LMFOAAOA DEF NOT BBY! iâm just not very well-versed with the creation of smaus so figuring out where to go next is pretty difficult for me + all my other ongoing works atm . . . theres literally only one other part left tho so iâll finish it at one point trust.
when you are accepted into an elite academy on a scholarship, you seek revenge on the illustrious park family, the very people that took away the life of your best friend. park sunghoon, an attendee of said academy, is sloppy, unaware of his surroundings, and completely out of touchâ the perfect target for a clean assassination. the only problem? his irritatingly loyal best friend jake, who happens to be student council president, the son of one of the 7 families pulling strings in the academy, and the man you would later refer to as your greatest love.
pairing. student council president!jake x scholarship student!reader, slight sunoo x reader
tags. revenge story, drama, mystery, old money themes, enemies to lovers, academy au, angst, love triangle, slow burn
current wc. 52.2k
warnings. language, suggestive content, murder/attempted murder, weapons, injuries, car accidents, toxic family dynamics, thereâs a huge class difference, reader smokes in the time-skip, underaged drinking, drug use, ptsd, implied depression, and more.
ACT I - ROSES & RETRIBUTION
your best friendâs death was ruled as a suicideâyou think otherwise. when the proof comes knocking at your doorstep, you step out of it and into the world of trust funds, private jets, and lavish parties after dark that is solstice academy. grief is truly a funny thing. when you outsmart socialite kim sunoo at a party he sets up to humiliate you, you gain an unlikely ally.
the solstice student council elections display unexpected results. nevertheless, you have a charity gala to plan, and with your worst enemy in the form of jake sim to boot. heâs less than pleased, and so is your dangerous new admirer. you are too, when they get both behind the wheel and let their feelings fester on the race tracks.
all of your planning and hard work has led you to this momentâone last chance to expose your best friendâs true killer. itâll only take breaking and entering into an exclusive candle-lit meeting, a disastrous yacht weekend, a secretive auction, exploding vehicles, and one hell of a masquerade ball. can justice be served?
THE FINALE - GARDENIAS & GOODBYES
revenge has proven to come with a rather hefty price. eight long years after your run in solstice, you fear that itâs events might never leave you. when a scandal from your past threatens to shake your glamorous career, jake and sunoo come crashing into your life like theyâd never left at all â and one thought scratches at you, looming larger everyday: you have to make your choice.
sypnosis. when you are accepted into an elite academy on a scholarship, you seek revenge on the illustrious park family, the very people that took away the life of your best friend. park sunghoon, an attendee of said academy, is sloppy, unaware of his surroundings, and completely out of touchâ the perfect target for a clean assassination. the only problem? his irritatingly loyal best friend jake, who happens to be student council president, the son of one of the 7 families pulling strings in the academy, and the man you would later refer to as your greatest love.
chapter sypnosis. jake and sunoo make a pretty good team. that is â wherever youâre involved. when a boyâs night out evolves into something more sinister, you take the chance to snatch the key to the north tower.
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pairing. heir!jake x scholarship student!reader x heir!sunoo
tags. revenge story, drama, old money themes, enemies to lovers, academy au, angst, love triangle
wc. 3.7k
before you read. mentions of a teacher/student relationship (not between any of the main characters.) enjoy this final comedy arc before we dive into the real shi đą i fear itâs only sadness and misery from here on out.
JAKE, AS USUAL, jolts awake to the sound of your common room's doors wrenching shut.
for all these weeks of sharing a living quarters with you, he's come to learn that you aren't exactly subtle when you get up before sunrise to avoid running into him in the mornings. quite the opposite, actually â if your heavy footsteps and the incessant whirring of the coffee machine are anything to go by.
he, of course, thinks this newfound behavior is absolutely ridiculous.
you've never avoided him to this extent before, and you just end up waking him anyway, to which he responds by throwing the covers over his head with a huff and a bitter impression about being the object of your, well . . . indifference.
not that it bothers him. not in the slightest. except this time around, jake cannot, for the life of him, find it in himself to go back to sleep.
whenever he closes his eyes, he's back in the great hall with his obnoxious friends, very obviously warring between themselves over sneaking around closed corridors and alleged late night meetings that you had somehow been compelled to agree to â
none of which being jake's problems whatsoever.
except as he twists and turns in an attempt to quiet his mind, the sound of rustling sheets a testament to his pain, the sim heir stops to think.
sunoo has always been fond of you â that much had been clear. to jake, and the entirety of this school. ever since you doused him with beer water at a party he'd only even set up to humiliate you, sunoo has been glued to your side like a lost puppy dog that bites on command.
and if jake knew anything about sunoo, it was that he bit hard, drawing blood and misery from anybody that just so breathed at him (read: and now you,) wrong.
what he wasn't aware of, however, was how close you'd gotten with heeseung.
it came as much as a suprise to him as everyone else at the lunch table when sunoo had leaned back in his seat, picking and prodding at every coy remark that heeseung had to shoot back at him.
"if it makes you feel better, she agreed to see me again tonight."
jake suddenly finds himself shooting up in bed, head snapping towards the blinds as he tries to search for any sliver of sunlight that might find itself seeping through the windows, and finds none.
jake has been up for thirty minutes at least, twisting and turning until heat had begun to seep from his body and down onto the sheets, and there's still no sign of the sun coming up anytime soon.
you didn't seriously mean to agree to that, did you . . . ?
with a groan and a quick ruffle of his hair, the sim heir is rising from his bed, shuffling into a thick woolen jacket and the closest pair of shoes he could find.
and even if you had agreed, what could you possibly be doing out with his friend at this hour? definitely not anything within the strict rules imposed upon council members and this very academy, that's what.
so with a deep breath and a sharp turn on his heel, he supposes it wouldn't hurt to check. for completely council-related moral reasons, of course.
.
.
.
"REMIND ME WHY i said yes to you again?"
crouched low behind lancet windows and praying that the tracery will conceal your form and that of a six-foot calculus prodigy is not how you imagined your evening to unfold, but you try your best to be very still nonetheless.
that, and completely quiet when heeseung whips his head around to gesture you to shush.
when he averts his gaze back towards the window overlooking the old, gothic chapel as if mulling over your words, you find his neck craned back towards you in no time.
"because you like me?" he offers quietly, shooting you a goofy smile as his eyes flick between you and the chapel where your ta had proposed to meet this mystery person. "just a little bit?"
you kick harshly at his ankles, and when heeseung has to cover his mouth to keep from groaning in pain, you can barely keep from grinning.
once the quiet that usually came with solstice nights falls over the two of you once more, you find yourself surveying the grounds ahead with a newfound impatience. you two have been here for thirty minutes now, and your feet have begun to ache.
besides, if the chill in the air was anything to go by, it was that the seasons would change soon, and with it, came the bitter realization that you've still made no progress infiltrating the north tower â and so close to jiwoo's death anniversary.
you can hardly keep from shifting in place, switching to a kneel so that you might alleviate the aching pressure that nips at your heels.
nearly one year. you'd been given one full year in your fight for evidence, and yet, you still find yourself with so little answers.
tonight, you'd have to find some way to break away from heeseung and change that.
"why do you think they haven't shown up yet?" you murmur, staring intensely at the chapel as though it might shift and reveal all of your ta's secrets if you looked hard enough.
"patience, scholarship girl," heeseung whispers, but there's no real malice hidden within the nickname he's given you. you roll your eyes anyway, and you fear they might roll to the back of your head and remain there from the amount of times you've done so in his presence.
"they're bound to show up sometime tonight."
you grunt. "if they don't peddle themselves out here faster, jake will pop out from the darkness and drag me back to the dorms himself."
heeseung lets out a laugh at that, albeit quiet and breathy, and puts his hands down on the windowsill where dust had undoubtedly begun to collect so that he might lean forward for a better view of the grounds. you wince.
"i think my friends are pretty fond of you," he whispers, though his eyes never leave the chapel courtyard ahead.
"what?" you frown, shooting him another nasty look he isn't even present enough to receive. "who?"
"you know who."
"i know of one. friends, plural?"
"yes, plural," heeseung snaps, whipping his head around to jokingly return your glare head-on. "at lunch today, sunoo damn near threw a fit and confronted me when i took a seat at the table."
"that's sunoo for you," you mutter disinterestedly. your partner-in-crime only looks down at his feet as if mulling something over, and the silence that has descended over the desolate hall suddenly shifts into something more curious. more alive.
"and there was jake," he says thoughtfully, tilting his head like the thought alone had intrigued him enough to serve as entertainment for the better part of a week. you pause.
"jake?" you frown. "what about jake?"
"he got all quiet," the real estate heir shrugs, maroon hair falling over his eyes as you look down at your feet deep in thought. "it was like he â "
CRASH!
when a sound vibrates from the far end of the hall, you and heeseung take care to crouch even lower behind the tracery, heads whipping to look at each other with wide eyes.
"what was that?"
.
.
.
"THIS CAN'T BE REAL," jake mutters, eyes raking up and down the dim-witted fool who'd decided that a heavy white coat and designer house slippers were the perfect attire to fly under the radar.
"well, believe it." sunoo smiles, silvery blonde hair hidden under his hood and looking entirely too pleased for a student trespassing after curfew in fluffy slippers.
jake pinches his nose and closes his eyes, and for one impossible second, entertains the fantasy that kim sunoo might disappear if he hopes hard enough â to no such luck. the blonde simply tucks his hands into his pockets, looking around with a casualness as though they'd run into each other over brunch instead of a forbidden outing.
one that jake hadn't planned or anticipated whatsoever.
"so," sunoo hums, completely uncaring towards the fact that they could be caught out by the council members that roam the halls any day now. "would you happen to know where your roommate went?"
"you're following her," jake says, jaw tightening for reasons completely beyond him.
sunoo doesn't miss a beat.
"so are you," the elite mutters, evidently losing more and more of his poorly-contained patience by the second. "but last time i checked, you and the scholarship girl aren't exactly the best of friends."
"and because you two are," jake starts, raising a brow at the blonde. "it's completely normal for you to be following her out at this hour . . . ?"
the corridor stretches long in between them, illuminated by only the sparse wall torches that the janitors on the night shift had so kindly taken the time to light. the amber that spills from their light cast brilliant pools across stone floors, and outside, the trees bend to the will of the winds and scrape against stained glass windows. somewhere far below the academy, old pipes groan beneath the cold.
the silence that had found itself falling over them lasts all but three seconds before sunoo sighs dramatically.
"what's your part in this?" he tilts his head, and jake frowns.
the truth is, he's not entirely sure.
you've been off lately. even from the perspective of someone who lived around, but never exactly with you â that much had been clear. you're clearly tired, having grown sloppy from all the tasks that yoon seems to enjoy imposing upon your peace and . . . something else.
something far beyond his comprehension.
"i'm making sure a council member isn't violating curfew," jake says finally.
sunoo blinks. ". . . that's your excuse?"
"what's yours, then?"
"much simpler, actually." the blonde lets out a thoughtful hum, shoving his hands deeper into the warmth of his pockets and letting the corners of his mouth twitch. "i missed her."
the sim heir swears he could throw up all over the cold cobble that lies beneath their feet. despite himself, something unpleasant twists in his stomach.
he's positively irritated.
"right," jake exhales, "to answer your question, i don't know where she is, eithe â"
when the sound of shuffling and distant giggles fill the desolate halls, both boys straighten immediately. without so much as another word, the two share one reluctant glance before sinking deeper into the shadows.
and for exactly five seconds, they make a surprisingly efficient team, creeping through the shadows without so much as a peep. on the sixth â
CRASH!
sunoo accidentally slams himself into a trophy case, the contents clashing against each other. the sound ricochets through the corridor, and for one, agonizing second, jake lets himself close his eyes.
low echoes of "what was that?" echo through the dark corridor, and jake springs into action. in no time, he's grabbing his friend by the neck of his coat and dragging him away from the case and behind a corner overlooking the turn.
around the corner, two silhouettes shuffle behind the intricate stone tracery overlooking the chapel courtyard. one, he immediately recognizes as heeseung, and the other â
jake looks on as heeseung reaches out, carefully guiding you lower behind the carved window frame with a hand upon the small of your back, and neither of you seem to notice.
this . . . is how you've been spending your evenings? this is why you've looked exhausted for weeks?
jake is hit with the chest-tightening realization that he's had it all wrong. you never rose earlier to avoid him â you'd done it for him, in the hopes that you could sneak around and enjoy each other's company before daybreak when all eyes would inevitably fall on you both.
and god, does the sim heir want to scoff. did you know that heeseung used to cry whenever he lost a bout in middle school?
or that he threw up all over a park bench when they were kids after he insisted he could stomach both the cheese rings and the two ice cream bars?
if you knew, would you still be sneaking around with him after hours? let him stand that close as you went on doing whatever it is that you were doing?
jake's jaw tightens. apparently, yes.
beside him, sunoo is freakishly still.
his gaze, completely blank and loaded with frightening focus, flick from the hall beyond, to the old chapel courtyard, to the faculty offices, then back again.
and slowly but surely, the pieces begin to fall into place like a nicely-set chessboard â the scheming around faculty halls. you. heeseung. professor jung.
he's long since heard the news of the dreary maternity leave and the subsequent entrance of your new, albeit terrifying, substitute professor.
he knows full well that you and heeseung share one, singular class under said professor, and he's aware of the lengths that his dear friend would go to preserve his perfect gpa.
after all, if the gossip that littered through these halls had a heart and soul, pumping blood into the whispers and providing life, it would be kim sunoo.
his lips part ever so slightly, and then they curve into the slightest of smiles.
smart girl, he thinks, and the admiration that twinkles behind his eyes shines brighter than the damn coat he'd dragged along to come find you.
the smartest.
sunoo underestimated you, and now, he'd make sure to never make the same mistake again.
.
.
.
WHEN FOOTSTEPS SOUND from beyond the tall windows, and you and heeseung stiffen simultaneously.
across the courtyard and beneath the ancient archway leading into the dark chapel, a familiar silhouette steps into the moonlight.
professor jung, and â
âholy shit,â heeseung whispers, eyes wide as the second figure, a woman this time, steps into view. âis that . . . ?â
âjia,â you finish for him, voice spilling out before you can even begin to stop yourself.
moonlight catches against the womanâs face as she lowers the hood of her jacket, and your heart plummets somewhere to your feet. beside you, heeseung is gaping like heâs never seen something more outrageous in his life.
perhaps so, because standing below the shadow of the arch with your professor, had been your classmate.
and there had been no mistaking her. song jia, senior, and an elite resident of the east wing.
the same girl who played debussy on the flute after your introductory speech at the very first orientation of the year. soft spoken, brilliant, and exactly the type of student that students and professors alike held in the highest regard.
âfuckââ you swear instinctively, ducking lower beneath the windowsill and reaching over to fumble with heeseungâs pockets. âgive me your phone.â
âwhat â whatâre you doing?â heeseung whispers, a little flustered by the way you dig in his pants for his cellphone.
when you finally get a hold of it and press record with shaky fingers, you shoot back at him: âwhat do you think iâm doing, genius?â
you fumble once or twice, nearly dropping the damn thing in the process before the screen lights your face with its pale glow.
âhah,â he splutters, practically breathless as his lips quirk upwards into a ghost of a smile. âyouâre a quick thinker.â
across the courtyard, jia steps even closer to professor jung, mumbling something incoherent from where you stand. but that didnât matter â not when the older manâs hand finds her cheek with practiced familiarity.
you could hurl.
your pulse bangs against your ears.
â. . . keep recording,â heeseung whispers against your ear, and the two figures slowly inch towards each other, closing the distance between them as they move.
you gasp loudly, nearly dropping the phone in the process.
caught mid-kiss, the couple whips their heads towards the source of the sound. for one, agonizing second, nobody moves.
before either you or heeseung can even think to duck, a crash reverberates from opposite corridor, even louder this time.
âOW!â
the yelp is followed by a string of very loud, very theatrical complaints. almost as if someone had been purposefully causing a commotion to twist the odds in your favor as you and heeseung exchange one stunned glance.
âwait â stop hitting me already!â
âhey!â another voice joins the fray, and the academyâs elderly janitor rounds the hall with his cart in tow and a wet mop in his hands.
a ring of heavy brass keys swing from the cart, and your eyes lock onto them immediately.
âheeseung,â you whisper, eyes as wide as two saucers as you shove the phone back in his hands. ârun the other way. weâll talk tomorrow over breakfast.â
before he can even begin to argue, youâre already moving. and as if on cue, another series of loud clangs echo from somewhere far ahead, and the old man abandons the cart entirely to jog towards the source of the racket.
âwhoâs there?!â
you donât stop to think. not even for a second. instead, you sprint with all your might, coming to duck behind the janitorâs cart and sorting through the brass keys one by one like a madwoman.
and then you find it: the key to the north tower. itâs a little larger than the rest and labeled N.T. on the bow, and with one harsh tug you manage to pull it off the ring and break into another sprint.
bingo.
the key slides cleanly into your sweaty palm, and you vanish into the shadow of a corridor far, far away from the commotion caused by a few blundering idiots who were stupid enough to get caught out past curfew, no doubt.
and by the time your pulse stops racing enough for you to begin producing real, rational thoughts once more, heeseung has disappeared, and so have jung and jia.
what remains is the furious voice of the old janitor, scolding two figures further down in the hall that you canât quite make out.
youâve finally done it.
.
.
.
WHEN JAKE FINDS himself back within the comforts of your council dorm, the sun has already begun to shine overhead, its light spilling onto the wooden floors in long, golden stripes.
his shoulders ache. his eyes burn. and if he hears the phrase, âgross behavior unbecoming of a council memberâ one more time, he thinks he might lose it.
never, in all his years at this academy, did jake sim ever believe he was going to spend a night standing rigid beside sunoo of all people, wincing and nodding as the elderly janitor of solstice lectured them about curfew hours and gross misconduct in the halls with the lungs of a military commander.
and unfortunately, beginning their defense with ââ the trophy cabinet attacked me first!â had only extended the lecture by another hour or so.
by the second, theyâd been roped into scraping gum off the bottoms of the tables in the dining hall.
by the third, even the janitor had begun to look tired.
jake hardly remembers hauling himself back to the dorms, slamming the door shut behind him as he drags his feet across polished wood.
and just when heâs in the middle of shrugging off his jacket â
â. . . morning,â you greet him, and the common room door creaks open. jake looks up instinctively, and your eyes meet. regrettably so.
he blinks. âmorning.â
just ahead of him, you stand with a hot cup of coffee nestled between your palms. youâre in dire need of it, from the way your shoulders slump in exhaustion despite having already showered and dressed into your scholarship uniform.
one awkward beat passes, then another. âuh, where have you been?â
â. . . lacrosse practice.â
âpractice? all night?â
âyes,â he coughs, ignoring the way your eyes have wandered over to the tips of his ears. god, he hopes they havenât flushed pink. âcoach was pissed. it happens.â
âhuh,â you say, looking down at your feet like youâre carefully contemplating what to say next. to which jake thinks â what could you possibly even have to say?!
â. . . thanks,â you murmur, and jake freezes like he hadnât heard you right the first time.
not what he was expecting, to say the least. in fact, heâd fully expected you to never acknowledge him again.
jakeâs brows knit together. âfor what?â
âfor covering for me,â you say earnestly, shuffling awkwardly as your roommate gapes at you. âi know iâve been pretty sloppy on the job lately.â
the admission looks like it pains you.
âyoon wouldâve thrown me out of the north wing by now if you hadnât picked up the slack, so . . . thank you.â
and god knows you have been sloppy, but jake would rather go through a hundred nights of what he and sunoo just had to endure before saying that to your face.
not that he wouldâve been able to in the first place, because heâs seemingly forgotten how to speak.
âi. . . i dont â it was nothing ââ
jake wants to thank you too, for saying what you did about his brother down at the jazz club. but before he can even begin to find the words â
âso.â you lift the mug in your hands, smiling at him with a strange, genuine warmth that leaves him reeling. âiâm gonna head to class. donât work too hard, sim.â
and then youâre gone, having slipped between the crack in the door and leaving him at a loss for words.
he blinks once, then twice, and drops onto the couch with a heavy groan. his head falls back onto the cushions and for a long while, he simply stays there.
then, absentmindedly, his gaze drifts towards the coffee table.
your things are scattered across the table exactly as youâd left them in your rush to class. a half-finished problem set, a few loose council reports, your student id, and . . .
resting innocently and twinkling beneath the light of a fresh sunrise, is a key.
slowly, almost instinctively, jake leans forward.
âwhatâs this?â he mumbles to no one in particular, fishing the piece of brass from under your papers and holding it to the light. and stamped onto the bow, in tiny engraved letters, were N.T.
sypnosis. when you are accepted into an elite academy on a scholarship, you seek revenge on the illustrious park family, the very people that took away the life of your best friend. park sunghoon, an attendee of said academy, is sloppy, unaware of his surroundings, and completely out of touchâ the perfect target for a clean assassination. the only problem? his irritatingly loyal best friend jake, who happens to be student council president, the son of one of the 7 families pulling strings in the academy, and the man you would later refer to as your greatest love.
chapter sypnosis. jake and sunoo make a pretty good team. that is â wherever youâre involved. when a boyâs night out evolves into something more sinister, you take the chance to snatch the key to the north tower.
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pairing. heir!jake x scholarship student!reader x heir!sunoo
tags. revenge story, drama, old money themes, enemies to lovers, academy au, angst, love triangle
wc. 3.7k
before you read. mentions of a teacher/student relationship (not between any of the main characters.) enjoy this final comedy arc before we dive into the real shi đą i fear itâs only sadness and misery from here on out.
JAKE, AS USUAL, jolts awake to the sound of your common room's doors wrenching shut.
for all these weeks of sharing a living quarters with you, he's come to learn that you aren't exactly subtle when you get up before sunrise to avoid running into him in the mornings. quite the opposite, actually â if your heavy footsteps and the incessant whirring of the coffee machine are anything to go by.
he, of course, thinks this newfound behavior is absolutely ridiculous.
you've never avoided him to this extent before, and you just end up waking him anyway, to which he responds by throwing the covers over his head with a huff and a bitter impression about being the object of your, well . . . indifference.
not that it bothers him. not in the slightest. except this time around, jake cannot, for the life of him, find it in himself to go back to sleep.
whenever he closes his eyes, he's back in the great hall with his obnoxious friends, very obviously warring between themselves over sneaking around closed corridors and alleged late night meetings that you had somehow been compelled to agree to â
none of which being jake's problems whatsoever.
except as he twists and turns in an attempt to quiet his mind, the sound of rustling sheets a testament to his pain, the sim heir stops to think.
sunoo has always been fond of you â that much had been clear. to jake, and the entirety of this school. ever since you doused him with beer water at a party he'd only even set up to humiliate you, sunoo has been glued to your side like a lost puppy dog that bites on command.
and if jake knew anything about sunoo, it was that he bit hard, drawing blood and misery from anybody that just so breathed at him (read: and now you,) wrong.
what he wasn't aware of, however, was how close you'd gotten with heeseung.
it came as much as a suprise to him as everyone else at the lunch table when sunoo had leaned back in his seat, picking and prodding at every coy remark that heeseung had to shoot back at him.
