the far side of the Gojo Estate.
Satoshi wished he never kissed you. Dazzled in the afternoon sun, by the pond in the gardens. Where two clumsy lovers tried to be a good first for one another.
But most of all, Satoshi wished he never said those three, stupid, dangerous words. Words that someone cursed by fate should never utter.
"I love you."
So soft to your ear you almost missed it. As he cradled you close to him. Snuggling atop the roof where you'd both sneak out to watch the stars.
Because maybe if he didn't, it'd have been easier.
Maybe if he didn't, you would still be here.
"Please."
It barely sounded like him. Barely sounded like anything equating to strength as his knees thumped against the hardwood floors of the Gojo Estate. Shoulders slumped. Blood dripping from the wound slashed over his eye. Pooling on his trembling hands that laid flat on the floor. Head bowed. White hair matted, maced with blood, hung over his bleeding eyes.
"Please, god please. Please don't hurt her. It was my mistake. I was. I wasâ"
"Distracted." The elder cut in, his harsh voice the final nail in your coffin.
"So distracted by a lowly servant that you neglected your duty."
He spat. Right onto Satoshi's shaking hands. His breath felt like glass. His lungs like thorns.
"Please don't hurt her," he begged. Oh, he begged. "It was my mistake. I was the one that failed. But she had nothing toâ"
"She's dead."
His shoulders froze.
His lungs followed.
Heart froze.
Mind froze.
His very soul.
Froze.
Scarlet streaked down his pale face as he slowly, shatteredly so, rose his head. His words lost.
"What?" His whisper feared.
The elders only shook their heads. Scoffed as they walked past the failed heir kneeling before them as if he were some lowly beggar.
"She couldn't survive her own punishment. Serves her right. Maybe now, you'll focus on your duty."
Satoshi's breath ragged. Shoulders slumped. He shut his eyes that felt like a thousand needles and tried to remember your smile, as he was left alone.
Stewing in the reality that he killed.
He. Killed you.
He loved you.
Satoshi loved you.
Loved you to your death. A stain he'd carry to his.
Warnings: graphic medical scenes, severe blood and injury, emotional trauma, intense hospital emergency, near-death experiences, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort vibes, happy ending, established relationship, suggestive language, possible inaccurate medical terms
Word count: 3.4K The Pitt masterlist
a/n: this was requested by a lovely anon
You were pulled out of your dream by the shrill screeching of your alarm. Your body flinched out of sleep, a groan escaping your lips as the noise continued to blare.
For some reason, Frank liked to be woken by what he referred to as âsounds of nature,â which meant that for the past four years youâd been waking up to the sound of roosters cawing.
Youâd tried to tell Frank that people hadnât woken up to that sound since maybe the 1800s, but he didnât seem to care.
Frank liked waking up like he was living on a farm, and you liked seeing him wake up happy, so you sacrificed your earbuds in the name of love.
It did not, however, mean you enjoyed it.
You didnât like the alarm in general â it meant peeling yourself out of bed and dragging your body toward what was sure to be a grueling shift â but you disliked Frankâs alarm even more.
You tugged your pillow from beneath your head and pulled it over your face to dull the sound.
âMake it stop,â you groaned into the pillow, your voice muffled.
After a second, the screeching finally stopped, and the bedroom was swallowed by silence once again. You sighed softly, grateful for the lack of noise.
Warm hands wrapped around your waist as Frank burrowed his nose under the pillow you were hiding beneath, his head settling in the crook of your neck. His nose bumped against your ear, tickling you and drawing out a soft laugh.
âMorning, baby,â Frank whispered against your ear.
You tugged the pillow off your face, turning your head so you could press a soft kiss to his lips.
âMorning,â you whispered against his smile.
You turned your body around, letting Frank pull you tight against his chest. You breathed in, savoring that familiar scent that just seemed to come with Frank. You wanted to stay like this for the rest of the dayâunfortunately, you had work.
The alarm started blaring again. You groaned, which only made Frank laugh. He reached back blindly for his phone and shut it off.
âWe better get up before weâre late.â
You slapped a hand over your face.
âOh God. No. I refuse.â
Frank laughed again and tugged you even closer as you let your body sink deeper into the mattress. He pressed a kiss to your temple.
âJust thinkâtomorrow weâre both off. No alarms. No trauma bays. No patients throwing up on my shoes.â
His lips dragged along your cheek.
âWe can stay in bed as long as we want⊠go to Altius for dinner⊠and then Iâm taking you home, and youâre gonna be screaming my name all night long.â
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. âFrank.â
He kissed that spot just under your earâthe one he knew turned you into absolute putty.Â
âWhat? Iâm motivating you.â
When he pulled back, you brushed your nose against his, leaning in for another kiss.
âFirst we have to work twelve hours,â he whispered against your mouth.
You moved back with a dramatic groan.
âWay to ruin the moment.â
The smell of stale coffee and antiseptic hit as soon as you walked through the double doors. You and Frank ended up standing shoulder to shoulder at the board, your name already splattered under three cases.
âLooks like Iâve got a possible radius and ulna fracture,â you said. âWhatâd they give you, Frankie?â
He squinted at his line. âA fuckinâ abscess drainage. I swear theyâre assigning me the boring ones on purpose.â
You bumped your elbow into him. âThatâs because you need to be nicer to people.â
Frank turned like he was ready to protest, then your offer sank in.
âYouâre taking the abscess?â he said, eyes brightening.
You shrugged, casual. âSure. You can take the fracture. Grab Mel and knock it out.â
He leaned in until his lips brushed your ear.
âGod, youâve never been sexier. Iâm tempted to bend you over the nursesâ station right now.â
You rolled your eyes and shoved him lightly.
âCalm down, cowboy. This just means you owe me. Next case I donât want? Youâre taking it. No complaints.â
He backed away with that stupid wink.
âYou got it, baby.â
As you walked toward Dana, she shook her head at the sight of Frank disappearing into the hall.
âYou are way too nice to him,â she muttered.
âItâs my weakness,â you said, because⊠yeah. It was.
You found Javardi triple-checking her pockets like sheâd misplaced her entire existence.
âJavardi!â you called. âHave you seen an abscess drainage before?â
She perked up. âNot in the ED. Iâve only seen videos.â
âPerfect. Youâll observe this one with me. Ask whatever you need. And then Iâll have Dana assign us the next abscess that comes in â that oneâs yours. Deal?â
Her eyes widened like youâd just handed her a Christmas bonus.
âYes! Thank you!â
The patient was in his late fifties, a big guy, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. His chart said thigh abscess. The swelling under the blanket confirmed it.
âHello, Mr. Bernstein,â you said warmly. âIâll be your doctor today, and this is Dr. Javardi â sheâll be observing. I understand you have an abscess. How long has this been going on?â
âA week and a half,â he grunted. âHurts like hell. I donât even know what I did.â
âThey can be really painful,â you said gently. âToday weâll numb the area, drain it, and get you started on antibiotics and pain control. You may need to come back in a couple days for a dressing change. Any questions?â
âNo. Letâs do it.â
You pulled the instrument tray closer. Behind you, Javardi laid out the supplies with careful precision.
âAlright, Iâm going to disinfect the area and then inject lidocaine for numbing,â you explained. âThe lidocaine burns â Iâm sorry in advance.â
As you swabbed the skin, Bernstein glanced at Javardi.
âYou a student doctor?â
She smiled shyly. âYes, sir.â
âThatâs impressive. Congrats. What year are you?â
You werenât paying much attention to the exchange â just focusing on getting this guy fixed up and out of the room as fast as possible. There were other people who needed the bed.
Maybe if you had been listening, you wouldâve noticed how he wasnât even looking at Javardi as she chattered nervously about being a student doctor. Maybe you wouldâve caught the exact moment his eyes flicked to the scalpel. The precise second his body leaned forward to grab it.
But you werenât paying attention.
So you didnât notice any of it until white-hot pain exploded in your side.
Everything happened at once.
Javardiâs scream tore through the room. The sound that came out of you wasnât even a screamâmore like the air had been punched out of your lungs all at once. Your hand flew to your side, warm blood already slicking your fingers.
Dana burst through the doorway, eyes wide as she searched for the source of the scream. When she saw you slumped on the floor, your palm stained red, she didnât hesitate.
âCode white! Security â I need security!â
Robby and Ahmed barreled in behind her, going straight for Bernstein. The room detonated into chaos: shouting, the crash of a rolling cart, Bernstein snarling something incoherent as he fought them.
But all of it felt⊠weirdly distant. Your vision wasnât focusing the way it should. Your ears rang. The pain was white-hot, stabbingâand then somehow ice-cold underneath.
Dana dropped to her knees beside you, eyes huge. âJesusâokay, okayâpressure, we need pressure on that woundâJavardi, get Langdon, now!â
You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Dana pressed down on your side, and you let out a raw, broken groan.
âI know, hon. Iâm sorry, I know. I have to keep you from bleeding out.â
Frank barreled into the room like someone had launched him from a canon. He didnât even look at Bernstein or the chaos around him â his eyes found you instantly.
He froze.
âHoly shit,â he whispered.
Then he dropped to the floor beside you, hands cupping your face, his voice too calm to be real.
âHey, baby. Iâm here. Look at me. Donât worry.â
His gaze flicked down to where Danaâs hands were drenched in your blood. His eyes snapped back up, meeting Danaâs â her expression mirroring exactly what he felt.
You swallowed hard, tasting metal.
âFrankieâŠâ
âStay with me, baby,â he blurted, breath shaking. âDonât you dare close your eyes, okay?â
âWe need to move her, Frank â if we donât, sheâllââ Dana stammered.
âI know!â Frank snapped, louder than youâd ever heard him.
But it wasnât anger that made him raise his voice â it was fear. Dana knew that, so she didnât take it personally.
Javardi was talking to Robby, stumbling through an explanation about how she hadnât seen it coming, how there were no signs of distress. Robby called for Princess, asking her to take Javardi somewhere else â the girl was clearly in shock. Princess nodded, guiding her out by the shoulders. As they passed you, you could hear Javardi sobbing apologies the whole way out.
Someone touched Frankâs shoulder, snapping his attention upward. Mel crouched beside him, her expression sharp and focused.
âWhat do you need?â she asked.
Frank didnât hesitate.
âYouâre gonna take over pressure. You have to be aggressive. I donât care if she screams â sheâll bleed out otherwise.â
You barely inhaled before Mel and Dana switched hands.
The scream tore out of you before you could stop it.
Frank gathered you into his arms, lifting you like you weighed nothing.
âWeâre going to the trauma bay. Mel â keep that pressure. Donât stop. One, two, threeââ
He stood, muscles tensing as he carried you out while Mel kept her hands clamped to your side.
People jumped out of the way. You heard gasps, someone calling for a crash cart, a nurse shouting to prep a trauma room.
Frankâs breath was hot and ragged against your hair.
âStay awake,â he kept saying. âBaby, stay awake. Donât do this.â
Bright lights. Cold air. Too many hands.
They lowered you onto the bed, and you cried out when Melâs pressure shifted for even a second. Perla grabbed scissors, slicing open your scrubs and exposing the full wound. It wasnât small. A sickening amount of blood pooled beneath you.
Frankâs voice cracked.
âFuck.â
Robby rushed in beside you.
âI need TXA on board now! Give me ketamine, two bags of O-neg STAT! Langdon, keep her with you!â
Frank cupped your cheek with blood-soaked fingers, forcing your gaze up to his.
âHey. Iâm right here. Stay with me. Stay calm.â
Your vision shimmered. Your ears buzzed.
Frank tried to smile.
âYou always said if you were ever hurt youâd want Robby as your doctor instead of me. Thatâs still kinda rude, by the way.â
You actually felt a weak flicker of amusement.
Your hand â slippery with blood â lifted halfway before you could stop it. Frank caught it instantly, pressing it to his mouth.
âFrankieâŠâ you gurgled.
His breathing faltered.
Behind him, a monitor beeped erratically.
Thenâ
It didnât.
A flat, continuous tone filled the room.
Everyone froze.
Frankâs head whipped toward the monitor.
âNo,â he whispered.
The world went silent.
Robby shouted from somewhere far away, âPush epi! Start compressions! Now!â
Frank snapped back into motion and climbed onto the gurney, starting compressions himself. A sickening crack echoedâyour sternum giving way.
âIâm sorry, baby,â he whispered raggedly as he pumped your chest. âBut youâre not leaving me. You donât get to leave.â
Minutes stretchedâendless, brutal.
Twenty minutes later, Robbyâs voice was quiet.
âFrank⊠itâs time.â
âNo!â Frank barked, still compressing. âWe keep going! Sheâs not gone!â
He leaned down, forehead pressing to yours.
âTomorrowâI was gonna propose. The ringâs hidden in my locker, top shelf. You canât miss that. You promised me a lifetime, babyâdonât you dareââ
His entire body trembled. Tears streamed down his face as he choked, âWeâre supposed to get married. Have kids. Grow old. I love her. I love herââ
Robby placed his hands on Frankâs. âFrank⊠time of death is 11:42.â
Frank collapsed over you with a raw, broken sound no one in the room would ever forget.
Mel never stopped applying pressure.
And thenâ
A blip on the monitor.
Another.
Robby turned. âDanaâpulse check!â
âI have something!â Dana gasped.
âDr. Kingâon the gurney. DO NOT lift your hand. Hang another liter. Push norepi. OR, now!â
Frank kissed your forehead before they raced you out of the room. He stood there shaking, covered in your blood.
Robby took his shoulders. âWe got her back. She has a shot. Garcia will take care of her. Sheâs a fighter.â
Frank sobbed. âThis was my case. She switched with me.â
âNo,â Robby said firmly. âDonât do that. You saved her. Those compressions saved her.â
Frank broke, pulling Robby into a hug. âThank you for not giving up on her.â
âItâs not me you should be thanking. Melâs the one who kept pressure even after we called it. Sheâs the one who gave her a chance.â
Robby patted Frankâs back as he finally pulled away from the hug.
