chapter 3 : liquid courage
pairing // gojo x fem!reader
warnings // MDNI!, toxic gojo x toxic fem reader, college au, angst, slow burn, friends to lover to.. whatever the fuck this is, emotional unavailability, self-sabotage, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of drinking and weed, attachment issues, codependency, miscommunication, angst no comfort, maybe sort of comfort if you squint, jealousy, messy situationships, anxiety, depression, low self-esteem, smut, rated M! no minors!, honestly everyone needs therapy
this chapter was inspired by: eternal flame by mariah the scientist
story masterlist | chapter two | chapter four
You trip over a pillow that's fallen off the couch, your vision completely black, unable to see even your own hands in front of you as you stumble through your apartment.
“Girl, be careful!” Clara giggles behind you.
It's currently 3 a.m. on a Saturday, and the two of you were just getting home from a night out at the bars.
It’ll be three weeks today since you've seen or spoken to Gojo, and in his absence, you may or may not have developed a minor drinking problem.
You just needed something to keep your mind off him now that the stress of midterms had finally passed.
You blink hard in the darkness, as if that'll somehow grant you night vision, and run your hand along the wall in search of the kitchen light switch. The moment your fingers find it, you flip it on.
You immediately squint against the brightness, your eyes adjusting as they land on Clara.
“Thank goodness.” She straightens up and stumbles into the kitchen with a grin. You drop into a chair at the table and watch as she yanks open the refrigerator. She grabs a water bottle and downs the entire thing in ten seconds flat.
She slams the empty plastic bottle onto the counter and lets out an impressively loud burp.
“Dude,” she says, licking her lips. “I'm so freakin' drunk right now.” she grimaces, her eyes red-rimmed and glossy.
“Same. I think we went a little overboard with those tequila pineapples.” you respond, trying to kick off your shoes.
Clara groans and lets her head hang forward.
“I think I'm gonna throw up.”
Your eyes widen. “Do it in the sink—” she lunges forward and immediately empties her stomach into the stainless steel basin.
“Oh nooo.” you stumble toward her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling it back.
The sounds coming from her are genuinely horrifying.
“Oh my god, you sound possessed." you laugh.
“Don't make me laugh,” she gags again.
“Damn, girl.” you rub her back. “I didn't realize you were such a lightweight.”
“I...” gag. “...am not...” gag. “...a lightweight.” she spits into the sink.
“You just have a drinking problem.” her voice is thick and wet.
A few minutes later, she finally straightens up, wiping her face with the paper towel you so graciously handed her.
“You good?” you eye her as you continue to rub her back gently.
“No.” she lets out a shaky breath. “I'm gonna go take the hottest shower known to mankind and pass out.”
You snort. “Love that for you.”
She flashes you a weak peace sign as she shuffles toward her bedroom. “See you tomorrow.” The door clicks shut behind her.
Silence immediately fills the apartment. It's amazing how fast it happens. One second you're laughing, the next it's just you.
You sigh and sluggishly walk around the kitchen counter and down the hall to your own room.
Your phone lights up, but you don't even have to look. A familiar irritation settles in your chest.
“Jesus.” You toss your purse onto the desk and dig your phone out.
2 new messages. 2 minutes ago.
Three weeks ago, in the throes of your devastating rejection from Gojo, you'd made the wise decision to get back in contact with your ex.
Within days of talking to him, you could already feel the oppressive grip he'd had on your soul starting to force its way back in. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but you truly felt in your sad, wounded heart that this was the best you were going to get.
Rolling your eyes, you turn your flashlight on and throw your phone screen down onto your bed, using it for light as you change into some soft pajamas.
Maybe if you ignore him long enough—
With a sigh, you unlock your phone.
you: i just got home. im going to sleep
The response is immediate.
don't answer: i wanna hear your voice
Your stomach does something stupid. Something you'd hoped would've stopped happening by now.
You really hate that it hasn't.
you: isn't it like 5am there?
you: why are u even awake
don't answer: couldn't sleep
don't answer: are u wit someone
don't answer: why wont u call me
You stare at the screen. Before you can decide what to do, your screen lights up with an incoming FaceTime.
You groan and press decline.
How did it already get to this point?
You climb into your bed and reach over to pull the comforter over your body, tucking yourself beneath its warmth. You know you should get up and, at the very least, wipe the makeup from your face before it ends up staining your pillowcase, but the emotional baggage you've been carrying around these last few weeks has made your body feel far heavier than it should.
Every day feels exhausting lately.
Not because of classes or homework, but because no matter what you're doing, a part of your mind is always occupied. Always circling the same thoughts. Replaying the same memories.
You let out a slow breath and close your eyes, hoping sleep will come quickly.
Instead, your mind drifts to the one person you've been trying desperately not to think about.
You wonder what he's doing right now. Wonder if he's asleep, or if he's staring at the ceiling just like you are. If he's up late talking to her like he used to with you.
Before things got messy...
You scoff lightly into the darkness at the thought.
After all, he's the one who did this in the first place. He's the one who left you standing in the aftermath with a million questions and not a single answer.
The one who looked at you as though you were the most captivating thing he'd ever seen, only to turn around and disappear before you could understand what any of it meant.
You still couldn't make sense of it.
What did he want from you?
The question has followed you everywhere these last three weeks, lingering quietly in the background. No matter how many times you replay everything in your head, you always arrive at the same dead end.
Nothing about him makes sense.
Your brows pull together as the memory of that last day you saw him slips into your mind once again.
You remember him standing by your bedroom door, the way his hand rested against the knob as though he couldn't decide whether to leave or stay.
The way guilt and confusion seemed to shadow every feature of his face.