"if it makes you feel better, she agreed to see me again tonight."
jake suddenly finds himself shooting up in bed, head snapping towards the blinds as he tries to search for any sliver of sunlight that might find itself seeping through the windows, and finds none.
jake has been up for thirty minutes at least, twisting and turning until heat had begun to seep from his body and down onto the sheets, and there's still no sign of the sun coming up anytime soon.
you didn't seriously mean to agree to that, did you . . . ?
with a groan and a quick ruffle of his hair, the sim heir is rising from his bed, shuffling into a thick woolen jacket and the closest pair of shoes he could find.
and even if you had agreed, what could you possibly be doing out with his friend at this hour? definitely not anything within the strict rules imposed upon council members and this very academy, that's what.
so with a deep breath and a sharp turn on his heel, he supposes it wouldn't hurt to check. for completely council-related moral reasons, of course.
.
.
.
"REMIND ME WHY i said yes to you again?"
crouched low behind lancet windows and praying that the tracery will conceal your form and that of a six-foot calculus prodigy is not how you imagined your evening to unfold, but you try your best to be very still nonetheless.
that, and completely quiet when heeseung whips his head around to gesture you to shush.
when he averts his gaze back towards the window overlooking the old, gothic chapel as if mulling over your words, you find his neck craned back towards you in no time.
"because you like me?" he offers quietly, shooting you a goofy smile as his eyes flick between you and the chapel where your ta had proposed to meet this mystery person. "just a little bit?"
you kick harshly at his ankles, and when heeseung has to cover his mouth to keep from groaning in pain, you can barely keep from grinning.
once the quiet that usually came with solstice nights falls over the two of you once more, you find yourself surveying the grounds ahead with a newfound impatience. you two have been here for thirty minutes now, and your feet have begun to ache.
besides, if the chill in the air was anything to go by, it was that the seasons would change soon, and with it, came the bitter realization that you've still made no progress infiltrating the north tower â and so close to jiwoo's death anniversary.
you can hardly keep from shifting in place, switching to a kneel so that you might alleviate the aching pressure that nips at your heels.
nearly one year. you'd been given one full year in your fight for evidence, and yet, you still find yourself with so little answers.
tonight, you'd have to find some way to break away from heeseung and change that.
"why do you think they haven't shown up yet?" you murmur, staring intensely at the chapel as though it might shift and reveal all of your ta's secrets if you looked hard enough.
"patience, scholarship girl," heeseung whispers, but there's no real malice hidden within the nickname he's given you. you roll your eyes anyway, and you fear they might roll to the back of your head and remain there from the amount of times you've done so in his presence.
"they're bound to show up sometime tonight."
you grunt. "if they don't peddle themselves out here faster, jake will pop out from the darkness and drag me back to the dorms himself."
heeseung lets out a laugh at that, albeit quiet and breathy, and puts his hands down on the windowsill where dust had undoubtedly begun to collect so that he might lean forward for a better view of the grounds. you wince.
"i think my friends are pretty fond of you," he whispers, though his eyes never leave the chapel courtyard ahead.
"what?" you frown, shooting him another nasty look he isn't even present enough to receive. "who?"
"you know who."
"i know of one. friends, plural?"
"yes, plural," heeseung snaps, whipping his head around to jokingly return your glare head-on. "at lunch today, sunoo damn near threw a fit and confronted me when i took a seat at the table."
"that's sunoo for you," you mutter disinterestedly. your partner-in-crime only looks down at his feet as if mulling something over, and the silence that has descended over the desolate hall suddenly shifts into something more curious. more alive.
"and there was jake," he says thoughtfully, tilting his head like the thought alone had intrigued him enough to serve as entertainment for the better part of a week. you pause.
"jake?" you frown. "what about jake?"
"he got all quiet," the real estate heir shrugs, maroon hair falling over his eyes as you look down at your feet deep in thought. "it was like he â "
CRASH!
when a sound vibrates from the far end of the hall, you and heeseung take care to crouch even lower behind the tracery, heads whipping to look at each other with wide eyes.
"what was that?"
.
.
.
"THIS CAN'T BE REAL," jake mutters, eyes raking up and down the dim-witted fool who'd decided that a heavy white coat and designer house slippers were the perfect attire to fly under the radar.
"well, believe it." sunoo smiles, silvery blonde hair hidden under his hood and looking entirely too pleased for a student trespassing after curfew in fluffy slippers.
jake pinches his nose and closes his eyes, and for one impossible second, entertains the fantasy that kim sunoo might disappear if he hopes hard enough â to no such luck. the blonde simply tucks his hands into his pockets, looking around with a casualness as though they'd run into each other over brunch instead of a forbidden outing.
one that jake hadn't planned or anticipated whatsoever.
"so," sunoo hums, completely uncaring towards the fact that they could be caught out by the council members that roam the halls any day now. "would you happen to know where your roommate went?"
"you're following her," jake says, jaw tightening for reasons completely beyond him.
sunoo doesn't miss a beat.
"so are you," the elite mutters, evidently losing more and more of his poorly-contained patience by the second. "but last time i checked, you and the scholarship girl aren't exactly the best of friends."
"and because you two are," jake starts, raising a brow at the blonde. "it's completely normal for you to be following her out at this hour . . . ?"
the corridor stretches long in between them, illuminated by only the sparse wall torches that the janitors on the night shift had so kindly taken the time to light. the amber that spills from their light cast brilliant pools across stone floors, and outside, the trees bend to the will of the winds and scrape against stained glass windows. somewhere far below the academy, old pipes groan beneath the cold.
the silence that had found itself falling over them lasts all but three seconds before sunoo sighs dramatically.
"what's your part in this?" he tilts his head, and jake frowns.
the truth is, he's not entirely sure.
you've been off lately. even from the perspective of someone who lived around, but never exactly with you â that much had been clear. you're clearly tired, having grown sloppy from all the tasks that yoon seems to enjoy imposing upon your peace and . . . something else.
something far beyond his comprehension.
"i'm making sure a council member isn't violating curfew," jake says finally.
sunoo blinks. ". . . that's your excuse?"
"what's yours, then?"
"much simpler, actually." the blonde lets out a thoughtful hum, shoving his hands deeper into the warmth of his pockets and letting the corners of his mouth twitch. "i missed her."
the sim heir swears he could throw up all over the cold cobble that lies beneath their feet. despite himself, something unpleasant twists in his stomach.
he's positively irritated.
"right," jake exhales, "to answer your question, i don't know where she is, eithe â"
when the sound of shuffling and distant giggles fill the desolate halls, both boys straighten immediately. without so much as another word, the two share one reluctant glance before sinking deeper into the shadows.
and for exactly five seconds, they make a surprisingly efficient team, creeping through the shadows without so much as a peep. on the sixth â
CRASH!
sunoo accidentally slams himself into a trophy case, the contents clashing against each other. the sound ricochets through the corridor, and for one, agonizing second, jake lets himself close his eyes.
low echoes of "what was that?" echo through the dark corridor, and jake springs into action. in no time, he's grabbing his friend by the neck of his coat and dragging him away from the case and behind a corner overlooking the turn.
around the corner, two silhouettes shuffle behind the intricate stone tracery overlooking the chapel courtyard. one, he immediately recognizes as heeseung, and the other â
jake looks on as heeseung reaches out, carefully guiding you lower behind the carved window frame with a hand upon the small of your back, and neither of you seem to notice.
this . . . is how you've been spending your evenings? this is why you've looked exhausted for weeks?
jake is hit with the chest-tightening realization that he's had it all wrong. you never rose earlier to avoid him â you'd done it for him, in the hopes that you could sneak around and enjoy each other's company before daybreak when all eyes would inevitably fall on you both.
and god, does the sim heir want to scoff. did you know that heeseung used to cry whenever he lost a bout in middle school?
or that he threw up all over a park bench when they were kids after he insisted he could stomach both the cheese rings and the two ice cream bars?
if you knew, would you still be sneaking around with him after hours? let him stand that close as you went on doing whatever it is that you were doing?
jake's jaw tightens. apparently, yes.
beside him, sunoo is freakishly still.
his gaze, completely blank and loaded with frightening focus, flick from the hall beyond, to the old chapel courtyard, to the faculty offices, then back again.
and slowly but surely, the pieces begin to fall into place like a nicely-set chessboard â the scheming around faculty halls. you. heeseung. professor jung.
he's long since heard the news of the dreary maternity leave and the subsequent entrance of your new, albeit terrifying, substitute professor.
he knows full well that you and heeseung share one, singular class under said professor, and he's aware of the lengths that his dear friend would go to preserve his perfect gpa.
after all, if the gossip that littered through these halls had a heart and soul, pumping blood into the whispers and providing life, it would be kim sunoo.
his lips part ever so slightly, and then they curve into the slightest of smiles.
smart girl, he thinks, and the admiration that twinkles behind his eyes shines brighter than the damn coat he'd dragged along to come find you.
the smartest.
sunoo underestimated you, and now, he'd make sure to never make the same mistake again.
.
.
.
WHEN FOOTSTEPS SOUND from beyond the tall windows, and you and heeseung stiffen simultaneously.
across the courtyard and beneath the ancient archway leading into the dark chapel, a familiar silhouette steps into the moonlight.
professor jung, and â
âholy shit,â heeseung whispers, eyes wide as the second figure, a woman this time, steps into view. âis that . . . ?â
âjia,â you finish for him, voice spilling out before you can even begin to stop yourself.
moonlight catches against the womanâs face as she lowers the hood of her jacket, and your heart plummets somewhere to your feet. beside you, heeseung is gaping like heâs never seen something more outrageous in his life.
perhaps so, because standing below the shadow of the arch with your professor, had been your classmate.
and there had been no mistaking her. song jia, senior, and an elite resident of the east wing.
the same girl who played debussy on the flute after your introductory speech at the very first orientation of the year. soft spoken, brilliant, and exactly the type of student that students and professors alike held in the highest regard.
âfuckââ you swear instinctively, ducking lower beneath the windowsill and reaching over to fumble with heeseungâs pockets. âgive me your phone.â
âwhat â whatâre you doing?â heeseung whispers, a little flustered by the way you dig in his pants for his cellphone.
when you finally get a hold of it and press record with shaky fingers, you shoot back at him: âwhat do you think iâm doing, genius?â
you fumble once or twice, nearly dropping the damn thing in the process before the screen lights your face with its pale glow.
âhah,â he splutters, practically breathless as his lips quirk upwards into a ghost of a smile. âyouâre a quick thinker.â
across the courtyard, jia steps even closer to professor jung, mumbling something incoherent from where you stand. but that didnât matter â not when the older manâs hand finds her cheek with practiced familiarity.
you could hurl.
your pulse bangs against your ears.
â. . . keep recording,â heeseung whispers against your ear, and the two figures slowly inch towards each other, closing the distance between them as they move.
you gasp loudly, nearly dropping the phone in the process.
caught mid-kiss, the couple whips their heads towards the source of the sound. for one, agonizing second, nobody moves.
before either you or heeseung can even think to duck, a crash reverberates from opposite corridor, even louder this time.
âOW!â
the yelp is followed by a string of very loud, very theatrical complaints. almost as if someone had been purposefully causing a commotion to twist the odds in your favor as you and heeseung exchange one stunned glance.
âwait â stop hitting me already!â
âhey!â another voice joins the fray, and the academyâs elderly janitor rounds the hall with his cart in tow and a wet mop in his hands.
a ring of heavy brass keys swing from the cart, and your eyes lock onto them immediately.
âheeseung,â you whisper, eyes as wide as two saucers as you shove the phone back in his hands. ârun the other way. weâll talk tomorrow over breakfast.â
before he can even begin to argue, youâre already moving. and as if on cue, another series of loud clangs echo from somewhere far ahead, and the old man abandons the cart entirely to jog towards the source of the racket.
âwhoâs there?!â
you donât stop to think. not even for a second. instead, you sprint with all your might, coming to duck behind the janitorâs cart and sorting through the brass keys one by one like a madwoman.
and then you find it: the key to the north tower. itâs a little larger than the rest and labeled N.T. on the bow, and with one harsh tug you manage to pull it off the ring and break into another sprint.
bingo.
the key slides cleanly into your sweaty palm, and you vanish into the shadow of a corridor far, far away from the commotion caused by a few blundering idiots who were stupid enough to get caught out past curfew, no doubt.
and by the time your pulse stops racing enough for you to begin producing real, rational thoughts once more, heeseung has disappeared, and so have jung and jia.
what remains is the furious voice of the old janitor, scolding two figures further down in the hall that you canât quite make out.
youâve finally done it.
.
.
.
WHEN JAKE FINDS himself back within the comforts of your council dorm, the sun has already begun to shine overhead, its light spilling onto the wooden floors in long, golden stripes.
his shoulders ache. his eyes burn. and if he hears the phrase, âgross behavior unbecoming of a council memberâ one more time, he thinks he might lose it.
never, in all his years at this academy, did jake sim ever believe he was going to spend a night standing rigid beside sunoo of all people, wincing and nodding as the elderly janitor of solstice lectured them about curfew hours and gross misconduct in the halls with the lungs of a military commander.
and unfortunately, beginning their defense with ââ the trophy cabinet attacked me first!â had only extended the lecture by another hour or so.
by the second, theyâd been roped into scraping gum off the bottoms of the tables in the dining hall.
by the third, even the janitor had begun to look tired.
jake hardly remembers hauling himself back to the dorms, slamming the door shut behind him as he drags his feet across polished wood.
and just when heâs in the middle of shrugging off his jacket â
â. . . morning,â you greet him, and the common room door creaks open. jake looks up instinctively, and your eyes meet. regrettably so.
he blinks. âmorning.â
just ahead of him, you stand with a hot cup of coffee nestled between your palms. youâre in dire need of it, from the way your shoulders slump in exhaustion despite having already showered and dressed into your scholarship uniform.
one awkward beat passes, then another. âuh, where have you been?â
â. . . lacrosse practice.â
âpractice? all night?â
âyes,â he coughs, ignoring the way your eyes have wandered over to the tips of his ears. god, he hopes they havenât flushed pink. âcoach was pissed. it happens.â
âhuh,â you say, looking down at your feet like youâre carefully contemplating what to say next. to which jake thinks â what could you possibly even have to say?!
â. . . thanks,â you murmur, and jake freezes like he hadnât heard you right the first time.
not what he was expecting, to say the least. in fact, heâd fully expected you to never acknowledge him again.
jakeâs brows knit together. âfor what?â
âfor covering for me,â you say earnestly, shuffling awkwardly as your roommate gapes at you. âi know iâve been pretty sloppy on the job lately.â
the admission looks like it pains you.
âyoon wouldâve thrown me out of the north wing by now if you hadnât picked up the slack, so . . . thank you.â
and god knows you have been sloppy, but jake would rather go through a hundred nights of what he and sunoo just had to endure before saying that to your face.
not that he wouldâve been able to in the first place, because heâs seemingly forgotten how to speak.
âi. . . i dont â it was nothing ââ
jake wants to thank you too, for saying what you did about his brother down at the jazz club. but before he can even begin to find the words â
âso.â you lift the mug in your hands, smiling at him with a strange, genuine warmth that leaves him reeling. âiâm gonna head to class. donât work too hard, sim.â
and then youâre gone, having slipped between the crack in the door and leaving him at a loss for words.
he blinks once, then twice, and drops onto the couch with a heavy groan. his head falls back onto the cushions and for a long while, he simply stays there.
then, absentmindedly, his gaze drifts towards the coffee table.
your things are scattered across the table exactly as youâd left them in your rush to class. a half-finished problem set, a few loose council reports, your student id, and . . .
resting innocently and twinkling beneath the light of a fresh sunrise, is a key.
slowly, almost instinctively, jake leans forward.
âwhatâs this?â he mumbles to no one in particular, fishing the piece of brass from under your papers and holding it to the light. and stamped onto the bow, in tiny engraved letters, were N.T.
â ïž making out, suggestive content, profanity, NOT PROOFREAD
đŒ LEE HEESEUNG
the successful redemption arc
one of the og 4 boys for sure.
chill and laid back, but also 100% a loser trapped in a hot body. he becomes a favorite inside and outside the villa immediately !! he has a natural charm that has girls flocking to him.
being one of the 4 original girls, you couple up early on.
unlike the other villa couples, you two are surprisingly very mature. your little misunderstandings are gone in a snap because you talk them out properly.
fans live for your relationship because you donât rush into physical intimacy either.
the king of casual touchiness. thereâs always a hand on your shoulder or playing with your hair, but he never oversteps.
that is, until you outright tell him to. heâs very happy to do more if thatâs what you want.
honestly so charming & endearing! a clip of him singing in the kitchens while making you a morning coffee goes viral because of his crazy vocals.
you share a kiss with another guy during a challenge? nope, not your fault. not one bit. heâs teasing you about it once the challenge is over, but not without a sly remark of how he couldâve done better.
you bet heâs kissing you silly under the covers that night as PROOF đđ
heâs never not with jay either, and it only makes him SO MUCH more appealing to the fans. they become the most unproblematic dynamic duo in the villa.
when casa comes around, he goes into it fully intending to be loyal to you.
he has you sneak out with him for a late night dip in the pool the night before as well.
youâre bringing up your worries about casa? âno oneâs turning my head, alright? iâve already got everything i need right here.â
you pull him in, and itâs your first full-blown (visible) kiss on screen. fans are SWOONING
until theyâre not.
enter casa girl: witty, lowkey, charming, and a shared love for music with your man.
he tries to distance himself at first, he really does! but he ultimately ends up folding:( they share a kiss under the stars.
when the episode airs, heeseung becomes public enemy numbers 1.
he brings the girl back to the villa, and you immediately notice somethingâs off.
movie night happens the same day, and guess what?
their kiss is aired for everyone to see.
tears fall, sandals fly, the villa is in outrage. even sunghoon, whoâs more quiet and reserved has his jaw dropping at the sight. sunoo gasps loudly.
you storm out, and heeseung is right behind you, desperately trying to explain himself.
your fight on the docks makes love island history. itâs raw, emotional, and fans have never seen you and him as torn as you are then.
âdamn⊠thatâs what she gets for trusting a man. đ„â
absolutely spends the rest of the show trying to win you back.
immediately, the casa girl is out of the picture. he pulls you for a chat on the day beds and takes full accountability for his actions.
no excuses, no blaming his temptation. âyou gave me something real, and it scared me. thatâs something i need to work on, not you.â
itâs actually kinda respectableâŠ? still, youâre not ready to forgive him.
heeseung gives you space, careful to not be too pushy. he, however, remains consistent with his actions.
little things like his longing looks from across the room, defending you when another villa girl starts getting catty, the way he talks about you to the other guys, the way he doesnât look at the casa girl anymore despite sharing the same bed.
he doesnât do it for show. if anything, heâs silently yearning.
itâs clear his heart is yours! the fans notice, and edits of his redemption arc begin to go viral. you notice as well, lol.
eventually, you get back together. except now, its on your terms.
thatâs not to say you wonât pie him in the face during a challenge. you do.
heeseung takes it like a champ! heâs jumping for joy and smiling the entire day after because youâre finally his again.
he even⊠starts to call the other guys out on their shady behavior?
becomes somewhat of a source of advice for the other boys nearing the end of the show, considering heâs the oldest.
gradually, he gains back all his respect and locks it TF in during his final speech. youâre in tears by the end of it.
you finish the show as fourth placers. fans remember you for years to come as the most satisfying redemption arc on the show!
đŒ PARK JONGSEONG
the man of everyoneâs dreams
oh lord⊠this man is constantly going viral because heâs a walking meme.
jayâs âresentment, anger, shameâŠâ confessional made in PURE disappointment goes viral after heeseungâs slip up at movie night.
his very shirtless part in the showâs intro where production had you all dancing and lip-syncing in bathing suits goes the most viral out of every islander.
and rightfully so!!
sexy af. you canât explain it, but he has an aura to him that makes you feel secure whenever you pull each other for a chat.
naturally, you couple up early on.
your man is the voice of reason within the villa while making you a smashing breakfast every morning without fail.
you guys are the IT couple in the villa! both og contestants and absolutely killing every challenge.
similar to heeseung, challenges donât really get in between the two of you. this man KNOWS how to keep his jealousy at bay while reminding himself you arenât officially closed off yet.
you want to explore other connections?
jay becomes âshe knows where home isâ final boss.
also, is the #1 contestant that everyone is absolutely sure does not gaf about that 100k. even if you guys end up winning the prize money, best believe itâs all yours. đ
another insanely popular guy outside the villa because heâs incredibly stable compared to the other boys, not to mention unintentionally funny.
when a fight breaks out in front of yall during the heart rate challenge, the scene cuts to a confessional where he just stares into the camera in disappointment.
fans absolutely eat it up.
takes selfies exactly like a facebook mom would when production tells him to take pictures for the love island socials. they go viral every time.
during nights in the villa, best believe jay never sleeps without his eye mask on. he sleeps flat on his back with his arms at his side too. it freaks you out.
this man sleeps like a damn log too. when you wake up, jay is still sleeping in the same fuckass position.
generally one of the most unproblematic guys in the villa. no one even dares to pick a fight.
this man TRULY shines during the baby challenge. everyone wakes up to fake babies crying at the foot of their beds? he doesnât even question it. heâs a father now.
this man will have a fake baby on his hip while making breakfast for 5 different islanders.
you guys win the challenge.
speaking of challenges, he absolutely eats it up when you come out dressed in a cowgirl costume for one of them.
canât keep his hands off of you the rest of the night. youâre even posted up on his lap during a confessional. he just smiles shamelessly. đ
admittedly, when casa comes along heâs ALMOST tempted.
i mean what woman wouldnât want a piece of this man?? still, heâs quick to put a stop to advances with a firm hand on their shoulder and a serious reminder that heâs taken.