âSheâs gonna make it, Frank.â
He nodded absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the door theyâd wheeled you through. Robby left the room, leaving Frank alone with his thoughts for a moment.
He felt exhausted all of a sudden, the adrenaline that had been pumping through him finally draining from his body. He stumbled out of the room, his eyes immediately finding Mel talking to Robby. Her scrubs and hands were covered in blood.
Your blood.
Frankâs stomach lurched at the sight, but he forced himself to walk toward her anyway. Melâs head snapped over to him at the sound of his shoes against the floor.
âDr. Langdon, theyâve started the procedure, sheâsââ
But before she could finish, Frank stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a tight, desperate hug. Mel let out a startled sound. Frankâs voice broke against her shoulder.
 âGod, you saved her, Mel. You fuckinâ saved her. I canât thank you enough.â
Mel awkwardly patted his back, still clearly unsure of what to do.
âYouâre welcome, Dr. Langdon.â
When he finally let her go Dana was at his side, her hand moving to rest on his back as she gave him a soft look.
âFrank. Go shower. I promiseâif we hear anything, Iâll come get you myself.â
He looked like he wanted to argue, like leaving the hallway meant abandoning you somehowâbut Dana just held his stare. Eventually his shoulders dropped, and he nodded.
The locker room felt wrong. Too quiet. Too normal. Frank stripped out of his blood-soaked scrubs with shaking hands. When he stepped under the water, the red spiraled down the drain in thin, diluted streams. He pressed his palms to the tile and let the water hit the back of his neck. His chest hurt. His eyes burned. His breath kept catching in that half-sob way he couldn't stop.
By the time he walked out, hair still dripping, fresh scrubs clinging to him, Javardi was waiting. Her face crumpled as soon as she saw him. Frank could tell just from looking at her that she'd been crying just as much as he had.Â
âIâmâIâm so sorry,â she cried. âI froze. I got in the way. I shouldâveââ
Frank let out a sigh, his hand moving to rest gently on Javardiâs shoulder as her face twisted into a deep frown.
âThis wasnât your fault, Javardi. You couldnât have known what he was going to doâthere werenât any signs. You said so yourself.â
Javardi stared at him, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.
âDonât beat yourself up about it, okay? Just go home. Get some rest.â
She nodded, crying even harder, and backed away down the hallway.
Hours later, you slowly slipped into consciousness.
Everything hurt. A deep, throbbing, full-body ache that made your breath stutter. When you tried to shiftâeven a littleâa sharp stab tore through your side, and you let out a groan.
Frank jerked awake instantly.
His head had been resting on the mattress beside you, his fingers tangled with yours. His eyes shot openâred, puffy, glassy. He looked wrecked.
You blinked at him, your voice scratchy. âFrankie⊠you look terrible.â
He let out a weak laughâhalf relief, half broken sob. âYou literally died, and thatâs the first thing you say?â
You tried to laugh, but the motion made your voice twist in pain. Frank immediately shushed you, lifting from his seat so he could press a soft kiss to your temple.
âGod, I love you,â he whispered against your skinâskin that, thankfully, was no longer cold and clammy like it had been the last time he kissed you.
âI love you too.â You squeezed his hand as best you could as he settled back into his seat.
For a long moment he just stared at you, drinking in the fact that you were aliveâbreathingâtalking. The adrenaline was gone, but the terror still clung to him.
âWhat⊠what happened?â you whispered.
Frank swallowed thickly.
âWe almost lost you.â His voice cracked. âWe did lose you. For a minute.â He dropped his forehead to your hand. âDonât ever do that again.â
You smiled faintly. âIâll try my best.â
Frank let out this shaky little laugh at your words â the kind of sound someone makes after almost drowning. It lasted all of two seconds before the smile fell right off his face.
He went quiet. Completely still. And then his chin wobbled. His breath hitched. His eyes filled again, overflowing before he even tried to stop it.
âFrankâŠâ you whispered.
He shook his head like he was mad at himself for breaking. A tear hit the blanket near your hip. You squeezed his hand weakly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles.Â
âHey. Itâs okay. Iâm okay. I promise.â
His shoulders caved inward, like everything heâd been holding back finally punched through.
âI was so fucking scared,â he choked out. âI thoughtâGod, I thought I lost you for good.â
You dragged in a slow breath, ignoring the ache that lanced through your ribs.Â
âIâm right here. Iâm not going anywhere.â
He looked at you, like he still didnât quite believe it. Then he let out this humorless little scoff.
âLifeâs too fucking short, isnât it?â
You blinked, confused. âFrankâŠ?â
He inhaled sharply, sat back just a bit, and wiped his face with the heel of his hand. Then his gaze softened in this heartbreaking way, and he shook his head.
âI was gonna wait,â he said quietly. âBetter circumstances, you know? Something romantic. Something⊠not this.â
Your eyebrows lifted slightly.
He swallowed hard. âBut after today? After watching youâafter hearing that monitorââ His voice cracked again. âYou never know whatâs gonna happen. So Iâm done waiting. Iâm done pretending Iâm not ready.â
He reached into the pocket of his scrub pants â the new pair Dana forced him into â and pulled out a small, black velvet box. His hand shook.
Your breath caught, and pain flared in your torso. You let out a soft gasp.
 âFrankâare you seriously proposing to me while Iâm lying in a hospital bed?â
He gave a watery laugh.Â
âYeah. I guess I am.â His thumb brushed the lid of the box. âSo⊠what do you say?â
You stared at him â at his wrecked face, his trembling lip, his desperate, hopeful eyes â and your heart swelled painfully in a way that had nothing to do with your injuries.
âYes,â you whispered. âOf course Iâll marry you.â
Frank let out a relieved, broken laugh that instantly dissolved into more tears. He leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly to yours, careful of all your lines and bandages.
âThank God,â he breathed. âThank God.â
He kissed your hand â over and over â whispering your name each time like a prayer.
Frank slid the ring onto your finger with hands that were still trembling, letting out a shaky breath like heâd been holding it for hours. His eyes flicked up to yours, still glossy but finally⊠lighter.
âSo,â he murmured, giving you that crooked, exhausted smile, âhowâs it feel to be Mrs. Langdon?â
You blinked, took the smallest inhale â and immediately regretted it.
âHonestly?â you rasped. âLike shit.â
There was half a beat of silence before Frank barked out a laugh, trying to smother it against your arm.
You groaned, âNoâdonât make me laugh, it hurtsââ
âSorry, sorry,â he said, absolutely not sorry, still laughing through what mightâve been lingering tears.
You started laughing too, breathy and pained but real, and reached over to squeeze his hand. âGod, weâre a disaster.â
Frank dropped his forehead against your arm, still smiling. âYeah. But I wouldnât want it any other way.â
You smiled at him, nose bumping into his as you gave him a soft kiss before whispering, âMe neither.â
Sypnosis: Sleep-deprived, you start imagining things that aren't there until your friends step in. Everything seems to be going fine, until one day a stranger enters your life.
Pairing: reader x Gojo
Tags/Content Warnings: MDNI/18+ only, college au, liiilll bit of fluff before everything goes to shit, heartbreak, bittersweet, angst, blood & injuries (a lot of it), depictions of wounds (not a lot but just a small warning I guess), death, (minor) character deaths, gore, stalking, feelings of going insane, psychological mind tricks, hurt/no comfort, reader is quite introverted
Word Count: 16.9k
A/N: Ty for the 1k, lovelies! đ€ Divider by @/strangergraphics art by @/3aem on x
Thereâs blood everywhere. On hands, clothes, cabinets, windowsâthere's even a bit on the ceiling. And of course, thereâs also blood pooling in thick crimson under the body. Multiple lacerations and stab wounds were oozing the red, sticky substance.
Their eyes are unfocused and hazed over, lips bloodied while they splutter out the last words before finally taking their last breath, head lolling to the side just slightly. Blood keeps pooling, getting under feet, and seeping through socks.
Red and blue lights are flashing outside, illuminating the crime scene in different colors. Standing there, heaving their chests while looking down onto the knife in their hand, which is shaking slightly. Knuckles bloodied and raw.
Blood mixes on the ground below, a mix of DNA into a raw mess thatâs undeniable to anyone who sees the scene.
Sirens cut through the night, though muffled by the adrenaline. The door bursts open, policemen with their guns already drawn telling the person to drop the knife and put their hands behind their head.
Everything is a blur, but one thing is clear. Someone was murdered, and there is no doubt who did it.
The screen illuminates your face in blue and red, casting your bedroom into shadows. The popcorn youâre eating is starting to feel slightly staleâhaving been too engrossed in the movie, you only just started eating it.
It was a good movie, honestly. You never thought she would actually kill him, but then again, you shouldâve seen it coming.
Wiping your hand on your shirt, you close the movie out, getting the track pad of your laptop slightly dirty. Turning the device off, your only source of light are the small fairy lights that are strung behind your bed, casting the room in a soft orange glow.
Standing up from the bed, you go to put your laptop on the desk when you see a shadow from the corner of your eye in the window. Turning around, youâre met with nothingânot even your own shadow, the light cutting so that your shadow is on the wall rather than the window.
Well⊠whatever, probably just a trick of the mind after all the fuckery youâve just seen with the stalking. The movie was quite heavy after all.
Shrugging it off, you finally put your laptop away and go to lie down in your bed once more. The phone lighting up a few seconds after, the screen lighting up to show the lock screen you recently changed.
Itâs a picture of you and Gojoâone of your close friendsâthe two of you sitting outside in the sun, side by side, sharing some sweets. Youâre laughing, head thrown back lightly, while heâs chuckling, fingers dusted with powder from the mochi that lays abandoned on the ground.
Shoko had taken the picture and sent it to you after you got home a few hours later. It instantly made you giddy, having something captured from a memory youâre sure youâd cherish forever.
Youâve known Gojo since middle school; the same goes for Shoko and Geto. The four of you were in the same class, after all.
You got assigned to sit next to Shoko on the first day, who had glanced your way only to pop a lollipop into her mouth and put her head on the desk a few seconds after, brown hair covering her face like a curtain.
Youâd simply shrugged it off back then. Not everyone matched immediately, plus some people preferred themselves over companyâyourself included. You were somewhat of a loner, as people would say. Always being alone whenever you moved through the halls.
Itâs not a bad thing, honestly. But some people didnât seem to understand that. Middle school is a breeding ground for bullies, after all.
You were getting cornered one day, getting some books from your locker when it slammed shut, nearly getting your hand caught in it. With a small yelp, you startled, eyes wide when you looked to the side. There were two boys who were in the same class as you, grins on their faces.
It confused you as to what they were doing there. In the three weeks of school starting, not once had they tried interacting with you, so to get your attention this way just didnât make sense.
You remember thinking it mightâve been an accidentâclosing your lockerâand were trying to play it off. A few other students also turned around at the sound, but when they didnât see anything out of the ordinary, they just turned back to do whatever they were doing before.
Clutching your books to your chest, you took a step back and asked them if they needed anything, which only widened their grin.
All you can remember from that day a few years ago was that one moment they were there, throwing around little jabs, and the next two taller figures stood in front of you.
Looking up, you were met with the sight you were all too familiar withâjust a different setting this time. Gojo and Geto stood in front of you, arms crossed while they asked theirâand yourâclassmates what they thought they were doing.
Youâd merely blinked up at Gojo and Geto when the two bulliesâcould they even be classified as such?â âwalked away with a muttered, "It's not worth it."
The two were asking you if you were okay, and youâd merely mumbled that everything was fine. When they didnât quite believe you, you put on a small smile. Not fake, not quite real, either. That seemed to do it for them, smiling back at you before walking away. Not before Gojo ruffled your hair, though. Why he did that, you never found out.
Gojo and Geto were two boys who sat in front of you in class. Gojo having short, spiky hair while Geto had long black hair that was constantly in a bunâyouâre not sure just how long it was, since youâve only ever seen it up, but you know it was definitely longer than Shokoâs bob.
The two of them were quite rowdy since day one. They instantly clicked the moment they sat together, and it had made you smile slightly. But it didnât make everyone smile; the teacher had to constantly call them out to pay attention and to stop throwing things at each other.
Some classmates were fed up with themâyes, three weeks into the school year, and they were already fed up with the way Gojo and Geto were interrupting classâwhile others, mostly girls, gave them heart eyes, practically melting on the spot when either of them gave a small smile.
Yes, they were cute, but you didnât let that cloud any judgment of the two. They were simply a rowdy bunch who got away with a lot of things because they were cute.
One time, four days after school started, Geto had flung a pencil at Gojoâs head âŠwell, tried to anyway. It landed on a girlâs cheek the next row over. At first she had scowled, rubbing her cheek that had a small indent, but that scowl immediately smoothed over once she saw the perpetrators.
Geto had merely smiled apologetically her way, and the frustration she was carrying simply vanished. She handed back the pencil with a giggle. Yes, a giggle. Tucking her hair behind her ear and shit.
It had honestly confused you. Yes, they were cute, gorgeous, handsome, whatever the fuck people said about them, but they were also little shits in their own way who got away with anything.
Which made it all the more surprising when they became friends with Shoko. Sure you and Shoko sat behind the two, so maybe it wasnât all that weird, but still, their personalities were completely opposite.
Geto and Gojo were chaos, whereas Shoko was on the calmer side. Obviously she had her moments; everyone has those, but she wasnât as bad as Gojo and Geto. And, in a way, you were glad for that, because you weren't sure you could survive school if she was anything like the boys in front of you.
You later came to find out it wasnât all that bad to be friends with Gojo and Geto. After they had shooed off the bullies, the three of you became closer. Though they still hung out with Shoko more, the three of them began including you in their activities as well.
Going outside to arcades, staying up late to play video games, and texting each other on those shitty flip phones. Yeah, it truly was something back then.
During the hangouts after school, you were quick to find out Gojo had a sweet tooth that rivaled your ownâthough you never admitted as such until three years later. And whenever Gojo had candy, he was hyper. If you thought he was bad before, then you didnât know what to expect when he hit a sugar rush.
