**part of my gojo as taylor series
remember this speak now fic. now reimagine it, except YOU'RE the one getting stood up at the wedding. and then you meet your ridiculous neighbor and fall in love in an elevator months later.
an: I believe it was my beloved @satoruhour who asked me if I could do labyrinth for taylor as gojo! and here I am <333 truly one of my favorites on midnights that makes me so, so emotional I could vomit. anyways, enjoy pookies
You think Suguru Getou is beautiful. On all days, both blatantly and inconspicuously, absolutely and wholeheartedly. When he wakes up in the morning with a messy mop of hair on his forehead, when he slides into your shared apartment with a surprise bouquet of flowers, and when he gives you a cheeky wink every time you're both done screaming at each other after arguments.
Suguru Getou is the first person you’ve loved. The only person you’ll love. He burns hot, bright - like the gazing sun, opening a locked cage you weren’t aware of until he handed you the key. Opening a spur of emotions - intense, extreme, fierce, and great.
It all builds up to this. You and him - at this altar together, despite it all. That every rotten part of you is okay, because Suguru knows and looks past it. That nothing can chase him away, because you’ve weathered it down. It’s your turn - to settle down and it's in the palm of your hands.
Under the palely lit lamps, on this day, Suguru Getou has outdone himself. He’s gorgeous. His hair is nicely tamed back at the nape of his neck, his pink boutonniere pinned to his perfectly crisp suit, and a bright, soft smile on his face as you both beam at each other at the altar.
“In tradition, this is the moment to speak. Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
You look at Suguru and laugh - a moment the two of you left in the ceremony as a mere joke - as you look out at the stands. You both joked that one of your friends, like Haibara or Shoko, would stand up to make their last ditch efforts before you two got to continue forward to your vows.
You turn your head to the side to give Shoko a wink, flirt with her one last time to get her to do it. Except when you catch sight of her, she has a horrified look plastered on her face. And when you scan the crowd, the same look is mirrored on everyone’s faces. Your mom, the girl you were best friends with in sixth grade, your neighbor from down the street, Haibara.
That’s when you see her standing there. In her pale blue dress, hands shaking as she talks.
“I’m-I’m not the kind of girl who does this and I-I don’t mean to barge in on such a big day but-”
You feel your heart sink into your chest, the warmth and heat - any shred of elation, joy, bliss you were feeling mere seconds ago draining from your chest. You know what’s coming next.
“But you’re not the kind of guy who marries the wrong girl, Suguru. You-it’s always been you and me. It’s never going to be anyone for me but you. And I know it's the same for you too."
You swallow hard as you push your palms hard into the stems of the bouquet. You can feel your cheeks burning again - except in embarrassment this time.
Does the preacher say something? Is Suguru supposed to say no? Is he even-
You turn over to look at him, his hazel eyes moving to meet yours, the look on his face so blank, so foreign from the boy you’ve known for the past two years that you can barely recognize him.
“Can we talk?” he whispers, nervously eyeing the crowd. You swallow hard, like burning acid is running down your esophagus and give a halfhearted nod. He takes your hand, giving you the tiniest of smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, as you two nearly sprint down the aisle past where Hana is still standing, tears streaming down her eyes.
He slams the doors shut behind him as the crowd breaks out into loud chatter behind you, shameful, humiliating tears falling onto your perfectly powdered cheeks.
Through the messy blur of tears, when you squint your eyes, you see it. Suguru Getou is beautiful. At all times, but not right now. His face is filled with shame, his shoulders hunched over, and his usual calm, delicate manner all haphazard, panicked. He’s fidgeting with his hands, pacing back and forth, words carelessly falling out of his mouth under his breath.
“You-you want to go, don’t you?” you ask, your voice a mere whisper in the air.
He wraps his arms around your shoulders, stifling your sob into the fabric as his shirt as aimless apologies fall out of his mouth, his once warm hands, scalding - burning your arms.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was going to do that and I would never mean to do it like this. But-but I was standing there and I saw her and it kind of ca-came together-”
“I didn’t even know she was com-”
“Did you know you loved her still?” you ask, your voice more firm.