(heâs not, because you STILL havenât closed off. not that he cares.)
in the end, you guys make it to the final four!
has a hand on his chest when you walk out in your finale dress like youâre about to get married.
you have your final date on a beautiful night out on a yacht where you finally tell him you want to close off. he kisses you under the fireworks like heâs been waiting for this moment since the day he laid eyes on you.
spoiler alert: he has.
you guys end up being the runner-ups of your season! đ„
đŒ SIM JAEYUN
the casa boy who wins your heart
canât see him as anything other than the casa boy who steals you away from your man in the villa tbh.
the story goes like this: youâve had your eyes on villa boy from the start. you enter as a bombshell, take him from his girl, and end up in a solid couple.
happily ever after, right?
wrong.
your villa couple is a whirlwind of a romance. youâre locked in from the start. you guys and the viewers are absolutely convinced youâre making it to the finals. basically, youâre frontrunners to win.
your couple is everything you want in a man. kind, funny, and exactly your type on paper.
but⊠thereâs no spark. and youâre even less interested in everyone else in the villa. little by little, your âsolidâ couple starts to form invisible cracks.
still, when casa amor comes along you go into it fully intending to stay loyal to your couple.
enter jake, the casa amor boy who fully intends to steal you from your couple.
his tv intro goes something likeâ âyeah i know iâm a player. đ itâs LOVE island. iâm here to explore, not lock in on one girl on the first day.â
eats his words btw.
youâd be lying if you said you didnât think he was cute from the get go. one look at his puppy eyes and the way the pool water trickles down his toned body, and youâre swooning. just the right amount to make you think this is itâthis is who iâll stick with until i get back to the villa.
you sit him down on your new bed after the first coupling in casa, and to the viewerâs surprise, youâre straight up with him:
âi have someone waiting for me back in the villa⊠and iâd be lying if i said i didnât want to explore that connection when iâm out of here.â you tell him softly. the public appreciates your honesty! problem is, your thumb is rubbing circles over his knuckles and all jake can hear is ble ble bla bla.
to say heâs obsessed with you from the get go is an understatement. shocking everyone further, he agrees to your little arrangement. youâll couple up and get back to the villa where you can get back to your man and jake can explore other connections too. easy peasy.
just because he agreed to basically give you a free ticket to get back to your man doesnât mean he wonât make your time in the villa the most magical few days of your summer.
absolutely whipped.
jake knows you prefer hot chocolate to coffee. he knows youâre too tired to brush your hair at night, so he does it for you before you head to sleep. he knows all about your beef with one of the villa girls, so he defends your name when she thinks youâre not around to do it.
slowly but surely, he fills in whatever the boy back in the villa couldnât.
convinces himself youâll both return to the villa and explore other connections, but follows you around with stars in his eyes while being absolutely convinced youâre meant for each other. how that work? đ
tweets of his intro with the caption âall men do is lieâ are EVERYWHERE. bro is not the player he thinks he isâŠ
speaking of his lies, this man will. not. kiss. a girl that isnât you, even during challenges. he says itâs out of respect. everyone looks at him weird.
you notice. of course you do. still, your head is still at the boy back in the villa.
or at least, you think it is.
during your last night in casa, another one of the casa boys lets it slip that jake is waiting for you up on the rooftop. your heart drops. you donât know if itâs in guilt or anticipation.
when you head up there, you canât believe your eyes.
jake, mr. self-proclaimed player, somehow managed to set up a romantic date outside the plans of production. itâs complete with lit candles, a beautiful fort under the stars, and a meal he cooked himself.
against your better judgement, youâre touched, and youâre feeling things your original couple never made you feel.
âi thought we agreed to explore other connections?â âwhat, i canât make a nice dinner for my friend?â
you lock eyes, and you canât help but notice the way jake looks like he wants to say something else. in that moment, everything else melts away and you do the unthinkable.
you kiss him.
jake spends no time kissing you back, hands wrapping around your waist and sighing contentedly like heâs been yearning for this. (he has.)
you head to bed all smiley and giddy, and you wake up next morning like youâre headed to war. đ
fans are pretty divided, you and jakeâs connection becomes one of the most highly debated ones on the show.
âshe a woman in male fields frâŠâ âi KNOW she didnât just do that while xxx is waiting for her back in the villa.â âidc she and jake are literally meant to be.â âthey are my winners fr.â
once you get back to the villa, everything is sunshine and rainbows. you couple up with your og man and he finds himself with one of the casa girls. everyoneâs happy!
until theyâre not.
youâre honest with your original couple about the kiss. it was one night and you were consumed by how genuine jakeâs gesture was. heâs hurt, but he thanks you for telling the truth.
jake on the other hand, doesnât even PRETEND to like his new couple. đ
you feel longing looks from across the villa whenever you talk to your couple.
one of his confessionals go: âyeah so remember when i said i wouldnât lock in with a girl from day oneâŠ? i want her back. haha.â
you have a surprisingly solid fanbase who YEARN for the casa days to come back. they refer to it as your golden era.
back in the villa, things just arenât the same. youâre finally back with the boy youâve wanted since your first day on the show, but you just canât help but miss the way jake makes hot chocolate. the way heâd take a brush to your hair without asking. the feeling of his lips on yours.
one night, you toss and turn in your bed but you canât sleep. in one of the most shocking moments of your season, you slip out of your shared bed and head to jakeâs to pull him out for a chat.
heâs still rubbing his eyes, but his other hand is already wrapped around yours as he lets you drag him out without question.
you end up confessing to him that night, and you kiss again on the beach under the light of the moon. your little moment goes viral as one of the best love island confessions in history!!
but come the heart rate challenge, all hell breaks loose.
no absolutely no one outside the villas surprise, you and jake raise each otherâs heart rate the most. inside the villa, however? the islanders are REELING. your respective couples feel betrayed.
eventually, youâre both dumped from the island in a surprise dumping thanks to the other islanderâs votes đ
you get to leave together, tho!! win-win!!
đŒ PARK SUNGHOON
the bombshell only you didnât want
oh heâs DEFINITELY a bombshell. just not in the way youâd expect.
walks in during a challenge as the villaâs hottest new bombshell. his aura is CRAZY and heâs hyped up endlessly on social media for his amazing visuals.
everybody wants a piece of him, untilâŠ
they realize this man has no chat whatsoever. affectionately, thatâs just who he is. đ
has his clarke moment: âcan i pull you for a chat?â âyeah sure.â âso whatâs your favorite color?â âblack. đâ
the girls arenât quite sure what to do with him. the rest of the guys are a little jealous of him. heâs not very loved inside the villa at first. :(
you prefer to stay away from him because one: youâre already in a steady couple with one of the other villa guys and two: heâs too cold and uncaring for your liking.
there are betting pools online for how long heâll last in the villa because he doesnât have a clear connection with anyone or appear to be interested in anyone either.
cue the comments: âmann heâs just too hot for the villa.â âiâd really like for him to stay longer tho :(â âidc when he gets out im all his.â
then comes the most DRAMATIC recoupling of the show. this time, the boys get to choose.
thing is, no oneâs really sure who sunghoon is going to choose because heâs a closed book. literally anything can happen.
it doesnât help that heâs talked to almost every girl in the villa at least once during his short stay either.
heâs one of the first to pick. and in one of the most shocking twists of your seasonâŠ
HE CHOOSES YOU?!!? the ONE girl heâs never spoken to who happens to be in most solid couple in the villa.
ouhhh jaws are dropped at the recoupling. your man is fuming. you arenât happy either. even the host is at a loss for words. sunghoon looks pleased with himself.
literally no one could have predicted this.
he cracks a smile for one of the first times ever in the villa, and a shot of him smiling endearingly at nothing while you sit beside him fuming at the recoupling has watchers cackling.
youâre confused. fans are confused. heâs never shown an inkling of interest in you, at least not outwardly.
to say your couple started of rocky is⊠an understatement.
the plan was to ditch him at the next recoupling and get your man back. then, boom! happily ever after.
all you had to do was survive the rest of this cursed coupling.
until youâre not sure if you can anymore.
youâre loud, intense, and fiery. heâs the complete opposite. so why does sharing a bed and sleeping back-to-back feel more intense than it shouldâŠ?
he never even touches you, and the air feels hotter. must be climate change.
surprisingly, sunghoon in a couple is annoyingly polite. you never even have to tell him to be. itâs like heâs fully aware youâre not so fond of him, but he does everything in his power to prove his interest in you that doesnât involve saying it out loud.
doors are always opened for you. he down right refuses to kiss anyone who isnât you during challenges. the last piece of apple slices are always reserved for you. breakfast is always on your makeup area before youâre even up and out of bed. (he had jay help him.)
you have to kiss during a challenge and youâre ready to just give him a peck and get this shit over with. however, heâs pulling you in with a gentle hold on your face like heâs been WAITING for this moment. đđ
youâre still very much in contact with your original couple, but sunghoon doesnât seem to be rattled by it at all. it makes you think he just coupled up with you to stay on the show. you almost want him to care, and you have no idea why.
you get fed up one day and ask him almost angrily: âwhy are you so nice to me?!â
sunghoon gives you a side eye like youâve said something insane and snaps back. he says ââŠbecause i have manners?â like itâs the most obvious thing in the world.
âwe donât even like each other!â ââŠwe donât?â
the two of you stare at each other in silence for a hot minute. then it hits you: heâs not cold or arrogant, just really awkward.
after that encounter, youâre oddly very protective of him.
he gets provoked by your original man one day when everybodyâs geting ready for bed, and best believe youâre stepping in to defend sunghoonâs good name pronto.
EVERYONE is shocked. sunghoon looks at you with quiet appreciation.
itâs like you two fall into a pattern. every time something says an inkling of bad about this man youâre clocking them immediately. no questions asked.
âhe said he wanted no pickles. đĄâ typa relationship while he just stands there nodding like everything you say is law. đ youâre basically his walking translator.
at the next recoupling, everybody expects you to go back to your original couple. you were so solid, after all.
in a (not so shocking) turn of events, you donât. youâve already fallen for sunghoon.
the villa is in shambles over your ex manâs dumping from the villa. some of the guys claim you did him dirty, you had NONE of it.
casa amor comes, and everyone in the villa expects one of you to crumble.
nah bitch đ you come back from casa amor stronger than ever. by the time you get back, heâs waiting for you with a soft smile and asking you if you enjoyed yourself. you did!
you make it to the finals!
his reaction when you come out in your finale dress?? priceless. him flashing a rare toothy grin when you come out is a fan-favorite moment.
part of his speech goes something like this: âiâm not good with words, and i know i wasnât even close to being your first choice at the start⊠but i want you to know iâve only had eyes for you from the moment i walked into the villa. you were my first choice, even when i was everybodyâs but yours.â
you finish the show as third placers with an INSANELY dedicated fanbase outside the villa as everyoneâs favorite plot twist couple!!!
đŒ KIM SUNOO
the drama king with a heart on his sleeve
staying true the events of iland, THIS MAN IS THE MOST POPULAR ISLANDER INSIDE AND OUTSIDE THE VILLA. he is the peopleâs princess fr.
the amaya papaya energy this man givess⊠his confessionals are constantly going viral because his reactions are just SO funny.
after walking in on a make out session between the villaâs resident âgirlâs girlâ and her best friendâs man, best believe he made a face and ran straight to the confessional booth.
âso guess what i just walked into rqâŠâ
talks to himself in the dressing room because he KNOWS producers are going to have a field day with all his commentary. everyday is something new. grwms, self affirmations, a full breakdown of his skincare routine, itâs like this man was built for the cameras.
when he enters the villa, youâre already coupled up with someone else. someone who arguably doesnât treat you very well. lingering stares pointed at other girls, blatant disregard for your feelings, secret kisses with others that you donât know about, the whole package.
but the first time sunoo sees you, itâs full circle rom-com moment. heâs doing a double take and is so stunned mid-challenge that he fails to realize heâs about to get pied in the face by one of the other islanders. whipped cream ends up jammed in his ear.
no one in the villa seems to realize why he was blanked out⊠but social media knows.
âouhhh the producers were messy for putting this man in the villa.â âFINALLY a decent guy for y/n.â âi hope he steals them away.â
youâre so kind, sweet, and genuine that this man decides he just HAS to have you. heâs friendly, but he doesnât even pretend to be interested in the other villa girls when he goes on speed dates with all of you.
until your date. heâs smiling and giggling like a teenager at your painfully unfunny jokes because to him everything you say IS funny.
sunooâs just like yea⊠your current mans wonât do. you best believe heâs going to do something about it.
and so the plotting commences.
literally. because heâs 100% open and honest that his intentions are to steal you even if it means prying you away from your coupleâs cold, dead hands. just ask the confessional staff.
your current couple is blissfully unaware the bombshell everybody wants has his eyes on YOU, clearly not believing anyone else could be interested in you.
sunoo on the other hand, is propping himself up and looking pretty where he knows you pass by in the morning, courtesy of one of the villa girls sneaking him information.
he chats you up, and your dumb ahh is led to believe itâs a friendly conversation when heâs literally telling you how much better youâd look with him. đ
heâs a jealous man tbh⊠heâs staring your couple down if he lays so much as a hand on you during challenges as if youâre already his.
petty king bcs heâs the type to snatch away the tea your man makes you for breakfast and replace it with his own. leaves the makeup room in whispers. you just sit there with a slight smile while doing your lashes while the other girls question you.
one time, heâs rushing to the seat next to you at breakfast before your couple can and telling you how good your hair looks today. viewers donât miss the evil little smirk he sends to your man who stands there like this đ§
is in the confessional later on nodding profusely and saying âi HOPE he saw that shit. serves him right.â
youâre still absolutely clueless. in your head, heâs written off as the friendly guy everybody loves. while youâre convinced thereâs absolutely NO way heâs interested in you, thereâs a little part of you that hopes he is.
enter the next recoupling.
you best believe sunoo snatches you up in the speed of light. everyone expected it but you. your ex-man is disappointed but ultimately backs off.
now, in a couple is where kim sunoo really shines.
youâre only just getting to know him and honestly in pure disbelief that youâre the one he set his sights on, so youâre admittedly skeptical when it comes to your new couple at first.
sunoo knows. does it rattle him? HELL no.
instead, heâs on a very loud mission to prove why heâs the better man.
come the baby challenge, this man is the best father. when everyone in the villa wakes up to mechanical babies crying at the foot of their beds, he springs into action.
heâs so funny with it too. đ manages to start imaginary beef with another coupleâs baby.
absolutely insists that no swearing is allowed in front of the damn robot babies. production thought it would be funny to give you two, so heâs pushing around two strollers like theyâre real children with a pacifier in his mouth all day. says your pretty face doesnât even have to lift a finger.
edits of him with the song a single mom who works two jobs go viral on tiktok. heâs a mother now. no drama.
you donât win the challenge, but the internet says you were absolutely robbed.
at one point during your time in the villa, a couple who happen to be friends of yours fall into a rough patch. thereâs screaming, fighting, and pillow throwing. you and sunoo look at each other in absolute FEAR.
when the two of you decide youâve had enough, you orchestrate an evil plan and each tell one of them to meet you at the pool in a desperate attempt to get them to talk.
it works. the two of you are giggling from a distance.
slowly, he starts to feel more like a friend than the untouchable bombshell. while heâs mischievous and sassy when he wants to be, heâs also undeniably kind, sensitive, and vulnerable. whenever youâre not near each other, heâs sneaking glances at you from across the villa as if heâs still pining.
literally nobody can doubt his adoration for you.
when casa amor comes around, he avoids women like the plague. he does whatâs required of him to stay on the show, and thatâs IT. you blink, and suddenly heâs back in your arms like casa never happened.
thatâs not to say heâs not somehow updated on everyone elseâs drama. he is. he never stops being the people magnet. very much not afraid to stand up for another islander when theyâre being wronged, either.
when you come out in your finale dress, his reaction is one for the books. he looks like he needs to lie down.
you bet heâs planting kisses all over your face the moment you finish your little slow mo walking moment.
anddd⊠DING DING DING!! you guys win the season due to his insane popularity outside the villa. you split the money, of course. đ„
đŒ YANG JUNGWON
the enemy who came to your defense
his story in the villa is lowkey messy af for someone so kind and sensible.
hereâs the thing: he sees you, he wants you, he couples up with you early on.
this sweet, sweet boy runs on honesty and respect. the girls love him. the guys confide in him.
consistently ranks realllyyy high on public voting too. nobody can get enough of jungwon, who remains level headed even in a villa full of snakes and cheaters.
another voice of reason within the villa!
that is, until your couple goes south. you just canât seem to understand each other. itâs like mixing oil and water.
little misunderstandings turn into full blown ARGUMENTS.
heâs calm, level-headed, and logical. almost too logical at times. you on the other hand? affectionate, empathetic, and highly emotional. a sensitive gangster. not a good match.
production doesnât even bother to air all of your arguments anymore. fans realize when they catch a glimpse of your tiny figures arguing in the distance while another couple has another conversation.
you clearly bring out the worst in each other. it gets to the point where you both start to shamelessly explore other people.
when you see him making his breakfast in the mornings? youâre turning around and speed walking back to your room immediately.
this man even sleeps OUTSIDE in soul ties to avoid sharing a bed. đ
in other words? your couple is absolutely cooked.
and thatâs completely normal. itâs love island, after all. not every couple is going to have an earth-shattering love story never seen before.
and so your silent agreement to just wait it out until the next recoupling commences.
and somehow, you two survive it! at the next recoupling, you both end up with new partners. his new girl is smart, soft-spoken, and adores him.
youâd argue that your new guy is even better. heâs sweeter, softer, emotionally available.
everyone in the villa is SO relieved. no more arguments before 10 in the morning, or wordless glaring at the dinner table. just peace.
except, something feels off.
youâre bored. thereâs no fireworks with this new guy. like, holding hands politely kind of boring. heâs clearly more into you thank youâre into him.
producers are messy af for placing your shared bed next to jungwonâs too. đ
you decide you wanna have a little make out session with your new guy under the covers one night? oh jungwon hears ALL OF IT.
jungwonâs crash out to a confessional is one for the books.
he blames it on his lack of sleep. truth is? heâs silently spiraling. he stares at his cereal like it did him wrong. heâs less chipper around the other guys.
the fans notice, they always do!!
âwait i thought theyâd be happy when they recoupled wtf is happening?â âjungwon is lowkey wrong af for acting like this considering he prayed for that damn recoupling.â âhow is y/n bored ALREADY.â
then comes the mail challenge.
all islanders receive anonymous messages from each other. some are funny, some are brutally honest, and some are just downright mean.
most have some pretty basic stuff sent to them: âyouâre a player.â âyouâre the fakest girl in the villa.â yada yada yada.
and then comes the time for you to read yours. you take a deep breath, pull out the mail from the box, and begin to read it out loud from the podium.
âyou act really young for your big age. grow up and stop turning everything into a sob story.â everyone goes silent. hell, even the crickets stop chirping. one villa boy coughs.
everyoneâs eyes turn to jungwon to confirm if he wrote it, but they find something else instead. his eyebrows furrow and his fingernails are digging into his knees.
itâs as if the man you hate most in the villa is having a hard time believing anyone could ever think that about you.
you try to keep it in, you really do. but in a second, youâre walking off the podium and tears are falling even faster. the girls try to follow, but you wave them off. youâre done.
in a shocking turn of events, jungwon gets up to run after you. the episode ends on a cliffhanger. fans are TWEAKINGGG.
âWAIT WHAT.â âlovers to enemies to lovers???â âi wonder what he said to her?â
to nobodyâs surprise, youâre not waiting for him with open arms.
âwhat are you doing here?â âmaking sure you donât choke on your tears.â
you donât take his comment lightly. when you turn your back to him, lips trembling, his eyes are widening like his attempt to make you laughed has failed miserably.
without missing another beat, he shrugs his jacket off and places it atop your shoulders. âiâm sorry, i didnât mean it like that. i donât see why anybody could ever write that about you.â
the fans⊠are swooning�
âyou never do.â you snap, and for the very first time, heâs finally speechless.
âiâll leave you alone,â he breathes. âjust know iâve always liked you for how much you could feel. i was an idiot for not knowing how to meet you half way.â
youâre frozen. thatâs when the great shift happens.
everybody, including your new couples are MORTIFIED when you and jungwon are the first to sit at the breakfast table the next morning. youâre talking, laughing even.
itâs not just that one morning either. youâre talking more, even smiling occasionally. the whole villa notices.
it gets to the point where some people can even consider you reluctant friends?
a shot of you two by the fire solo one night goes viral. NOBODY can seem to figure out what the hell is happening.
until the unthinkable happens.
the producers rig a compatibility quiz so that you and jungwon are partnered up. nobody expects you to win.
you ace it and win a free date along the way. favorite food? biggest dream? he knows it all.
the confessional where jungwon talks about loving you the correct way is another fan-favorite from the two of you.
at the next recoupling? you know damn well he chooses you. youâre completely different. he thinks that might be why he needs you.
and yes, he gets you back for all the sleepless nights you caused him. by giving your ex-couple sleepless nights too!đ
ironically, youâre dumped from the villa for being voted the âmost incompatible couple.â but who are you to complain when you have your man to come home with?
đŒ NISHIMURA RIKI
the chaotic villa best friend turned partner
nicolandria fans buckle up.
this og boy absolutely pines over you since day one, but youâre too busy exploring connection after connection that isnât him.
yes, youâre both coupled up with other people. but the moment drama unfolds in front of everyone in the villa? youâre looking at each other like a pair of concerned teenagers as if to say are you seeing this shit?
the watchers definitely notice. well, itâs hard not to when youâre all this man can talk about during his confessionals.
âoh yeah⊠xxx told me she wants to close off. anyways, today y/nââ
definitely faces criticism early on in the show. viewers are like⊠this isnât friendship island? everyone swears heâs going to get dumped from the island if he doesnât make a genuine connection stat.
still, ni-ki somehow manages to defy all odds.
throughout the first half of the show, he gets into couples with the villa girls who are interested in him just because. none are a genuine connection.
fans argue that heâs the youngest in the villa, so maybe no one is quite on his wavelength??
still somehow manages to have 2 different villa girls fight over him. itâs a whole thing.
ni-ki doesnât know the nicest way to admit he just doesnât care if theyâre not you, the girl he swore heâd just make friends with, and nothing more.
not that heâd ever say that out loud.
but there are definitely signs.
heâs only ever made breakfast for you. all his conversations with the guys lead back to you. the one who raised his heart rate the most during a challenge was you.
the other guys are quick notice the way he pulls you away the moment your current couple walks away for five seconds. pool, water fights in the kitchen, night swimming, youâve done it all.
and youâre not even in a couple.
slowly but surely, the fans begin to see you guys as a breath of fresh air.
amidst all the fighting and drama in the villa, thereâs not one moment where the two of you arenât sneaking away for some quality content of your shenanigans on live tv.
one morning, ALL of your common oppâs underwear ends up floating in the pool.
no one owns up to it. the public know it was you two.
best believe your respective couples hate you guys for each other. maybe because there somethingâs been present between the two of you from the start.
dirt on you is aired on live tv during the dirty laundry challenge? your man is upset about it?
donât worry, ni-ki is clapping and whistling to let you know he respects your devious work.
you pull him for a chat one day and tell him how grateful you are for being your voice of reason in the villa and the reason why your couple is going so well. you thank him for being a good friend.
heâs just nodding with an awkward smile.
holy. freaking. airball.
the public is in absolute shambles. everyone is waiting for the day you two wake up and get together.
it doesnât come easy.
true to your word, you continue to explore connections. but come casa⊠you realize your couple is not in fact going well. in fact, none of your romantic connections are.
why? because they donât make you laugh as genuinely. they donât make you want to talk on and on for hours. they donât make you feel the way ni-ki does.
during your time away, to say you re-evaluated all your connections in the villa is an understatement.
your discovery? you and nishimura riki are not in fact just friends. đ„
so you gear yourself up. the moment you step back into the villa, youâre going to make things right. you donât bother exploring connections in casa because the one you want to leave this place with is a villa away.
when you admit your feelings to another villa girl, the clip spreads like WILDFIRE. the internet goes crazy.