The amount of stupid shit he has done while practically high off sugar is simply too much to list.
Once he found out you also liked sweets as much as he did, he practically dragged you to the store to get some no matter the time of day. One day he came by at the bright and early time of 5 a.m., frantically knocking on your door.
Stupid, really, because you still lived at home, and with the way he was knocking on your door, you were sure he was going to wake up your parentsâand get yelled at. While they absolutely adored Gojo, they like being able to sleep much more.
There was also a time where he called you awake at 2:30 a.m. to get mochi from a few districts over. You thought you were still sleeping, honestly. His request didnât make any sense. Who would go outside at this time to travel to get mochi? You and Satoru, that is.
While you were sleepy, you still obliged with his every request. Yes, you had a sweet tooth, but you also had a mild crush on him. Youâve never admitted as much to him, obviously, but it is one of the reasons why you indulge in his every request.
Of course he also did things for you; heâd drop whatever he was doing to come to you if you so much as asked him to.
Which also meant if he called you awake to get sweets, he would piggyback you the entire time, simply because you were too tired to walk. He didnât mind, simply grinning over his shoulder while he told stories about whatever.
It was sweet in a way, the way he went out of his way to make you as comfortable as possible even though heâs the reason you were âuncomfortableâ in the first place. That made you fall for him. Not the fact that he was breathtakingâwhich he definitely wasâbut simply because he was so sweet. Almost as sweet as the candy the two of you shared on a regular basis.
When the two of you would come to school with bags under your eyes that rivaled Shokoâs, both Shoko and Geto already knew why. They gave each other a glance that practically screamed "told you so" without saying anything. Not that you or Gojo noticed.
So you are in love with your best friend. Whatever. Itâs not like youâve ever told him, and you canât either. When Shoko had finally cornered you one day, a few weeks before high school graduation, sheâd asked you why you hadnât confessed yet.
Sure it had been on your mind more often than you wanted to admit, but itâs not something you ever would do. You saw the way he looked at youâand it was definitely not the way you looked at him. So you told her you wouldnât tell him, because what if it made him uncomfortable?
She had merely sighed at you, tired eyes seeming to get even more tired with your answer, before walking away with a muttered 'idiots.'
The four of you are in college now, and itâs been great so far. While you donât see the whole group as muchâShoko is swamped with her studies to become a doctor (showoff) and went to a different university than you, Geto, and Gojo.
Geto had a different major, but he lived together with Gojo just a little outside of campus. Their apartment was ginormous, to be completely honest. Something most students wouldnât even dare dreaming of.
So those two still saw each other frequently, despite not having the same classes. You and Gojo, however, did share the same classes. It made you smile, honestly.
If you ever asked your middle school self if sheâd envision becoming best friends with the two rowdy students who were sitting in front of you in class, sheâd frown and shake her head, saying the three of you were too different to have any shared interestâwhich is completely wrong, by the way, but you actually believed that back then.
It almost makes you laugh when you think back on it. Now staring at the picture, youâre reminded just how great your friends actually are. The four of you had finally gotten together after the first semester ended and there was a small break in everyone's schedules to meet up.
Shoko and Geto had caught up mostly, wandering off to smoke somewhere out of your sight. It was something that warmed your chest for two different reasons. The two of them were actually very mindful of where they smoked ever since you voiced your disdain of the smell.
You actually never told them to smoke somewhere else, but it seems like the two of them came to a consensus that whenever they smoked in your vicinity, they would step away for a few minutes, just to make you more comfortable.
The first time you noticed them doing that, you had told them they didnât have to do that. Geto had merely smiled and ruffled your hair, telling you it was no big deal. Shoko had just shrugged and told you you werenât wrong about smoking and that it had risks to even be around when they smoked, so they were protecting you in a way.
The other reason is because you thought they were simply so cute together. Not that youâve ever told them that, though. Youâre sure you would get blank stares from the two of them if youâd ever let it slip.
You and Gojo simply passed time by eating sweets and him telling you ridiculous stories that somehow happened even during busy college life. How he gathered all those experiences is beyond you, honestly.
Thatâs when Shoko had snapped the pictureâyou were laughing at something Gojo had told you, and he had chuckled with you, accidentally letting go of the mochi, which he later pouted about and wanted to eat off the floor. Of course you couldnât let him do that, so you gave him your last one, which he tried to give back to you, but you were adamant that he eat it. So he broke it in half before offering you the sweet.
You stare at the picture before your eyes slowly glide down to the bottom of your screen where you see the latest message. Of course itâs from Gojo, asking you if you wanted to come to a party with him.
Sighing, you close your eyes and let your head fall back slightly. Heâs been asking you to join him at parties more and more often lately, but itâs simply not your scene. While you love Gojo to deathâmetaphorically⊠and maybe literallyâyou just couldnât accompany him to parties.
Sure, if he were to ask you to get candy, go on a road trip, or anything else that involves just himâand Geto and Shoko, of courseâyouâd gladly do it. But a party where there were so many other people? Yeah, no thanks.
Opening your phone, you type out a quick âI'm good. Hope you enjoy it though!â before closing your phone for the night.
It always makes you feel kinda guilty whenever you tell him that he should go alone. While youâre sure Geto is there with him, he did kind of ask you to come with. But itâs just simply not your scene, and itâs one of the few times you actually do deny his request to come with.
Walking back over to your bed, you let yourself fall, bouncing slightly when your back meets the mattress. You stare up at the ceiling, where Gojo had taped all sort of pictures.
When you asked him what he was doing, he had merely grinned over his shoulder at you while standing on your bed.
âPutting up some pictures, in case you ever miss us, you can just look up and be reminded that weâll always be with you!â
It was a sweet gesture, honestly. But then you furrowed your brow again. âAnd why does it have to be on the ceiling? Can't you just put them against the wall?â
âThis way whenever you go to sleep and wake up, weâre the first thing you see and the last thing you think about when going to sleep,â he grins at you, a bit mischievous but mostly just sweet.
You honestly didnât need pictures of them for that to happen, to be completely honest. Most of the times that already happens anyway. Whenever you wake up, the first thing you normally see is Gojo having sent you paragraphs of whatever dream he had that night, and you always send a small goodnight text in the group chat whenever you go to sleep.
It seemed a bit silly, to be completely honest, but itâs something you started doing when you realized Gojo just does not sleep. Well, he does, obviously; otherwise, he wouldnât send you texts with what he had dreamt about that night, but he just doesnât sleep a lot.
He would spam your phone well into the middle of the night until you finally decided to text him goodnight so he would know not to expect a text back and silenced your phone. Only your ringtone for calls would still be on.
Which is why heâand Shoko and Getoâknew to call you if there was anything after you went to sleep, which Gojo definitely abused for getting sweets in the middle of the night.
You never stopped doing it, even years later. Most of the time you donât mind doing it, honestly. Gojo knows that you donât mind him spamming you whenever, but he at least knows when not to expect texts back.
But yeah, he already was the last thing you thought of before going to sleep and was the first thing you were met with when you woke up, so the pictures on your ceiling seemed a bit silly, but then again, thatâs Gojo for you.
Glancing toward your desk, you contemplate putting on one more movie when you once again see a shadowy figure in your window. Itâs gone by the next time you blink.
Huh, weird.
Itâs not like anyone could be outside of yourâshitty, smallâbalcony; youâre on the third floor after all, and there is no way anyone could climb their way up here. Plus, the thing creaks whenever the wind even blows, so if someone were out there, you would just know it would groan under their weight.
Shrugging it off, you sigh before going to make yourself ready to go to bed, silencing your phone after sending a quick goodnight text in the group chat.
Hopefully Gojo wouldnât be too sad tomorrow.
Youâre walking across campus, two cups of iced coffee in your hand. Theyâre both the same order, and some people stare at you weird when they realise.
Itâs early, the sun just breaking through the clouds, soft dew still clinging to the freshly cut grass. Birds are chirping and thereâs someone humming under their breath, bobbing their head in tandem with the music thatâs blasting through their headphones a few meters away.
Youâd woken up multiple times last night, tossing and turning in your bed. After three a.m. you kept waking up in a cold sweat, gasping for air and sitting up whenever you woke up again.
Your dreams had been absolutely horrible, constantly questioning if you were being watched and seeing silhouettes hiding whenever you turned around. When you had woken up you still had that lingering feeling of being watched. One of those things when you wake up too fast and youâre in that state between dreams and reality.
Youâd tried to conceal your eyebags with some concealer, but youâre basically radiating tiredness. It wouldâve made you chuckle and send a quick text to Shoko asking how she survived all those years on a few hours of sleep if you werenât so goddamn cranky.
Even now, you have the feeling that youâre being watched. Youâve glanced around a few times, making sure no one was watching you, but you didnât really see anyone eyeing you, except for the two bitches girls who gave you weird looks for the two coffees in your hands.
You pinch your nose between your fingers and let out a tired sigh. You need to get that damn dream out of your head, asap.
Suddenly an arm swings around your shoulders, making you tense up slightly. Looking to your side, you instantly relax when you note itâs just Gojo. Baby blues practically glinting as he looks down at you.
âSoooooo, did you sleep well after last night?â he asks, grabbing the iced coffee you hold out for him with a big grin on his face, pressing a small kiss into your hairline. It makes your heart absolutely flutter in itâs cage, but you quickly school your expression.
Humming you take a sip of your drink before answering, âHad a weird dream about being stalked,â you mumble, slightly melting into his side.
If there was one thing that wouldâve helped, it wouldâve been going over to Gojoâs and Getoâs, but you didnât want to intrude, especially after turning down going to the party with them. Youâre sure they were exhausted themselves.
Sure they have told you countless of times you could come over if there was anything bothering you, they even gave you the key to their apartment so you could just go inside even if they werenât there, but you simply couldnât bring yourself to do it.
Whenever Gojo had nightmares, he would come over to either yours or Getoâs house, holding a pillow with teary eyes.
There had been countless of sleepoversâso many that your parents had put a spare futon in your room if there was ever a spontaneous sleepover, which happened quite often.
Gojo frowns down at you. âWhy didnât you just come over?â
âDidnât wanna bother you after turning down your invite,â you mumble, barely above your breath, eyes looking away from him. You keep your eyes on a small sparrow thatâs hopping through the field, occasionally pecking at the damp ground.
Gojo chuckles then, itâs small, a bit breathless, but itâs still that chuckle that makes your heart beat a little faster. âYou donât have to be embarrassed, yâknow. It was kinda hot seeing you all dressed up last night. Didnât even know you knew how to dance.â
What is he talking about? Why would you be embarrassed to dress up? You didnât dress up whatsoever. After you texted the goodnight you made yourself ready for bed, in pajamas pants that had different monsters all over themâyouâre actually quite sure it was a pair of Gojoâs, but they were soft so you had just tightened the strings around your waist and gone to bedâand an old t-shirt.
Maybe heâs making fun of you for the way you sleep. But then why is he talking about dancing? You sure as hell didnât dance, and you donât know for the life of you how to, either.
âWhat are you talking about? I went straight to sleep,â you turn to him then, trying to gauge his reaction. Gojo just smiles down at you before taking a big sip of his drink. âMhmmm, sure, weâll go with that.â
His reaction doesnât make any sense whatsoever. Maybe he dreamt about you being at the party? Or maybe he simply had too much to drink and thought some stranger was actually you? Whatever it is, it doesnât sit quite right with you.
The coming few days have had you on edge. It constantly feels like youâre being watched, even from the safety of your own dorm. You start to look tired more and more, so much so that even make-up doesnât help.
Gojo has been concerned for you, but you wave him off every time telling him youâre fine. Youâre not. You havenât slept in a full forty-eight hours and youâre running on iced coffee.
You want to sleep. And every time you start to nod off, you feel it againâeyes on you. Your head is on the desk, Gojo is sitting beside you, diligently writing down whatever the professor is sayingânot that you know what is being said, everything feels muffled, like youâre under waterâand itâs a weird sight, really.
Gojo never took school that serious. Sure he passed all his classes with flying colors, but he more often than not just doodles in the margins of your papers, not paying any attention to whatever is being said during the lecture.
Itâs something heâs done since you can remember. While he and Geto were more physicalâshoving each other, throwing things, and just whisperingâwith you he more or less just annoys you by doodling in your notes.
He knows how much you value your studies, above else, you are a visual learner. Textbooks never made much sense to you, so you had to rely on the teachers writing down examples for you to get what actually was being said.
You know heâs writing things down for you to look at later, probably even writing it in such a way you donât have any difficulty understanding the material.
God, you wish you could kiss him right now and not even in a romantic way, just because youâre so grateful for him being your best friend that supports you whenever you need him to. But you canât focus on anything other than those eyes on you.
Turning your head to the window, you scan the courtyard, seeing if someone is just simply looking through it to fuck with you. The only thing you can see is some students sitting on the grass, textbooks open while chatting with each other.
Sighing youâre about to close your eyes when you see it. Aaaalll the way in the back, someone is standing just outside of the campus gates. They have a hood up, but you can see them clearly looking at you.
When they notice youâre looking at them, they just tug the hood further down their face and start walking away. What the fuck is all of that about?
Blinking you rub your eyes a few times, but by the time your eyes adjust the person is already gone. It honestly makes a shiver go down your spine. Surely you didnât hallucinate a whole person looking at you âŠright?
You know people can hallucinate when they havenât slept well in quite some time, but surely youâre not at that stage just yet. Maybe youâre dreaming, one of those lucid dreams where youâre aware of whatever is going on.
But that doesnât seem quite right. Pinching yourself, you jerk slightly when you can feel it. Yeah okay, definitely not dreaming.
Gojo glances at you with worried eyes when he sees you jerk back. Leaning over he whispers, just low enough for only you to hear, âYou okay? You know you can go to sleep, right? Iâll take notes for you.â
The genuine concern in his voice is clear, and it makes your heart swell slightly. It also makes you forgetâfor just a tiny momentâwhy you canât sleep. Nodding your head you lay your head back onto the desk. Thereâs no reason for you to try and stay awake anyway.