He looked so...conflicted, as though he was fighting a battle you couldn't see.
You roll onto your side and pull the blanket closer to your chest. A frustrated sigh slips from your lips.
Too tired to spend another night dissecting every glance and every conversation in search of answers that clearly aren't coming. Sleep eventually does begin to pull at your consciousness, soft and steady, until your thoughts start to blur around the edges.
Oh, Gojo. What is going on inside that head of yours?
Sunlight filtered through the blinds and landed directly across your closed eyes.
You groaned and rolled onto your stomach, dragging your pillow over your head in a desperate attempt to block it out. The fabric muffled the outside world just enough that you considered staying exactly where you were for the rest of the day.
Unfortunately, your bladder had other plans.
With a sigh, you blindly reached across your nightstand until your fingers find your phone. You bring it close to your face, squinting against the brightness of the screen.
A pathetic whine left your lips as you buried your face back into the pillow.
Surely the universe could grant you thirty more minutes.
The pressure in your bladder immediately informed you that the answer was no, it couldn’t.
With all the enthusiasm of a Victorian woman dying from an unnamed illness, you pushed yourself upright and dragged your feet toward the bathroom across the hall.
Once you'd finally taken care of business, you shuffled into the living room in search of water. As you enter the common area, you see Clara sprawled dramatically across the couch.
A damp washcloth covered her eyes, and a steaming mug sat on the coffee table in front of her. Judging by the smell drifting through the room, she'd made tea sometime before you'd woken up.
“Hey.” you grumbled as you wandered into the kitchen.
After filling a glass with water, you made your way over to the loveseat adjacent to the couch and collapsed into it.
“Barely,” she mumbled from beneath the washcloth. “I think I'm going into liver failure.”
“I don't think that's how that works.” you laughed softly.
“Then I'm dying from something else.” she whined.
The apartment fell quiet again, the hum of the refrigerator filling the empty space between you.
Eventually Clara let out a dramatic sigh and sat up. She grabbed her green Minecraft mug and brought it to her lips, taking a careful sip before glaring at you over the rim.
“You actually look like you slept well.” she grumbles out.
“That's only because I'm a seasoned vet.” your smirk earned a scowl from her.
You laugh and took another sip of water. She just closes her eyes and leaned her head back against the couch cushion.
Another comfortable silence settled between the two of you.
You both stayed like that for a while, not ready to face the day quite yet. At some point, one of you turned on a random crime documentary. Neither of you paid enough attention to know what it was about.
You simply sat there nursing your drinks and your hangovers, letting the lazy afternoon drift by one minute at a time.
You hear Clara's phone buzz sometime later and lazily glance over as she reaches for it. At first, she smiles at whatever message she received. Then the smile falters, something closer to apprehension replacing it as her eyes scan the screen.
“What?” you ask, immediately suspicious.
“Soooo...” she drags the word out and locks her phone, setting it in her lap. She smooths her hands over her sweatpants and avoids your eyes for a second. “I just got a text from Geto.”
“Okay?” you raise an eyebrow. “And?”
“Well...” she visibly swallows. “He asked if we wanted to come to a party at his place tonight.”
Your eyebrows pull together.
“Okay... yeah, that sounds fun.” you give her a strange look. “Why are you acting like that if that's all he asked?”
Clara presses her lips together.
“Well, you know...” she says carefully.
“No. I don't know.” you stare at her.
She hesitates another second before finally saying it.
“Y’know…Geto and Gojo are roommates.”
You had somehow forgotten that fact. Which was ridiculous considering the two of them had been attached at the hip for as long as you'd known them.
For a moment, you genuinely have no idea why she's bringing that up. Then it clicks. Your mouth parts slightly as understanding settles over you.
Still, even after spending the last three weeks actively avoiding any thought related to Gojo, your brain had apparently decided to erase every detail that might lead back to him.
Clara watches your reaction carefully.
“You still want to go?” she asks. “Because you seriously don't have to. I don't mind staying home with you.”
You chew on the inside of your cheek. It had been almost two weeks since you'd hung out with everyone. Not because they hadn't invited you, they surely had. More than once even.
You'd just always found a reason not to go.
Part of it was the embarrassment. You knew everyone was aware that something had happened between you and Gojo, even if they didn't know all the details. The thought of walking into a room and wondering who knew what made your stomach twist.
The other part was much simpler.
You'd been avoiding him religiously.
Every declined invitation, every excuse, every night spent hiding in your apartment had ultimately come back to the same thing.
You didn't want to see him.
Not when you were still angry and confused. And definitely not when a stupid part of you still missed him.
Your gaze drifts back to Clara. You can tell she wants to go.
She's trying very hard not to pressure you, but you've known her long enough to recognize the hopeful look she's attempting to hide.
You sigh and lean your head back against the couch.
“Well, I suppose that's fine.”
Clara immediately sits up straighter.
“Yes, really.” you sink into cushions as you pretend to focus back on the documentary playing.
“Why does everyone always ask me that?” you laugh.
“I just want to make sure you don't have a breakdown halfway there.” she gives a look of concern.
“I'll have you know I'm handling this situation with incredible maturity.”
“Okay,” you finally admit. “that might've been a lie.”
“That's what I thought.” she laughs.
Despite yourself, you find a small smile tugging at your lips. Maybe getting out of the apartment wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. And maybe, if you were extra lucky, Gojo wouldn't even be there.
“Yeah, I can't avoid him forever. Plus, I miss everyone, and I don't want them to think I don't like them anymore.” you say, watching two detectives interrogate a suspect.
“Okay...” Clara gives you a small smile as she picks her phone back up. “But if you change your mind, that's totally okay too.”