âWTF???â âI NEVER THOUGHT THE DAY WOULD COME?â âniky/n nation we won..?â your fans that other people dubbed as delusional go wild.
the future looks bright. that is, until you get back to the villa to see another girl on ni-kiâs arm.
holy airball part 2. you immediately go never fucking mind and make an angry confessional or two.
your fans are on an emotional roller coaster at this point. nobody knows how to feel. everyone is in shambles. the other islanders are gossiping about how dumb you guys are.
ni-ki on the other hand, genuinely doesnât know what he did wrong. you donât return his feelings, after all. was it so wrong for him to try and move on?
when you make it a point to avoid him whenever he tries to take you out to have some fun in the villa, ni-ki is on the verge of crashing out.
your misunderstandings lead to an petty comments, an argument, then full-on pillow fighting with resentment.
âyou done talking yet?â âno?? what the fuck did i do wrong???â sunoo and his couple watch on from the corner of the shared bedroom in shock.
eventually, they have ENOUGH. when sunooâs girl tells you to meet her down at the pool to âtalk about the situation,â you tell her youâll be there.
to your dismay, ni-ki sitting in the hot tub instead, wondering why sunoo isnât where he said heâd meet him.
it finally clicks to the two of you: youâre being tricked into talking.
when you click your tongue and turn around to walk away, you feel his hand on yours to stop you from leaving. you freeze.
heâs breathless, asking âare you mad at me?â âmad at you?? of course iâm mad at you??? you act like youâre into me all summer then the moment i decide to tell you iâm into you too theres anotherââ
you better believe this man is shutting you up with the most soul crushing, toe curling, booty jiggling kiss. the hot tub kiss makes love island history. your fandom is cheering.
synopsis. after one breakup after another with your toxic boyfriend sukuna, you decide youâre done playing his games. enter gojo satoru, the sexy nerd from your physics class whoâs more than glad to help you make your ex jealous . . . in exchange for some intimacy advice.
pairing. nerd!jo x popular!reader
tags. university au, rom-com, fluff, enemies to (reluctant) friends to lovers, fake dating, teaching intimacy trope, they donât play abt each other, suggestive themes, violence, profanity, major character development, frat!kuna as readerâs ex, smut in the following chapters, plug!choso and philosophy major!nanami have cameos in this LOL
wc. 8.7k
prev. | masterlist | next
header art by nekozuu_ on x and ig!
SCIENCE SAYS THAT the average force behind a bitch slap ranges from anywhere between 200 to 400 newtons. considering factors like the victimâs stance, your point of impact, and good olâ friction, it should take about 600 to 1000+ newtons to fell a braced target.
you knocked over ryomen sukuna with less â with a fresh set of hot pink acrylics to boot.Â
âi canât believe you,â you heave, your perfectly manicured hand stinging where itâd made contact with your boyfriendâs smug face just moments ago. âyou â you lying, cheating, whore!â
âma,â he groans, rubbing at his reddened cheek with one hand and clawing at his desk for support with the other. âlet me explain ââ
âoh, yeah!?â you yell, shoving past your pleading boyfriend to stomp over to his bedside, where some other girlâs lacy teal bra lay hanging from the tableâs edge. you can practically feel him wince when you grab at it, dangling it in front of his face. âthis a gift for your mom, then?â
âwell ââ
âweâre done, asshole,â you spit, glaring down at the pathetic mass youâd called your man and whipping around to fish your phone from your mini purse. with a few sharp clicks on the number pad, you almost get done punching down your homegirlâs number with every intention for her to come pick you up until â
âcalm down, woman,â sukuna grumbles defeatedly. those beefy, tattooed arms slowly come to wrap around you from behind as he buries his face in your neck, taking in your sweet perfume. âya know she ainât mean shit âta me. not like you do.â
and admittedly, you almost give in. almost. you pause for a moment too long before rolling your eyes and shrugging him off of you.
âdonât care,â you scoff, turning your head and quickly running your fingers through where your bum of a boyfriend had ruined your hair beforehand. âi want your shit out of my house and the spare key back under the plant by tonight.â
âoh, yeah?â he frowns, ruffling his pink locks and crossing his arms in exasperation. youâve already packed your things and are halfway through stomping out his bedroom door when he says something that makes you stop in your tracks.
âyouâll be back,â sukuna mutters viciously, glaring holes into your back as you practically tremble with rage. âwe always come back.â
â. . . go fuck yourself, âkuna,â you grumble, sending your pink-haired ex one last glare over your shoulder from where he sits atop his mattress half-naked. âor that bitch. see if it matters to me.â
the last thing you see before shutting the door in his face is the way his facial expressions contort from cocky to indifferent to absolutely outraged as you whizz out of his musty dorm, and hopefully, out of sukunaâs life for good.
âweâre fucking soulmates!â he yells from where youâve abandoned him, the sound muffled from where his ass sits pathetically glued in place. âweâll get back together, youâll see!â
youâd seriously rather die.
.
.
.
not to be dramatic or anything, but by the second week of your very real, very permanent separation from sukuna, youâve come to realize youâd seriously rather die than be apart for any longer.
and when you tell becky that, all solemn expressions and teary regret, you swear she comes this close to smacking you in the head for all of the campus cafe to see.
âare you fucking ââ your best friend groans, damn near throwing down her plastic fork into her rather pathetic-looking bowl of caesar salad and stopping herself when a few wandering eyes turn to look. âare you serious?â
you let your head fall into your hands and groan. hard.
as if finding some other girlâs trashy bra by your boyfriendâs bedside table when you came by to surprise him for your anniversary wasnât punishment enough, the two, grueling weeks where youâve been forced (read: by no one but yourself) into no-contact have been some of the worst in your life. as for ryomen, he simply proceeds as usual, hanging out at the quad with his frat friends and guzzling alcohol at ragers whenever his schedule allows it.
when you close your eyes, you can almost imagine it: him seeing other girls. touching them. fucking them. you swear you could hurl by subjecting your poor, poor imagination to any more of this nonsense.
âugh, i feel like i need to be sedated, or something,â you mumble, getting up from your pool of misery to rub at your temples. âi feel like shit.â
âuh, hello?â becky scoffs, waving her hands around exasperatedly like youâve gone mad and all she wants is to resuscitate you. âare you forgetting who you are? you run this school. anybody who matters in this place has to be seen with you.â
âyouâre right,â you sniff. âi should move on.â
âthank you,â your friend groans, picking up her trashed cutlery to go on to finish her first meal of the day in peace. âfinally, bitch. i was starting to think you were ââ
â â but can i just say one thing!?â you cut in crazedly, and you swear poor, goodhearted becky is halfway through the process of imploding. âwe were together for 3 years, becky. that stuff doesnât just go away!â
âyeah, 3 years on and off,â she says, repeatedly snapping her perfectly manicured fingers in your face like itâll wake you up from your sukuna-induced trance. it doesnât, and it takes every little bit of her self-control not to reach over the table and strangle you. âyou know what you need?â
â. . . no?â
âyou need to catch a dick.â
âbeck!â you gasp, and your friend only doubles down in obnoxious laughter when you glare daggers at her for even suggesting such a travesty.
in fact, your stomach practically twists at the thought of being with someone else so soon. your impeccable figure and devilishly good looks aside, youâve never been with someone â well, other than sukuna himself â during one of your breaks. doing that would just make it feel real, and your little break being real would mean that you and him are over.
forever.
though, werenât you practically over already?
for two long, grueling weeks, sukuna hasnât even done so much as text you to see if you were doing okay. in fact, the only times you do see him are when heâs slacking off in your classes or fucking with other women at parties. not that he wasnât doing that already while you were in a relationship.
but you wonder, albeit a little aimlessly, if heâd said you were soulmates that day in his dorm because he truly believed it â or if he was just sure that youâd come back to him after each and every fuck-up.
like some dog he could call over with the right treats.
as if a lightbulb has gone off in your head, you stand up so fast your chair screeches from behind you. your best friend looks just about at a loss for words when you lean over the cafeteria table and squeeze the life out of her.
âbeck, i could kiss you right now!â
âoh, girl . . . please donât.â
if sukuna thought he could make you surrender with promises of soul-bonding and a little calculated indifference, he was dead wrong.
after all, youâve figured out the perfect solution to make him come to you instead â and all it would take was a few flirty phone calls and some expert persuasion. hell, you practically have to keep yourself from squealing out loud as you walk out of the cafeteria, heels clicking and your tiny purse swinging at your side.
and so, your plan commences.
you try nanami first, leaning over the counter of the milkshake place near campus that your band of loyal followers very kindly took the liberty of bringing to your attention as his new workplace.
âhi, kento,â you coo, fluttering your false lashes at him like a wicked woman with an even worse agenda. âyou work here now? cute!â
between the whirr of the blenders in the background and the aggressively bright and cheery neon lighting from overhead, nanami kento still manages to look ridiculously fine. he looks up from the register with the look of a man who is moments away from walking into traffic, all broad-shoulders and brooding stares that make your ears flush pink.
and in his own, mature and absurdly-sexy way, a philosophy major. if he werenât wearing that tight white apron and little paper hat atop his head, youâd consider leaning over to give him the time of his life right here and now.
âi . . . uh,â you start, leaning further over the counter. your cleavage damn near fights for its life against the neckline of your baby pink top, and you have to keep yourself from smiling when his eyes flicker downwards, then back to your own. âlike your get-up?â
nanami only blinks. âcan i help you?â
âsure you can!â you purr sweetly, twirling a lock of your hair around a fresh acrylic nail. âtake me out this friday night?â
checkmate, you think, and youâre already halfway through mentally envisioning the outfit youâre going to pick out when nanami ultimately decides to take you out on a romantic â
âno thanks,â nanami grunts, reaching over to grab for the little âemployee sanitation guidelinesâ card from behind the registrar and placing it smack in the middle of the counter for all to see. âi donât do rebound relationships.â
your jaw practically drops, and itâs almost impressive how fast you go from wanting to fuck this man to wanting to kill him in one sitting.
âexcuse me?â you gape, practically fuming from the ears at the thought of even the homely, school-centered nanami kento knowing about your disaster of a breakup with your deadbeat boyfriend.
the corner of his mouth twitches like heâs fighting an amused smile, and annoyingly enough, it kind of suits him. he simply reaches over the counter to pat your steaming head with enough concern to slightly dampen the flames of your fury before turning to pin an order slip by the kitchen window.
âcall me when you have no intentions of seeing him anymore.â
you glare at him hard. âoffer rewoked.â
âitâs revoked, doll.â
you decide, right then and there, that nanami kento and his beefy biceps and low-hanging glasses arenât worth all this trouble anyway. hell, youâd even flashed him your best smile! the kind that made professors forgive your patchy attendance and made sukuna fold in 30 seconds flat. did that mean nothing to him?
with a huff and a sharp turn on your heel, youâre on your way to your next destination: the shadiest corner in the parking lots behind the apartment complexes.
you decide youâll try choso next, partly because heâd been a recurring fling of yours in freshman year and partly because itâs easy to score a meeting with him due to his â well â occupation.
you suppose thatâs how you ended up in the passenger seat of his tinted black car under the false pretense of a drug deal, as choso kamo blinks at you slowly from behind the wheel.
âyouâre here to buy weed,â he says cautiously, but youâre far too busy sizing up his transportation to pay him much attention.
âuh-huh,â you say mindlessly, running your fingers across the hood of his car. itâs got that fresh new car smell despite being over 3 years old, and youâre frankly pleased that sweet, sensitive choso hasnât traded his natural hygienic nature to whatever body spray-scented madness your ex has going on in his own ride.
but as much as youâd like to be sitting pretty in the passenger seat of that musty old car again, desperate times call for desperate measures. and choso â dark-eyed, mysterious, and tattooed choso is exactly the type of man that would drive sukuna insane.
and honestly, you get the hype! if anything, thatâs exactly why youâd been spread out in the backseat of this very car every monday, wednesday, and friday night in freshman year before youâd inevitably been snatched up by your ex.
âbut. . .â choso starts. âyou donât even smoke.â
the senior carefully eyes you from beneath those messy black locks tied up into two space buns, tattooed fingers coming down to tap at the wheel in anticipation. itâs obvious you still make him a little nervous, and you have to keep yourself from smiling when it hits you that you have the campus plug wrapped around your pretty little finger after all this time.
you are so getting it this time.
âhmm, you caught me,â you murmur softly, leaning over the center console until your perfume fills the space between you. âsue a girl for wanting an excuse to see you again, cho.â
choso visibly stiffens in his seat, looking waayyy too flustered for a man in the middle of a deal. âare you flirting with me?â
âi just think,â you continue slyly, dragging a nail across the armrest of one of his leather seats. âthat a guy as cute as you should take me out for real this time.â
bingo. you brace yourself for the nastiest makeout session of your life when he subconsciously starts leaning closer, cheeks red and eyes trained solely on your lips before â
âi canât.â
âwhat?â you screech, and the deafening sound of your fury makes the boy wince. âwhy?!â
âbecause,â he tries to reason with you, burying his tattooed face in his palms and groaning as if turning you down pains him just as much. âyour ex buys from me.â
you gasp, blinking at him in utter disbelief as he awkwardly begins to rub at his neck like a teenager fresh out of high school. âheâs like one of my best customers . . . iâm sorry.â
âoh my god, cho,â you sputter, collapsing against the passenger seat as he looks over at you with poorly concealed pity. âyou supply my ex with weed?â
âto be fair, he mostly buys edibles.â
ânot helping!â you snarl, opening the passenger seat and promptly stepping out into the cold air. any weather, you suppose, would be easier than being subject to more of this humiliation. âugh, have a good night.â
âwait,â choso says suddenly, and you stop in your tracks just before you can slam the door shut in his face.
âdo you still want the weed?â
âno!â
.
.
.
never, in your 20 fabulous years of life, did you ever expect to lose to emotional intelligence and criminal commitment to customer loyalty.
youâre campus royalty, for goodnessâ sake! being turned down by men shouldâve remained something unheard of in your limited dictionary, and yet here you are, dragging your heels across pavement after one rejection after the other.
had the men on this campus developed an immunity to your charm overnight? or worse yet, had you somehow lost it in those three years youâd been tied to sukuna? you practically shiver thinking about it, furiously fishing your phone from your purse to text becky.
you
THIS CAMPUS IS SICK!!!!!!!!
you
THE DRUG DEALER REJECTED ME
when you pocket your phone and find it in yourself to look up, the sky overhead has long since faded into deep shades of indigo, and you find that not even the cool breeze is enough to cure the hurt of humiliation that still swirls in your chest.
and even worse? youâre late to physics.
you donât know why a fashion merchandising major would even need to take physics in the first place, but you drag your feet towards your sweaty lecture anyway. youâd caught something about general-ed requirements and a bunch of other bureaucratic crap before you tuned out your incredibly unhelpful academic advisor halfway through his pointless rambling.
you decide not to skip anyway, for fear of your terrible prof and a sinking feeling youâd try for toji fushiguro next. and if youâre being completely honest, the thought of cozying up to the hot, recently single, phys-ed major while heâs got little megumi at home is enough to make the hairs on your neck stand up a second time.
a step-child is not a commitment youâre ready to make â fake girlfriend or otherwise.
still, thatâs not to say you donât believe whoever invented evening lectures deserves jail time.
by the time you push open the heavy doors to your lecture hall, youâre already 30 minutes late, wildly irritated, and running completely out of spite.
ânice of you to join us, l/n,â your professor huffs, sending you a glare over his shoulder as a few students deviate attention from their notes to snicker quietly.
âsorry, mister!â you chirp sweetly, flashing him your prettiest smile and straightening up to toss your hair and scan the hall for an available seat.
unfortunately for you, physics majors are horrifyingly punctual. they fill up every nook and cranny of the place, and when your eyes finally land on one, singular seat by the very back row, you have to bite your tongue to suppress a groan. of fucking course.
you begin the humiliating trek to the back anyway, looking around for any halfway-decent men to distract yourself with in the meantime. and to nobodyâs luck, they get worse and worse the deeper into the room you get.
too lanky. too sweaty. one briefly catches your eye, and you briefly consider hitting him up after class before he sneezes directly into his hand, and you think mm, better not. your gaze continually sweeps the nerds that fill the room before they finally land on the occupant of the seat next to your empty one.
you pause, blinking hard like itâll make the sight before you any less real.
how tall is this guy? you frown, shuffling into your seat and hardly even bothering to pull out a notebook as you rake over him from head to toe. heâs 190cm, at the very least.
and that hair. is it natural? dyed? where have you seen this guy before? you can barely keep from pumping your fist when you realize heâs too busy to notice you oggling, scribbling equations across a notebook already overflowing with messy handwriting and post-it notes.
heck, you even begin to think he might be halfway decent if it werenât for the suffocating scent of nerd and those thick-framed glasses sitting atop his nose before you pinch yourself for even having the thought in the first place. it makes you shake your head violently, not at all minding if you look like a madwoman.
suddenly feeling faint, you obnoxiously rustle through your purse for a stick of gum without minding the stares you receive for noisily going through your everyday items like a raccoon. whatever. youâd find the perfect scapegoat to make sukuna come crawling back to you in the span of a little less than a week, and your sleazy ex could come kiss your big, hairy â
âl/n and gojo satoru,â your professorâs voice cuts through the room, and your head snaps up the moment your name is called. you look around to see if anyone else had caught what the old croak had been saying prior, but your nerdy classmates all seem to have their heads buried in their notes.
âhey,â you whisper, lightly nudging your seatmateâs ankle with a polished heel. âwhatâd the old guy say?â
your seatmate finally stops writing. and when he looks up at you from beneath those long, white lashes, youâd almost forgotten what you were trying to ask him in the first place. when he sighs and sets his pencil down, youâre far too entranced by the magnificent blue that sits behind his eyes to care.
theyâre electric. sharp. like somebody had stolen them out of an anime and magicked them into the body of an exhausted physics major.
âthe professor,â he says slowly, like heâs speaking to someone whoâs mildly concussed. âwas assigning partners for the paper due tomorrow?â
and oh, he knows you. every living soul on campus knows your name.Â
even if gojo had somehow managed to successfully evade the endless stream of gossip that flows throughout your university, heâd still recognize you on sight. itâd be impossible not to. pretty girls with perfect hair and a talent for commanding a room are usually hard to miss.
unfortunately, your reputation doesnât really stop there.
heâs heard more stories than he can count about your infamous relationship with ryomen sukuna. the breakups. the makeups. the screaming matches outside the frat house and the dramatic reconciliations that always seem to occur when everybody has begun to accept that youâre over for good.
and to be frank, heâs never understood it. not your popularity, and definitely not your very public relationship. not when someone whoâs clearly capable of having whoever she pleases chooses the guy who treats commitment like a summer job.
unfortunately, none of that is going to change the fact that heâs been forced into writing a physics paper with you.Â
âtomorrow?!â you yelp, immediately bowing your head to apologize when multiple heads come to turn to the source of the noise. â. . . and whoâs gojo?â
âthat would be me.â
oh.
so thatâs where youâd seen him before.
you lean back in your chair to assess him with squinted eyes, rubbing your chin in a manner that makes your seatmate wonder if heâs somehow landed in a bad detective movie. âyou related to toru from sigma chi, or do you just have a secret double life?â
if the way gojoâs lips purse into a thin line is anything to go by, your joke didnât exactly land.
âheâs my twin,â he explains frankly. and when he impatiently drums his fingers on the table like heâs got somewhere more important to be, youâre finally smacked in the face with what should have been apparent before:
he doesnât like you very much.
but can you blame him, really, when youâd just been ruthlessly assessing the value of all his male classmates five minutes prior? if your senses are anything to go by, this gojo person is a lot more perceptive than his meathead brother.
not that you could care less about a grumpy nerd and his freaky sense of perception. you came here with one mission, and one mission only â to get your attendance signed for this stupid lecture. paper be damned; youâll get to that when you manage to find the perfect temporary boyfriend whose only purpose is to get you back with your real boyfriend.
unfortunately, your professor seems determined to ruin your day even further.
âbefore anyone leaves,â he pipes up as students begin packing their things. âwork must be split evenly between two partners. pairs who do not follow the fifty-fifty contribution rule will automatically be given failing marks.â
immediately, you find yourself sitting straighter.
âpeer reviews will also be considered.â your professor finishes. students begin to filter out of the lecture hall as quickly as they came, and you only break out of your shock-induced trance when gojo begins to stir beside you.
next to you, gojo simply gathers his notes into a clear folder as you stare at him in utter disbelief. because seriously, who even uses folders?
âso,â you clear your throat, refusing to falter when he looks over at you with those horrifyingly pretty eyes. you flash him the most genuine smile you can muster, but the man is unmoved. âyou wonât let me down during that peer review, wonât you?â
gojo narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, and it almost makes you regret asking.
âas long as you do exactly fifty percent of it, sure.â
âlisten â iâve kinda got this thing tonight.â you rub your neck, but the disgustingly handsome freak your professor did you the disservice of pairing you with is as clueless as ever.
âso do i,â he shrugs, neatly placing the rest of his things into his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.
you frown. âdoing what?â
âhomework.â
your face immediately falls, but you somehow manage to conceal the soul-crushing urge to laugh when he looks at you like heâs confused you had a reaction to his very real, very pressing plans he needs to get to. tonight.
looks like you have no other choice.
âfine, but iâm driving.â you pinch your nose bridge with one hand and shovel your minimal belongings into your purse with the other. âwhere do we work on this thing?â
âthe library?â
âuh, ew.â
âa cafe?â
âtoo many people.â
âthe student center, then?â
âdouble ew,â you cross your arms, glaring up at your exasperated new partner as he glowers right back at you with the heat of a thousand suns.
the white-haired man groans, rubbing at his cheek with one hand. âwhat about your apartment?â
the suggestion leaves his mouth casually enough, but itâs almost like this gojo person has struck you in the face from the way your heart drops to your stomach. absolutely not. not when sukuna still hasnât hauled his things out of your apartment after you told him to do it weeks ago.
he could barge in at any moment, and youâd seriously rather not take the time out of your day explaining to him why thereâs a geek sitting pretty in your apartment.
you look away, arms still crossed. and you so hate the way gojo is sizing you up right now, trying to figure out why exactly your face dropped. âcanât. iâve got rats.â
âuh-huh,â he squints, and youâre both completely oblivious of the way the lecture hall has completely fizzled out of people aside from the two of you right now. âwhere do you live again?â
â. . . the luxury apartments on oak street?â
when your partner blinks at you, you blurt out the first thing on the tip of your tongue to save you from your own stupid lie. âtheyâre very aggressive rats. big and mean.â
the corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a ghost of a smile for the first time tonight, just enough to annoy you enough to glare down at your feet in the hopes he wonât call out our lame fib.
âright, my place then.â
you look up, and gojo mentally notes that thatâs the fastest heâs ever seen you move â in class and on campus. from the way you immediately recoil, he guesses youâre not very fond of that suggestion either.
he sighs, already halfway through pitching his next venue idea to you when you cut him off with an urgency that leaves even him uneasy.
âalright,â you say quietly, and the man has to refrain from rubbing his ears to see if heâd just heard you correctly.