He looks at you, eyes narrowed, before looking down at his hands, twisting the rings you were supposed to exchange in a few minutes in his hands. And you suppose this reaction - Suguru Getou’s silence, his first time being something other than beautiful is answer enough.
Ten minutes later, he walks past you - your sister, the nanny you grew up with, your college best friends - hand in hand with Hana as they nearly run out cheesing, his initial despair left replaced with bliss as he leaves you in your white dress.
And you know that out of the infinite moments of your life, it’ll always boil down to this one. That you’ll be getting over this - how tasteless, how cruel, how evil the situation truly is.
After a month of being encouraged by people to move forward, to bounce back, you do it in the way people don’t expect. You move away. And three months after the fact, when your pain is still raw in your chest, you meet Satoru Gojo.
You lean against the wall of the elevator, pressing the faded star button, as you scroll through your errands on your phone - buy paint, email landlord, mail ring.
You reach into your bag, the thought of it possessing a sudden will to see it. You yank it out and press your coffee into the crook of your elbow, focusing on the jewelry - a silver band with a pear shaped diamond in the middle. The ring Suguru’s mom wore when she was married to his dad. The one you were supposed to wear when he married you.
Suguru asked you to mail it back last night. A roundabout way of course - initially filled with concern, deeply sincere and rehearsed apologies, before cutting to the chase. And you question the thought process.
You break up with your first love. Date another girl for two years. Get engaged, plan an entire wedding, walk to the altar. Just to stand up and walk away, because it’s always been her.
And a mere three months later, reach out to ask for the ring back, because he has to propose. Again.
You ponder your options, in earnest. Granted, you’re definitely in the anger stage of your grieving process, corny terms used by your corny therapist, who is trying her best.
One. Mail it back. Tell them to go to hell.
Two. Throw it into the ocean and say you lost it. And then tell them to go to hell.
Three. Don’t respond and pawn the ring for a decent amount of money. Use the fortune to send an ungodly amount of ominous letters to their house, telling them to go to hell.
The elevator bell rings, stopping five floors short of the lobby, as two kids and a tall, pale haired man shuffle in. You give the three of them a polite smile as you slide to the side, opening up the space for them.
“It’s female rage, Gojo.”
“Female rage? I thought using the word female was bad, Tsumiki.”
“So if I use female as an adjective it’s not a bad thing?”
The girl, barely thirteen you’re guessing, groans in frustration as she approaches the shorter boy, who is quietly leaning against the wall with his nose stuck in his video game.
“Megumi. Tell Gojo he’s being stupid.” she states.
He looks up at the two of them, giving a soul shattering glare, before nudging her to the side.
“On a good day, you’re both objectively stupid.”
She rolls her eyes as she shoves him, muttering how annoying he is under her breath. And now they’re both shoving each other, pushing harder with each consecutive push before the boy bumps into you. You land against the wall and drop your latte all over your clothes, the cold liquid staining your white button down shirt.
You groan, knowing you’ll have to go back up and change because the stain is so blatant, putting a pin in your errands and heading to work. You look up to find the pale haired man, blue eyes widely staring into yours, as he starts profusely apologizing.
“I’m so sorry. We- I’ll pay for your dry cleaning. You know. Kids. They were raised in a barn.”
“We were both raised by you.” they deadpan.
You sigh, lifting the wet cloth off of your shirt as you look up at him, waving your hand in the air.
“Ah. It’s okay, it happens. It’s no problem.”
“No really. We insist. And-and problem solved. You can take my shirt instead!” he says, brightly smiling at you.
You frown, looking up at him.
“You’re like six feet tall.”
“I’m actually six three.” he responds, winking.
You stare at him since he’s now unbuttoning his shirt as the elevator keeps moving down, and hands it to you. It’s pale blue and definitely too big for you, but he literally grabs your hand and places it into your palm, giving you a boyish smile.
That’s when you take your moment to indiscreetly ogle him. For three reasons. First, he’s a stranger who just stripped in the elevator. Surely, a nutcase. Or a sex offender. Two, he’s smiling at you like he’s the sun. And three - he’s ripped. Like full on, toned Greek God ripped.