The bell rings a few minutes later, having you jolt out of the few minutes of sleep you did manage to get. There was no dream this time, just blackness surrounding you. Rubbing your eyes, you stretch and yawn, hearing your shoulders pop.
Glancing to your side, you can see Gojo swing your backpack over his shoulder, along with his own. You open your mouth to protest when he shoots you a look, one that says âdonât argueâ. Itâs not a look he uses often, but when he does you know heâs dead serious.
Sighing you scoot your chair back and go to stand. Gojo starts walking when he sees you follow him. âYouâre sleeping over tonight,â he suddenly declares, and his voice holds no room for arguments. Still, you try. âThat isnât necessary, Satoru. What about Geto?â
âSuguru doesnât mind, you know this,â and it is true. You do know Geto wouldnât mind you sleeping over, hell he has said so, multiple times even, but it still feels wrong.
âJust donât wanna inconvenience you guys because I canât sleep,â you mumble, almost walking into a bench before Gojo tugs you out of the way, making you stumble slightly from the sudden redirect.
Gojo merely rolls his eyes at you and keeps walking. âRight, because I havenât done that sooo many times in the years weâve known each other.â
âYeah, but like, you had bad nightmares, Iâm just paranoid someone is watching me,â you want to put your head through a wall. At this point youâre almost convinced youâre just making things up after seeing that film last week.
Maybe it was a stupid idea to watch it when you were alone. While you absolutely hate horrorâand will not watch it whatsoeverâyou love true crime things. So seeing someone being stalked maybe planted a seed in your mind that you were being stalked.
Itâs stupid, really. How often do stalkings really happen anyway? Plus it isnât like you were any interesting to stalk. The only times you leave the houseâother than school and doing groceriesâis when youâre with your friends, but even that doesnât happen often, more often than not declining their invites to hang out.
Still the shadowy figures youâve been seeing canât be fake. Or, at least you donât think so. They did start after seeing the movie after all.
You just shake your head, dizzying yourself with the motion and almost crashing into Gojo. He puts his arm out to stabilize you before he gives you a once over. Youâre sure heâs kind embarrassed to be seen with you right now.
Your hair is untamedâquickly brushing through it in the morning had been a chore of its ownâeyebags under your eyes have eyebags, and youâre walking around in sweats and a hoodie.
Gojo exhales through his nose once before your entire world gets turned upside downâliterally. âChange of plans, youâre going to sleep. Now.â
Blood is rushing to your head, having been slung over Gojoâs shoulder. The two of you get weird looks from other students, which isnât that weird, Gojo does have you over his shoulder, plus heâs carrying two backpacks.
Itâs probably a weird sight, and if you were to see it you would probably also stare, but right now itâs not making you feel any better. If you had the feeling you were being watched before, then you didnât know what it was like to be watched by tens of people at once.
Burrowing your head into his backpack you mumble out a âPlease walks quicker, Satoru, people are staring.â Gojo, for his part, only adjusts you slightly. âLet them stare, this is what you get if you donât sleep.â
Groaning you burrow your head a bit further into the backpack, half of your head almost being suffocated by the nylon while your cheek grazes his back, andâ oh. You knew Gojo works out, he has been doing so alongside Geto since the last year of high school, but you never realised just how jacked he actually is.
You shouldâve known, though. Especially after he just slung you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes without even grunting once. You can feel how defined his shoulders are beneath you, and if you focus long enough you can slightly feel the ridges of his abdomen where your shins meet his hoodie.
Your brain shortcuts a little. You knew you werenât there often with them, especially after starting college, but when did he get all the time to get this buff?
Last summer theyâShoko, Geto and Gojoâhad asked to go to a beach house Gojoâs parents owned for the week, but your parents had told you to stay home because they needed your help. They decided to move because you were moving out soon enough anyway.
It made you quite sad, but you just told the three to go. Who were you to keep them from spending the summer together? When youâd told them that you couldnât go, Gojo had tried to use his baby blues on your parents.
You know you canât say no to them, always giving in to his every request when he asked you face to faceâwhich is why youâre glad he asks you to go to parties over text, because youâre not sure you can decline him when heâs looking at youâbut your parents merely chuckled and told him they simply needed you home.
He then tried another tactic, saying the four of you would help out so you could still go, but even that your parents declined, ruffling his hair like he was eight years old rather than eighteen.
So you couldnât go on the small vacation with them, and if you had youâre sure you wouldâve noticed the difference in Gojoâs build. Heâs always been tall, obviously, but he was rather lanky when he was a bit younger, now heâs filled with muscle.
Itâs all you can think about, until he suddenly sets you down. You stumble slightly and he grabs your forearms once more, steading you. Looking around you note that youâre already at his apartment. Did you zone out for that long?
âGood morning, sleepyhead. I was talking but noticed you werenât talking back anymore so I kept quiet,â Gojo chuckles, looking down at you. Sleeping, right, because thatâs what you were doing, and not imagining debauchery images of your best friend.
Gojo opens the door for you and ushers you inside. âYou can go sleep in my bed. Iâll be here when you wake up.â he shrugs off his jacket and walks over to the couch, promptly flinging himself on it, cushions groaning slightly under the weight.
You stare a few seconds before tiredness really does take over and you make your way to the bed. Gojoâs room hasnât changed much over the years, despite the move. He still has a few Digimon themed plushies, shelves that are filled with pictures of the friend group and of course those bright blue bedsheets.
When you came over for the first time, youâd asked him why he would want such a bright color in his room since it seemed âtoo bright to sleep inââbut then again, Gojo didnât sleep much anywayâand heâd answered that they reminded him of himself.
Conceited much.
Youâd rolled your eyes at him and promptly flung yourself onto the bed, creasing the sheets that seemed almost pristine with the way there were no wrinkles to be found anywhere. A few plushies went flying with the sudden weight that was put on the matrass, making Gojo gasp.
It almost makes you chuckle just thinking about it. You quickly change out of your clothes, favoring to put on one of Gojoâs shirts and one of your own sleeping shortsâyes you have clothes here, so does Shoko, so you know they werenât lying when they said they didnât mind you sleeping over.
Crawling into bed you let out a tired sigh, the massive bed enveloping your frame. You sink into the sheets before closing your eyes, and before you know it youâre asleep, away from the watchful eyes that made you not able to sleep in the first place.
By the time you wake up, the apartment is quiet and itâs already dark outside. You lay there for a few more seconds before you roll to your other side, only to be met by a mop of white hair. Gojo is laid beside youâthough far enough that the two of you donât touch. His bed is massive after all.
Rolling back over you grab your phone and look at the time, squinting at the glare of the screen. The device blinks up at you, displaying a neat 2:48 a.m. Looks like you slept for a good twelve hours. You can hear Gojo groan from behind you before he rolls onto his back and blinks a few times.
âWha times âs itâŠâ he groans out, closing his eyes again, rubbing his face slightly. âAlmost three, go back to sleep, Satoru,â you whisper back, throwing the blanket off your legs and going to stand up.
That certainly seems to grab his attention, leaning up on his forearms, he looks at you cross the room to the door. âWhere âr you goinâ,â he asks, voice still gruff with sleep.
Looking over your shoulder you smile at him, just slightly. You feel ten times better than you have this past week, no more creepy feeling of being watchedâwell you technically are, by Gojoâand no more nightmares, either.
âGoing to the kitchen to grab something to eat. Go back to sleep,â you grab onto the door handle when you hear shuffling behind you, looking over youâre met with a wide awake Gojo whoâs now standing mere inches from you. âCandy?â
Right, of course he would want candy. Not exactly what you had in mind, though. Not having eaten anything for the last sixteen hours certainly has made you hungry, so you were thinking something more nutritional.
But looking at those blue eyes glinting down at you, you canât help but sigh, and you already know the answer. âSure, letâs go get some candy.â
Gojo is ecstatic, rambling about the things he has done since you went to sleepâgoing to the home gym, done some homework, made some dinner for the three of you âyour portion still in the fridge if you want itââbut only stops when another door opens on the other side of the hall.
The two of you stop in your tracks and look over to see Geto stand there, hair a messy curtain, eyes squinting, not quite awake yet. âWhatâr you doinâ?â
âWeâre getting snacks. You want some?â Gojo smiles at the black haired man, as if it isnât three in the fucking morning. âWha⊠sex??â
You snort then, quickly bringing your hand to your mouth before looking away from Geto. Poor guy is probably still half asleep and trying to make sense as to why you and Gojo are walking around the house like itâs normal.
âGo back to sleep, Suguru,â you tell him, and he looks at you before nodding his head and going back inside his room. When the door closes you let out a small sigh, only for Gojo to nudge you while grinning and nodding his head toward the kitchen.
Itâs been a while since you and Gojo went out in the middle of the night to get some sweetsâthough this isnât so much as going out as itâs going to his kitchen where he has a shit-ton of candy stockedâand it makes you smile slightly.
Gojo brings over some of the candy before sitting on the kitchen counter, marble cold under him. âYou slept well,â he says, looking at you, and youâre sure your eyebags are slightly less than yesterday. âMhmm, didnât have any nightmares, either.â
And itâs true, you feel completely fine here in the apartment. It makes you seriously think that thereâs something wrong with your dorm roomâmaybe ghosts. The building is old, after all. But why would it suddenly start like that.
Eh, you donât want to dwell on it too much, itâs three am and youâre with your best friend who looks happy that you at least slept.
âSo what youâre saying is you want to sleep with me more often,â heâs grinning around a mochi, cheek bulging with the way he put a whole mochi in there while still chewing on another. Gojo might be hot, but he can absolutely eat like a pig.
âDonât make it sound like that, perv,â you nudge him with your elbow while trying to grab another piece of mochi. Luckily itâs a shared love and he makes sure to always have multiple packets in his stash. Unluckily itâs a shared love and the two of you absolutely tear through it within seconds.
Gojo just wiggles his eyebrows at you while finally swallowing. You honestly forgot how much fun this isâthe weird three a.m. talks that have absolutely no sustenance whatsoever. And suddenly you feel a bit more guilty.
The four of you are in college now, everyone has different schedules, though yours and Gojoâs line up for most part, and haven't seen a lot of one another. Still, heâs trying to get you to join him in things and you keep declining because itâs out of your comfort zone, effectively also not hanging out with Getoâand Shoko whenever sheâs able to go to a party.
It makes the sweets in your mouth taste rather sour. Swallowing you look over at Gojo once more. His tongue is peeking out from his lips, and it has you entranced for a second before you snap yourself out of it.
âHey Satoru?â he hums looking back over to you while holding a small cheesecakeâwho the fuck eats cake this late into the night? Gojo Satoru doesâyou continue, âsorry for not hanging out much lately.â
He just stares at you a little longer before shrugging and taking a bite of the slice. âS fine, know that you donât like all the stuff I do,â he speaks through a mouthful. Yeah, definitely a pig.
The two of you stay like that for a little while longer, eating way too many sweets before making your way back to the bed once more. Now that youâre laying down, youâre suddenly aware of how weird it actually is sleeping in the same bed as Satoru.
Sure, the two of you have had sleepovers, loads of them, even. But not once have the two of you shared a bed. Whenever he was over at yours, he would sleep on a spare futon. If the sleepover was with Shoko or Geto, youâd sleep either alone or with Shoko in one bed while Geto and Gojo shared another.
And itâs almost like he can hear your thoughts, because the next thing you feel is a cold foot nudging you under the blanket. You yelp, jerking your leg away from him before turning your head to the side to look at him.
âGo to sleep. Bed is large enough for us two not to touch if thatâs what youâre worried about,â bright blue eyes are blinking up at you, hair falling into them just slightly. You almost instinctively reach out to put it away from his eyes before you think better of it.
Nodding your head you close your eyes, going to sleep once more.
Itâs been three days since youâve stayed over at Gojoâs and Getoâs apartment. Ever since the first nightâor⊠day? technicallyâGojo has refused to let you go back to your dorm, saying youâre obviously not sleeping well over there.
At first youâd tried to go back anyway, and you did, until Gojo stormed in and literally hauled you out of there and went to his own apartment.
Safe to say you havenât tried leaving ever since.
Youâre feeling much better, honestly. Youâre getting enough sleepâas much as a student can getâand you have no more weird nightmares. But the feeling of being watched while at school still hasnât left you.
Itâs subtle, always whenever youâre focused on something do you feel it. Looking around the class you canât notice anyone staring, and for a quick minute you thought that it mightâve been Gojo side-eyeing you to check in on you during the classes, but that wasnât the case either.
Whatever it is, it unsettles you greatly.
Youâre looking outside once again, neck hairs standing on edge. You feel like youâre going insane, honestly. Looking around the courtyard, you see nothing. There arenât even any students outside this time, so it couldnât be someone random just looking up either.
On that note, you havenât seen the shadowy figure in some time either. Maybe it really was some sort of hallucination, because ever since you got good sleep again you havenât seen it.
Biting on your lip you look back to the front of the class where the professor is rambling on about something. You have no clue what heâs talking about, honestly. The zoning out still happens quite a lot, but you suppose youâre at least getting some information in.
Gojo has gone back to doodling on your pages, not paying attention in the slightest. Looking down you see him making small, different snacksâof course he is, fucking fat ass.
He asked you to go to the corner shop during lunch period to stock up on some more snacksâhaving gone through them very quickly since you started staying with himâand you told him that youâd walk with him.
It had made him smile before he continued doodling again. Youâd stared at him for a second longer than necessary before finally snapping your eyes up front.
The bell rings not soon after, making Gojo snap out of whatever trance he was in while doodling your entire fucking page full of⊠whatever all of thatâs supposed to be. While heâs good at a lot of things, he certainly doesnât have an eyeâor handâfor art.
Standing up the two of you make your way outside to go to the store, but before you can even set foot outside of campus Gojo suddenly stops in his tracks. You walk for two more seconds before you notice that he isnât beside you anymore.