“I won't, trust. I'll never turn down free alcohol.” you wave your hand dismissively.
She snickers and immediately begins typing away, her thumbs moving quickly across the screen as she undoubtedly updates the group chat.
The afternoon drifts by lazily after that.
The sun gradually shifts across the apartment, painting different patches of gold across the hardwood floors as the hours pass. At some point, the crime documentary turns into a crime docuseries, which somehow turns into four consecutive episodes despite neither of you paying enough attention to follow the actual case.
Every now and then one of you would suddenly look up and ask a question.
“Wait, wasn't that guy dead?”
“No, I think that was his brother.”
“Should we restart the episode?”
Around four Clara decides she wants something sweet, which results in the two of you attempting to bake muffins despite the fact that neither of you particularly enjoys baking. The kitchen ends up looking like it's own crime scene.
The muffins come out looking perfectly normal.
“Why is it so dense?” Clara squints suspiciously at hers.
“I think we accidentally made bread.”
“It's blueberry concrete.”
“That's actually a great band name.”
By the time you've cleaned the kitchen and abandoned your failed baking experiment, the sun has disappeared completely.
The apartment glows softly beneath the warm yellow light of the lamps scattered throughout the living room, and when you finally glance at the clock hanging above the television, you're surprised to see that it's already a few minutes past seven.
“Shit.” Clara sits up suddenly. “We should probably start getting ready.”
The two of you scramble off the couch at the same time.
About forty minutes later, you step out of the shower wrapped in a towel, steam curling out of the bathroom behind you as you make your way into your room.
You pull open your closet and immediately begin digging through hangers.
You continue rummaging through the seemingly endless amount of clothing you've accumulated over the years before finally letting out a frustrated huff.
You somehow have nothing to wear despite owning entirely too many clothes.
Giving up, you step out into the hallway and make your way toward Clara's room. Her bedroom door is already open.
“Clar?” you knock lightly against the frame before stepping inside.
You glance around the room. The bed is covered in discarded outfits. A pair of shoes sits in the middle of the floor. Half her closet appears to have been emptied onto a chair.
And then Clara emerges from inside the closet itself with an armful of clothes piled so high you can barely see her face.
“What’s up, girl?” she asks, looking up at you as she tosses the clothes onto her already cluttered bed and immediately starts digging through them.
“Do you have something I can borrow? Nothing in my wardrobe is really speaking to me, y’know?” you pout as you watch her throw different pieces onto the floor without a second thought.
“Uh, yeah! What did you have in mind?” she asks with a smile.
“I, uh...” You lick your lips. “I guess I just want to look... y’know...” your face heats slightly beneath her gaze.
“You want to look hot so that he’ll regret what he did and feel sick to his stomach?” she smirks.
You simply nod, relieved she could read you like an open book.
“Well, lucky for you, I have a stockpile of dresses that would look absolutely amazing on you.”
She steps back into her closet, disappearing behind rows of hanging clothes. A moment later she emerges with an assortment of dresses and tops draped over her arms.
“Okay, I immediately thought of these for you, but if you don't like them we can find something else.” she hands them over before turning her attention back to figuring out her own outfit.
“Thanks.” you give her a grateful smile before heading back to your room.
The moment you step inside, you dump the pile onto your bed and begin trying things on.
Before long, discarded clothing is scattered across your comforter and draped over your desk chair. You huff in disapproval as you pull on another top before finally reaching one that catches your eye.
Unlike the other pieces Clara had given you, this one is surprisingly simple. Thin beaded straps rest over your shoulders before crossing over your bare back, leaving almost every inch of skin exposed. The front consists of a single panel of fabric that drapes low across your chest, the neckline plunging nearly to your stomach before pooling softly above your waist.
You carefully adjust the fabric before turning toward the mirror.
For a moment, you're not entirely sure what to think.
The top showed far more skin than you were used to, and the dramatic neckline left very little to the imagination. Still, there was something undeniably flattering about the way it fit.
After another glance in the mirror, you turn toward your dresser and begin digging through drawers in search of something to pair with it. A few failed attempts later, you finally pull out a pair of black pants you'd nearly forgotten you owned.
You slide them on and immediately look back at your reflection.
The pants sat low on your hips, exposing strips of skin through the cutouts at the sides where thin straps stretched across the openings. The scrunched fabric in the back hugged your figure perfectly and accentuated the curve of your lower back.
Together, the outfit somehow worked even better than you'd imagined.
You take a small step closer to the mirror, smoothing your hands over the fabric as you analyze the fit.
A small smile tugs at your lips before you slip on a pair of black strappy heels and make your way back to Clara’s room.
She looks up the moment you step through the doorway, and her jaw immediately drops.
“Wooooweeee.” she grins. “Girl, you look hot!”
“You think so?” you smile and give her a spin.
“Absolutely! He’s definitely going to be drooling over you.” she snickers as she looks you up and down. “I never knew this baddie was living inside you.”
You smirk and turn to walk back to your room so you can finish getting ready.
“You have no idea, girl.”
An hour and a half later, you two are finally ready.
“Dude, we look hot.” you smile at Clara as you stuff four different lip glosses and your lip liner into your tiny purse.
“I know right? I better meet my husband tonight.” she replies.
She calls the Uber and immediately drags you toward the mirror hanging beside the front door, pulling out her phone and taking an ungodly amount of pictures before either of you can leave.
Eventually, you're forced to head downstairs before the driver leaves without you.
The ride there is filled with you and Clara talking to Soli on FaceTime.
“Are you nervous?” Soli asks.
“A little, I guess...” you chew the inside of your cheek.