âwha- are you serious?â
âwhat, do you not want to do it in your apartment?â you look up to glare at him through your lashes, and the tips of his ears burn red from your poor choice of wording. satoru has to give himself a few seconds to recalibrate before he even thinks about responding.
did you really have to say it like that?
âitâs just . . . you didnât like any of the other places i said.â
you blink, and for the first time since youâve been granted the displeasure of this manâs company, you turn to really look at him.
not glance, look. and somehow, the image of gojo satoru is a little less intimidating up close.
sure, heâs just about as tall as a doorframe, but without the harsh lights of the lecture hall turning him into some kind of academic cryptid, the shadows that grace his features now just make him look like a tired college student. his white hair sticks out in every direction imaginable, and his navy sweater hangs three sizes too loose over his body like he hadnât even bothered to check the tag before he paid for it.
plus, his glasses are crooked. not very noticeably so, but they hang dangerously low on his nose. so much so, that they force him to push them back up every few minutes.
heâs nothing like toru, who dresses like heâs godâs gift to women. and honestly? itâs kind of pathetic. a little cute, even, and you immediately shudder at the thought.
âwhat now?â satoru frowns, and itâs only then that you realize youâve been staring.
ânothing,â you blurt out, and gojo starts to look a little suspicious.
and through all of it, this guy stood there like a man who was just trying to finish his damn paper â and make his partner feel a little more comfortable throughout the process.
gross, you think self-awareness might be your least favorite motion.
âi just think your apartmentâs fine,â you mutter, unable to meet his eyes all of a sudden. gojo blinks once, then twice, like heâs waiting for the punchline for a bad joke.
it never comes.
âalright,â he says, honestly a little stunned youâd given in so easily. and to his apartment, of all places. did someone hit you in the head prior to this? your differences aside, he sure hopes not.
and thatâs it. no sly smiles, no teasing, and definitely no celebrating victories. your white-haired partner simply exists in the same space, clearly relieved you stopped trying to put up a fight.
you donât know why that irritates you so, but you haul ass and drag your purse over your shoulder anyway. after all, you have a paper to finish.
outside, campus has fallen into its usual evening rhythm.
the streetlamps illuminate the darkness, casting golden splotches of light onto the streets and across the sidewalks. the students have lessened by this time, traveling between buildings in little groups as they laugh and carry on with their takeout containers.
obnoxious music blares through one of the boyâs dorm windows, and off in the distance, you spy a couple talking and laughing on a bench.
you donât know why your stomach twists at the sight.
you shove your hands into your pocket, and beside you, satoru is enveloped in a strange kind of silence that neither of you really know how to get past. like neither of you really expected to spend your evening together.
when you reach your vehicle that youâd conveniently parked in the farthest corner of your building, your new nerd friend suddenly slows next to you.
âhey, whatâs ââ
âshoko?â he blinks, and you stop in your tracks.
his gaze is trained onto something like itâs grabbed him and refuses to let go, and when you follow his eyes, you begin to understand why.
only 5 feet away, shoko ieiri is stepping off her motorbike beneath one of the flickering street lamps. sheâs dressed in black scrubs and an oversized jacket, dark circles gracing her features in a way that makes the woman even prettier, somehow.
which is unfair, really.
âsatoru,â she calls out, tucking her bike helmet under her arm and flashing you two a lazy smile. âis that you?â
and oh, you know this girl. everyone does. shoko ieiri is only 20 and has somehow managed to become a full-time medical student and part-time campus legend.
youâve heard enough stories about this lady to write her a biography, for goodnessâ sake. rumor has it is that she scored ninety-seventh percentile on the mcat while absurdly hungover.
sheâs brilliant, beautiful, and weirdly enough â
friends with gojo satoru.
the same kid whoâs wearing a sweater that could house a family of four and whose glasses have almost slipped right off his nose for the tenth time tonight. and when you spot his ears go red from the corner of your eye, you have to keep yourself from grinning.
interesting.
âoh? whoâs your friend?â she asks kindly, a smile slowly creeping onto her face when she rakes her eyes over the way you fall into step beside one another.
the reaction is immediate.
âweâre not ââ
âno.â you huff, the two of you speaking at the same time. shoko raises an amused brow, and you only smile at her sweetly. gojo on the other hand, looks like heâs about to combust.
âweâre partners,â you say simply, shifting your weight from one foot to another in an attempt to fend off the cold.
â. . . for physics,â the white-haired boy adds, but to no avail. shokoâs infuriatingly beautiful smile only grows wider and more suspicious of you two by the second, and your eyes continue to flick between the two of them like youâve been personally tasked to assess the situation.
because if you know anything at all â itâs love.
and from the way gojo satoru fiddles with his fingers and looks down at his feet, heâs got it pretty damn bad.
oh, you could bark out a laugh right here and now.
âwell, good luck with that,â she grins, and before gojo can stop her to say sheâs got it all wrong, sheâs off like a woman on a mission. âiâll get going now. these readings wonât complete themselves.â
âuh, bye â !â
âbye honey,â you chime in after your rather pathetic excuse of an assignment partner, and she shoots you a salute you before sheâs off, probably in the direction of the library.
you bet gojo is pretty damn grateful you insisted on his apartment right about now.
the moment shoko turns the corner and is completely out of sight, you turn around to look at him accusingly.
âyou have the hots for shoko ieiri.â
âno i donât,â he retorts, wincing when you bark out a mean laugh and fiddle with your keys to unlock your car. the moment the vehicle clicks and the headlights whirr to life, heâs immediately sliding into the passenger seat like itâll save him from any more of your humiliation.
it doesnât.
âi dunno,â you tease, opening up the door to the driverâs seat and sliding inside. âthat response was pretty fuckinâ quick.â
âi donât have âthe hotsâ for her,â gojo starts. he grabs at his seatbelt, pressing down until he hears a click before heâs fiddling with his fingers again. âi have a completely normal amount of respectable feelings for her.â
you double down in laughter, pulling out of the parking lot as your newfound friend seethes in the seat beside you. âshe is so out of your league, nerd.â
âyeah, yeah,â he mutters, and you hate yourself for wanting to coo at the pout you can hear in his voice.
maybe your breakup with sukuna really had messed you up, because youâre not quite sure where in between your rocky relationship with a frat boy your brain decided to be attracted to pathetic, loser men.
âif it makes you feel better, i think she might be into you too.â you glance over your shoulder to smile at him, and for the first time tonight, itâs completely genuine.
â. . . you think so?â
âi know this stuff,â you say as a matter-of-factly, and gojo turns to look at you with an indescribable twinkle in his eyes that he quite obviously tries very hard to hide. âtrust me.â
you glance to the side, and the look on his face is enough to make your stomach churn. because for one, glorious second, satoru forgets to be suspicious of you.
he doesnât glare, or squint, or retort â he only looks hopeful. in that disgustingly sincere, gojo satoru way. so much so, that you nearly regret opening your mouth lest you give him false hope.
which is unusual, because youâve known this man for exactly two hours and thirty five minutes, and spent ninety percent of that time warring over this stupid paper your professor wants on his desk by tomorrow morning.
you snap your eyes back onto the road. focus.
the conversation fizzles out naturally after that, and the radio begins to buzz louder than your words once did. streetlights flash past your tinted windows in consistent intervals, and somewhere along the way, gojo stops fiddling with his fingers and sinks deeper into his seat.
neither of you say anything for a long time. and somehow, you donât seem to mind it.
maybe because youâre tired. or maybe â maybe because youâre not quite used to men that donât demand everything from you at any given moment.
satoru simply exists beside you, like any other stranger at university would. deep down, you find that you quite like that.
you sneak a glance sideways, and gojo is staring out the window. and before you can even begin to stop yourself, your mouth is running.
âsorry for being a dick earlier,â you murmur, shrinking under the weight of his gaze when he shifts in his seat to look at you.
âwhat for?â he blinks, and your heart twinges in your chest. gojo might be a little clueless, but that doesnât mean heâs not deserving of a proper apology. for fear of chickening out under the weight of your pride, you will yourself to speak.
âyou know, our choice of venue?â you wince, clearly a little embarrassed by the way youâd been acting. satoruâs mouth forms into an o as a way of telling you he understands.
âiâve been dealing with some things,â you continue, letting out a deep exhale you were unaware youâd been holding in. âbut i shouldnât have let it out on you the way i did. iâm sorry.â
for one, agonizing moment, gojo doesnât answer.
outside, the city hums with a fervor you can only really get in the heart of a college town. tires roll on the asphalt outside, distant music blares from dorm windows, and students wander like they havenât got responsibilities they need to tend to at sunrise.
then, he shrugs. âitâs okay.â
your eyes narrow when you sneak another glance at him. his attention has drifted back over to the window, but thereâs something about his breathing and the way his shoulders relax that tells you thereâs something softer about him now. less guarded.
âno itâs not, thatâs literally the worst response to an apology iâve ever heard.â
âwhat?â he frowns, looking over to where you irritably tap your fingers against the leather wheel. âwhat was i supposed to say?â
âi dunno,â you groan, gripping the steering wheel tighter in an attempt to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. âsomething that makes me feel a little less guilty?â
gojo snorts. âyou feel guilty?â
you sigh, and you think you wouldâve hid your head in your hands by now if they werenât already occupied. âdonât make it weird.â
âiâm not,â he says quickly, and you glance over. âiâm just surprised.â
âwhyâs that?â you hum, and the sound of the car motor fills the brief silence that follows. in his seat, satoru is staring at the passing streetlights like theyâve miraculously become more interesting than your conversation.
âi thought people like you didnât apologize,â he says absentmindedly.
âpeople like me?â âyou know, popular people.â
youâre unable to find it in you to hold back a genuine fit of laughter, and the sound vibrates in the stunned manâs ears like a blessing. not that heâd ever admit that.
âthatâs the dumbest thing iâve ever heard you say,â you wheeze, one hand coming up to wipe a stray tear from your eye before returning to the wheel.
gojo, on the other hand, looks deeply offended. âi donât say dumb things. i thought you were apologizing?â
âi was, then you decided to go say something dumb.â you roll your eyes through a fit of giggles, and in his seat, you swear you catch a glimpse of your partner trying to conceal the ghost of a smile.
âso much for being sorry.â
.
.
.
the second satoru opens the door to his apartment complex, you come to realize two things:
the first being that if the freakish orderliness of his living space is anything to go by, he most definitely lives alone.
the second, and most glaring, for reasons that are currently attacking your eyeline, is that heâs an even bigger nerd than you had ever imagined.
âare you kidding me?â you frown, running your fingers along the edges of his bookshelves where satoruâs numerous lego sets, a curated collection of astronomy magazines, and dusty academic journals reside.
âwhat?â he frowns. he shuffles on his feet from behind you, clearly a little nervous youâve decided to size up his apartment â not that you care. itâs just . . .
was gojo satoru always this big of a geek?
by the tv, a framed photograph from a science competition you donât bother looking close enough to identify gleams like a trophy. on the other end of the table, his rubikâs cube collection is stacked on top of one another from the largest cube to the smallest in a colorful array.
when you picture gojo hunched over, legs crossed on the fluffy carpet, tinkering with one of these things to see how fast he can solve it, you almost crack a smile.
almost.
ânothing, i just didnât know you were such a damn nerd.â
clearly unimpressed, your white-haired partner rolls his eyes but shuffles around the place to find seat cushions for the two of you anyway.
when he pulls two cushions out from god knows where and lays them out onto the carpet, he plops down and looks up at you expectantly.
âsit.â he hums, and when you double back on satoru to call him a, quote, bossy nerd, your bickering comes alive once more.
and surprisingly enough, work gets done.
not a lot of work, but just around the right amount to get this bullcrap done by sunrise. you think it might be because the state of satoruâs apartment far surpasses your own â all warm lighting and vacuumed hardwood as opposed to your own dingy place, strewn with your exâs forgotten sweaters and littered with shoes youâd forgotten to put back in the cubby.
his place feels comfortable. lived in. like the home of somebody whoâs got their shit together and not some heartbroken college girl whoâs been broken up with by the same guy for the nth time.
that, or satoru gojo is just a damn good project partner. every time you get stuck on a problem, heâs right next to you and explaining it in a way that doesnât make you feel stupid. when he goes off on one of his overcomplicated tangents, you reel him back in before he disappears into the nerd dimension.
not that he wasnât already swimming in it before.
the point is, youâre annoyingly functional, and time seems to go by faster the more you and satoru manage to get done. at one point in the night, you stretch your shoulders and yawn with a volume that shouldâve been loud enough to make him look.
it doesnât.
your eyes drift over to where heâs typing on his laptop instead, and satoru is exactly the same as usual: annoyingly focused, hopelessly nerdy, and completely oblivious to your staring.
you nudge him with your foot. âhey.â
âhmm?â he replies absentmindedly, typing away as youâre graciously giving him your full attention.
you nudge him again, harder this time, and itâs enough to make him stop working on the paper and glare up at you.
âwhat?â he says, and itâs accompanied by a sigh so loud that you have to keep yourself from laughing.
âsay,â you start, leaning back on your elbows and pretending not to notice when his eyes flicker to your nearly-exposed chest, then back to you. âarenât you gonna do something about your little crush?â
youâre not quite sure what the beautiful, enigmatic shoko ieiri has done to this boy, but the effect on him is almost immediate. his fingers stop mid-way through typing a sentence, and he stares at his screen like itâll give him the answer if he looks hard enough.
then, he types over the silence as if youâd never said anything at all. nothing of importance, at least.
ânothing,â satoru answers, eyes flickering left and right on his laptop screen significantly faster than they were before. âsheâs been a friend of mine since high school. these things pass.â
you scoff. âiâve known sukuna since high school, and everyone knows how that ended.â
âyouâre comparing a hallway crush to your toxic situation with your boyfriend,â he quips, and the bastard doesnât even look up as you fume at the mention of sukuna.
âex-boyfriend,â you correct him immediately. gojo shrugs.
âtomato, tom-ah-to.â
ignoring another one of his smart ass responses that you, quite frankly, donât even understand, you push at him harder. âwhatever, loser, you and i both know thatâs not an excuse.â
this time, itâs satoruâs turn to groan exasperatedly, leaning back against the couch and staring at the ceiling like it holds all the secrets of the world. one beat passes, then another, and you almost gear yourself up to make another stretch and get back to work when he speaks again.
â. . . sheâs experienced. iâm not.â
you raise your brows. âexperienced?â
the rather pathetic physics major raises his head to glower right at you, blinking up at him, and genuinely confused.
âyou know what i mean,â he sighs, running a hand down his face when you stare at him from across the floor table like heâs gone mad.
âno,â you say, awkwardly rubbing at your neck. âi donât.â
a groan slips past his lips as he throws his head back against the couch cushions, the movement ruffling up his already messed-up hair. for one glorious second, he looks less like the put-together mystery from your physics lecture and more like a man whoâs been pushed to the limit by one annoying classmate.
unfortunately for him, youâre having the time of your life.
the apartment falls silent for a moment, and suddenly, everything begins to click into place. the awkwardness. the red ears. the lack of confidence despite looking like, well, that.
âgojo,â you start, and he knows heâs been busted when a wild grin blooms across your face. âare you a virgin?â
one beat passes, then another, and satoru blinks up at you like itâs his turn to be deeply confused.
â. . . is that supposed to be a bad thing?â
you stare at him for half a second before you break.
and honestly, your laugh comes out so suddenly that it startles even you, whoâs now begun to double down in her laughter and clutch at the carpets for dear life. across from you, gojoâs face immediately twists into something between annoyance and confusion as he watches you fold in on yourself.
âno,â you wheeze, clutching your stomach with one hand and wiping a tear from your eyes with another. âitâs not a bad thing.â
youâre not trying to be mean, because if anything, youâre impressed. the man is six-foot something of sweet cologne and a pretty damn good allowance by the looks of this apartment, not to mention his unfair genetics. if you had noticed satoru gojo sooner, you wouldâve assumed girls were throwing themselves at his feet.
âitâs just . . . you look like that, and youâre telling me you havenât done anything in twenty years?â
âtwenty-one years,â he corrects immediately, but stops himself from pursuing that argument any further when he realizes heâs not exactly helping his own case. âand not everybodyâs life revolves around dating.â
âyouâre talking like you havenât been in love with her for like, five years.â
âwho said anything about love?â he murmurs defeatedly, tearing his eyes off of you when you only laugh harder.
you narrowly miss the cushion he tosses at you, and eventually, the conversation eventually dies the death it deserves. after a few final edits to your paper, a 30-minute attempt to get satoruâs dusty old printer to spit out said project, and another heated argument, you finally convince him not to walk you to your car.
âjust go to sleep,â you blink, cocking your head as he stubbornly stays put by the door to his place, arms crossed and eyes winking off to sleep.âweâve been up all night.â
the man is exhausted, and you can see it in the way his shoulders drop and the shadows that pool beneath his pretty eyes. he stands by the door with a fiery determination like heâs not half asleep as you know it, and you nearly scoff in his face.
âitâs dark,â he murmurs, head lolling when he yawns for the nth time in the past 5 minutes. âjust let me walk you.â
âweâre in the safest part of campus,â you roll your eyes, shoving satoru back inside his apartment, where thereâs no more space to argue with you. âjust make sure that paper is on the old manâs desk by ten. gânight!â
âwait ââ
with that, youâve slammed the door in his face and his absurdly comfortable apartment forever, you hope.
and as your heels click on the pavement outside his apartment complex, youâre still smiling when you try to fish your keys from your purse. maybe itâs the relief of finally finishing the damn paper, or maybe itâs because you finally spent the last few hours thinking about something other than sukuna.
whatever it is, you carry it with you down the road to your beetle. because for whatever reason, your chest feels lighter than it has in weeks. not completely healed, not even close. just lighter, like your prick of an ex-boyfriend has finally begun to flush from your system.
that is, until you glance up and regret ever leaving the damn apartment.
because less than five feet away and conveniently parked under a flickering streetlight is the devil himself: ryomen sukuna, leaning back against his black suv as you physically recoil at the sight of him. and to make matters worse, he spots you immediately, red eyes narrowing at you like heâs seeing double.
he isnât, and it takes all of your self-control not to shrivel up under his red, hot stare.
for a moment, neither of you moves. the parking lot sits suspended in time, and you blink at each other underneath the orange glow of the streetlights and the distant sounds of nightlife. like youâre mutually suspicious.
unfortunately, life continues, and so does your ex.
âdoll?â he frowns, and youâd gag at the nickname if it didnât mean looking like a fool in front of this bastard. âwhatâre you doing here?â
your stomach drops, and you cross your arms over your chest in a poor attempt to conceal your slow-rising panic.
say something. anything.
âi was visiting my cousin,â you say quickly, and you keep yourself from wincing when his slit brows furrow in confusion. as far as sukunaâs knowledge and the truth go, you donât have any cousins.
âyour cousin . . . that iâve never heard about?â
âwell, you never asked.â you huff, glaring into the distance where youâre half-sure you parked your car. maybe if you started running now, you could . . . wait.
âi could ask you the same thing,â you continue flatly, and for the first time since spotting you, sukuna lets his gaze drift away from you and towards the apartment complex behind you.
slowly, downright cruelly, the pieces begin to fall into place.
the moving boxes. the suv. the fact that heâs standing under a streetlight at this ungodly hour.
âdonât tell me . . .â you gasp, taking a few steps back in horror when a grin blooms across your ex-boyfriendâs smug face. âyour bum ass lives here now?â
this canât be happening.
âbingo, pretty. so are you gonna tell me why youâre here at this hour or ââ
âWAIT!â a shout tears through the emptiness of the parking lot, and both of your heads snap towards the apartment entrance.
a few feet away, the doors to the building blow open so fast they practically fly off the hinges. suddenly, poor, oblivious satoru gojo is jogging through the lot with your keys in hand and the urgency of a man trying to stop a national emergency.
âyou forgot your keys in my apartment!â he calls out, waving them above his head like a madman. sukuna freezes. gojo keeps going.
âyou wouldâve been stuck out here all night. god, i leave you alone for five minutes and you â â
the words die in his mouth when he spots sukuna practically fuming from next to you, and satoruâs frantically waving hand immediately drops to his side, keys dangling along with the wind.
across from you, sukunaâs face contorts into multiple stages of horror in milliseconds, and youâre completely aware of how this looks. you, leaving this geekâs apartment after spending hours alone in the middle of the night.
you can practically see the image forming in his head, and something forms in his expression that 3 years of on-and-off makes pretty hard to miss: pure, unadulterated jealousy.
his eyes move from you, to satoru, to the keys in his hand, then the apartment complexes behind him, before a realization crashes into you with the force of a bullet train:
the perfect fake-boyfriend has been existing right under your nose for all this time, in the form of nerdy satoru gojo and his complete and utter inability to realize the kind of damage he causes.
âyou forgot these,â satoru says weakly, like thatâll fix this utter mess.
synopsis. after one breakup after another with your toxic boyfriend sukuna, you decide youâre done playing his games. enter gojo satoru, the sexy nerd from your physics class whoâs more than glad to help you make your ex jealous . . . in exchange for some intimacy advice.
pairing. nerd!jo x popular!reader
tags. university au, rom-com, fluff, enemies to (reluctant) friends to lovers, fake dating, teaching intimacy trope, they donât play abt each other, suggestive themes, violence, profanity, major character development, frat!kuna as readerâs ex, smut in the following chapters, plug!choso and philosophy major!nanami have cameos in this LOL
wc. 8.7k
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header art by nekozuu_ on x and ig!
SCIENCE SAYS THAT the average force behind a bitch slap ranges from anywhere between 200 to 400 newtons. considering factors like the victimâs stance, your point of impact, and good olâ friction, it should take about 600 to 1000+ newtons to fell a braced target.
you knocked over ryomen sukuna with less â with a fresh set of hot pink acrylics to boot.Â
âi canât believe you,â you heave, your perfectly manicured hand stinging where itâd made contact with your boyfriendâs smug face just moments ago. âyou â you lying, cheating, whore!â
âma,â he groans, rubbing at his reddened cheek with one hand and clawing at his desk for support with the other. âlet me explain ââ
âoh, yeah!?â you yell, shoving past your pleading boyfriend to stomp over to his bedside, where some other girlâs lacy teal bra lay hanging from the tableâs edge. you can practically feel him wince when you grab at it, dangling it in front of his face. âthis a gift for your mom, then?â
âwell ââ
âweâre done, asshole,â you spit, glaring down at the pathetic mass youâd called your man and whipping around to fish your phone from your mini purse. with a few sharp clicks on the number pad, you almost get done punching down your homegirlâs number with every intention for her to come pick you up until â
âcalm down, woman,â sukuna grumbles defeatedly. those beefy, tattooed arms slowly come to wrap around you from behind as he buries his face in your neck, taking in your sweet perfume. âya know she ainât mean shit âta me. not like you do.â
and admittedly, you almost give in. almost. you pause for a moment too long before rolling your eyes and shrugging him off of you.
âdonât care,â you scoff, turning your head and quickly running your fingers through where your bum of a boyfriend had ruined your hair beforehand. âi want your shit out of my house and the spare key back under the plant by tonight.â
âoh, yeah?â he frowns, ruffling his pink locks and crossing his arms in exasperation. youâve already packed your things and are halfway through stomping out his bedroom door when he says something that makes you stop in your tracks.