Furrowing your brows you look behind you, just to see Gojo look at someone with a mixture of disbelief and intrigue.
Walking back over youâre about to ask him why he stopped, when the words die out in your mouth. Across the road you see âŠyourself? Well she certainly looks like it anyway. From the hair to the nose to the eyes to even the height.
Blinking a few times, you look again andâ yup, still there.
What the fuck is happening?
She notices the two of you and crosses the road, a small smile gracing her lips. âHiiii, youâre Gojo, right? We met the other night.â
Gojo is also buffering, mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally responds. âYeah, Gojo. Sorry- who are you exactly?â
Thatâs what you want to know as well, this creepy strangerâwell can you even call her creepy? she just looks like youâsmiling up at Gojo as if sheâs known him forever.
Giggling she puts her hand on his chest. âDonât be crazy, silly. We were dancing at that party two weeks ago.â
The words donât quite compute in your head just yet, all you can focus on is how sheâs still touching Satoruâs chest like that. Sure, youâve seen countless of girlsâand some guysâflirt with your best friend, itâs not new, but the way sheâs doing it makes your stomach churn.
Maybe itâs just because itâs like youâre looking in a mirror, only she seems a bit⊠bolder?
And when the words finally do register in your mind, you have to do a double take. Suddenly you remember Gojo teasing you for dancing with him the night you watched that horrible true crime movie that made you not sleep for a few days. Except you werenât there.
And it becomes quite clear why he thought it was you dancing with himâhell, if you didnât know any better you wouldâve thought she was you.
Gojo clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. âAh, that was you. Sorry, I was under the impression that I was dancing with my friend here,â he jabs his thumb towards you, and itâs only then that the stranger faces you.
Her eyes seem to go almost cold before she grins even wider. Walking over she puts her arms around you, and hugs you all excited.
Seriously, what the fuck is going on right now?
âWe have so much catching up to do!â she squeals just then, not once letting go of you, if anything she just grabs your hands and starts jumping up and down a bit. You forcefully blink a few times. Catching up? Why would you ever catch up with her? And about what even? Youâve never seen this chick before in your life.
âSorry, do I know you?â you finally ask, confusion written all over your face. She stares at you for a few seconds before her smile dims just a bit. âOh, I guess your parentsâwell, our parentsâhavenât told you yet. Iâm your twin!â
What? No. No no no. You were an only child ever since you were born, not once having heard anything about being a twin. And if you were twins, why in the ever living fuck did you get separated? It just⊠doesnât make sense right now.
And it must show on your face, because Gojo is beside you within seconds, swinging an arm around your shoulders and giving it a small squeeze.
âOkay, thatâs nice and all, but like, I promised to get some candy and with the rate weâre going we canât get it before we have our next class, sooo cya aroundâuhhâŠâ
âYami.â
âRight, Yami. I guess weâll see you around,â he smiles before tugging you out of there. Your feet donât seem to work quite yet, still in shock from finding out you have a twin out there? It just doesnât seem plausible, but then again, she did look like you. Like an exact carbon copy.
You glance back over your shoulder once more to see her stare at you, grin long gone. Her eyes almost seem⊠empty. Soulless. And when she notices you watching she tilts her head to the side just slightly before smirking.
Shivers travel up your spine at the sight, quickly looking forward again. There are a thousand questions running through your mind, but you canât seem to voice any of them to Gojo.
âThatâs kinda weird, isnât it?â he suddenly speaks up, tone doubtful, but you can hear the underlying tone, the one where itâs clear he is quite excited as well. Weird doesnât even cover it.
Someone showing up in your skin, an exact twin of you, only for them to tell you the two of you are twins that were separated during birth is weird. Something about her just doesnât seem right, but what can you say?
You just hum, not giving an answer to Gojo. Itâs quite clear heâs fascinated with the whole thing, and it just makes you swallow.
Maybe the situation isnât as bad as it seems. Maybe Yami really was telling the truth. This all can get cleared up when you call your parents later tonight.
Your parents always pick up their phone, never letting it ring more than three times. Itâs something you love them dearly for, because whenever youâre in troubleâwhich isnât often, but more often than youâre willing to admit ever since hanging out with Gojo and Getoâthey are there for you.
But when you got homeâwell, Gojoâs apartmentâyou called them immediately, wanting to ask about Yami, but they havenât picked up even once. And itâs been two hours at this point. You can vaguely hear Gojo talk to Geto in the living room.
âRemember that party we went to? Yeah, so apparently that wasnâtââ you zone out as you hear the phone ring, again and again and again, and still thereâs no answer.
With a frustrated huff you look down at the phone. It went to voicemail, again. Itâs so incredibly unusual that you canât help but feel queasy about it. If they wouldnât pick up, surely they wouldâve told you something was going on before just âŠdisappearing like that?
You walk back into the living room, where Gojo and Geto are still talking, though itâs more Gojo excitedly gesturing around while talking and Geto listening. The moment the two of them see you, though, they stop whatever they were doing.
âStill no reply?â you shake your head and let yourself fall onto the couchâdamn thing probably costs more than you would make in a monthâsinking into the cushions a bit.
Everything about today just feels weird. Hell, everything about the past two weeks feel weird. From the fact that you couldnât sleep because you thought there were eyes on you to the fact that you apparently have a âtwin sisterâ and now your parents not picking up their phones.
Something about Yami just does not sit right with you, and itâs not just the fact that sheâs a carbon copy of you. No, it is more than that. That smirk she threw your way when you looked back and the way her eyes just seemed to dull over whenever she looked at you.
Thinking about it just makes you feel uneasy. Why did she wait almost two weeks to announce herself to the two of you?
She was the one that danced with Gojo, after all. But then again, Gojo thought it was you. You did tell him that it wasnât you, but he didnât believe you, for good reasons after all. The only thing that is different from the two of you is the personality, sheâs more outgoing it seems like. Still it doesnât make senseâ
Your thoughts get cut off by a pillow to the face. Looking over you see Gojo grinning down at you with said pillow in his hands. âLooked like you were thinking big thoughts. Stop that.â
âJust because you have trouble thinking big thoughts doesnât mean everyone does,â you counter, trying to get the throw pillow out of his hands, which obviously isnât working, the guy has muscles for days.
You feel something soft at your back. Looking back you see Suguru reaching out toward you with a pillow himself. Grabbing it you smile slightly at him, before gasping while your body is being flung forward.
The little bitch hit you on the back of your head!
Whipping your head around you swing your pillow at Gojo, hitting him in the arm. It doesnât do much, but heâs still dramatically clutching it like you wounded him in battle.
The pillow fight continues for a while, you and Gojo egging each other on while Suguru is filming the whole thing with a smile on his face.
Sprawled out over the couch, breathing hard, you look up at the ceiling. âYou know, itâsâfuck you hit hard, Satoruâjust weird she appeared out of nowhere,â you finally speak up, clutching the small pillow to your chest.
âMaybe, but just⊠letâs see what will come from it,â Gojo says, leaning into your vision slightly. You hum slightly before looking over at Geto, who merely raises his shoulders at you. Damn, traitor.
âYeah, sure, okay. Whatever,â you mumble out, not really agreeing but not disagreeing either. All you know is this just doesnât feel good whatsoever.
The next few days are⊠normal. There has been no sighting of Yami anywhere. No more sneaky Oh my goddddddd heeyyyyyy!!âs nor just your double walking through the school. Itâs simply as if she disappeared.
Gojo pouted a bit about it because he thinks it would be really cool to have a lost twin out there, but then again you also know Gojo didnât have the best time back at home so heâs always wished to have a sibling.
You on the other hand, are just glad that she isnât here anymore. It was unnerving in the weirdest way possible, but you still havenât found out if she was telling the truth because your parents still havenât replied to you.
Gojo suggested going to their place this weekend, just to see if something was wrong, and you agreed. It is too far of a travel to just do on a school day which is why you still havenât.
Right now youâre in another lecture, Gojo doodling on your arm because you forgot your notebooks, and youâre almost falling asleep. The material is so fucking boring you canât even focus on whatâs being said when the door opens.
Every head snaps over, and you freeze.
Yami is standing in the door with a small smile on her face. The professor is looking at her and then back at his clipboard. He calls out your name with a small question at the end, because you know he saw you walk in already.
Seems like you cheered too soon.
That makes Yami smile even wider and shake her head. âNo, no, thatâs my twin sister overrr- there!â she points straight at you and starts enthusiastically waving, which makes you hide behind Gojo a little. âIâm Yami, the new transfer.â
âRight, okay, welcome Yami. Take a seat,â the professor pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters something about identical twins before he turns back toward the class and begins his lecture once more. Not that it does anything, though, because everyoneâs eyes are practically glued to Yami.
Speaking of, sheâs bouncing straight over and goes to sit in front of you. Why did the two seats in front of you have to be empty today of all days?!
She leans back in her chair and turns her head at the two of you. âHii,â she whispers, a small smile on her face. Satoru reciprocates it, of course he does, but you just nod your head at her.
Something flickers through her eyes for a split-second before itâs gone again. It makes you furrow your brows at her. Weird. All of her is weird.
You try not to let your irritation show as she just decides to follow you and Gojo the entire day. Apparently she has the exact. same. schedule. as Gojo, and it makes you irritated as shit.
Gojo does notice you being irritated and practically shoves a mochi in your mouth, trying to cheer you up which does help a bit. You smile over at him, slowly chewing when the entire mood gets sour again when Yami once again inserts herself where she just isnât needed.
Rolling your eyes you give Gojo a quick goodbyeâthe two of you having different schedules from now until the end of the dayâand a small nod toward Yami.
With that you walk away, hoping that at least at the end of the day you can have your best friend backâjust for you to enjoy him without having Yami around at all times.
The next few lectures are over in a blink. You have retained no information whatsoever, your mind too occupied creating scenarioâs in your head about Yami and Gojo. Would they become instant friends? Is she somehow better than you?
That last one stings a bit. Itâs not like you like being so introverted, but you do try to get out of your comfort zone every now and then, but Yami seems just⊠bubblier? She matches Gojoâs vibes perfectly if youâre being honest to yourself.
Then again, you donât really know Yami like that, so maybe the two of them just donât click at all and the only reason Gojo is being nice to her is because she looks like you.
All you can hope for is that she isnât going to cling to him, because you can handle flirting from random girlsâyou canât, every time it happens either Shoko or Geto give you a lookâbut from your own twin sister would just make you crash out.
Twin sister, the words sound bitter even in your mouth. Your parents still havenât texted backâ oh. Looking at your phone you realise your mother has sent you a message.
Itâs a longwinded message about you and Yami being separated at birth due to complications and they could only take care of one of you, so they chose you instead of her.
The whole message makes your head hurt. Reading it over and over again, it just feels wrong. Sure this is the way your mom texts, but itâs still weird that they have never told you anything about having a twin sister out there in the world.
Youâd think that at eighteen, or maybe even younger, they would tell you that. But apparently not.
Sighing you close your phone, only to bump into someone. âAh, sorry! I didnât look where I was going,â you apologise to the person in front of you. Looking up youâre met with Geto looking down at you.
âMorning to you too,â he smiles, his hair is a mess probably from him running his hands through itâa small habit he has had since youâve met him. Itâs something he only does if he really tries to focus but canât.
You smile up at your friend. âYou done for today?â you ask him, starting to walk again to which he quickly follows. âMhmmm, was on my way home.â
The two of you chat all the way home. You instinctively walk with himâyou have been staying with them for a while now anyway, and itâs not like you canât just go back to your dorm room if needed.
Suguru opens the door for you, still in the middle of a story when he just stops. You look up at him from where you were untying your shoes, only to see him looking at the living room. Following his gaze youâre met with Gojo and, surprise surprise, Yami sitting on the couch.
âOh Suguru! This is Yami, I told you about her,â he waves over, introducing Yami who sits there, hands on her lap playing with her ringâa small habit you also have when meeting new peopleâwith a small smile on her face.
It so unlike her, or maybe it is exactly like her. You donât really know her after all, so maybe you judged far too soon, but it still makes you stop for a second.
Suguru walks into the living room, steps a bit unsure, but you stay standing at the door not moving an inch. Seems like you wonât have any alone time with Satoru after all.
God damnit.
âYou coming?â Gojo smiles back at you, and you almost give in to himâyou always do when he looks at you like that, well⊠it doesnât matter how he looks, youâd just give in to him anyway even if he didnât put up his puppy eyesâbut you merely shake your head.
âSorry, think imma go to the dorm today,â you smile apologetically before taking a step back and practically fleeing out of there. Gojo calls out after you, but youâre already gone by the time he even made it to the front door.
It honestly hurts a little that he would bring her back, even though he didnât know you didnât want him to. He noticed you being uncomfortable around her, right?
It doesnât matter what you think, because sheâs already there and youâre here. Again. Fleeing rather than just staying and being uncomfortable for the sake of your friend. It makes you stop dead in your tracks in the middle of the sidewalk.
This is exactly what you keep doing, getting out of or avoiding situations that make you mildly uncomfortable instead of staying for the sake of your friends.
You almost turn back around to go back, but what would you even say? Hey sorry I sprinted out of here after seeing her. I just have a weird feeling about her and you bringing her back to your place only makes it worse.
Yeah, no. Youâre not going to tell Gojo who he can and canât bring over, itâs his house after all; you were only staying there because you couldnât sleep.
You continue your way to your own dorm room, hoping to get a small breather and get your mind straight. Maybe after calming down you can send Gojo a small apology text. It would be better than just leaving without saying anything.
Youâre sporting eyebags that have eyebags again. Ever since going back to your own dorm room, you havenât been able to sleep. Itâs constantly that weird feeling of being watched, even in your own bedroom. One time you woke up and saw a shadow figure in your window. The silhouette looked like yours though, so you just brushed it off as it being your reflection.
The situation with Yami has only gotten worse. Apparently after youâd left she had immediately clicked with Geto, the two of them becoming quick friends, though he was more laid back about it than Gojo was.