“Girl, you should see how hot we look. There's no way he's not going to be on his knees begging her for forgiveness by the end of the night.” Clara leans onto your shoulder as she speaks.
You immediately catch the familiar look of apprehension that crosses Soli's face.
You know exactly what she's thinking.
“I’m not tryna win him over or nothing.” you try to reassure her.
“Yeah, sure.” she gives you a wary look. “Look, I already know that you're gonna do you, just don't forget how he treated you.”
A spark of shame flickers in your chest as you nod.
“I know, I promise I'll be good.”
The words leave your mouth easily enough, but even you don't entirely believe them.
The truth is that if Gojo showed even the smallest amount of remorse, you already knew you'd fold. You hated admitting it to yourself, but when it came to him, your self-respect had a nasty habit of taking a backseat.
The conversation drifts to other things after that, and before long the Uber turns onto their street.
You say your goodbyes and end the call.
The shame only settles heavier after the screen goes dark. You still hadn't even told Soli about your ex. The thought makes your stomach twist.
You already knew exactly how that conversation would go. First she'd cuss you out. Then she'd tell your mom. Then the two of them would team up and spend the next several weeks reminding you that your taste in men was questionable at best.
The last thing you needed was that lecture.
With a quiet sigh, you let your eyes wander toward the window.
Your jaw immediately drops.
“What the hell? These houses are nice as fuck.”
The neighborhood looks like something pulled straight from a luxury real estate website. Every house sits behind pristine landscaping and decorative gates, their massive windows glowing warmly against the night.
Expensive cars line driveways that are bigger than some apartment complexes, and not a single lawn appears to have a blade of grass out of place.
“Yeah, well,” Clara sighs. “they are rich.”
The Uber slows before pulling over a short distance from the house.
Even from here, it's obvious which one belongs to Geto.
Music drifts through the night air, the bass low enough to feel more than hear. Warm light spills from the windows, and a steady stream of people moves in and out through the front gate.
You both thank the driver before stepping out into the cool evening air.
You pull your purse higher onto your shoulder as you and Clara make your way toward the end of the long gated driveway.
People are already gathered throughout the driveway and front yard. Some lean against parked cars smoking cigarettes while others stand in small groups nursing drinks and talking loudly over the music. A few people stumble toward waiting Ubers, their night apparently already coming to an end.
Beside you, Clara rubs her arms against the chill.
You finally reach the front door, which sits beneath a covered patio that opens to a beautiful flower garden.
The moment someone opens the front door, a wave of music spills outside.
You and Clara step inside, your eyes immediately widen.
Dozens of people are scattered throughout the living room and kitchen, yet the space still somehow feels enormous. Dark wooden beams stretch across impossibly high ceilings, and floor-to-ceiling windows line the back wall, offering a view of the illuminated backyard. The marble floors gleam beneath soft recessed lighting, reflecting flashes of color from the LEDs someone had set up around the house.
You'd seen pictures of homes like this online when you'd aimlessly scroll through Zillow or Apartments.com as you dreamt of your future.
Actually standing inside one felt different.
“Damn,” you mutter quietly as you look around. “They live here?”
“Yeah...” Clara sighs. “Those bastards.”
You let out a breathy laugh.
She guides you through the sea of people, weaving between conversations and avoiding someone who's currently attempting to perform a handstand in the middle of the kitchen. Eventually, she leads you through one of the large sliding glass doors and into the backyard.
The atmosphere outside is noticeably calmer.
The music is quieter back here, reduced to a distant thump beneath the crackling of a small firepit. String lights are hung between trees and along the fence line, casting a warm glow across the pool deck. The water below glows faintly beneath underwater lights, rippling softly as groups of people gather around it with drinks in hand.
Some sit along the edge with their feet dangling in the water, while others lounge across expensive outdoor furniture that probably costs more than your monthly rent. The smell of chlorine mingles with cigarette smoke and weed drifting through the night air.
Geto, Shoko, and Yuki are sitting around a small fire with drinks in hand when they spot you.
She immediately jumps to her feet and makes a beeline toward you.
“Heyy...” you smile shyly as she wraps you in a surprisingly aggressive hug.
“Where the fuck have you been, loka??” she slurs, throwing an arm around your shoulders and steering you toward the others.
Your eyes instinctively dart around the group.
Then toward the back door.
“I’m sorry, I've just been... busy.” you smile as you take a seat.
“Hey guys!” Clara waves as everyone greets her.
“Don’t worry, Satoru isn’t here right now. He went on a run to get more firewood.” Geto says with a knowing smile.
You hadn't realized how tense your shoulders were until they finally relax.
“We missed you.” Shoko says.
You look around the circle.
The firelight dances across familiar faces, and for the first time all evening, the knot in your stomach loosens.
A chorus of exaggerated coos immediately erupts from the group.
“Don’t let that blue-eyed freak make you feel like you can’t hang out with us.” Shoko says before taking another sip of her drink.
“Okay...” your face grows warm beneath everyone's attention.
The conversation quickly shifts after that.
For the next half hour, you find yourself laughing harder than you have in weeks. Someone tells a story about Yuki getting banned from a casino, which somehow leads to Geto admitting he once got arrested for trespassing in high school, which then turns into twenty minutes of everyone arguing over whose story is worse.
The easy familiarity settles something inside your chest.
You'd convinced yourself things would be awkward. That everyone would secretly take sides. Instead, it feels exactly the same.
Like nothing had changed.
Like they actually wanted you here.
Geto glances down at his phone and sighs.
“Satoru is here. I have to go help him with the wood. I’ll be right back.”
The warmth in your chest immediately disappears. A rush of anxiety takes its place.