âyouâll be back,â sukuna mutters viciously, glaring holes into your back as you practically tremble with rage. âwe always come back.â
â. . . go fuck yourself, âkuna,â you grumble, sending your pink-haired ex one last glare over your shoulder from where he sits atop his mattress half-naked. âor that bitch. see if it matters to me.â
the last thing you see before shutting the door in his face is the way his facial expressions contort from cocky to indifferent to absolutely outraged as you whizz out of his musty dorm, and hopefully, out of sukunaâs life for good.
âweâre fucking soulmates!â he yells from where youâve abandoned him, the sound muffled from where his ass sits pathetically glued in place. âweâll get back together, youâll see!â
youâd seriously rather die.
.
.
.
not to be dramatic or anything, but by the second week of your very real, very permanent separation from sukuna, youâve come to realize youâd seriously rather die than be apart for any longer.
and when you tell becky that, all solemn expressions and teary regret, you swear she comes this close to smacking you in the head for all of the campus cafe to see.
âare you fucking ââ your best friend groans, damn near throwing down her plastic fork into her rather pathetic-looking bowl of caesar salad and stopping herself when a few wandering eyes turn to look. âare you serious?â
you let your head fall into your hands and groan. hard.
as if finding some other girlâs trashy bra by your boyfriendâs bedside table when you came by to surprise him for your anniversary wasnât punishment enough, the two, grueling weeks where youâve been forced (read: by no one but yourself) into no-contact have been some of the worst in your life. as for ryomen, he simply proceeds as usual, hanging out at the quad with his frat friends and guzzling alcohol at ragers whenever his schedule allows it.
when you close your eyes, you can almost imagine it: him seeing other girls. touching them. fucking them. you swear you could hurl by subjecting your poor, poor imagination to any more of this nonsense.
âugh, i feel like i need to be sedated, or something,â you mumble, getting up from your pool of misery to rub at your temples. âi feel like shit.â
âuh, hello?â becky scoffs, waving her hands around exasperatedly like youâve gone mad and all she wants is to resuscitate you. âare you forgetting who you are? you run this school. anybody who matters in this place has to be seen with you.â
âyouâre right,â you sniff. âi should move on.â
âthank you,â your friend groans, picking up her trashed cutlery to go on to finish her first meal of the day in peace. âfinally, bitch. i was starting to think you were ââ
â â but can i just say one thing!?â you cut in crazedly, and you swear poor, goodhearted becky is halfway through the process of imploding. âwe were together for 3 years, becky. that stuff doesnât just go away!â
âyeah, 3 years on and off,â she says, repeatedly snapping her perfectly manicured fingers in your face like itâll wake you up from your sukuna-induced trance. it doesnât, and it takes every little bit of her self-control not to reach over the table and strangle you. âyou know what you need?â
â. . . no?â
âyou need to catch a dick.â
âbeck!â you gasp, and your friend only doubles down in obnoxious laughter when you glare daggers at her for even suggesting such a travesty.
in fact, your stomach practically twists at the thought of being with someone else so soon. your impeccable figure and devilishly good looks aside, youâve never been with someone â well, other than sukuna himself â during one of your breaks. doing that would just make it feel real, and your little break being real would mean that you and him are over.
forever.
though, werenât you practically over already?
for two long, grueling weeks, sukuna hasnât even done so much as text you to see if you were doing okay. in fact, the only times you do see him are when heâs slacking off in your classes or fucking with other women at parties. not that he wasnât doing that already while you were in a relationship.
but you wonder, albeit a little aimlessly, if heâd said you were soulmates that day in his dorm because he truly believed it â or if he was just sure that youâd come back to him after each and every fuck-up.
like some dog he could call over with the right treats.
as if a lightbulb has gone off in your head, you stand up so fast your chair screeches from behind you. your best friend looks just about at a loss for words when you lean over the cafeteria table and squeeze the life out of her.
âbeck, i could kiss you right now!â
âoh, girl . . . please donât.â
if sukuna thought he could make you surrender with promises of soul-bonding and a little calculated indifference, he was dead wrong.
after all, youâve figured out the perfect solution to make him come to you instead â and all it would take was a few flirty phone calls and some expert persuasion. hell, you practically have to keep yourself from squealing out loud as you walk out of the cafeteria, heels clicking and your tiny purse swinging at your side.
and so, your plan commences.
you try nanami first, leaning over the counter of the milkshake place near campus that your band of loyal followers very kindly took the liberty of bringing to your attention as his new workplace.
âhi, kento,â you coo, fluttering your false lashes at him like a wicked woman with an even worse agenda. âyou work here now? cute!â
between the whirr of the blenders in the background and the aggressively bright and cheery neon lighting from overhead, nanami kento still manages to look ridiculously fine. he looks up from the register with the look of a man who is moments away from walking into traffic, all broad-shoulders and brooding stares that make your ears flush pink.
and in his own, mature and absurdly-sexy way, a philosophy major. if he werenât wearing that tight white apron and little paper hat atop his head, youâd consider leaning over to give him the time of his life right here and now.
âi . . . uh,â you start, leaning further over the counter. your cleavage damn near fights for its life against the neckline of your baby pink top, and you have to keep yourself from smiling when his eyes flicker downwards, then back to your own. âlike your get-up?â
nanami only blinks. âcan i help you?â
âsure you can!â you purr sweetly, twirling a lock of your hair around a fresh acrylic nail. âtake me out this friday night?â
checkmate, you think, and youâre already halfway through mentally envisioning the outfit youâre going to pick out when nanami ultimately decides to take you out on a romantic â
âno thanks,â nanami grunts, reaching over to grab for the little âemployee sanitation guidelinesâ card from behind the registrar and placing it smack in the middle of the counter for all to see. âi donât do rebound relationships.â
your jaw practically drops, and itâs almost impressive how fast you go from wanting to fuck this man to wanting to kill him in one sitting.
âexcuse me?â you gape, practically fuming from the ears at the thought of even the homely, school-centered nanami kento knowing about your disaster of a breakup with your deadbeat boyfriend.
the corner of his mouth twitches like heâs fighting an amused smile, and annoyingly enough, it kind of suits him. he simply reaches over the counter to pat your steaming head with enough concern to slightly dampen the flames of your fury before turning to pin an order slip by the kitchen window.
âcall me when you have no intentions of seeing him anymore.â
you glare at him hard. âoffer rewoked.â
âitâs revoked, doll.â
you decide, right then and there, that nanami kento and his beefy biceps and low-hanging glasses arenât worth all this trouble anyway. hell, youâd even flashed him your best smile! the kind that made professors forgive your patchy attendance and made sukuna fold in 30 seconds flat. did that mean nothing to him?
with a huff and a sharp turn on your heel, youâre on your way to your next destination: the shadiest corner in the parking lots behind the apartment complexes.
you decide youâll try choso next, partly because heâd been a recurring fling of yours in freshman year and partly because itâs easy to score a meeting with him due to his â well â occupation.
you suppose thatâs how you ended up in the passenger seat of his tinted black car under the false pretense of a drug deal, as choso kamo blinks at you slowly from behind the wheel.
âyouâre here to buy weed,â he says cautiously, but youâre far too busy sizing up his transportation to pay him much attention.
âuh-huh,â you say mindlessly, running your fingers across the hood of his car. itâs got that fresh new car smell despite being over 3 years old, and youâre frankly pleased that sweet, sensitive choso hasnât traded his natural hygienic nature to whatever body spray-scented madness your ex has going on in his own ride.
but as much as youâd like to be sitting pretty in the passenger seat of that musty old car again, desperate times call for desperate measures. and choso â dark-eyed, mysterious, and tattooed choso is exactly the type of man that would drive sukuna insane.
and honestly, you get the hype! if anything, thatâs exactly why youâd been spread out in the backseat of this very car every monday, wednesday, and friday night in freshman year before youâd inevitably been snatched up by your ex.
âbut. . .â choso starts. âyou donât even smoke.â
the senior carefully eyes you from beneath those messy black locks tied up into two space buns, tattooed fingers coming down to tap at the wheel in anticipation. itâs obvious you still make him a little nervous, and you have to keep yourself from smiling when it hits you that you have the campus plug wrapped around your pretty little finger after all this time.
you are so getting it this time.
âhmm, you caught me,â you murmur softly, leaning over the center console until your perfume fills the space between you. âsue a girl for wanting an excuse to see you again, cho.â
choso visibly stiffens in his seat, looking waayyy too flustered for a man in the middle of a deal. âare you flirting with me?â
âi just think,â you continue slyly, dragging a nail across the armrest of one of his leather seats. âthat a guy as cute as you should take me out for real this time.â
bingo. you brace yourself for the nastiest makeout session of your life when he subconsciously starts leaning closer, cheeks red and eyes trained solely on your lips before â
âi canât.â
âwhat?â you screech, and the deafening sound of your fury makes the boy wince. âwhy?!â
âbecause,â he tries to reason with you, burying his tattooed face in his palms and groaning as if turning you down pains him just as much. âyour ex buys from me.â
you gasp, blinking at him in utter disbelief as he awkwardly begins to rub at his neck like a teenager fresh out of high school. âheâs like one of my best customers . . . iâm sorry.â
âoh my god, cho,â you sputter, collapsing against the passenger seat as he looks over at you with poorly concealed pity. âyou supply my ex with weed?â
âto be fair, he mostly buys edibles.â
ânot helping!â you snarl, opening the passenger seat and promptly stepping out into the cold air. any weather, you suppose, would be easier than being subject to more of this humiliation. âugh, have a good night.â
âwait,â choso says suddenly, and you stop in your tracks just before you can slam the door shut in his face.
âdo you still want the weed?â
âno!â
.
.
.
never, in your 20 fabulous years of life, did you ever expect to lose to emotional intelligence and criminal commitment to customer loyalty.
youâre campus royalty, for goodnessâ sake! being turned down by men shouldâve remained something unheard of in your limited dictionary, and yet here you are, dragging your heels across pavement after one rejection after the other.
had the men on this campus developed an immunity to your charm overnight? or worse yet, had you somehow lost it in those three years youâd been tied to sukuna? you practically shiver thinking about it, furiously fishing your phone from your purse to text becky.
you
THIS CAMPUS IS SICK!!!!!!!!
you
THE DRUG DEALER REJECTED ME
when you pocket your phone and find it in yourself to look up, the sky overhead has long since faded into deep shades of indigo, and you find that not even the cool breeze is enough to cure the hurt of humiliation that still swirls in your chest.
and even worse? youâre late to physics.
you donât know why a fashion merchandising major would even need to take physics in the first place, but you drag your feet towards your sweaty lecture anyway. youâd caught something about general-ed requirements and a bunch of other bureaucratic crap before you tuned out your incredibly unhelpful academic advisor halfway through his pointless rambling.
you decide not to skip anyway, for fear of your terrible prof and a sinking feeling youâd try for toji fushiguro next. and if youâre being completely honest, the thought of cozying up to the hot, recently single, phys-ed major while heâs got little megumi at home is enough to make the hairs on your neck stand up a second time.
a step-child is not a commitment youâre ready to make â fake girlfriend or otherwise.
still, thatâs not to say you donât believe whoever invented evening lectures deserves jail time.
by the time you push open the heavy doors to your lecture hall, youâre already 30 minutes late, wildly irritated, and running completely out of spite.
ânice of you to join us, l/n,â your professor huffs, sending you a glare over his shoulder as a few students deviate attention from their notes to snicker quietly.
âsorry, mister!â you chirp sweetly, flashing him your prettiest smile and straightening up to toss your hair and scan the hall for an available seat.
unfortunately for you, physics majors are horrifyingly punctual. they fill up every nook and cranny of the place, and when your eyes finally land on one, singular seat by the very back row, you have to bite your tongue to suppress a groan. of fucking course.
you begin the humiliating trek to the back anyway, looking around for any halfway-decent men to distract yourself with in the meantime. and to nobodyâs luck, they get worse and worse the deeper into the room you get.
too lanky. too sweaty. one briefly catches your eye, and you briefly consider hitting him up after class before he sneezes directly into his hand, and you think mm, better not. your gaze continually sweeps the nerds that fill the room before they finally land on the occupant of the seat next to your empty one.
you pause, blinking hard like itâll make the sight before you any less real.
how tall is this guy? you frown, shuffling into your seat and hardly even bothering to pull out a notebook as you rake over him from head to toe. heâs 190cm, at the very least.
and that hair. is it natural? dyed? where have you seen this guy before? you can barely keep from pumping your fist when you realize heâs too busy to notice you oggling, scribbling equations across a notebook already overflowing with messy handwriting and post-it notes.
heck, you even begin to think he might be halfway decent if it werenât for the suffocating scent of nerd and those thick-framed glasses sitting atop his nose before you pinch yourself for even having the thought in the first place. it makes you shake your head violently, not at all minding if you look like a madwoman.
suddenly feeling faint, you obnoxiously rustle through your purse for a stick of gum without minding the stares you receive for noisily going through your everyday items like a raccoon. whatever. youâd find the perfect scapegoat to make sukuna come crawling back to you in the span of a little less than a week, and your sleazy ex could come kiss your big, hairy â
âl/n and gojo satoru,â your professorâs voice cuts through the room, and your head snaps up the moment your name is called. you look around to see if anyone else had caught what the old croak had been saying prior, but your nerdy classmates all seem to have their heads buried in their notes.
âhey,â you whisper, lightly nudging your seatmateâs ankle with a polished heel. âwhatâd the old guy say?â
your seatmate finally stops writing. and when he looks up at you from beneath those long, white lashes, youâd almost forgotten what you were trying to ask him in the first place. when he sighs and sets his pencil down, youâre far too entranced by the magnificent blue that sits behind his eyes to care.
theyâre electric. sharp. like somebody had stolen them out of an anime and magicked them into the body of an exhausted physics major.
âthe professor,â he says slowly, like heâs speaking to someone whoâs mildly concussed. âwas assigning partners for the paper due tomorrow?â
and oh, he knows you. every living soul on campus knows your name.Â
even if gojo had somehow managed to successfully evade the endless stream of gossip that flows throughout your university, heâd still recognize you on sight. itâd be impossible not to. pretty girls with perfect hair and a talent for commanding a room are usually hard to miss.
unfortunately, your reputation doesnât really stop there.
heâs heard more stories than he can count about your infamous relationship with ryomen sukuna. the breakups. the makeups. the screaming matches outside the frat house and the dramatic reconciliations that always seem to occur when everybody has begun to accept that youâre over for good.
and to be frank, heâs never understood it. not your popularity, and definitely not your very public relationship. not when someone whoâs clearly capable of having whoever she pleases chooses the guy who treats commitment like a summer job.
unfortunately, none of that is going to change the fact that heâs been forced into writing a physics paper with you.Â
âtomorrow?!â you yelp, immediately bowing your head to apologize when multiple heads come to turn to the source of the noise. â. . . and whoâs gojo?â
âthat would be me.â
oh.
so thatâs where youâd seen him before.
you lean back in your chair to assess him with squinted eyes, rubbing your chin in a manner that makes your seatmate wonder if heâs somehow landed in a bad detective movie. âyou related to toru from sigma chi, or do you just have a secret double life?â
if the way gojoâs lips purse into a thin line is anything to go by, your joke didnât exactly land.
âheâs my twin,â he explains frankly. and when he impatiently drums his fingers on the table like heâs got somewhere more important to be, youâre finally smacked in the face with what should have been apparent before:
he doesnât like you very much.
but can you blame him, really, when youâd just been ruthlessly assessing the value of all his male classmates five minutes prior? if your senses are anything to go by, this gojo person is a lot more perceptive than his meathead brother.
not that you could care less about a grumpy nerd and his freaky sense of perception. you came here with one mission, and one mission only â to get your attendance signed for this stupid lecture. paper be damned; youâll get to that when you manage to find the perfect temporary boyfriend whose only purpose is to get you back with your real boyfriend.
unfortunately, your professor seems determined to ruin your day even further.
âbefore anyone leaves,â he pipes up as students begin packing their things. âwork must be split evenly between two partners. pairs who do not follow the fifty-fifty contribution rule will automatically be given failing marks.â
immediately, you find yourself sitting straighter.
âpeer reviews will also be considered.â your professor finishes. students begin to filter out of the lecture hall as quickly as they came, and you only break out of your shock-induced trance when gojo begins to stir beside you.
next to you, gojo simply gathers his notes into a clear folder as you stare at him in utter disbelief. because seriously, who even uses folders?
âso,â you clear your throat, refusing to falter when he looks over at you with those horrifyingly pretty eyes. you flash him the most genuine smile you can muster, but the man is unmoved. âyou wonât let me down during that peer review, wonât you?â
gojo narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, and it almost makes you regret asking.
âas long as you do exactly fifty percent of it, sure.â
âlisten â iâve kinda got this thing tonight.â you rub your neck, but the disgustingly handsome freak your professor did you the disservice of pairing you with is as clueless as ever.
âso do i,â he shrugs, neatly placing the rest of his things into his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.
you frown. âdoing what?â
âhomework.â
your face immediately falls, but you somehow manage to conceal the soul-crushing urge to laugh when he looks at you like heâs confused you had a reaction to his very real, very pressing plans he needs to get to. tonight.
looks like you have no other choice.
âfine, but iâm driving.â you pinch your nose bridge with one hand and shovel your minimal belongings into your purse with the other. âwhere do we work on this thing?â
âthe library?â
âuh, ew.â
âa cafe?â
âtoo many people.â
âthe student center, then?â
âdouble ew,â you cross your arms, glaring up at your exasperated new partner as he glowers right back at you with the heat of a thousand suns.
the white-haired man groans, rubbing at his cheek with one hand. âwhat about your apartment?â
the suggestion leaves his mouth casually enough, but itâs almost like this gojo person has struck you in the face from the way your heart drops to your stomach. absolutely not. not when sukuna still hasnât hauled his things out of your apartment after you told him to do it weeks ago.
he could barge in at any moment, and youâd seriously rather not take the time out of your day explaining to him why thereâs a geek sitting pretty in your apartment.
you look away, arms still crossed. and you so hate the way gojo is sizing you up right now, trying to figure out why exactly your face dropped. âcanât. iâve got rats.â
âuh-huh,â he squints, and youâre both completely oblivious of the way the lecture hall has completely fizzled out of people aside from the two of you right now. âwhere do you live again?â
â. . . the luxury apartments on oak street?â
when your partner blinks at you, you blurt out the first thing on the tip of your tongue to save you from your own stupid lie. âtheyâre very aggressive rats. big and mean.â
the corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a ghost of a smile for the first time tonight, just enough to annoy you enough to glare down at your feet in the hopes he wonât call out our lame fib.
âright, my place then.â
you look up, and gojo mentally notes that thatâs the fastest heâs ever seen you move â in class and on campus. from the way you immediately recoil, he guesses youâre not very fond of that suggestion either.
he sighs, already halfway through pitching his next venue idea to you when you cut him off with an urgency that leaves even him uneasy.
âalright,â you say quietly, and the man has to refrain from rubbing his ears to see if heâd just heard you correctly.
âwha- are you serious?â
âwhat, do you not want to do it in your apartment?â you look up to glare at him through your lashes, and the tips of his ears burn red from your poor choice of wording. satoru has to give himself a few seconds to recalibrate before he even thinks about responding.
did you really have to say it like that?
âitâs just . . . you didnât like any of the other places i said.â
you blink, and for the first time since youâve been granted the displeasure of this manâs company, you turn to really look at him.
not glance, look. and somehow, the image of gojo satoru is a little less intimidating up close.
sure, heâs just about as tall as a doorframe, but without the harsh lights of the lecture hall turning him into some kind of academic cryptid, the shadows that grace his features now just make him look like a tired college student. his white hair sticks out in every direction imaginable, and his navy sweater hangs three sizes too loose over his body like he hadnât even bothered to check the tag before he paid for it.
plus, his glasses are crooked. not very noticeably so, but they hang dangerously low on his nose. so much so, that they force him to push them back up every few minutes.
heâs nothing like toru, who dresses like heâs godâs gift to women. and honestly? itâs kind of pathetic. a little cute, even, and you immediately shudder at the thought.
âwhat now?â satoru frowns, and itâs only then that you realize youâve been staring.
ânothing,â you blurt out, and gojo starts to look a little suspicious.
and through all of it, this guy stood there like a man who was just trying to finish his damn paper â and make his partner feel a little more comfortable throughout the process.
gross, you think self-awareness might be your least favorite motion.
âi just think your apartmentâs fine,â you mutter, unable to meet his eyes all of a sudden. gojo blinks once, then twice, like heâs waiting for the punchline for a bad joke.
it never comes.
âalright,â he says, honestly a little stunned youâd given in so easily. and to his apartment, of all places. did someone hit you in the head prior to this? your differences aside, he sure hopes not.
and thatâs it. no sly smiles, no teasing, and definitely no celebrating victories. your white-haired partner simply exists in the same space, clearly relieved you stopped trying to put up a fight.
you donât know why that irritates you so, but you haul ass and drag your purse over your shoulder anyway. after all, you have a paper to finish.
outside, campus has fallen into its usual evening rhythm.
the streetlamps illuminate the darkness, casting golden splotches of light onto the streets and across the sidewalks. the students have lessened by this time, traveling between buildings in little groups as they laugh and carry on with their takeout containers.
obnoxious music blares through one of the boyâs dorm windows, and off in the distance, you spy a couple talking and laughing on a bench.
you donât know why your stomach twists at the sight.
you shove your hands into your pocket, and beside you, satoru is enveloped in a strange kind of silence that neither of you really know how to get past. like neither of you really expected to spend your evening together.
when you reach your vehicle that youâd conveniently parked in the farthest corner of your building, your new nerd friend suddenly slows next to you.
âhey, whatâs ââ
âshoko?â he blinks, and you stop in your tracks.
his gaze is trained onto something like itâs grabbed him and refuses to let go, and when you follow his eyes, you begin to understand why.
only 5 feet away, shoko ieiri is stepping off her motorbike beneath one of the flickering street lamps. sheâs dressed in black scrubs and an oversized jacket, dark circles gracing her features in a way that makes the woman even prettier, somehow.
which is unfair, really.
âsatoru,â she calls out, tucking her bike helmet under her arm and flashing you two a lazy smile. âis that you?â
and oh, you know this girl. everyone does. shoko ieiri is only 20 and has somehow managed to become a full-time medical student and part-time campus legend.
youâve heard enough stories about this lady to write her a biography, for goodnessâ sake. rumor has it is that she scored ninety-seventh percentile on the mcat while absurdly hungover.
sheâs brilliant, beautiful, and weirdly enough â
friends with gojo satoru.
the same kid whoâs wearing a sweater that could house a family of four and whose glasses have almost slipped right off his nose for the tenth time tonight. and when you spot his ears go red from the corner of your eye, you have to keep yourself from grinning.
interesting.
âoh? whoâs your friend?â she asks kindly, a smile slowly creeping onto her face when she rakes her eyes over the way you fall into step beside one another.
the reaction is immediate.