Gojo is practically involving her in everything he can. Sheâs constantly there, and you canât just seem to get a moment alone with either of your friends. If youâre with them for more than five seconds, she somehow finds the two of you and inserts her into every conversation.
Geto and Gojo do not seem to mind, but youâre always left feeling sad. Itâs gotten to the point where you had facetimed Shoko, whoâd raised an eyebrow at you and told you that Yami seemed kinda sweet. âA you only with a more outgoing personality. The two of you share quite a lot of traits personality wise as well.â
When youâd asked he how she even knew that, she said that Gojo had introduced her to him via text. The two of them having been texting ever since.
It made you see green, to be completely honest. The fact that she just instantly clicks with your friends despite it taking you months just doesnât sit right with you, but that is also your own fault.
Youâre also starting to hear and see less of them, not necessarily because of them, but because youâre retreating once more. Itâs been a bad habit youâve had since you were younger. Whenever someone new comes into a friend circle, you retreat a bit because you feel like theyâre only keeping you there out of obligation rather than because they want you there.
Seems like you still havenât beating that stupid thing out of you. Not that it matters much, because your friends do still reach out, asking you to come to things with themâonly this time with Yami as well. Itâs like you canât sem to escape her.
You havenât had a real one on one with Satoru since before she introduced herself. Itâs absolutely eating at you. In classes he still sits next to you, still doodles in your margins and on your arm, still gives you candy, but Yami seems to somehow insert her in every interaction she can.
âOooohhh, is that mochi? I loooove strawberry mochi, itâs like, my favorite,â she gushed when Gojo had given you a packet on a particular day you were extra moody. Sweet Gojo immediately gave her one which she happily accepted.
It only made you grumpier, brows furrowing even further. When Satoru had looked away Yami had merely smirked at you and threw a wink your way before it was wiped off her face and replaced with a saccharine smile.
It made you want to vomit, honestly. She just seemed so⊠fake.
Youâre not sure what sheâs after, but you just want her out. Not that youâll ever tell your friends that, though. They all seem to enjoy her presence. Gojo calling it having two of you!! and youâd scrunched your nose at that.
So here you are, sitting on your bed watching yet another movie while putting your phone on silent. Itâs not like youâre getting a lot of texts right now anyway. Gojo, Geto and Yami went to a party together.
A party. It still makes you scowl. Of course she would go with them, hell she met Gojo there after all so you know she doesnât mind being at parties, but it still stings a bit. Yes, you did decline the inviteâwhich you immediately regrettedâbut it was for a good reason this time!
There was a new movie you wanted to desperately see and it had come out on Netflix this evening. Youâd been gushing about it to Satoru during lessons, but it seems like heâd rather go to a party instead.
Now youâre sitting here on your bed, alone, watching a movie you kinda wanted to watch with your friends instead, and all you can think about is how youâd rather be with said friends than watch this movie alone.
Sighing you pause it, shutting your laptop with a final thud. Rubbing your hands over your face you put it away before laying down on the bed.
You wonder if your friends are having any fun at the party. Youâll probably hear all about it from Gojo tomorrow.
And it seems like you were right, Gojo is in fact telling you all about it the next day. Youâd finally gathered your shit and went over to their apartment when he had asked you to come over.
But every time Gojo tries to tell you something, Yami would chime in and giggle fucking obnoxiously while touching himâon his bicep, knee, even on his chest one time. He doesnât seem to notice much, just continues telling the stories youâre politely nodding your head to.
Well, at least they had fun.
You catch Getoâs eye whoâs sitting on a beanbag on the opposite site. He jerks his head toward the hallway and stands up, and you follow when Gojo and Yami are in their own world again.
Shutting the door behind you, Geto goes to sit down on his bed. âSo, you ever gonna tell him?â he asks while crinkling his nose at the noise thatâs coming from insideâmore obnoxious giggling from Yami.
âTell him what?â you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. Geto gives you a look that practically screams we both know what I mean so stop playing dumb. Still he clarifies, âthat youâre in love with him?â
Fucking great, here the two of you go again. If it isnât Shoko that tells you to just confess already, itâs Geto. The two of you having had this conversation honestly more often than youâre willing to admit. Heâs always said you and Gojo look good together, but that isnât reason enough for you to confess.
âWe both know that Iâm not gonna tell him that,â you sigh while walking over and letting yourself flop onto the bed with a small grunt.
âAnd what if Yami confesses to him?â that makes your head snap up to him, your eyes narrowing slightly. You snatch one of his pillows and clutch it to your chest while rolling yourself over to stare at the ceiling. âShe can try.â
You want to say so much more, like Gojo would only reject her or Not like itâs gonna work but the words die out in your mouth because youâre not so sure. The two of them have gotten so close in such a short span of time, it honestly makes you nauseous.
âMhmmm, so you wouldnât mind if they got together?â Geto presses on, knowing damn well you would mind. You only shrug your shoulders this time. âWho am I to stop him from getting into a relationship?â
Geto sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose while he mutters a few curses under his breath. âIâm going to tell you this just once so you better listen to me.â
âI always listen to you, I just donât always do something with it,â you mumble out, getting a small pinch to your upper arm. âIâm serious.â
You throw your hands up in mock surrender. âSorry, sorry.â
âWhile I like Yamiâstop rolling your eyes, I can see you dumbassâI donât think sheâs right for him. Thereâs something too⊠perfect about her?â you scoff at that. âSorry, not perfect, more like⊠fabricated? Like she is somehow you but just changed enough for him to not notice you anymore.â
Yeah, that seems like something only you thought. Sitting up, you look at Geto with wide eyes. âYou really think that?â you whisper to him, your heart beating against your chest. Itâs the first time anyone has voiced their disdain for her, so you donât want to sound too hopeful.
âMhmmm. Sheâs just⊠I dunno, off, I guess,â he mumbles, before shrugging his shoulders and letting himself fall onto his back, black hair splaying out beneath him like a halo.
You practically saddle Suguru while giving him the tightest hug you can muster. Itâs not something you do often with Suguruâhonestly youâre not one for physical touch unless itâs with Satoru, so this surprises him a bit before he wraps his arms around you.
At that moment the door opens and both your heads snap over. Gojo stands in the threshold, door handle still in hand and his mouth open on a question that never makes it past his lips. âSorry, didnât know I was interrupting something.â
He closes the door behind him before either of you can object.
Scrambling to your feet, you go to the door to go after Satoru, only to stop in your tracks. âThanks, Suguru, it means more than you think.â With that you walk into the living room, only to see both Gojo and Yami gone.
Knocking on Satoruâs door, you open it after almost a full minute of no answer. Peeking your head inside, youâre met with an empty bed.
Swallowing you look into the living room once more before finally accepting the fact that they have gone somewhere together.
If you werenât jealous before, youâd definitely be now. Gojo hasnât so much as spoken to you since he found you with Suguru. Thatâs not true, he has said something to you.
âGonna sit here now,â heâd mumbled towards you when you noticed him going to sit next to Yami instead of you when youâd furrowed your brow at him.
It honestly stung, the fact that your best friend wouldnât even talk to you. Youâd tried texting him, but each one was still on delivered. Itâs not like Satoru to leave people on delivered, so youâre not sure why heâs doing it to you, and it seems like youâre not getting an answer out of him, either.
Youâve tried, really tried, explaining yourself, but it just seems like he doesnât want to hear it. Every class the two of you have together, he goes to sit next to Yami. During lunch he was nowhere to be found, only for you to spot him walking back onto campus with some fresh snacks and, surprise surprise, Yami by his side.
He was laughing at something she said, only to stop when he saw you. You waved at him, but he only gave a curt nod before walking further, not once stopping for you.
It had gotten so bad to the point where even Shoko seemed to noticeâand she wasnât even in the same fucking district as the four of you. No, she noticed it by the lack of texts about things you and Gojo did together.
Apparently he had been texting Shoko random things about you during the day whenever the two of you were together, but that came to a halt recently. Shoko had found out you and Gojo had a falling out, but still didnât fully understand why.
When you told her what happened she was dumbfounded and asked you if you were sure there wasnât anything you were leaving out. When you had told her once more that it seriously happened after Gojo had walked in on you hugging Suguru, she had muttered a small, angry idiot.
So now youâre here, sitting in your dorm room once again. You havenât been by the apartment since before the falling out, and you canât help but pout a bit.
You didnât realise just how much Gojo asked you out to do things with him until he stopped doing it. Where your life once consisted of just being with him, youâre now more alone than ever.
Your phone pings with a new notification, and for just a second you canât help but hope itâs Gojo reaching out to you. Opening your phone, you can see that he has sent an image in the group chatâsomewhere he hasnât texted in quite a while.
Opening the picture, youâre about to be sick to your stomach. Itâs a selfie of him and Yami. Heâs grinning, that small boyish smile that always makes your heart beat a little faster, and Yami is kissing his cheek.
Another message rolls in.
Guess who got a girlfriend?
This time youâre actually sick, abandoning your phone to run to the bathroom. No no no, this canât be happening. Anyone would be fine, but her. There are tears running down your cheeks before you know it. Why would he choose her out of everyoneâwell you can guess why, but still.
You hear the faint vibrations from your phone, but you just turn it off, not wanting to deal with anything in the moment.
Three days later your hair is being brushed after being forcefully shoved into the shower by Shoko. Geto is rummaging through your closet for some clothes while they both exchange small glances over your shoulder.
âYou guys know I can see you, right?â you mumble, voice hoarse from disuse. You havenât been to any lectures since you got the new. Havenât even gone outside, nor picked up your phone.
Shoko and Suguru barged in earlier, telling you to get ready because Gojo is taking the five of you out to dinner.
âYou can mope around all you want, but you will show that boy some respect by at least showing up. I know it hurts, but itâs just dinner, you can survive for two hours,â Shoko had said when she came inside.
Youâd whined at her that you just werenât ready to see them yet, which the two of them ignored. âYou had your chance, now itâs your time to show up for your best friend,â Suguru had said, voice no room for arguments.
It had stung, honestly, but it did make you shut up. Itâs not like the two of them were wrong in any way, you did have the chance but never took it, so someone else did. Plus this is exactly what you were talking about, getting out of your comfort zone more to show up for your friends.
But itâs so damn hard to see your best friend who you had a crush on get swooped away by someone who looks exactly like you. It makes you wonder if you ever did have a chance with him and shouldâve just followed Shokoâs and Suguruâs advice.
Not like you can change anything now, though. You have to come to terms with the fact that heâs taken by someone that looks like you.
So here you are, getting dressed by your two other close friends to go to a dinner that basically is Gojo showing off his new relationship. Fun.
An hour later the three of you are stood in front of a restaurant that honestly surprises you. Youâve known Gojo for years, but never has he ever taken any of you to a restaurant this high class. Stepping inside you immediately spot the two of them, holding hands while whispering to each other.
It makes you stop dead in your tracks until Suguru nudges you slightly. Taking a deep breath you make your way over to the table and take the seat the furthest away from the couple. Luckily Shoko and Geto seat themselves beside youâhalf because they think youâd run away, half to give you a bit of comfort.
You give a small smile to Gojo when he looks in your direction, which he returns. It looks fucking awkward on him, but you suppose thatâs your fault in the first place. You havenât even congratulated him, so you donât think heâs all too happy with you.
Yami smiles at you and it makes shivers crawl up your spine. Still, you return it because everyone is looking at you now.
The rest of the dinner goes by smoother than expected, there are a few hiccups where there are awkward silences, but it isnât as bad as you thought it would be, granted you kept your eyes on your food the entire time just to avoid looking at the happy couple for longer than necessary.
At one point Yami was drinking from her glass, which suddenly shattered in her mouth, a big piece of glass cutting her lip open. It had the four of you move immediately, trying to get her some treatment she clearly needed.
Gojo had dabbed her lip clean, blood collecting on the napkin while Shoko made sure there wasnât any glass left in the cut. Suguru had grabbed the glass and gave it to the waiter, who had bowed and taken it away immediately. You⊠well you were sat with a napkin in hand in case Gojo needed a new one.
But other than that, the night had played out quite well. The drink got comped from the bill while she got a new one, and the food was really good. You hadnât said much, but you could feel Gojoâs eyes on you.
When you guys are leaving, you see the small napkin with blood and discreetly swipe it off the table and prop it into your purse. Could never be too careful, can you?
The night ends with everyone exchanging hugs. You and Gojo stand a bit awkwardly before he finally pulls you into a hug, and you want to fucking sob. How much youâve missed your best friend, and for what? A girlâyou refuse to call her your âtwinâ or âsisterââcoming between you? God you feel fucking stupid.
âYou look happy,â you whisper in his ear, and he squeezes you slightly, âI am,â he responds. Pulling back slightly you look into his eyes. âGood,â you nod your head at him, and it should be good.
Youâd rather have your best friend back, even if heâs in a relationship with your clone, than not have him in your life at all. It has just taken you a few days to come to that realisation.
With that you guys part ways, Shoko going back to your dorm with you and Yami, Gojo and Geto going back to their apartment.
All in all it seems like a good ending to the night.
âCome onnnnn, just go with us!â Gojo whines, and you almost feel like heâs gonna stomp his feet like a toddler in a second. The pout on his face prominent, and you laugh a bit at it.
After the dinner two weeks ago you and Gojo had made up. While he still hasnât said exactly why he was avoiding you after seeing you and Geto hugâhe said it was a petty thing and to drop itâhe did tell you he was sorry for just abandoning you like that.
You had told him it was all fine, and that you were sorry too for not saying anything about the relationship until the dinner.
âFine, whatever, but as long as I still get the queen sized bed,â you point your finger at him.
Gojo had asked you to come to the lodge. Itâs something the four of you do every year during winter break. Well, this year it would be five, obviously, but the principle still stands.
The lodge is owned by Gojoâs parentsâhonestly what donât they have at this pointâand they would always bring you guys there whenever asked. Ever since the four of you got driver licenses, you guys would go there whenever you wanted to, but it had gotten to a point where itâs tradition to go during winter break.