“Uhh... I think I’m gonna go to the bathroom...” you stand, offering what you hope resembles a casual smile.
“Okay. Need help finding it?” Yuki asks, immediately noticing the change in your demeanor.
“No!” the answer leaves your mouth much faster than intended.
“I mean... no, that's okay. I'll be back soon.” you clear your throat.
You offer the group another smile, though judging by the concerned looks they exchange, nobody seems particularly convinced.
With that, you make your way around the chairs and back toward the house just as you hear Geto and Gojo's voices drifting closer from around the side yard.
Your stomach immediately tightens.
The sound is still distant enough that you can't make out what they're saying, but you'd recognize both of their voices anywhere.
The music grows louder as you step through the sliding glass door and back into the house. People crowd nearly every corner of the first floor now, conversations overlapping beneath the steady pulse of bass vibrating through the walls. The scent of alcohol, perfume, and someone's aggressively fruity vape hangs thick in the air.
You weave through the crowd until you finally spot a bathroom tucked down a hallway. The second you're inside, you shut and lock the door behind you.
You release a shaky breath and grip the edge of the marble counter as you stare into the mirror.
For a moment, you simply look at yourself.
Your makeup still looks good. The eyeliner you'd spent twenty minutes perfecting remains intact, and your hair had miraculously decided to cooperate tonight instead of doing whatever the hell it usually did. The top Clara lent you looked just as good now as it had when you'd left the apartment.
You knew you looked good, everyone else seemed to think so too.
So why did you suddenly feel so self-conscious?
Your eyes drift over your reflection again.
Nothing had changed. You looked exactly the same as you had thirty minutes ago, yet standing in his house somehow made every insecurity feel louder.
Like you weren't pretty enough.
You hated how easily he could do that to you without even being in the room. With a frustrated sigh, you look away from the mirror and focus on the countertop instead.
You remain there for another ten minutes, hiding behind a locked door and pretending you're not hiding behind a locked door, before finally forcing the thoughts aside and washing your hands.
When you step back into the hallway, the party somehow feels even more crowded than before.
Groups have migrated into every available space, and the music seems louder now that you've been away from it. You're halfway through the living room when Clara and Yuki suddenly appear.
“There you are!” Clara says. Before you can react, they're already dragging you toward the kitchen.
“We need to get some drinks in us.” Clara yells over the music.
Beside her, Yuki enthusiastically gives you a thumbs-up. You let them pull you toward the small bar tucked into the corner.
Several bottles are lined across floating shelves behind it, illuminated by soft lighting that makes everything look far more expensive than it probably needed to be. Someone had clearly stocked it for the party because half the counter is covered in chasers, cups, and open bottles.
Yuki immediately starts pouring shots.
The three of you tap the bottom of your glasses on the counter before tossing them back.
“Phewww!” Yuki lets out a dramatic breath while Clara makes a face like she's just swallowed battery acid. You purse your lips and immediately begin searching for something to chase away the taste.
The first shot turns into a second.
The second somehow becomes a third.
By the time the fifth one disappears down your throat, a pleasant warmth has settled throughout your body, smoothing out the sharp edges of your anxiety.
The house feels less intimidating now. The possibility of running into Gojo feels less terrifying. Everything feels a little softer.
Eventually, you and Clara drift back into the living room to mingle.
The crowd has changed since you first arrived. More people have shown up, squeezing into the space and gathering around different drinking games. Colored lights bounce across the walls and ceiling while music rattles the glassware somewhere in the kitchen.
You recognize several people from your classes and end up bouncing between conversations. At some point, someone from your chemistry lecture spots you across the room and insists that you join their beer pong game.Before you know it, you're being pulled toward the dining table and handed a ball.
The alcohol has lowered your inhibitions just enough that you stop overthinking it.
You stumble over to meet your assigned teammate and finally get a good look at him.
Short brown curls fall across his forehead, and warm brown eyes meet yours with an easy smile. He looks vaguely familiar, like you've probably passed him a dozen times on campus without ever speaking.
For the first time all night, your thoughts aren't occupied by blue eyes.
You smirk at him and gesture for him to go first.
He immediately points at himself and nods like he's been chosen for some great honor, earning a few laughs from the people gathered around the table. The game had drawn a much bigger crowd than when you'd first started.
People stood shoulder to shoulder around the dining room, drinks in hand as they watched the rounds play out. Music vibrated through the floor from somewhere deeper in the house, and every available surface seemed to be occupied by abandoned cups, bottles, and half-finished drinks.
Your teammate takes his shot. The ball sails neatly through the air before dropping straight into the cup.
“Let's go!” he shouts, throwing his hand up.
You giggle and high-five him before grabbing the ball for yourself.
A collective groan rises from the spectators.
“It's okay, you'll get it next time.” his smile is warm enough to make your stomach do an embarrassing little flip.
The game continues like that for several more rounds. Every successful shot is met with dramatic celebrations, every miss with exaggerated outrage. At some point people start chanting for no reason, and by the end of the game several complete strangers are cheering for your team like they've known you for years.
The alcohol certainly helps.
The pleasant warmth buzzing through your system softens everything around you. The anxiety you'd carried into the party is quieter now, buried beneath fake confidence and vodka and the realization that you were actually having fun.
By the time the game comes down to the final cup, nearly everyone surrounding the table has stopped whatever conversation they were having to watch.
“Don't sell!” someone yells.
The ping pong ball feels impossibly light between your fingers as you line up the shot.
Then drops directly into the cup.
Before you can even react, your teammate lets out a victorious yell and hooks an arm beneath your thighs. You squeal as the floor suddenly disappears beneath your feet.
He throws you over his shoulder like you've just won a championship game instead of a round of beer pong.