âweâre not ââ
âno.â you huff, the two of you speaking at the same time. shoko raises an amused brow, and you only smile at her sweetly. gojo on the other hand, looks like heâs about to combust.
âweâre partners,â you say simply, shifting your weight from one foot to another in an attempt to fend off the cold.
â. . . for physics,â the white-haired boy adds, but to no avail. shokoâs infuriatingly beautiful smile only grows wider and more suspicious of you two by the second, and your eyes continue to flick between the two of them like youâve been personally tasked to assess the situation.
because if you know anything at all â itâs love.
and from the way gojo satoru fiddles with his fingers and looks down at his feet, heâs got it pretty damn bad.
oh, you could bark out a laugh right here and now.
âwell, good luck with that,â she grins, and before gojo can stop her to say sheâs got it all wrong, sheâs off like a woman on a mission. âiâll get going now. these readings wonât complete themselves.â
âuh, bye â !â
âbye honey,â you chime in after your rather pathetic excuse of an assignment partner, and she shoots you a salute you before sheâs off, probably in the direction of the library.
you bet gojo is pretty damn grateful you insisted on his apartment right about now.
the moment shoko turns the corner and is completely out of sight, you turn around to look at him accusingly.
âyou have the hots for shoko ieiri.â
âno i donât,â he retorts, wincing when you bark out a mean laugh and fiddle with your keys to unlock your car. the moment the vehicle clicks and the headlights whirr to life, heâs immediately sliding into the passenger seat like itâll save him from any more of your humiliation.
it doesnât.
âi dunno,â you tease, opening up the door to the driverâs seat and sliding inside. âthat response was pretty fuckinâ quick.â
âi donât have âthe hotsâ for her,â gojo starts. he grabs at his seatbelt, pressing down until he hears a click before heâs fiddling with his fingers again. âi have a completely normal amount of respectable feelings for her.â
you double down in laughter, pulling out of the parking lot as your newfound friend seethes in the seat beside you. âshe is so out of your league, nerd.â
âyeah, yeah,â he mutters, and you hate yourself for wanting to coo at the pout you can hear in his voice.
maybe your breakup with sukuna really had messed you up, because youâre not quite sure where in between your rocky relationship with a frat boy your brain decided to be attracted to pathetic, loser men.
âif it makes you feel better, i think she might be into you too.â you glance over your shoulder to smile at him, and for the first time tonight, itâs completely genuine.
â. . . you think so?â
âi know this stuff,â you say as a matter-of-factly, and gojo turns to look at you with an indescribable twinkle in his eyes that he quite obviously tries very hard to hide. âtrust me.â
you glance to the side, and the look on his face is enough to make your stomach churn. because for one, glorious second, satoru forgets to be suspicious of you.
he doesnât glare, or squint, or retort â he only looks hopeful. in that disgustingly sincere, gojo satoru way. so much so, that you nearly regret opening your mouth lest you give him false hope.
which is unusual, because youâve known this man for exactly two hours and thirty five minutes, and spent ninety percent of that time warring over this stupid paper your professor wants on his desk by tomorrow morning.
you snap your eyes back onto the road. focus.
the conversation fizzles out naturally after that, and the radio begins to buzz louder than your words once did. streetlights flash past your tinted windows in consistent intervals, and somewhere along the way, gojo stops fiddling with his fingers and sinks deeper into his seat.
neither of you say anything for a long time. and somehow, you donât seem to mind it.
maybe because youâre tired. or maybe â maybe because youâre not quite used to men that donât demand everything from you at any given moment.
satoru simply exists beside you, like any other stranger at university would. deep down, you find that you quite like that.
you sneak a glance sideways, and gojo is staring out the window. and before you can even begin to stop yourself, your mouth is running.
âsorry for being a dick earlier,â you murmur, shrinking under the weight of his gaze when he shifts in his seat to look at you.
âwhat for?â he blinks, and your heart twinges in your chest. gojo might be a little clueless, but that doesnât mean heâs not deserving of a proper apology. for fear of chickening out under the weight of your pride, you will yourself to speak.
âyou know, our choice of venue?â you wince, clearly a little embarrassed by the way youâd been acting. satoruâs mouth forms into an o as a way of telling you he understands.
âiâve been dealing with some things,â you continue, letting out a deep exhale you were unaware youâd been holding in. âbut i shouldnât have let it out on you the way i did. iâm sorry.â
for one, agonizing moment, gojo doesnât answer.
outside, the city hums with a fervor you can only really get in the heart of a college town. tires roll on the asphalt outside, distant music blares from dorm windows, and students wander like they havenât got responsibilities they need to tend to at sunrise.
then, he shrugs. âitâs okay.â
your eyes narrow when you sneak another glance at him. his attention has drifted back over to the window, but thereâs something about his breathing and the way his shoulders relax that tells you thereâs something softer about him now. less guarded.
âno itâs not, thatâs literally the worst response to an apology iâve ever heard.â
âwhat?â he frowns, looking over to where you irritably tap your fingers against the leather wheel. âwhat was i supposed to say?â
âi dunno,â you groan, gripping the steering wheel tighter in an attempt to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. âsomething that makes me feel a little less guilty?â
gojo snorts. âyou feel guilty?â
you sigh, and you think you wouldâve hid your head in your hands by now if they werenât already occupied. âdonât make it weird.â
âiâm not,â he says quickly, and you glance over. âiâm just surprised.â
âwhyâs that?â you hum, and the sound of the car motor fills the brief silence that follows. in his seat, satoru is staring at the passing streetlights like theyâve miraculously become more interesting than your conversation.
âi thought people like you didnât apologize,â he says absentmindedly.
âpeople like me?â âyou know, popular people.â
youâre unable to find it in you to hold back a genuine fit of laughter, and the sound vibrates in the stunned manâs ears like a blessing. not that heâd ever admit that.
âthatâs the dumbest thing iâve ever heard you say,â you wheeze, one hand coming up to wipe a stray tear from your eye before returning to the wheel.
gojo, on the other hand, looks deeply offended. âi donât say dumb things. i thought you were apologizing?â
âi was, then you decided to go say something dumb.â you roll your eyes through a fit of giggles, and in his seat, you swear you catch a glimpse of your partner trying to conceal the ghost of a smile.
âso much for being sorry.â
.
.
.
the second satoru opens the door to his apartment complex, you come to realize two things:
the first being that if the freakish orderliness of his living space is anything to go by, he most definitely lives alone.
the second, and most glaring, for reasons that are currently attacking your eyeline, is that heâs an even bigger nerd than you had ever imagined.
âare you kidding me?â you frown, running your fingers along the edges of his bookshelves where satoruâs numerous lego sets, a curated collection of astronomy magazines, and dusty academic journals reside.
âwhat?â he frowns. he shuffles on his feet from behind you, clearly a little nervous youâve decided to size up his apartment â not that you care. itâs just . . .
was gojo satoru always this big of a geek?
by the tv, a framed photograph from a science competition you donât bother looking close enough to identify gleams like a trophy. on the other end of the table, his rubikâs cube collection is stacked on top of one another from the largest cube to the smallest in a colorful array.
when you picture gojo hunched over, legs crossed on the fluffy carpet, tinkering with one of these things to see how fast he can solve it, you almost crack a smile.
almost.
ânothing, i just didnât know you were such a damn nerd.â
clearly unimpressed, your white-haired partner rolls his eyes but shuffles around the place to find seat cushions for the two of you anyway.
when he pulls two cushions out from god knows where and lays them out onto the carpet, he plops down and looks up at you expectantly.
âsit.â he hums, and when you double back on satoru to call him a, quote, bossy nerd, your bickering comes alive once more.
and surprisingly enough, work gets done.
not a lot of work, but just around the right amount to get this bullcrap done by sunrise. you think it might be because the state of satoruâs apartment far surpasses your own â all warm lighting and vacuumed hardwood as opposed to your own dingy place, strewn with your exâs forgotten sweaters and littered with shoes youâd forgotten to put back in the cubby.
his place feels comfortable. lived in. like the home of somebody whoâs got their shit together and not some heartbroken college girl whoâs been broken up with by the same guy for the nth time.
that, or satoru gojo is just a damn good project partner. every time you get stuck on a problem, heâs right next to you and explaining it in a way that doesnât make you feel stupid. when he goes off on one of his overcomplicated tangents, you reel him back in before he disappears into the nerd dimension.
not that he wasnât already swimming in it before.
the point is, youâre annoyingly functional, and time seems to go by faster the more you and satoru manage to get done. at one point in the night, you stretch your shoulders and yawn with a volume that shouldâve been loud enough to make him look.
it doesnât.
your eyes drift over to where heâs typing on his laptop instead, and satoru is exactly the same as usual: annoyingly focused, hopelessly nerdy, and completely oblivious to your staring.
you nudge him with your foot. âhey.â
âhmm?â he replies absentmindedly, typing away as youâre graciously giving him your full attention.
you nudge him again, harder this time, and itâs enough to make him stop working on the paper and glare up at you.
âwhat?â he says, and itâs accompanied by a sigh so loud that you have to keep yourself from laughing.
âsay,â you start, leaning back on your elbows and pretending not to notice when his eyes flicker to your nearly-exposed chest, then back to you. âarenât you gonna do something about your little crush?â
youâre not quite sure what the beautiful, enigmatic shoko ieiri has done to this boy, but the effect on him is almost immediate. his fingers stop mid-way through typing a sentence, and he stares at his screen like itâll give him the answer if he looks hard enough.
then, he types over the silence as if youâd never said anything at all. nothing of importance, at least.
ânothing,â satoru answers, eyes flickering left and right on his laptop screen significantly faster than they were before. âsheâs been a friend of mine since high school. these things pass.â
you scoff. âiâve known sukuna since high school, and everyone knows how that ended.â
âyouâre comparing a hallway crush to your toxic situation with your boyfriend,â he quips, and the bastard doesnât even look up as you fume at the mention of sukuna.
âex-boyfriend,â you correct him immediately. gojo shrugs.
âtomato, tom-ah-to.â
ignoring another one of his smart ass responses that you, quite frankly, donât even understand, you push at him harder. âwhatever, loser, you and i both know thatâs not an excuse.â
this time, itâs satoruâs turn to groan exasperatedly, leaning back against the couch and staring at the ceiling like it holds all the secrets of the world. one beat passes, then another, and you almost gear yourself up to make another stretch and get back to work when he speaks again.
â. . . sheâs experienced. iâm not.â
you raise your brows. âexperienced?â
the rather pathetic physics major raises his head to glower right at you, blinking up at him, and genuinely confused.
âyou know what i mean,â he sighs, running a hand down his face when you stare at him from across the floor table like heâs gone mad.
âno,â you say, awkwardly rubbing at your neck. âi donât.â
a groan slips past his lips as he throws his head back against the couch cushions, the movement ruffling up his already messed-up hair. for one glorious second, he looks less like the put-together mystery from your physics lecture and more like a man whoâs been pushed to the limit by one annoying classmate.
unfortunately for him, youâre having the time of your life.
the apartment falls silent for a moment, and suddenly, everything begins to click into place. the awkwardness. the red ears. the lack of confidence despite looking like, well, that.
âgojo,â you start, and he knows heâs been busted when a wild grin blooms across your face. âare you a virgin?â
one beat passes, then another, and satoru blinks up at you like itâs his turn to be deeply confused.
â. . . is that supposed to be a bad thing?â
you stare at him for half a second before you break.
and honestly, your laugh comes out so suddenly that it startles even you, whoâs now begun to double down in her laughter and clutch at the carpets for dear life. across from you, gojoâs face immediately twists into something between annoyance and confusion as he watches you fold in on yourself.
âno,â you wheeze, clutching your stomach with one hand and wiping a tear from your eyes with another. âitâs not a bad thing.â
youâre not trying to be mean, because if anything, youâre impressed. the man is six-foot something of sweet cologne and a pretty damn good allowance by the looks of this apartment, not to mention his unfair genetics. if you had noticed satoru gojo sooner, you wouldâve assumed girls were throwing themselves at his feet.
âitâs just . . . you look like that, and youâre telling me you havenât done anything in twenty years?â
âtwenty-one years,â he corrects immediately, but stops himself from pursuing that argument any further when he realizes heâs not exactly helping his own case. âand not everybodyâs life revolves around dating.â
âyouâre talking like you havenât been in love with her for like, five years.â
âwho said anything about love?â he murmurs defeatedly, tearing his eyes off of you when you only laugh harder.
you narrowly miss the cushion he tosses at you, and eventually, the conversation eventually dies the death it deserves. after a few final edits to your paper, a 30-minute attempt to get satoruâs dusty old printer to spit out said project, and another heated argument, you finally convince him not to walk you to your car.
âjust go to sleep,â you blink, cocking your head as he stubbornly stays put by the door to his place, arms crossed and eyes winking off to sleep.âweâve been up all night.â
the man is exhausted, and you can see it in the way his shoulders drop and the shadows that pool beneath his pretty eyes. he stands by the door with a fiery determination like heâs not half asleep as you know it, and you nearly scoff in his face.
âitâs dark,â he murmurs, head lolling when he yawns for the nth time in the past 5 minutes. âjust let me walk you.â
âweâre in the safest part of campus,â you roll your eyes, shoving satoru back inside his apartment, where thereâs no more space to argue with you. âjust make sure that paper is on the old manâs desk by ten. gânight!â
âwait ââ
with that, youâve slammed the door in his face and his absurdly comfortable apartment forever, you hope.
and as your heels click on the pavement outside his apartment complex, youâre still smiling when you try to fish your keys from your purse. maybe itâs the relief of finally finishing the damn paper, or maybe itâs because you finally spent the last few hours thinking about something other than sukuna.
whatever it is, you carry it with you down the road to your beetle. because for whatever reason, your chest feels lighter than it has in weeks. not completely healed, not even close. just lighter, like your prick of an ex-boyfriend has finally begun to flush from your system.
that is, until you glance up and regret ever leaving the damn apartment.
because less than five feet away and conveniently parked under a flickering streetlight is the devil himself: ryomen sukuna, leaning back against his black suv as you physically recoil at the sight of him. and to make matters worse, he spots you immediately, red eyes narrowing at you like heâs seeing double.
he isnât, and it takes all of your self-control not to shrivel up under his red, hot stare.
for a moment, neither of you moves. the parking lot sits suspended in time, and you blink at each other underneath the orange glow of the streetlights and the distant sounds of nightlife. like youâre mutually suspicious.
unfortunately, life continues, and so does your ex.
âdoll?â he frowns, and youâd gag at the nickname if it didnât mean looking like a fool in front of this bastard. âwhatâre you doing here?â
your stomach drops, and you cross your arms over your chest in a poor attempt to conceal your slow-rising panic.
say something. anything.
âi was visiting my cousin,â you say quickly, and you keep yourself from wincing when his slit brows furrow in confusion. as far as sukunaâs knowledge and the truth go, you donât have any cousins.
âyour cousin . . . that iâve never heard about?â
âwell, you never asked.â you huff, glaring into the distance where youâre half-sure you parked your car. maybe if you started running now, you could . . . wait.
âi could ask you the same thing,â you continue flatly, and for the first time since spotting you, sukuna lets his gaze drift away from you and towards the apartment complex behind you.
slowly, downright cruelly, the pieces begin to fall into place.
the moving boxes. the suv. the fact that heâs standing under a streetlight at this ungodly hour.
âdonât tell me . . .â you gasp, taking a few steps back in horror when a grin blooms across your ex-boyfriendâs smug face. âyour bum ass lives here now?â
this canât be happening.
âbingo, pretty. so are you gonna tell me why youâre here at this hour or ââ
âWAIT!â a shout tears through the emptiness of the parking lot, and both of your heads snap towards the apartment entrance.
a few feet away, the doors to the building blow open so fast they practically fly off the hinges. suddenly, poor, oblivious satoru gojo is jogging through the lot with your keys in hand and the urgency of a man trying to stop a national emergency.
âyou forgot your keys in my apartment!â he calls out, waving them above his head like a madman. sukuna freezes. gojo keeps going.
âyou wouldâve been stuck out here all night. god, i leave you alone for five minutes and you â â
the words die in his mouth when he spots sukuna practically fuming from next to you, and satoruâs frantically waving hand immediately drops to his side, keys dangling along with the wind.
across from you, sukunaâs face contorts into multiple stages of horror in milliseconds, and youâre completely aware of how this looks. you, leaving this geekâs apartment after spending hours alone in the middle of the night.
you can practically see the image forming in his head, and something forms in his expression that 3 years of on-and-off makes pretty hard to miss: pure, unadulterated jealousy.
his eyes move from you, to satoru, to the keys in his hand, then the apartment complexes behind him, before a realization crashes into you with the force of a bullet train:
the perfect fake-boyfriend has been existing right under your nose for all this time, in the form of nerdy satoru gojo and his complete and utter inability to realize the kind of damage he causes.
âyou forgot these,â satoru says weakly, like thatâll fix this utter mess.
synopsis. after one breakup after another with your toxic boyfriend sukuna, you decide youâre done playing his games. enter gojo satoru, the sexy nerd from your physics class whoâs more than glad to help you make your ex jealous . . . in exchange for some intimacy advice.
pairing. nerd!jo x popular!reader
tags. university au, rom-com, fluff, enemies to (reluctant) friends to lovers, fake dating, teaching intimacy trope, they donât play abt each other, suggestive themes, violence, profanity, major character development, frat!kuna as readerâs ex, smut in the following chapters, plug!choso and philosophy major!nanami have cameos in this LOL
wc. 8.7k
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header art by nekozuu_ on x and ig!
SCIENCE SAYS THAT the average force behind a bitch slap ranges from anywhere between 200 to 400 newtons. considering factors like the victimâs stance, your point of impact, and good olâ friction, it should take about 600 to 1000+ newtons to fell a braced target.
you knocked over ryomen sukuna with less â with a fresh set of hot pink acrylics to boot.Â
âi canât believe you,â you heave, your perfectly manicured hand stinging where itâd made contact with your boyfriendâs smug face just moments ago. âyou â you lying, cheating, whore!â
âma,â he groans, rubbing at his reddened cheek with one hand and clawing at his desk for support with the other. âlet me explain ââ
âoh, yeah!?â you yell, shoving past your pleading boyfriend to stomp over to his bedside, where some other girlâs lacy teal bra lay hanging from the tableâs edge. you can practically feel him wince when you grab at it, dangling it in front of his face. âthis a gift for your mom, then?â
âwell ââ
âweâre done, asshole,â you spit, glaring down at the pathetic mass youâd called your man and whipping around to fish your phone from your mini purse. with a few sharp clicks on the number pad, you almost get done punching down your homegirlâs number with every intention for her to come pick you up until â
âcalm down, woman,â sukuna grumbles defeatedly. those beefy, tattooed arms slowly come to wrap around you from behind as he buries his face in your neck, taking in your sweet perfume. âya know she ainât mean shit âta me. not like you do.â
and admittedly, you almost give in. almost. you pause for a moment too long before rolling your eyes and shrugging him off of you.
âdonât care,â you scoff, turning your head and quickly running your fingers through where your bum of a boyfriend had ruined your hair beforehand. âi want your shit out of my house and the spare key back under the plant by tonight.â
âoh, yeah?â he frowns, ruffling his pink locks and crossing his arms in exasperation. youâve already packed your things and are halfway through stomping out his bedroom door when he says something that makes you stop in your tracks.
âyouâll be back,â sukuna mutters viciously, glaring holes into your back as you practically tremble with rage. âwe always come back.â
â. . . go fuck yourself, âkuna,â you grumble, sending your pink-haired ex one last glare over your shoulder from where he sits atop his mattress half-naked. âor that bitch. see if it matters to me.â
the last thing you see before shutting the door in his face is the way his facial expressions contort from cocky to indifferent to absolutely outraged as you whizz out of his musty dorm, and hopefully, out of sukunaâs life for good.
âweâre fucking soulmates!â he yells from where youâve abandoned him, the sound muffled from where his ass sits pathetically glued in place. âweâll get back together, youâll see!â
youâd seriously rather die.
.
.
.
not to be dramatic or anything, but by the second week of your very real, very permanent separation from sukuna, youâve come to realize youâd seriously rather die than be apart for any longer.
and when you tell becky that, all solemn expressions and teary regret, you swear she comes this close to smacking you in the head for all of the campus cafe to see.
âare you fucking ââ your best friend groans, damn near throwing down her plastic fork into her rather pathetic-looking bowl of caesar salad and stopping herself when a few wandering eyes turn to look. âare you serious?â
you let your head fall into your hands and groan. hard.
as if finding some other girlâs trashy bra by your boyfriendâs bedside table when you came by to surprise him for your anniversary wasnât punishment enough, the two, grueling weeks where youâve been forced (read: by no one but yourself) into no-contact have been some of the worst in your life. as for ryomen, he simply proceeds as usual, hanging out at the quad with his frat friends and guzzling alcohol at ragers whenever his schedule allows it.
when you close your eyes, you can almost imagine it: him seeing other girls. touching them. fucking them. you swear you could hurl by subjecting your poor, poor imagination to any more of this nonsense.
âugh, i feel like i need to be sedated, or something,â you mumble, getting up from your pool of misery to rub at your temples. âi feel like shit.â
âuh, hello?â becky scoffs, waving her hands around exasperatedly like youâve gone mad and all she wants is to resuscitate you. âare you forgetting who you are? you run this school. anybody who matters in this place has to be seen with you.â
âyouâre right,â you sniff. âi should move on.â
âthank you,â your friend groans, picking up her trashed cutlery to go on to finish her first meal of the day in peace. âfinally, bitch. i was starting to think you were ââ
â â but can i just say one thing!?â you cut in crazedly, and you swear poor, goodhearted becky is halfway through the process of imploding. âwe were together for 3 years, becky. that stuff doesnât just go away!â
âyeah, 3 years on and off,â she says, repeatedly snapping her perfectly manicured fingers in your face like itâll wake you up from your sukuna-induced trance. it doesnât, and it takes every little bit of her self-control not to reach over the table and strangle you. âyou know what you need?â
â. . . no?â
âyou need to catch a dick.â
âbeck!â you gasp, and your friend only doubles down in obnoxious laughter when you glare daggers at her for even suggesting such a travesty.
in fact, your stomach practically twists at the thought of being with someone else so soon. your impeccable figure and devilishly good looks aside, youâve never been with someone â well, other than sukuna himself â during one of your breaks. doing that would just make it feel real, and your little break being real would mean that you and him are over.
forever.
though, werenât you practically over already?
for two long, grueling weeks, sukuna hasnât even done so much as text you to see if you were doing okay. in fact, the only times you do see him are when heâs slacking off in your classes or fucking with other women at parties. not that he wasnât doing that already while you were in a relationship.
but you wonder, albeit a little aimlessly, if heâd said you were soulmates that day in his dorm because he truly believed it â or if he was just sure that youâd come back to him after each and every fuck-up.
like some dog he could call over with the right treats.
as if a lightbulb has gone off in your head, you stand up so fast your chair screeches from behind you. your best friend looks just about at a loss for words when you lean over the cafeteria table and squeeze the life out of her.