Which is why you and Gojo are arguing, again. The bed arrangements were something that the two of you always argued over. You always had to share with Shoko, since there were only four bedrooms in the lodge and there were six of youâaccounting for his parents that went with you.
Youâd told Gojo it wouldnât make sense for him to get the king sized bed when he was going to sleep alone and you and Shoko had to share a queen sized with the two of you.
Somehow it always came to rock paper scissors, you winning 5/7 years already, which had made him pout last year. You had given in, giving him the king sized bed. Itâs not like you and Shoko share a bed when his parents arenât there with the group, so you gladly gave over the bed.
This year you want the king sized bed, though. You have been sleeping like absolute shit in your dorm room and no matter what you did, nothing seemed to help. Hence why you wanted the king sized bed, it always made you feel like you were sleeping on top of clouds.
âYou get it 3 out of 5 days,â he declares, crossing his arms over his chest. Itâs his way of saying fine without completely giving in. âDeal.â
Which leads you to the ginormous lodge. You always forget just how big this thing is, despite having been here multiple times.
You quickly make your way to the room with the king sized bed, and you can hear Suguru snickering behind you, mumbling something under his breath that you canât quite hear. Not that you care, a cloud on legs is waiting for your arrival.
Flinging yourself on top of the bed, you instantly sink into it. Yeah, this is the life. You close your eyes for just a second, breath steadying slightly. And before you know it, youâre fast asleep.
You get woken up a few hours later by Shoko. âWeâre going to a restaurant, but we didnât realise the reservation had been made for seven,â she says, a lollipop in her mouth. Looking over to the night stand, you see the digital clock display a neat 18:49.
âYeah, kay, lemme get ready. You guys can go so the reservation doesnât get cancelled. Iâll probably be like five or ten minutes late,â you mumble, voice still full of sleep. Shoko furrows her brows. âYou sure? Iâm sure someone can stay with you.â
You shake your head at that, âno need, I know which restaurantâthe one with the greasy fries, right?â when she nods her head you just pat her arm. âGo, Iâll be right behind you guys.â
With a sigh she leaves your room, making you spring up to go collect some clothes. You quickly dress yourself, brush your hair and teeth, and put on some perfume.
Grabbing your phone you quickly look at the time. 19:07, and itâs a good ten-minute walk to there. Not too bad if you say so yourself.
Unlocking your phone, you send Shoko a text that youâre on your way. Swiping out of the app you open your email, just to see if thereâs something interesting. Most of it is nonsense, but one of them catches your eye.
âDNA TESTâ
Your heart starts beating a bit louder in your chest. After you had grabbed the napkin with Yamiâs blood, you sent it in, alongside with your own, just to find out if sheâs really your twin sister, because something still feels off.
And if she is, well, great. No one has to know about you going behind their backs. If she isnât, then there are bigger fish to fry.
Opening the email, you stop in your tracks slightly, one shoe half on. You read the sentence over and over and over again. The test has come back, and you can feel your heart drop to your stomach.
Itâs a 100% match to you, as if you sent in two of the same samples.
100% match.
Clone.
Identical.
Twins.
Fuck.
You knew something was wrong with her. You knew it and still let it get so far, still let Gojo fall for her, still let her invade your friend group.
The text on your screen begins to blur before you swipe out of the app and go to call Shoko, sheâs probably the most calm. You know if you tried to tell Gojo he would just think youâre joking with him, and the fact that âlove makes blindâ is another thing.
The phone rings once before the door slams open. Jumping up slightly you twirl around, only to be met by Yamiâor is she technically you, she is a clone⊠a doppelganger?âwho has a wicked smile on her face.
Pointing your finger at her you take a few steps back. âStay the fuck away from me,â you snap, while she keeps walking toward you, her head tilting, hair falling over her eyes slightly.
âWhat, you think I didnât notice you collecting that blood? Oh sweetie. havenât you put it together yet?â Her voice is almost mocking, like sheâs talking to a kid. âI see everythingâ why do you think you couldnât sleep for so long?â
You think back to when all of this began, the feeling of being watchedâin your sleep, on your walk to the school, in class, anywhere that wasnât Gojoâs apartmentâand going insane.
Itâs not like you can dwell onto it too much because you hear Shokoâs voice from the other line. âHey, whatâs up?â
âShoko, oh god you need to come back! Yami isnâtââ A fist connects itself to your jaw, effectively cutting off your sentence. Your phone flies out of your hand , clattering to the ground with a crack that makes it known the screen is broken.
âI donât think so sweets,â she grabs your hair and puuullls it back, making your head lean all the way back. Youâre trying to claw at her arm behind your neck while her other hand shoots up to your jaw. She squeezes it once. Hard.
Fuck. Tears instantly spring to your eyes while a whimper slips past your lips. You donât know if the bitch broke your jaw, but with the way her thumb is digging into your jaw it sure makes it feel like it.
âWhy couldnât you just wait. Sit back and let it all happen?â her voice is sweet, as if she didnât just punch you in the face. âIt wouldâve been so much easierââ
You elbow her to the ribs, not letting her continue whatever game sheâs playing at. The hand at your jaw immediately leaves, and you dig your nails into her wrist, hard enough for her to let go of your hair with a hiss.
The next few minutes are a blur of fists and nails and teethâboth physically and metaphorically, small bitemarks littering both your arms.
She delivers another blow to your face which cracks your nose, blood readily dripping down your face. You hit her in the stomach hard enough to have her doubling over.
Your knuckles are crackedâbloodied and bruised. They hurt, but you canât feel anything other than the adrenaline thatâs coursing through your veins.
Is she gonna kill you? It sure seems that way. Or at least sheâll try, and youâll do anything to take her down with you.
Stumbling a few steps back, limping slightly from an earlier kick that made your knee popâyou havenât dared to look at it, nor have you had the time toâyou point a shaky finger at her. âWhat do you want from me?â
Blood coaxes your tongue, your teeth, your tongue, your nose. Itâs an ugly sight, honestly.
She laughs, high pitched and completely distorted. âYou still havenât figured it out? You poor thing,â One of her teeth is missing when she smiles, spit and blood mixing down her chin.
Youâre still trying to wrap your head around it. Clone. A 100% match to you. Sheâs been studying you ever since that night, or was she already watching you before that?
Stalking. Mimic. Infiltrate lives.
Doppelganger.
It all makes sense now. The fact that she was so⊠you, with a few changes. She was the more bubbly persona of yourselfâthe one you never let out. She did all the things you wanted to do but were too scared to do so, starting with that stupid party where she met Gojo.
Gojo.
The one person you wanted to have but never dared to tell him. Youâve been in love with him for years and she just got him. Well, that isnât exactly true now is it? She was just brave enough to voice her feelings.
Does she even have feelings, or did she mimic those off you too. Did she see the way you looked at him and put two and two together?
In a way sheâs everything you ever wanted to beâmore outgoing, more extroverted, more brave. Is that why sheâs here? To show you what you couldâve had if you just stepped out of your comfort zone more? Could you have all the things she has if you had just indulged a bit more?
But that isnât quite it, is it? Doppelgangers are known to infiltrate lives, and more often than not also dispose of the âoriginalââkilling them to take them over completely. Theyâre also a premonition of death.
Youâre really going to die here, arenât you?
No, no you canât think like that. It would mean giving upânot being able to see your friends ever again, not being able to tell them just what they got themselves involved in. No you canât die here.
Wiping your nose with the back of your hand, leaving behind a smear of red, you take your stance once more. She merely smiles and tilts her head a bit more, it looks completely inhumane.
âWell, well, well, looks like she finally figured it out,â she purrs, blood dripping steadily from a cut in her eyebrow, small droplets land in her eye, but she doesnât even blink at it. Yeah, definitely inhumane.
With that she charges in once more, throwing out jabs you keep trying to dodge, but she keeps landing them. Hit after hit. Itâs ugly, and a losing game, so you start swinging yourself. Itâs messy, uncoordinated, but they still land.
Your knuckles are starting to hurt, bloodsplatters are starting to stain the floor and walls, and if someone came in right now, theyâd think someone wouldâve been murderedâwhich wouldnât be far off.
She knocks you right into the counter, knocking the breath out of you and cracking a rib. Wheezing you try to get a breath in, but even breathing hurts. Everything is starting to hurt. Your broken nose, jaw, ribs. There are ugly bruises starting to form on your skinâeye already swelling up, knuckles completely red, no doubt your entire torso also being littered with marks.
Thereâs a chunk of hair a few feet from the two of you, and youâre not sure if itâs yours or that thingâs. Not that it matters much, because sheâs starting to dig her nails in your throat.
Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Your hand swipes behind you, just hoping thereâs something, anything, on the marble counter that could help you out here. Your fingers find one of the glasses none of you had cleaned yet. Wrapping your fingers around it, you swing it at her face.
Her hands immediately leave your throat and you take in a big gulp of air. There are glass shards in your hand, blood trailing down your arm, dripping onto the hardwood floor below you, staining it red.
The thing is clutching its side of its head, chunks of glass sticking out its skin, painting that entire side of its face in crimson.
âYou little bitch,â it hisses, eyes blacking out completely and sheâs on you within a second. Your back meets the ground, shards digging into your back which makes you arch up. Gasping out youâre clawing at her thighs, trying to get her off your torso, but to no avail.
Her hands come around your throat once more, squeezing it with all her might. You wheeze out, clawing at her thighs, arms, handsâanywhere you can reach, honestly.
âDonât worry about your little friends, Iâll take good care of them,â she smiles down at you completely devoid of any emotion. Your hand finds the hardwood floor searching for something, maybe one of the knives clattered to the ground, or a fucking pan.
Her eyes follow your hand and smile, âNawhhh, youâre still trying? Wouldnât you want to be reunited with mommy and daddy?â Her words don't compute in your head, you start to feel lightheaded, eyes struggling to keep open.
Anything, please, just⊠anything.
Your fingers skim something sharp, cutting the flesh immediatelyâa big piece of glass that you smashed against her head earlier. Clamping your hand around it you jab it towards her head.
The piece lodges itself in the side of her throat, and her hands release their grip for just a secondâenough for you to cough, tears springing to your eyes and starting to fall down, tracing into your hairlineâbefore she tightens her grip on your throat once more.
You yank the piece out of her throat, blood spewing out onto your face, painting it completely in the sticky substance. Closing your eyes you sputter tasting the copper on your tongue.
This time she completely lets go of your throat in favor to grab her own, trying to keep the wound shut. You take that opportunity to stab her, again and again and again. Itâs messy, slightly sluggish with the way oxygen is still trying to flow to your brain.
But you keep. stabbing. Her chest, throat, wherever you can reach, basically. Until she finally stills, blood bubbling out of her mouth, painting her lips in crimson. âFuck⊠youâŠâ she splutters out, before the light in her eyes disappears.
You let out a breath you didnât know you were holding and close your eyes for a second. Everything hurts now that youâre finally letting yourself breathe. Your hands are shaking, wounds finally starting to sink in.
Blood is pooling underneath the two of you, mixing DNAâthough it would come back as the same DNA if someone would test itâpainting the entire scene in crimson.
When you open your eyes you finally register the loud sirens wailing through the night, blue and red lights flashing through the kitchen window casting eerie shadows.
Good, theyâre here. Someones here to help you.
The front door slams open and multiple policemen storm through it, weapons drawn when they take in the scene in front of them.
Thereâs blood basically everywhere, it stains the floor, walls, cabinets, counter and even the ceiling. Thereâs a tooth laying on the ground and a chunk of hair a bit further away. Glass shards scatter across the floor like small stars. And in the center of the kitchen lay two girlsâidentical if you didnât account for the horrific wounds they both sustainedâone breathing, the other not.
You can hear them shout at you, but itâs all muffled, like someone propped cotton into your ears, or maybe theyâre just clogged with blood. Your hand finally releases the chunk of glass you didnât know was still there.
Thereâs people touching you, checking your wounds, your throat. A flashlight shines into your eyes and you jerk back slightly, the glass in your back digging in deeper.
The next few minutes are a blur, an oxygen mask gets put over your mouth before youâre laid on a stretcher.
Getting wheeled out of the house you vaguely register your friendsâGojo, Geto and Shokoâstanding there with worried expressions on their faces. They gasp when they see you, and youâre not sure if they think youâre you of if youâre Yami, but you just smile at them.
âCheck⊠email,â you breathe out to Shoko, your entire voice hoarse. You cough after, making your entire body hurt even more.
Thatâs the last you see of your friends before youâre put in the back of an ambulance and get driven off.
You close your eyes with only one thought in your head.
Thank god you have your life back.
A/N: And then Higuruma takes on this case, because she did kill someone, and he gets a not guilty verdict and they all live happily ever after!!!
synopsis: The rise, the fall, and the silence in between. After an injury nearly cost you your passion, youâre back on campus as a third-year transfer, desperate to leave your volleyball legacy in the past. But the school league is persistent, and Ryomen Sukuna is worse. As a powerhouse in the local baseball scene, Sukuna is as rough as he is talented, and for some reason, heâs decided to make your life a living hell. You both hate each otherâs gutsâa rivalry fueled by sharp tongues and locker-room tension. But as the lines between hate and obsession begin to blur, you have to wonder: will this chaos be your saving grace, or a deeper kind of hurt?
chapter 2 out, chapter 3 OUT NOW!
Chapter 1: The kinetic friction
For most juniors, the first day of the fall semester was a victory lap. For you - it felt like a sentencing. You adjusted the strap of your north face backpack, feeling the familiar, faint pull in your left knee - a ghost of a pop that still echoed in your nightmares.
Just walk normally.
The transfer orientation packet was crumpled in your hand as you navigated the brick-lined quad of the sports science building. You were a third-year, but you felt like a freshman. People were shouting, reuniting after summer in a far away island, or just a town that felt like home before finally going back to college. Some were tossing footballs with a casual grace that made your stomach twist. You used to be the one they watched. Now, you were just a girl with a gap year and a story people whispered about in locker rooms.