Across the house, Gojo freezes.
He'd only been back inside for a few minutes.
Geto had gotten dragged into some conversation near the back entrance, leaving him standing near the back of the dining room with a blue solo cup in his hand and absolutely no desire to socialize.
At first, it was nothing more than a glimpse through the crowd gathered around the dining table—a flash of your hair as people shifted around the room. Then he got a proper look at you and immediately wished he hadn't.
Some random guy had his arm hooked beneath your thighs, carrying you around after what was apparently a very intense game of beer pong. Everyone around the table was cheering and laughing while you buried your face in your hands, clearly embarrassed by the attention.
The sight shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did, but when the guy finally set you down and leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips, something unpleasant twisted in his chest.
You, meanwhile, remained completely oblivious.
Still smiling, you said something to the guy that made him laugh before eventually slipping away from the crowd and heading toward the hallway. Gojo's eyes followed you without thinking, his grip tightening slightly around his cup as you disappeared from view.
The further you moved from the dining room, the quieter the house became. The music faded into a distant hum behind the walls. You took your time in the bathroom, touching up your lip gloss and giving yourself a drunken pep-talk in the mirror.
When you finished, you opened the door to head back. Immediately, you walked into something solid.
The apology died the second you looked up.
Standing directly in front of you was the very person you'd been trying not to think about.
Gojo stared back at you with wide, intense eyes. His lips parting as though he'd had something prepared to say and forgotten every word the second he saw you.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The sounds of the party still drifted through the house, but they all seemed strangely muted beneath the rush of emotions crashing through your chest.
Neither of you says anything. You simply stand there staring at each other, taking in the sight of someone you'd spent weeks missing, resenting, worrying about.
Despite all the scenarios you'd imagined in your head, none of them had prepared you for this.
Then, without either of you saying a word, you both move at exactly the same time.
His arms wrap tightly around your shoulders while yours immediately circle his waist. The impact nearly knocks the breath from your lungs, and for a few seconds neither of you lets go.
“I'm so fucking sorry.” his voice is muffled against your hair.
The apology settles heavily in your chest.
After weeks of questioning yourself, drinking too much, and overthinking, you didn't know what you expected him to say, but it wasn't that.
It wasn't an excuse, or a joke, or an awkward attempt to pretend everything was normal. It was an apology, immediate and desperate enough to make your eyes sting.
“I missed you.” you mumble into his chest.
You feel him exhale against the top of your head as his arms tighten around you.
The words leave him quietly, stripped of the usual teasing confidence he always seemed to carry around, and somehow that makes them harder to hear.
You remain wrapped around each other for another minute before finally pulling back. The second Gojo gets a proper look at your face, his entire expression softens.
The tension leaves his shoulders, his jaw unclenches, and for a moment he simply looks at you as though he still can't quite believe you're standing in front of him.
“I'm sorry.” he says again, one of his hands moving slowly up and down the center of your back.
You only hum in response as your eyes wander across his features.
Annoyingly good, actually.
Part of you was relieved to see it. Another part wanted to be irritated that he wasn't suffering nearly as visibly as you had been.
More than anything, though, you wanted to know if he meant it.
Gojo seems to notice your guarded expression almost immediately. His gaze softens further before he lifts a hand to your jaw, his thumb brushing across your cheek as he gently tilts your face upward until you have no choice but to look at only him.
“I thought about you every day, you know...” his eyebrows furrow as he studies your face, his palm resting against the side of your neck directly over your pulse point.
The touch is gentle, but it makes your heartbeat feel impossibly loud, and judging by the way his gaze lingers on you, he can probably feel it racing beneath his hand.
Heat creeps up your neck.
“Yeah...” you let out a small breath. “I'm sure you did every time you decided not to text me.”
The words come out sharper than you'd intended.
Gojo blinks, something resembling regret flashes openly across his face. His hand falls away from your jaw, joining the other against your lower back.
“I'm sorry I didn't text you.” he licks his lips and glances briefly down the hallway before looking back at you. “I just had to deal with some stuff.”
Instead, you slowly unwrap your arms from around his waist and pull away from him, crossing your arms over your chest. The loss of contact is immediate and makes his shoulders tense.
“With your girlfriend?” you hate how bitter it sounds the second it leaves your mouth.
Still, could he really blame you?
For weeks, every thought of him had come attached to the image of another girl. Every night spent staring at your ceiling trying to understand what happened had eventually circled back to the same thing: he wasn't yours to be confused over in the first place.
And yet here he was, touching you and looking at you like you actually mattered.
Gojo reaches up and rubs the back of his neck.
“She’s, uh...” he clears his throat. “We broke up.”
The answer catches you completely off guard. You stare at him for a moment, unsure whether you heard him correctly.
It's the only response your brain manages to produce.
For weeks she'd existed as this looming presence in your mind, this invisible obstacle standing between every thought you had about him. The idea that she was suddenly gone feels strangely disorienting.
“Oh... well... sorry?” the words sound fake the second they leave your mouth.
A corner of Gojo's mouth twitches despite the tension in his expression.
“Look,” he says with a sigh, stepping closer before gently taking your hands in his. “I am really sorry.”
You look down automatically. His hands dwarf yours.
His palms are warm, his fingers rougher than you'd remembered, and the slow brush of his thumbs across your knuckles sends an embarrassing wave of goosebumps racing up your arms.
“I didn't mean to bail on you like that after I...” his jaw tightens, “after everything that happened. I know you were probably confused. And hurt.”
The sounds of the party continues around you, but it all feels distant compared to the weight of his hands holding yours.