“Do you want a picture? It’ll last longer.”
“What? No- I wasn’t even looking. And-and take your shirt back. Who just takes their shirt off in an elevator? This isn’t going to fit me and I’ll look like a rodeo clown with this on and-”
He laughs as he takes the shirt from your hands, holding open the sleeves as he instructs you to stick your arms in. You shake your head, which he rolls his eyes at, as he drapes the shirt around your shoulders, moving forward to pull your hair out of the collar.
“You talk a lot, stranger.”
“You. You talk a lot. Just put the shirt on properly and tuck it in - it’s like oversized and female fashion or whatever.” he responds.
“Quit saying female. You sound like a pervert. And you look like one too.” the boy responds, rolling her eyes.
The elevator door slides open, the lobby bustling in front of you. You shuffle out of the doors, yanking his shirt around your wrists as you adjust it on your frame. You turn your head to find him absent from your side, the three of them still standing in the elevator.
“Are you not getting out?”
“What? No. No, I just- you bothered me the entire way down and you’re not even getting out?”
“Have to go get a shirt. I gave mine up for a pretty girl.” he responds, winking again, as the elevator doors close in front of you.
Five days later, you muster up the courage to mail the ring. It’s packed into an envelope, sans words or writing, because if Suguru gave you silence at the end, he doesn’t deserve your words at the end either.
You lean against the elevator, twisting over the envelope in your hands, as you feel the sweat sticking on your palms, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest that it’s really all over.
It should be the end. But every sinking, disgusting part of that moment - the eyes on you, your family nearby, your dress made to perfection - make you think that you’ll be getting over this your whole life. That you’ll never move forward. And why should you?
The door stops, five floors short of your stop, and the same guy - the pale haired one from a few days prior springs in, a wide smile crossing his face as he sees you in the elevator. He leans against the wall with you, so close that you can smell his cologne - musky and fresh.
“Hi stranger. How was the shirt?” he asks.
“I don’t like the color you’re wearing. Please don’t take it off because I don't want it.”
“I was asking about the shirt from a few days ago. Not the one right now. Though if you’re doing a reverse psychology thing, I’m more than happy to oblige.” he responds, laughing.
You feel your cheeks burn at misunderstanding, reaching up to fidget with the ends of your hair as the elevator keeps moving down. The two of you stay in silence, the consecutive beep on each floor seemingly getting louder until it lands on one.
You make your move to walk out of the elevator, except he’s blocking the entrance and very aggressively pressing the button that closes the door.
“What? Hey, I was getting off on that st-”
“You were getting off at that stop. And now you’re not.” he responds, pressing the shiny button marking the eleventh floor.
You cross your hands across your chest, glaring bullets into this idiot's face.
“Is it asshole day? What’s your problem?” you ask.
“I need a favor. And I’ve been trying to catch you in the elevator for five days now and only just found you. Who knnows how much longer it would be until I saw you again?”
“So you couldn’t ask like a normal person? You just had to trap me in here.”
You groan as you lean against the wall, watching the floors beep as they go up again.
“So what do you want, stranger?”
“I’m glad you asked. And it’s Gojo. My kids - you met them the other day - I’m trying to do that whole touchy-feely thing with them so they open up more. And they’re learning how to apologize this week, stranger.”
“So you want me to come so they can apologize to me? And it’s Y/N.”
“Nothing. I just wanted to say it. But yeah, just make something up about how that day was really bad for you or something so that they feel even worse and sincerely apologize.”
You glare at him as the doors open and he grabs your wrist as he leads you down the hallway.
“Lying is all touchy feely and perfect for processing your feelings right?” you ask, sarcastically.
“Of course! I’m so glad you get it.”
You glare as he sticks his key in the door and then standing behind you, two hands on your back as he pushes you in. The two kids are sitting at the table, the girl with her nose stuck in a book and the boy flicking through his video games again.
You give the two of them a smile as Gojo holds out the chair for you, taking the seat at your left.
“Hi guys. I’m Y/N. Gojo tells me that you both have something you want to talk to me about.” you say, giving the two of them bright smiles.