You finished your rehab almost a month ago after being in a strict program for 9 months. There was no pain, but the fear was still there. Fear that your knees may give out anytime, fear of starting volleyball again, fear of the life thatâs in store for you in this new school.
Building 4. Room 302. Advanced Human Kinesiology.
You pushed through the heavy oak doors, the air conditioning hitting you like a physical wall. The lecture hall was already half-full - a sea of oversized hoodies, hydroflasks covered in stickers, and the muffled roar of a hundred different conversations.
Looking at the farthest seat at the back, your eyes scanned for an empty seat and saw that there was one - 2 seats away from the window. Except there was a man slumped on the chair beside the window, his hoodie covering his face. He was manspreading - one phone in his right hand, his left hand in his pockets. You looked around and found that there were no other empty seats - okay, maybe there is, but it was in front and center, and you werenât about to sit there. Slightly heavy footsteps as you walk up the stairs of the lecture hall where youâre planning to take a seat.
âHey, is this seat taken?â You asked the guy pointing to the chair beside him, he didnât spare you a glance or even looked at the seat beside him. âMhhm..â he said while scrolling on his phone. You rolled your eyes and didnât reply back. Itâs 7am for fucks sake. You don't want to start your new school life with negativity because this guy is clearly too busy to be bothered. You turned around, and had no choice but to take the empty chair on the center aisle of the 3rd row.
As you sat your backpack down, there were a few lingering stares from the people in their seats. Some stares caught your eyes, so you tried to offer a small smile. A year ago, you wouldâve been introducing yourself with anyone within the same room - a social butterfly, that was one of the charms you had in your old school. It doesnât matter if you were famous for being a ridiculously hot volleyball star in your university, you treated everyone the same; you were a breath of fresh air - contrary to popular belief that the majority of the school athletes are inborn assholes.Â
A few minutes passed and the doors swung open. A man in a red track suit with clipboard in his hands and whistle dangling off his neck took the podium. The students scramble on their seats, others quieting down as the man scans the room - clearly gaining momentum before he can start the morning lecture.Â
âGood morning class,â the professorâs voice echoed, sharp and rhythmic. He had the kind of posture that suggested heâd spent more time on a whistle than in a library. âIâm Coach Iwaizumi, but for the next sixteen weeks, Iâm your Kinesiology lead. If youâre in the wrong room, leave now. If youâre here to coast because youâre on a scholarship, get out faster.â
The room went dead silent. You felt a familiar prickle of nervesâthe kind you used to get right before a serve.
âWe have a few new faces in the upper-division cohort this year,â Iwaizumi continued, his eyes scanning the roster on his clipboard. He looked up, his gaze landing directly on you. âTransfer from the 3rd District? Stand up, letâs see who weâre working with.â
Your heart did a painful thud against your ribs. You pushed off your chair, mindful of your left leg, and stood. The eyes of every athlete in the room pivoted toward you like a synchronized drill.
âState your name and your primary,â Iwaizumi commanded.
You said your name, surprised that your voice was steadier than you felt. âSports Science major. Third year.â
âAnd?â Iwaizumi arched an eyebrow. âI recognize that tape job on your knee. You were the Libero for the 3rd District League All-Stars a year ago, right? The one they called the 'Iron Floor'?â
A collective murmur rippled through the hall. You could practically feel the weight of the "pregnancy" and "headcase" rumors starting to churn in their minds. You nodded once, curtly. âI was.â
âGood. I don't care about your past trophies, I care about your mechanics,â Iwaizumi said, though his eyes softened just a fraction. âCome find me at the Main Gym after your last block today. The Varsity coach wants a word about the mid-season roster. Sit down.â
As you sank back into your seat, your face burning, you felt a heavy, burning gaze from the back of the room. You didn't have to look to know it was the guy whoâd brushed you off.
Iwaizumi turned back to his clipboard, frowning as he looked at the empty seat next to the window in the back row.
âSukuna!â the professor barked.
The man slumped in the back finally moved. He pushed the hood of his sweatshirt back, revealing a shock of spiky, salmon hair, face piercings, and face tattoosâand an expression that suggested the entire world was a massive inconvenience to him. He didn't sit up straight; he just tilted his head.
âWhereâs Gojo?â Iwaizumi asked, annoyed. âHeâs supposed to be your lab partner for the biomechanics unit. Heâs already pushing his absence limit for the entire school year and itâs day one of the semester.â
Sukuna didnât even look at the empty chair beside himâthe chair heâd told you was âtakenâ ten minutes ago. He just checked his phone with a bored flick of his thumb.
âDead,â Sukuna drawled, his voice a deep, scratchy rasp that carried effortlessly. âOr sick. Whichever one gets him out of listening to you talk for two hours. He texted me saying heâs staying in bed.â
âTell that idiot if heâs not in the lab on Thursday, heâs failing,â Iwaizumi snapped, turning toward the whiteboard.
You sat frozen in the third row, your jaw tightening so hard it ached.
Sick. The other guy heâs referring to was sick.
Which meant that seatâthe one by the window, the one away from the prying eyes of the front rowâhad been completely, 100% empty. Sukuna didnât even glance at you a while ago, and yet he lied just because he didn't want a stranger in his vicinity.
You risked a glance over your shoulder. Sukuna was already looking at you, his chin resting on his hand, a dark, mocking glint in his eyes. He didnât look sorry. He looked like he was waiting for you to realize how much he didn't give a fuck about your "Iron Floor" reputation.
You turned back around, biting your lip. It was only 7:15 AM, and you already had two goals for the semester: keep your knee from exploding, and stay as far away from that salmon haired brute as humanly possible.
A few more walking here and there and you were done with your last subject. Itâs currently 3pm, and youâre looking on your phone for the school map. You were supposed to go to the schoolâs gymnasium for a debrief as you were directed.
You opened the doors to the gymnasium and were welcomed with screeching sounds of rubber shoes, athletes shouting as they go through their routine, whistles from a variety of sports coaches, and the damp air that made your stomach flutter. This was your home a year ago, you were more frequent in the gym than outside, or even frankly, in your classroom.Â
The familiar pang of fear pierced through you, yet you braved and walked around the courtside where you see Coach Iwaizumi huddled up with a few students, and coaches.Â
âHey, coach. Iâm here.â You spoke, Coach Iwaizumi turned to face you, other coaches whom he was speaking to before darted their eyes towards you too.Â
Coach Iwaizumi broke into a sharp, knowing grin as you approached. He clapped a hand on the shoulder of a shorter, lean man with a clipboard who looked like heâd been analyzing your gait from the moment you stepped onto the hardwood.
âSpeak of the devil,â Iwaizumi said, his voice projecting over the chaos of a nearby basketball drill. âCoach Ukai, this is the one I was telling you about. Our new transfer, the one from the 3rd District.â
Coach Ukai pushed his headband back, his eyes narrowing as he scanned youânot with judgment, but with the clinical precision of a scout. âThe Iron Floor, huh? I watched your tape from the National qualifiers two years ago. That pancake save in the fifth set was⊠well, it was something else.â
A few other coaches in the circle nodded in recognition. You felt the heat climb up your neck. You weren't just a student here; you were a piece of unfinished business.
âI heard you finished your protocol three weeks ago,â Ukai continued, stepping closer. He lowered his voice, dropping the 'coach' persona for a second to speak to you like a person. âThe charts say youâre cleared. 100% mechanical recovery. But charts donât tell me how youâre feeling. So, be honest with meâhow do you feel about getting back on the court?â
The damp, salty air of the gym felt heavy in your lungs. You looked past them at the volleyball nets at the far end of the facility. The sound of a ball being spikedâa sharp, violent thwackâmade your knee twinge, a psychosomatic ghost of the pain that had ended your world a year ago.
âIâm⊠Iâm cleared, yeah,â you murmured, shifting your weight unconsciously to your good leg. âIâve been doing my drills at home. My older brother runs lines with me in the backyard. Iâm in shape, Coach. Physically, Iâm fine.â
âBut?â Iwaizumi prodded, crossing his arms.
âBut the floor feels a lot harder than it used to,â you admitted, your voice barely audible over a refereeâs whistle.
Ukai exchanged a glance with Iwaizumi. There was no pity in their eyes, only a quiet, grounded understanding. They had seen a thousand athletes break; they knew the hardest part to fix wasnât the ligament, but the trust.
âLook, kid,â Ukai said, tapping his clipboard against his thigh. âWe arenât going to throw you into a scrimmage and pray your ACL holds. Weâve got open tryouts in two weeks. No pressure, no scout's eyesâjust a chance to see if you still like the smell of the court. Weâre short on defensive specialists who can read a setter like you do.â
âTwo weeks,â you repeated, the deadline feeling both a lifetime away and terrifyingly close.
âThink about it,â Iwaizumi added, giving you a firm nod of encouragement. âYou didn't transfer to a top-tier sports school just to read about biomechanics in a textbook. You belong out there.â
As they turned back to their meeting, you felt a strange mix of nausea and adrenaline. You were still chewing on the "two weeks" deadline when you turned the corner by the equipment lockers. You weren't lookingâyour head was deep in your phone, trying to pull up your scheduleâwhen you collided with something that felt less like a person and more like a high-speed car.
"Whoa! Watch it, superstar!"
The impact sent your phone skittering across the polished wood. A pair of massive, pale hands caught your shoulders to steady you. You looked up into a face that was almost annoyingly handsomeâhidden behind a pair of dark, designer sunglasses despite being indoors. He was wearing a white jersey, his hair a chaotic silver mess.
"Fuck, my bad," you breathed, reaching for your phone.
"All good, all good," the guy chirped, his grin wide and chaotic. "Youâre the new transfer, right? The one everyoneâs gossiping about in the training room. Iâm Satoru. Iâd offer you an autograph, but I forgot my pen."
"I'm good, Satoru," you muttered, wiping dust off your screen.
"Ouch. Stone cold. I like it," he laughed, leaning back. "Are you here for the tryouts? Word is youâre the 'missing link' for the girls' squad. Don't let the coaches intimidate you, they're all bark and noâ"
"Gojo, shut the fuck up and get your gear. Weâre late."
The voice was like a low-frequency hum that vibrated in your chest. You looked past Satoruâs shoulder to see Sukuna leaning against the doorway of the weight room. He looked even more irritated than he had at 7:00 AM. His arms were crossed over a black compression shirt that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
"Aww, look whoâs grumpy," Satoru cooed, turning around but keeping an arm draped casually near your personal space. "Did you miss me in Kinesiology this morning, Ryomen? I heard you told the Professor I was dead. Very touching."
"I told him you were sick," Sukuna corrected, his eyes flicking to you with a bored, sharp disdain. "Which isn't a lie. Youâre a headache."
You stepped out from between them, feeling the atmospheric pressure in the hallway spike. "Actually, he told the professor you were dead or sick," you said, looking Sukuna dead in the eye. "Right before he lied to me about the seat next to him being taken. You're a real piece of work, you know that?"
Sukunaâs gaze drifted down to you, a slow, mocking smirk spreading across his face. He didn't even have the decency to look caught.
"The seat was taken," Sukuna said, his voice a smooth, sarcastic drawl. "By my desire to not have you or anyone breathing near me for two hours.â
"You're a prick," you snapped, the heat rising in your chest. "It was the only open seat in the back. You made me sit in the splash zone just to be a dick."
"And thatâs my problem, how?" he countered, stepping closer. He ignored Satoru entirely, focusing his heavy, suffocating energy on you, he looked bored - like he could be anywhere instead of talking to you. "Give it up and get it over with. I donât know what youâre so fucking mad about.â he scoffed, you frowned not knowing where the hostility is coming from.
"Fuck you," you hissed.
"Maybe later, sweetheart," he shot back, his eyes flashing with a dark, mean sort of amusement. "Right now, you're blocking the way to the lockers. Move."
Satoru let out a low whistle, looking between the two of you like heâd just found his new favorite TV show. "God, the tension is delicious. Are we gonna fight? Are we gonna kiss? I need to know if I should start selling tickets."
"Get. Moving. Satoru," Sukuna growled, bumping his shoulder hard against the silver-haired guy as he shoved past. He didn't look back at you, but he threw a parting shot over his shoulder. "Don't trip on your way out. I'd hate for you to have to take another gap year."Â
You stood there, fingers curled into fists, watching his broad back disappear into the locker room.
"He's a charming one, isn't he?" Satoru chuckled, adjusting his glasses. "Total asshole. But hey, if you actually show up to those tryouts, he might actually have to respect you. And trust me, watching Sukuna have to respect someone is the funniest thing on campus."Â
âAs if I care about his fucking respect. He can shove it up his ass.â You grumbled. You hear gojo laughing beside you. This is gonna be a hell of a year for you.
an: hi! I'm new to tumblr and have been writing since i was 14 - I can't get this out of my head for months now and I wanted to squeeze my juices since i so fucking love sukuna sm. anyways, reblogs are appreciated! let's be moots i love you saur much!
also, i'm planning to make this into a 10-part series. i love me some enemies to lovers trope - fuck!! idk if i can write a smut - english isn't my first language but hey, stay tuned! credits to: @saradika-graphics for the divider she's so ughhh
âč àŁȘ Ëđ°ïžàË. á”á”đïž spy au where field agent!gojo is in love with the voice in his earpiece â mission supervisor!you.
contents. gojo x fem reader! secret service au or smth âą fluff fluff fluff âą down bad gojo âą mutual pining âą minor description of injuries âą inspired by my love for spy movies and gojo satoru <33 âą art in the header by @linobii_
part 1: for the last 2 years, gojoâs favourite thing has been hearing your voice accompany his every move on his missions. you are his guardian angel of sorts.
part 2: he gets depressed and pouty when he finds out you have been reassigned to supervise someone elseâs mission and left him stuck with ijichi.
part 3: gojo gets injured on a mission and you have to be there for him.
part 4: coming soonâŠ
i am the face of love's rage @heizenka - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