You remain quiet, not because you don't have anything to say, but because you have too much. Weeks of confusion, hurt, frustration, and self-doubt crowd your thoughts all at once, making it impossible to figure out where to begin.
“I just had a moment of weakness,” he says quietly. “I just can't seem to think straight when you're around me.”
Your breath catches. You know exactly how dangerous those words are. You can practically hear Soli in the back of your mind warning you not to fall for it, reminding you that pretty words were still just words.
Unfortunately, Soli wasn't standing in front of him.
And with the way he was looking at you, with his hands wrapped around yours and the familiar scent of his cologne lingering in the air every time he moved closer, you already knew you were losing whatever battle your common sense was trying to fight.
“That was really mean...” you say quietly, finally looking back up at him.
“I know.” his grip on your hands tighten.
His eyes trail briefly below your collarbone, taking in the top you'd spent nearly an hour choosing before snapping back upward. It had only been for a couple seconds before returning to your face, but you catch it anyway. A faint flush spreads across his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt, creeping all the way to the tips of his ears.
“I know,” he repeats more softly. “I'll make it up to you.” he holds your gaze steadily, his thumbs still moving across your knuckles.
The hallway light catches on the sharp lines of his face, softening him just enough to make your chest ache.
“Promise?” you bat your lashes at him.
Gojo lets out a sharp exhale, his mouth twitching.
You smirk and slowly pull one of your hands from his, lifting your pinky into the small space between you.
“Pinky promise?” You give him a goofy smile.
His expression breaks immediately.
A shaky, breathy laugh slips from him as he looks down at your hand, then back at you, his eyes warm. He reaches up and hooks his pinky around yours, his hand so much larger that the gesture looks almost ridiculous.
“Yes,” he says, squeezing lightly. “I pinky promise.”
You both laugh softly, and for a moment, the weight of the last few weeks loosens around your ribs.
Gojo pulls you into another quick hug before you can say anything else, his arms wrapping around you with a gentleness that feels almost careful this time.
His hand rests between your shoulder blades for a second longer than necessary before he lets go, and when he turns to guide you back down the hallway, his arm settles around your shoulders like it belongs there.
The two of you move toward the main area together, leaving behind the relative quiet of the hallway. With every step, the music grows louder, bass humming through the walls and floorboards while voices spill from the living room in tired, drunken waves.
The party has thinned since earlier, but the house still feels alive around you.
“Sooo, you missed me, huh?” he asks, looking down at you with a smirk.
“Mhm.” You pout, reaching up to intertwine your fingers with his where his hand hangs near your shoulder.
His eyes flick down to your lips, his smirk widens as he leans a little closer.
You roll your eyes, though the smile pulling at your mouth makes the gesture useless.
When you reach the edge of the living room, Gojo slows and finally lets his arm slip from your shoulders. The sudden loss of his warmth feels much more noticeable than it should.
He turns toward you, his teasing expression fading as his eyes search your face again.
His voice is softer now, almost swallowed by the noise around you. For all his usual confidence, there's something uncertain in the way he asks, like he knows he doesn't have the right to expect your forgiveness but is hoping for it anyway.
“Yeah,” you say, giving him a small grin. “We're good.”
Relief spreads across his face openly. Before he can get too comfortable, you reach up and ruffle his hair, messing up the white strands just enough to make him huff and swat your hand away.
“Okay, well, I'm going to go find Geto then, I guess.” he glances around the living room, though his attention keeps drifting back to you. “You wanna come with me?”
As he asks, his hand lifts almost absentmindedly to a loose piece of your hair, twirling it once around his finger before letting it fall. The gesture is casual, barely anything at all, but it's familiar enough to make your heart stumble.
“No... it's okay.” you smile, your mind drifting back toward the curly-haired boy still somewhere near the dining room.
Gojo's smile falters slightly.
“Okay,” he says. “Well, call me if you need me.”
You nod, and he gives you one last lingering look before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.
You watch him go for a moment longer than you probably should, tracking the white of his hair through the room until he vanishes behind a group of people near the kitchen. Then you force yourself to look away and head back toward the dining room.
The curly-haired boy smiles brightly the second he sees you. The expression is sweet enough to make a small flicker of guilt stir in your stomach before you even reach him.
Once you're close, he wraps his arms around you again, his hands settling low against your back as he leans in.
“Thought you got lost.” he says with a smirk.
“Nope, just ran into a friend.” your mind betrays you immediately, trailing back to Gojo and the feeling of his pinky hooked around yours.
“Oh.” his thumbs move lightly against your back. “Well, I was wondering if you wanted to get out of here with me?”
He is cute, and under different circumstances, you probably would have let him lead you out of the house without thinking twice. He'd made you laugh, he'd been sweet all night, and he was looking at you like he was genuinely hoping you'd say yes.
But the problem was that your body was still too aware of Gojo being somewhere in the house.
With a soft sigh, you let your hand slide down his chest before giving him an apologetic smile.
“You're really sweet, but I think I'm going to stay with my friends.”
He gives you a small pout.
“I understand. Maybe I'll see you around campus?” his expression stays soft as he responds.
“Mhm.” you nod and smile.
He leans in and kisses your cheek, the gesture warm and harmless, before smiling one last time and making his way through the crowd.
After a moment, you turn and make your way back outside.
The backyard feels calmer than it did earlier. The fire has burned lower, the flames smaller now as they lick lazily around the blackened wood. The pool glows softly in the background, reflecting the string lights above in wavering gold lines across the water.
Most of the guests who had been scattered around the patio are gone, leaving behind empty cups on side tables, abandoned chairs pulled at odd angles.
Everyone is once again seated around the firepit when you approach, except this time Gojo is there too, sitting between Geto and Yuki with his legs stretched out in front of him.