“Megumi. And he’s forcing us to apologize to you. I personally think he should be giving you an apology for getting naked in an elevator and then waiting for hours going up and down to find you again.” he deadpans.
You turn your head to Gojo. Hours? You mouth. He profusely denies the claim by shaking his head, signaling for you to turn back to Tsumiki. You nod, turning to her.
“I’m Tsumiki. Uh. What do I do first? Oh- OH. I just want to ask if there’s anything you want to tell me about what happened the other day. Like how it made you feel or whatever.”
You try your best to conceal your smile at her bluntness, focusing on what Gojo had asked you to do.
“Well, thank you for asking Tsumiki. In all honesty, that day was…not an easy one for me. It started out pretty rough, like a lot of days do lately and”
You pause, thinking back to that moment. Of that morning - when you couldn’t make your bed perfectly, the sheets still wrinkled, the coffee not tasting just right, struggling to find an outfit and settling for whatever was closest, and that god forsaken sparkly ring. You can feel your eyes burning, your vision blurring as you clear your throat.
“I-I was going to do something that was really hard for me. I-I got engaged. I mean I was engaged and I actually almost got married. Like, walking all the way down the aisle and white dress married. And then I didn’t. And then I-I moved here because everything there reminded me of it and the guy, god that idiot, called me and asked me to send the ring back. And-and he wants it because he wants to use it for the girl who stood up at our wedding. And yeah, I get it, they’re happy and whatever and they want to get married as soon as possible, but god, it-it’s just humiliating to have the same thing happen twice and for things to move forward so fast when I’m still stuck there, you know?”
You feel one of your tears fall straight onto your hand, suddenly aware that you’re crying in this stranger's house and you’ve said too much to a fourteen year old who's supposed to be learning how to apologize. You look up to find the three of them staring at you - eyes wide and pinched expressions on their faces.
“You got stood up at your own wedding?”
“Tsumiki. That’s rude.” Gojo responds.
“It’s okay. Yeah, I did.” you respond, waving him off. He looks wildly uncomfortable at the entire thing - probably because he's one of those emotionally repressed guys whose never seen a girl cry.
“Please tell me you did something crazy when it happened. Like screamed or something, oh my god.” she asks, excitement filling her face.
“Um. Well, I think I technically broke a bunch of candelabras? Does that count?”
“What?!” she asks, her excitement only growing as she takes your hands into hers.
“Well, after the two of them left together, I went back in. And everyone was trying to console me and whatever and I don’t know it was just weird. Irritating. So I was trying to gesture them all to move away and I accidentally knocked down the candelabras lining the aisle. Except they were all so close together that I pushed one and then they all went falling.”
She leans back in her chair, mimicking the motion as she turns to Megumi, the two of them discussing how loud it probably was. Gojo’s leaning onto the table, cheeks resting against his palms, as he stares at the two of them, a soft smile on his face.
“Tsumiki. Megumi. You forgot something.”
“Oh. Oh! Right. We’re sorry for what we did, really. That day must have been bad and you were probably just stuck thinking about how lonely and lame the entire situation is, like really it’s got to be depressing on so many levels and-”
“Sorry. Again. For making a bad day worse. And for bringing it up again. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re really cool. And he’s lame. Like most men, obviously.” she says.
“Cool, huh? I’ve never had someone describe my situation as cool, Tsumiki.”
“That’s because you probably know idiots. You’re like the main character of a really cool movie, where you like commit a murder or create a heist or something.” she says, jumping out of her seat as Megumi follows her into the kitchen, the two of them giggling about spies.
You turn to Gojo, giving him a half smile as the two of you watch them in the kitchen.
“You know when I said to make up a story, you didn’t have to add that much detail.”
“What? Oh. That was all real.”
He puts a hand on your head, awkwardly patting your hair as he gives you a weird look.
“Ah. Sorry? My bad. That really sucks, babygirl.”
You laugh at the utter awkwardness of the moment, at this gangly idiots' efforts to console you. You’ve seen every effort of comfort in the past three months - the awkward pinched smiles from your moms friends, your angry friends promising to egg his house, the half glass full righteous parents telling you that everything you lose is a step you take. But you’ve never seen this.
“Gojo. Were you raised in a barn? What’s wrong with you?”
“Sue me. I’ve never had a friend get stood up at her own wedding. What do you even say to that?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure if ‘that really sucks babygirl’ is where I would start.”
“My bad. Please let me know your preferred term of endearment and I’ll do better next time.”
You give him a smile as he leads you to the kitchen, splitting the only thing he has in his fridge - an eight foot white sheet cake - with you as you both smile at each other over the counter.
You sit in the stands next to Gojo and Megumi, the three of you splitting a bag of skittles as you watch Tsumiki walk up to the plate. You’re not sure how you ended up here, exactly. The timeline gets muddled in your head. Because that apology led to you returning the next day to show Tsumiki a video of you breaking the candelabras.
Then you were eating dinner with them the next day, all fancy and so that Tsumiki could knock over some candelabras of her own. Then Megumi wanted to do a deep clean of the apartment the next day, which you helped with. And then you picked them up from school when Gojo was stuck in traffic and then he drove all the way to your job with an umbrella so you wouldn’t have to walk home in the rain and then you just saw him all the time.
And now you’re here, at Tsumiki’s softball game. She’s an aggressive player, the metal making loud cracking sounds against the ball when she hits, her determination to run off even faster.
“Pumpkin is a 3/10 but sugar is a 5/10? You’re ridiculous.”
Ever since Gojo’s babygirl line, he’s been testing out different endearments as he talks to you. You give him a rating out of ten, which he is always offended by.
“Sugar is like old money. Leather jackets, slicked back hair, Danny Zuko.”
“Danny Zuko is ugly. I’m way hotter than him.”
“Anyways. Do you ever think that Tsumiki is a little…intense? I mean, I don’t know she’s all about rage and the thrill and exhilaration and that’s okay but-”
He frowns, looking out at her - a determined, intense expression pressed on her face at second base.
“I guess. But, that’s just because of everything that’s happened. She-she’s used to being so smiley and carefree all the time. And I told her that when she’s with me and us, that she doesn’t have to be anymore if she feels the need to be. And I guess letting go of that, letting everything out is intense for her. And she’s just trying to feel it all.”
You put your hand on his knee and squeeze, giving him a smile as you look out at her too.
“I get it. I used to feel that way when….you know. I guess I just thought it was right to do it the intense way, to fight, to love like a knife, like a closed fist. That if I argued and felt and did all these things as intensely as I could, it would be right.”
He puts his hand on your knee now and squeezes, leaning his head against yours. Tsumiki sprints two bases, scoring a goal as she jumps up and down - her chest heaving up and down from panting. The two of you instantly jump up, hands locked together as you jump up and down just like her and excitedly cheer her name. Over the cheering, he responds, eyes still focused on her high-fiving all her teammates.
“I get what you’re saying. But, I don’t want her to think about love that way. It would kill me if she did. I want her to feel these intense feelings but love should be soft. It shouldn’t be a war, it should be a home. I don’t want her to ever have to fight for it, I want it to creep up on her - build a place in her heart that always stays there. Don’t you agree, pookie?”
You turn to him, glaring at him through his stupid light blue sunglasses. One of the best things about being friends with Gojo? That he so earnestly, so deeply wants the best for Tsumiki and Megumi that it makes your heart hurt. That his love for them is so unconditional, that you just want to witness it - have the sweetness rub off of you.
He makes two sets of dinner each night, because they’re both picky eaters. And every time you tell him to just be more firm, to sit them down and make them eat it, he refuses. Because the thought that either of them would be so stubborn that they wouldn’t eat dinner at all and go to bed hungry is worse than taking the time to make two sets of food. One now, because you always make the other.
He makes Tsumiki watch documentaries about famous female figures - politicians, music artists, writers. Tsumiki’s well versed in every feat of women - from Taylor Swift’s sold out shows to Jane Austens’ impact as a romance writer. He goes out of his way to make sure that she has positive female role models, to try his best to give her things that he can’t blatantly offer. He loves them so much. He loves so much. It’s truly the best thing about him.
The second? That he takes something serious but still manages to make you laugh at the end.