He looks up the second he senses you coming, and the rest of the group follows almost immediately.
Their eyes bounce between you and Gojo with absolutely no subtlety.
You smile and take a seat beside Clara, pretending not to notice the mild panic crossing everyone's faces.
Across the fire, Gojo looks at you, smirking.
“Why do I feel like y'all made up?” Yuki asks, narrowing her eyes as she looks between you.
Your face heats before you can stop it.
Geto leans back in his chair and gives Gojo a look. “Good. Now maybe you've learned your lesson.”
Clara turns her attention to Gojo so fast it nearly gives you whiplash.
“If you ever do that to my friend again, I'll kick your ass, pretty boy.”
The group breaks into laughter, the sound mixing with the crackling fire and the distant music still drifting from inside the house. Gojo places a hand on his forehead and gives her a dramatic salute.
The night continues on around the fire after that, slower and warmer than before. The chaos inside the house gradually fades as more people call Ubers, gather their things, and stumble out through the front door.
Every now and then, Geto disappears inside to usher someone out or make sure no one is passed out somewhere they shouldn't be.
Outside, though, your little group remains tucked around the firepit, laughing over stories that spiral into other stories until nobody remembers how the conversation started.
For the first time in weeks, sitting there doesn't feel awkward, like whatever happened between you and Gojo hadn't ruined the small place you'd made for yourself among them.
You're laughing at something Yuki says when your phone vibrates inside your purse.
The sound is small, almost swallowed by the crackle of the fire, but your body reacts to it immediately. You reach down and pull it out, already feeling a strange unease settle within you.
1 new message. 1 minute ago.
don't answer: where are you.
You stare at the screen for a moment before swiping through the other messages he'd sent throughout the day, six of them sitting unread beneath the newest one. You'd been so caught up in everything that you'd completely forgotten to answer him.
You lock your phone and slip it back into your purse, trying to shake off the sudden tightness in your chest.
“Damn, it's already one a.m.,” Gojo says, glancing at his watch.
“Yeah, I think everyone has mostly left,” Geto says, looking toward the house. “we should kick everyone else out.”
“Oh! Can we have a sleepover?” Clara asks excitedly.
The idea catches on immediately. Everyone starts talking at once, their voices overlapping with tired enthusiasm.
“Yeah, I mean, we could all head downstairs,” Gojo says, nodding toward the house, “it should be clean. I made sure nobody could get down there.”
Everyone turns to look at you.
You still feel your ex's message sitting in the back of your mind like a weight, but everyone is watching you now, waiting for your answer. For a second, you think about saying no.
Then you think about going home, lying in your bed, and staring at your phone while anxiety eats away at you.
“Yeah, sure,” you say, forcing a smile. “Why not?”
The group cheers, and chairs scrape against the patio as everyone starts standing and making their way back toward the house.
You stand too, slipping your purse over your shoulder before glancing at Gojo.
He's already looking at you.
Just watching you with an expression you can't quite read, his eyes lingering on your face like he's trying to figure out what changed in the last few minutes.
You look away, not wanting him to see too much.
“Hey…” he stands and steps in front of you, “You good?”
“Yeah, just drunk and tired,” you say with a small smile.
Gojo tilts his head as he looks at you, his eyes moving over your face with a quiet kind of concern that makes your chest feel too tight. He reaches up and gently brushes a few strands of hair away from your cheek, his fingers lingering near your temple for half a second longer than necessary.
“Okay, you can sleep in my bed tonight.”
You raise an eyebrow at the suggestiveness of it, and he catches the look immediately.
“I’ll sleep in the spare room,” he says, rolling his eyes, though a small smile still tugs at his mouth.
“Hmm, I’ll think about it.”
Gojo’s gaze drops before he can stop it, trailing from your face to the front of your top. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, the reaction so obvious that warmth spreads across your skin.
“You look really good...”
“You like my top? Clara let me borrow it.” you bite your lip lightly, watching the way his composure slips.
He lets out a heavy breath before cupping your face, his palm warm against your cheek as he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead.
The gesture is soft enough to feel innocent, but your body reacts to it like it’s anything but.
You blink up at him as desire and yearning move through you all at once, heavy and consuming.
Without thinking, you reach for one of his hands and hold it in yours. Your heart pounds hard enough to make every inch of you feel awake.
You know exactly what you want.
And now that his girlfriend is no longer standing between you, you can’t help but wonder just how close you are to getting it.
So with shaky hands and a rush of liquid courage, you bring his hand up and slide it beneath the fabric of your top to cup your soft mound.
His eyes darken and flicker up to yours. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just holds the weight of your flesh in his palm.
“You know what you’re getting yourself into?” he finally asks.
“Mhm…” you let out a light exhale.
You bring your hands to his waist, toying with the band of his joggers as you both stare into each other's eyes. You can see all the emotions and arousal swirling in his irises, and you're sure yours look the same.
He runs his thumb over your nipple a few times before hesitantly pulling away and pulling your top back into place.
He takes a few steps backward before turning toward the back door. He holds it open and nods his head toward inside the moment he reaches it.
Your heart feels like it's beating everywhere at once as you watch him standing there waiting for you.
You adjust the strap of your purse and smooth your hands down the sides of your pants before finally making your way toward him. As you pass through the doorway, you catch the familiar scent of his cologne lingering in the air, and the simple realization that you'll be spending the rest of the night with him sends another wave of desire through you.
Gojo waits until you've stepped inside before pulling the door shut behind you.
Who knew it’d be your lucky night after all?
im a whore for curly hair ugh
© all writing belongs to @zenbabyy. please do not repost or claim as your own.