“Pookie, Gojo? Really? That’s a 0/10. You can do better than that.”
“The reservation is under Gojo. It should be two rooms, connected. Four queens.” you say, tapping your knuckles against the counter as Gojo ushers Megumi to the bathroom - who has been complaining of a very full bladder the entire drive down.
The four of you had come down to the closest beach town for Christmas and Megumi's birthday, planning to spend a few days in the area until the new year rang in. The woman hands you two keycards and you give her a smile as you wait by the elevator for the two of them to return.
Six floors later and the four of you are pushing into your rooms, Tsumiki and Megumi immediately flopping on the beds and eating the little chocolates placed on the pillows as you and Gojo roll your eyes.
You unlock the connecting door and push your bag through to find one king bed in yours and Gojo’s room as Gojo joins you at his side. He wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin shoulder as you both groan.
“Fuck. No blanket hogging, snookums.”
“Disgusting. Negative ten, Gojo.”
He immediately plops his things down onto the left side of the bed and you land on the right, setting out your chargers and taking off your jewelry as you hop into the shower. Eight months ago, you would have been so opposed and appalled at the affair - having to share a bed with Gojo - but you’ve honestly seen too much of him now that it doesn’t phase you.
Granted, when you met him, he literally took his shirt off. But you're so casual now that the boundary of sharing a bed is virtualy nothing. And you've literally done it before.
You get ready in the bathroom while Gojo takes a shower, despite the fact that he’s literally naked a few feet away. You’ve shared his bed when you end up staying too late - because you’re not breaking your back by sleeping on the floor and neither is he. He eats from your plate because you never finish his own and you always steal sips of his coffee even when you say you don’t want one.
One time he used your toothbrush by accident. That however, the two of you never moved past.
You pad into the bathroom, filling up the room with a decent amount of steam as you fill up your scalding shower and indulge yourself in all the fancy bath soaps and salts in the shower. Leaving with muscles soothed and pruney fingers, you towel your hair up and throw on your sweats to nestle into the clean sheets. Gojo’s now sitting on the right side, lazily flicking through the channels.
“Gojo. I was on the right.”
“Yeah, my bad. I realized I totally claimed a side first. I know you hate sleeping by the window because you’re convinced some big bad man is going to come steal you. Now he can come get me!”
You look over at your side table, the things you set up before now switched to your side. They're all laid out perfectly, the way you had left the, except on the opposite nightstand.
“How’d you know how to put my stuff like this?”
“The chargers. The jewelry.”
“Oh. Just noticed that’s all. You spend like a few minutes every night before you go to sleep making sure it’s all right. That your chargers aren’t tangled, the rings and earrings are together and stuff. Just figured I’d put it that way so you wouldn’t have to.”
You smile, cheeks warm at the thought of Gojo paying attention enough to notice that you do that and going as far as doing it for you. After he remembered your irrational fear of getting murked in the night and moved when he didn’t have to. Granted, Gojo’s thoughtfulness is always one of the things you’ve loved most about him.
You look over at him, knees hiked to his chest, messy white hair and that loose old t-shirt on his frame as he pokes through your stash of snacks. His eyes are so intensely focused on the movie - Danny Zuko dancing on the screen in Grease - as he nervously fidgets with his knuckles like he always does.
No. No no no no no no no no no no.
You’re falling in love. You’re falling in love with Satoru Gojo, you’re falling in love again and you shouldn't be.
Gojo looks over at you, bored blue eyes immediately filling with concern as he jumps up, arms resting falling against your biceps. You bring your fists to your eyes, wiping away the tears, trying to push them down as he whispers, softly broaching the subject.
“Hey. You okay? The fake burglar scared you that badly?”
You snort through your tears as he squeezes your arms.
Fuck. You’re down bad. Down horrendous. That joke wasn’t even funny and it made you snort.
“What’s wrong, my little tater tot?”
“I thought that was at least a seven. You love tater tots.” he whispers, tucking you into the crook of his neck as he rubs small circles into your back, his soft voice vertebrates through his chest.
What happened? When did you get like this? When did you start sharing beds and leaving a toothbrush and a spare pair of clothes at his place?
Why-why is every part of you open with him? Why do you want to open it for him?
You can’t. You just can’t.
“Yeah?” you murmur into the clothed fabric of his shirt.
“Words please. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
You crumple the fabric of his shirt in your fists, burying down every feeling - overwhelming, endearing, warm and bright - and lie through your teeth.
“Nothing. I-I just remembered. It’s Suguru’s birthday.”
He pulls you out of his arms, bringing up his hands to your cheeks, as he gives you a lopsided small.
“Sucks. Want me to kill him?”
You smile as he lets go, dragging you back onto the bed with him. And you both watch the movie - you swooning over Danny Zuko and Gojo telling you that he’s way hotter than him the entire time - until you somehow end up nestled in his arms in the dark, his soft sleep breaths lulling you to sleep.
You and Gojo pad down to the little restaurant the hotel has the next morning, leaving a very grumpy Tsumiki and so fast asleep he’s nearly dead Megumi in their beds. You and Gojo opt for a booth, sitting on the same side, as you look through the menu.
“Splitsies. You pick the savory, I’ll pick the sweet, okay?”
You nod, cheeks burning as you look through the menu at the implication, trying your best not to focus on your legs pressed together, his hand so casually placed on thigh like it’s second nature.
It is second nature, he does it all the time. But should he, if he’s just your friend?
Your friend that you’re in love with?
You scan your eyes down the menu and pick the first thing listed, eggs benedict, earning a weird smile from Gojo as they walk away with your order.
“Okay, my little eggs benedict. You’re paying because you hogged the blanket all night.”
“Three. Unoriginal. And you literally stopped my circulation at one point, so you pay.”
“Ugh. The things you do for love.” he responds, eyes focused on the window to his left.
Gojo looks over at you, a weird expression in his eyes. And you feel your eyes widen when you realize this is another one of Gojo’s jokes - like when he calls you his wife, says that you’re both two parents roughing it through the world - and feel the embarrassment rush to your cheeks as you bury your face into the drinks menu.
He slides his arm around your shoulder, whispering into your ears with a smirk.
“It’s eight in the morning. Are we really going to drink right now?”
“Sh-shut up. I was just looking.”
“What’s wrong with you? You’re being all squirrely and weird.”
“No, I’m not. Yo-you’re being weird. You fucking pervert, always going on about some we this, wifey this shit.”
He drops his hands on the table, squinting at you like he’s trying to discern the writing on your face. And after a few seconds his face lights up, replaced by a devious smirk that you absolutely hate.
“You just realized, didn’t you?”
“That you love me.” he states, matter of factly.
You feel your jaw drop as you stare at him, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as you feel your cheeks burn, his closeness to you making you even more embarrassed. At him saying that, so bluntly.
“I don’t love you, Gojo.”
“Oh, you totally do. Is that what you were crying about last night? Overwhelmed with your love for me?”
Satoru Gojo. Fucking mindreader.
“No. No, I don’t- I can’t-” you mutter, hands in your face as the entire thing bubbles out, your big secret wide open.
You can’t love Gojo. You just loved Suguru. And you don’t love anyone like you love Suguru and you shouldn't with what happened and
Satoru puts a hand on your head, ruffling your hair.
“Y/N. Just, stop panicking. I'm teasing. You don’t have to be all embarrassed and figure out what it means that right away. You-you have a lot of baggage that comes with feeling like this. I’m guessing your first line of defense is to run off or push me away, so I can’t do to you what Suguru did. But - just calm down, okay? Eat eggs benedict and french toast with me and then drive along the coast.”
You stare at him, his expression so calm, so serene at something so serious that it’s off putting.
“Can you do that for me? It is my birthday, you know?”
"Your birthday was like three weeks ago."
"Yeah but it's still my month. You have to give in."
You nod at which he gives a bright smile, squishing your cheeks with his hand as the plates get placed in front of you. You both tangle your arms, the entire elephant you just spilled out ignored, as you share your plates of breakfast.
“Do you like the food, my little strawberry?”
“Yes. And that was a 8/10, not bad.”
“That was horrible. You're blinded by love already.”
The entire thing twists into a maze in your mind. A labyrinth of every moment you’ve ever shared with Gojo, with Suguru, with every complex feeling that comes with love - picking up the kids from school, him brushing your hair for fun, comparing hand sizes, doing a staring contest but instead just admiring each other's eyes.
Which is why when you come back out from your day with Tsumiki and Megumi, tuck them both into bed, and end back up in your room, you’re so anxious it’s all tumbling out of your mouth.
“I can’t do this. This thing- I-I can’t do this. I want to go home. Can I go home?”
“What? Are you okay, you-”
He stands up, leaning forward to press his hands against your cheeks but you immediately back away, flinching away from his touch. He frowns, the motion catching him off guard, as he steps back.
“You want to go home? I mean, I can wake the kids and take you now but-”
“No, no. I want to go alone, I don’t want you there, this is all a lot and-”
“Y/N. I said not to think about that. You-stop thinking it into this big thing it’s not.”
You crouch down onto the ground, hiking your knees to your chest as you cry into your bones, the tears spilling down the side of your legs. You can feel the sobs racking out of your chest and Gojo’s arms holding you still, the presence you’ve relied on for the past eight months burning you.
“Are you scared I don’t love you back? I- you know I do right?”
You look up at him, blue eyes widening in shock as he pulls you into his arms properly, squeezing hard.
“I love you. I’ve loved you for a while. Don’t- don’t doubt it okay because I do. And-”
“It’s not that.” you whisper.
He pulls back again, hands resting against your cheeks - which you allow this time - as he frowns. He nods lightly, signaling for you to talk as he rubs his fingers back and forth on your cheeks, the touch soothing.
“I’m scared that I love you.”
You laugh, which makes him smile, as he lightly applies pressure to your cheeks.
“I’m scared because I don’t know how to do it when it’s like this. I-I handed my heart over and someone broke it and if you do that, I can’t-
“I’m not going to do that.” he responds, voice firm.
“You love soft, Satoru. You- there’s so many parts of me that are hard, my heart is all rough and calloused over and yours is soft and perfect. I love like a knife, like a battle, like it’s a war and I’m fighting for my life. You love like it’s the air you breathe, like you’re watering flowers and building a home. You-you don’t want to love me when I don’t know how to do that and I’m like this and you should just leave when you can. I’m like a labyrinth, a big jumbled mess that you’ll have to spend forever figuring out.”
He sighs, eyes clenched shut and shoulders tensed up.
“Y/N. You contradict yourself in every sentence and it pisses me off.”
“You’re right. I love like it’s air I breathe, like I’m watering flowers and building a home. I’ve been building ours for months now and you really think I’m going to walk out of here because it’s not perfect? I knew this was what I was getting into and I wanted it.”
You can feel your ears ringing, tears rising in your eyes because you know whatever he says next is going to inevitably make you sob.
“Gojo. You, it’s a mess up here. I can't do that to you.” you whisper, tapping your forehead.
“A mess to you, right now. Nothing about you is a mess to me. There-there’s so much that’s happened, that’s twisted all these things that are supposed to be good into bad. But just-just work with me here, okay? We’ll untwist them. We’ll make your labyrinth into a nice little garden with a pond, okay?
You push your face into his shirt, his heart pounding against your ears, as he wraps his arms around you again.
“You want a garden and a pond in our litte love house?” you whisper.
“Yeah. Megumi always stares at flowers when we walk to school, I think we should do gardening when we move out of the apartments. And we can sit there together, you know?”
“In. In here and here.” he says, pointing to your head and then your heart, which is violently thumping.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”
He leans forward, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead, before whispering a soft thank you in your hair. You cry a great deal more, his soft words soothing you down, until you’re tangled under the sheets together, every part of your body vibrating with what just happened.
“Go to bed, my love. We have to get up early tomorrow.”
You turn to the other side and he snakes his arms around your waist, his breath tickling the back of your neck.
“My love? It’s ten out of ten.” you whisper.
You feel him press a kiss to the back of your neck before you both fall asleep, the warmth enveloping you in the deepest rest you’ve ever had.
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