âbeck, i could kiss you right now!â
âoh, girl . . . please donât.â
if sukuna thought he could make you surrender with promises of soul-bonding and a little calculated indifference, he was dead wrong.
after all, youâve figured out the perfect solution to make him come to you instead â and all it would take was a few flirty phone calls and some expert persuasion. hell, you practically have to keep yourself from squealing out loud as you walk out of the cafeteria, heels clicking and your tiny purse swinging at your side.
and so, your plan commences.
you try nanami first, leaning over the counter of the milkshake place near campus that your band of loyal followers very kindly took the liberty of bringing to your attention as his new workplace.
âhi, kento,â you coo, fluttering your false lashes at him like a wicked woman with an even worse agenda. âyou work here now? cute!â
between the whirr of the blenders in the background and the aggressively bright and cheery neon lighting from overhead, nanami kento still manages to look ridiculously fine. he looks up from the register with the look of a man who is moments away from walking into traffic, all broad-shoulders and brooding stares that make your ears flush pink.
and in his own, mature and absurdly-sexy way, a philosophy major. if he werenât wearing that tight white apron and little paper hat atop his head, youâd consider leaning over to give him the time of his life right here and now.
âi . . . uh,â you start, leaning further over the counter. your cleavage damn near fights for its life against the neckline of your baby pink top, and you have to keep yourself from smiling when his eyes flicker downwards, then back to your own. âlike your get-up?â
nanami only blinks. âcan i help you?â
âsure you can!â you purr sweetly, twirling a lock of your hair around a fresh acrylic nail. âtake me out this friday night?â
checkmate, you think, and youâre already halfway through mentally envisioning the outfit youâre going to pick out when nanami ultimately decides to take you out on a romantic â
âno thanks,â nanami grunts, reaching over to grab for the little âemployee sanitation guidelinesâ card from behind the registrar and placing it smack in the middle of the counter for all to see. âi donât do rebound relationships.â
your jaw practically drops, and itâs almost impressive how fast you go from wanting to fuck this man to wanting to kill him in one sitting.
âexcuse me?â you gape, practically fuming from the ears at the thought of even the homely, school-centered nanami kento knowing about your disaster of a breakup with your deadbeat boyfriend.
the corner of his mouth twitches like heâs fighting an amused smile, and annoyingly enough, it kind of suits him. he simply reaches over the counter to pat your steaming head with enough concern to slightly dampen the flames of your fury before turning to pin an order slip by the kitchen window.
âcall me when you have no intentions of seeing him anymore.â
you glare at him hard. âoffer rewoked.â
âitâs revoked, doll.â
you decide, right then and there, that nanami kento and his beefy biceps and low-hanging glasses arenât worth all this trouble anyway. hell, youâd even flashed him your best smile! the kind that made professors forgive your patchy attendance and made sukuna fold in 30 seconds flat. did that mean nothing to him?
with a huff and a sharp turn on your heel, youâre on your way to your next destination: the shadiest corner in the parking lots behind the apartment complexes.
you decide youâll try choso next, partly because heâd been a recurring fling of yours in freshman year and partly because itâs easy to score a meeting with him due to his â well â occupation.
you suppose thatâs how you ended up in the passenger seat of his tinted black car under the false pretense of a drug deal, as choso kamo blinks at you slowly from behind the wheel.
âyouâre here to buy weed,â he says cautiously, but youâre far too busy sizing up his transportation to pay him much attention.
âuh-huh,â you say mindlessly, running your fingers across the hood of his car. itâs got that fresh new car smell despite being over 3 years old, and youâre frankly pleased that sweet, sensitive choso hasnât traded his natural hygienic nature to whatever body spray-scented madness your ex has going on in his own ride.
but as much as youâd like to be sitting pretty in the passenger seat of that musty old car again, desperate times call for desperate measures. and choso â dark-eyed, mysterious, and tattooed choso is exactly the type of man that would drive sukuna insane.
and honestly, you get the hype! if anything, thatâs exactly why youâd been spread out in the backseat of this very car every monday, wednesday, and friday night in freshman year before youâd inevitably been snatched up by your ex.
âbut. . .â choso starts. âyou donât even smoke.â
the senior carefully eyes you from beneath those messy black locks tied up into two space buns, tattooed fingers coming down to tap at the wheel in anticipation. itâs obvious you still make him a little nervous, and you have to keep yourself from smiling when it hits you that you have the campus plug wrapped around your pretty little finger after all this time.
you are so getting it this time.
âhmm, you caught me,â you murmur softly, leaning over the center console until your perfume fills the space between you. âsue a girl for wanting an excuse to see you again, cho.â
choso visibly stiffens in his seat, looking waayyy too flustered for a man in the middle of a deal. âare you flirting with me?â
âi just think,â you continue slyly, dragging a nail across the armrest of one of his leather seats. âthat a guy as cute as you should take me out for real this time.â
bingo. you brace yourself for the nastiest makeout session of your life when he subconsciously starts leaning closer, cheeks red and eyes trained solely on your lips before â
âi canât.â
âwhat?â you screech, and the deafening sound of your fury makes the boy wince. âwhy?!â
âbecause,â he tries to reason with you, burying his tattooed face in his palms and groaning as if turning you down pains him just as much. âyour ex buys from me.â
you gasp, blinking at him in utter disbelief as he awkwardly begins to rub at his neck like a teenager fresh out of high school. âheâs like one of my best customers . . . iâm sorry.â
âoh my god, cho,â you sputter, collapsing against the passenger seat as he looks over at you with poorly concealed pity. âyou supply my ex with weed?â
âto be fair, he mostly buys edibles.â
ânot helping!â you snarl, opening the passenger seat and promptly stepping out into the cold air. any weather, you suppose, would be easier than being subject to more of this humiliation. âugh, have a good night.â
âwait,â choso says suddenly, and you stop in your tracks just before you can slam the door shut in his face.
âdo you still want the weed?â
âno!â
.
.
.
never, in your 20 fabulous years of life, did you ever expect to lose to emotional intelligence and criminal commitment to customer loyalty.
youâre campus royalty, for goodnessâ sake! being turned down by men shouldâve remained something unheard of in your limited dictionary, and yet here you are, dragging your heels across pavement after one rejection after the other.
had the men on this campus developed an immunity to your charm overnight? or worse yet, had you somehow lost it in those three years youâd been tied to sukuna? you practically shiver thinking about it, furiously fishing your phone from your purse to text becky.
you
THIS CAMPUS IS SICK!!!!!!!!
you
THE DRUG DEALER REJECTED ME
when you pocket your phone and find it in yourself to look up, the sky overhead has long since faded into deep shades of indigo, and you find that not even the cool breeze is enough to cure the hurt of humiliation that still swirls in your chest.
and even worse? youâre late to physics.
you donât know why a fashion merchandising major would even need to take physics in the first place, but you drag your feet towards your sweaty lecture anyway. youâd caught something about general-ed requirements and a bunch of other bureaucratic crap before you tuned out your incredibly unhelpful academic advisor halfway through his pointless rambling.
you decide not to skip anyway, for fear of your terrible prof and a sinking feeling youâd try for toji fushiguro next. and if youâre being completely honest, the thought of cozying up to the hot, recently single, phys-ed major while heâs got little megumi at home is enough to make the hairs on your neck stand up a second time.
a step-child is not a commitment youâre ready to make â fake girlfriend or otherwise.
still, thatâs not to say you donât believe whoever invented evening lectures deserves jail time.
by the time you push open the heavy doors to your lecture hall, youâre already 30 minutes late, wildly irritated, and running completely out of spite.
ânice of you to join us, l/n,â your professor huffs, sending you a glare over his shoulder as a few students deviate attention from their notes to snicker quietly.
âsorry, mister!â you chirp sweetly, flashing him your prettiest smile and straightening up to toss your hair and scan the hall for an available seat.
unfortunately for you, physics majors are horrifyingly punctual. they fill up every nook and cranny of the place, and when your eyes finally land on one, singular seat by the very back row, you have to bite your tongue to suppress a groan. of fucking course.
you begin the humiliating trek to the back anyway, looking around for any halfway-decent men to distract yourself with in the meantime. and to nobodyâs luck, they get worse and worse the deeper into the room you get.
too lanky. too sweaty. one briefly catches your eye, and you briefly consider hitting him up after class before he sneezes directly into his hand, and you think mm, better not. your gaze continually sweeps the nerds that fill the room before they finally land on the occupant of the seat next to your empty one.
you pause, blinking hard like itâll make the sight before you any less real.
how tall is this guy? you frown, shuffling into your seat and hardly even bothering to pull out a notebook as you rake over him from head to toe. heâs 190cm, at the very least.
and that hair. is it natural? dyed? where have you seen this guy before? you can barely keep from pumping your fist when you realize heâs too busy to notice you oggling, scribbling equations across a notebook already overflowing with messy handwriting and post-it notes.
heck, you even begin to think he might be halfway decent if it werenât for the suffocating scent of nerd and those thick-framed glasses sitting atop his nose before you pinch yourself for even having the thought in the first place. it makes you shake your head violently, not at all minding if you look like a madwoman.
suddenly feeling faint, you obnoxiously rustle through your purse for a stick of gum without minding the stares you receive for noisily going through your everyday items like a raccoon. whatever. youâd find the perfect scapegoat to make sukuna come crawling back to you in the span of a little less than a week, and your sleazy ex could come kiss your big, hairy â
âl/n and gojo satoru,â your professorâs voice cuts through the room, and your head snaps up the moment your name is called. you look around to see if anyone else had caught what the old croak had been saying prior, but your nerdy classmates all seem to have their heads buried in their notes.
âhey,â you whisper, lightly nudging your seatmateâs ankle with a polished heel. âwhatâd the old guy say?â
your seatmate finally stops writing. and when he looks up at you from beneath those long, white lashes, youâd almost forgotten what you were trying to ask him in the first place. when he sighs and sets his pencil down, youâre far too entranced by the magnificent blue that sits behind his eyes to care.
theyâre electric. sharp. like somebody had stolen them out of an anime and magicked them into the body of an exhausted physics major.
âthe professor,â he says slowly, like heâs speaking to someone whoâs mildly concussed. âwas assigning partners for the paper due tomorrow?â
and oh, he knows you. every living soul on campus knows your name.Â
even if gojo had somehow managed to successfully evade the endless stream of gossip that flows throughout your university, heâd still recognize you on sight. itâd be impossible not to. pretty girls with perfect hair and a talent for commanding a room are usually hard to miss.
unfortunately, your reputation doesnât really stop there.
heâs heard more stories than he can count about your infamous relationship with ryomen sukuna. the breakups. the makeups. the screaming matches outside the frat house and the dramatic reconciliations that always seem to occur when everybody has begun to accept that youâre over for good.
and to be frank, heâs never understood it. not your popularity, and definitely not your very public relationship. not when someone whoâs clearly capable of having whoever she pleases chooses the guy who treats commitment like a summer job.
unfortunately, none of that is going to change the fact that heâs been forced into writing a physics paper with you.Â
âtomorrow?!â you yelp, immediately bowing your head to apologize when multiple heads come to turn to the source of the noise. â. . . and whoâs gojo?â
âthat would be me.â
oh.
so thatâs where youâd seen him before.
you lean back in your chair to assess him with squinted eyes, rubbing your chin in a manner that makes your seatmate wonder if heâs somehow landed in a bad detective movie. âyou related to toru from sigma chi, or do you just have a secret double life?â
if the way gojoâs lips purse into a thin line is anything to go by, your joke didnât exactly land.
âheâs my twin,â he explains frankly. and when he impatiently drums his fingers on the table like heâs got somewhere more important to be, youâre finally smacked in the face with what should have been apparent before:
he doesnât like you very much.
but can you blame him, really, when youâd just been ruthlessly assessing the value of all his male classmates five minutes prior? if your senses are anything to go by, this gojo person is a lot more perceptive than his meathead brother.
not that you could care less about a grumpy nerd and his freaky sense of perception. you came here with one mission, and one mission only â to get your attendance signed for this stupid lecture. paper be damned; youâll get to that when you manage to find the perfect temporary boyfriend whose only purpose is to get you back with your real boyfriend.
unfortunately, your professor seems determined to ruin your day even further.
âbefore anyone leaves,â he pipes up as students begin packing their things. âwork must be split evenly between two partners. pairs who do not follow the fifty-fifty contribution rule will automatically be given failing marks.â
immediately, you find yourself sitting straighter.
âpeer reviews will also be considered.â your professor finishes. students begin to filter out of the lecture hall as quickly as they came, and you only break out of your shock-induced trance when gojo begins to stir beside you.
next to you, gojo simply gathers his notes into a clear folder as you stare at him in utter disbelief. because seriously, who even uses folders?
âso,â you clear your throat, refusing to falter when he looks over at you with those horrifyingly pretty eyes. you flash him the most genuine smile you can muster, but the man is unmoved. âyou wonât let me down during that peer review, wonât you?â
gojo narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, and it almost makes you regret asking.
âas long as you do exactly fifty percent of it, sure.â
âlisten â iâve kinda got this thing tonight.â you rub your neck, but the disgustingly handsome freak your professor did you the disservice of pairing you with is as clueless as ever.
âso do i,â he shrugs, neatly placing the rest of his things into his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.
you frown. âdoing what?â
âhomework.â
your face immediately falls, but you somehow manage to conceal the soul-crushing urge to laugh when he looks at you like heâs confused you had a reaction to his very real, very pressing plans he needs to get to. tonight.
looks like you have no other choice.
âfine, but iâm driving.â you pinch your nose bridge with one hand and shovel your minimal belongings into your purse with the other. âwhere do we work on this thing?â
âthe library?â
âuh, ew.â
âa cafe?â
âtoo many people.â
âthe student center, then?â
âdouble ew,â you cross your arms, glaring up at your exasperated new partner as he glowers right back at you with the heat of a thousand suns.
the white-haired man groans, rubbing at his cheek with one hand. âwhat about your apartment?â
the suggestion leaves his mouth casually enough, but itâs almost like this gojo person has struck you in the face from the way your heart drops to your stomach. absolutely not. not when sukuna still hasnât hauled his things out of your apartment after you told him to do it weeks ago.
he could barge in at any moment, and youâd seriously rather not take the time out of your day explaining to him why thereâs a geek sitting pretty in your apartment.
you look away, arms still crossed. and you so hate the way gojo is sizing you up right now, trying to figure out why exactly your face dropped. âcanât. iâve got rats.â
âuh-huh,â he squints, and youâre both completely oblivious of the way the lecture hall has completely fizzled out of people aside from the two of you right now. âwhere do you live again?â
â. . . the luxury apartments on oak street?â
when your partner blinks at you, you blurt out the first thing on the tip of your tongue to save you from your own stupid lie. âtheyâre very aggressive rats. big and mean.â
the corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a ghost of a smile for the first time tonight, just enough to annoy you enough to glare down at your feet in the hopes he wonât call out our lame fib.
âright, my place then.â
you look up, and gojo mentally notes that thatâs the fastest heâs ever seen you move â in class and on campus. from the way you immediately recoil, he guesses youâre not very fond of that suggestion either.
he sighs, already halfway through pitching his next venue idea to you when you cut him off with an urgency that leaves even him uneasy.
âalright,â you say quietly, and the man has to refrain from rubbing his ears to see if heâd just heard you correctly.
âwha- are you serious?â
âwhat, do you not want to do it in your apartment?â you look up to glare at him through your lashes, and the tips of his ears burn red from your poor choice of wording. satoru has to give himself a few seconds to recalibrate before he even thinks about responding.
did you really have to say it like that?
âitâs just . . . you didnât like any of the other places i said.â
you blink, and for the first time since youâve been granted the displeasure of this manâs company, you turn to really look at him.
not glance, look. and somehow, the image of gojo satoru is a little less intimidating up close.
sure, heâs just about as tall as a doorframe, but without the harsh lights of the lecture hall turning him into some kind of academic cryptid, the shadows that grace his features now just make him look like a tired college student. his white hair sticks out in every direction imaginable, and his navy sweater hangs three sizes too loose over his body like he hadnât even bothered to check the tag before he paid for it.
plus, his glasses are crooked. not very noticeably so, but they hang dangerously low on his nose. so much so, that they force him to push them back up every few minutes.
heâs nothing like toru, who dresses like heâs godâs gift to women. and honestly? itâs kind of pathetic. a little cute, even, and you immediately shudder at the thought.
âwhat now?â satoru frowns, and itâs only then that you realize youâve been staring.
ânothing,â you blurt out, and gojo starts to look a little suspicious.
and through all of it, this guy stood there like a man who was just trying to finish his damn paper â and make his partner feel a little more comfortable throughout the process.
gross, you think self-awareness might be your least favorite motion.
âi just think your apartmentâs fine,â you mutter, unable to meet his eyes all of a sudden. gojo blinks once, then twice, like heâs waiting for the punchline for a bad joke.
it never comes.
âalright,â he says, honestly a little stunned youâd given in so easily. and to his apartment, of all places. did someone hit you in the head prior to this? your differences aside, he sure hopes not.
and thatâs it. no sly smiles, no teasing, and definitely no celebrating victories. your white-haired partner simply exists in the same space, clearly relieved you stopped trying to put up a fight.
you donât know why that irritates you so, but you haul ass and drag your purse over your shoulder anyway. after all, you have a paper to finish.
outside, campus has fallen into its usual evening rhythm.
the streetlamps illuminate the darkness, casting golden splotches of light onto the streets and across the sidewalks. the students have lessened by this time, traveling between buildings in little groups as they laugh and carry on with their takeout containers.
obnoxious music blares through one of the boyâs dorm windows, and off in the distance, you spy a couple talking and laughing on a bench.
you donât know why your stomach twists at the sight.
you shove your hands into your pocket, and beside you, satoru is enveloped in a strange kind of silence that neither of you really know how to get past. like neither of you really expected to spend your evening together.
when you reach your vehicle that youâd conveniently parked in the farthest corner of your building, your new nerd friend suddenly slows next to you.
âhey, whatâs ââ
âshoko?â he blinks, and you stop in your tracks.
his gaze is trained onto something like itâs grabbed him and refuses to let go, and when you follow his eyes, you begin to understand why.
only 5 feet away, shoko ieiri is stepping off her motorbike beneath one of the flickering street lamps. sheâs dressed in black scrubs and an oversized jacket, dark circles gracing her features in a way that makes the woman even prettier, somehow.
which is unfair, really.
âsatoru,â she calls out, tucking her bike helmet under her arm and flashing you two a lazy smile. âis that you?â
and oh, you know this girl. everyone does. shoko ieiri is only 20 and has somehow managed to become a full-time medical student and part-time campus legend.
youâve heard enough stories about this lady to write her a biography, for goodnessâ sake. rumor has it is that she scored ninety-seventh percentile on the mcat while absurdly hungover.
sheâs brilliant, beautiful, and weirdly enough â
friends with gojo satoru.
the same kid whoâs wearing a sweater that could house a family of four and whose glasses have almost slipped right off his nose for the tenth time tonight. and when you spot his ears go red from the corner of your eye, you have to keep yourself from grinning.
interesting.
âoh? whoâs your friend?â she asks kindly, a smile slowly creeping onto her face when she rakes her eyes over the way you fall into step beside one another.
the reaction is immediate.
âweâre not ââ
âno.â you huff, the two of you speaking at the same time. shoko raises an amused brow, and you only smile at her sweetly. gojo on the other hand, looks like heâs about to combust.
âweâre partners,â you say simply, shifting your weight from one foot to another in an attempt to fend off the cold.
â. . . for physics,â the white-haired boy adds, but to no avail. shokoâs infuriatingly beautiful smile only grows wider and more suspicious of you two by the second, and your eyes continue to flick between the two of them like youâve been personally tasked to assess the situation.
because if you know anything at all â itâs love.
and from the way gojo satoru fiddles with his fingers and looks down at his feet, heâs got it pretty damn bad.
oh, you could bark out a laugh right here and now.
âwell, good luck with that,â she grins, and before gojo can stop her to say sheâs got it all wrong, sheâs off like a woman on a mission. âiâll get going now. these readings wonât complete themselves.â
âuh, bye â !â
âbye honey,â you chime in after your rather pathetic excuse of an assignment partner, and she shoots you a salute you before sheâs off, probably in the direction of the library.
you bet gojo is pretty damn grateful you insisted on his apartment right about now.
the moment shoko turns the corner and is completely out of sight, you turn around to look at him accusingly.
âyou have the hots for shoko ieiri.â
âno i donât,â he retorts, wincing when you bark out a mean laugh and fiddle with your keys to unlock your car. the moment the vehicle clicks and the headlights whirr to life, heâs immediately sliding into the passenger seat like itâll save him from any more of your humiliation.
it doesnât.
âi dunno,â you tease, opening up the door to the driverâs seat and sliding inside. âthat response was pretty fuckinâ quick.â
âi donât have âthe hotsâ for her,â gojo starts. he grabs at his seatbelt, pressing down until he hears a click before heâs fiddling with his fingers again. âi have a completely normal amount of respectable feelings for her.â
you double down in laughter, pulling out of the parking lot as your newfound friend seethes in the seat beside you. âshe is so out of your league, nerd.â
âyeah, yeah,â he mutters, and you hate yourself for wanting to coo at the pout you can hear in his voice.
maybe your breakup with sukuna really had messed you up, because youâre not quite sure where in between your rocky relationship with a frat boy your brain decided to be attracted to pathetic, loser men.
âif it makes you feel better, i think she might be into you too.â you glance over your shoulder to smile at him, and for the first time tonight, itâs completely genuine.
â. . . you think so?â
âi know this stuff,â you say as a matter-of-factly, and gojo turns to look at you with an indescribable twinkle in his eyes that he quite obviously tries very hard to hide. âtrust me.â
you glance to the side, and the look on his face is enough to make your stomach churn. because for one, glorious second, satoru forgets to be suspicious of you.
he doesnât glare, or squint, or retort â he only looks hopeful. in that disgustingly sincere, gojo satoru way. so much so, that you nearly regret opening your mouth lest you give him false hope.
which is unusual, because youâve known this man for exactly two hours and thirty five minutes, and spent ninety percent of that time warring over this stupid paper your professor wants on his desk by tomorrow morning.
you snap your eyes back onto the road. focus.
the conversation fizzles out naturally after that, and the radio begins to buzz louder than your words once did. streetlights flash past your tinted windows in consistent intervals, and somewhere along the way, gojo stops fiddling with his fingers and sinks deeper into his seat.
neither of you say anything for a long time. and somehow, you donât seem to mind it.
maybe because youâre tired. or maybe â maybe because youâre not quite used to men that donât demand everything from you at any given moment.
satoru simply exists beside you, like any other stranger at university would. deep down, you find that you quite like that.
you sneak a glance sideways, and gojo is staring out the window. and before you can even begin to stop yourself, your mouth is running.
âsorry for being a dick earlier,â you murmur, shrinking under the weight of his gaze when he shifts in his seat to look at you.
âwhat for?â he blinks, and your heart twinges in your chest. gojo might be a little clueless, but that doesnât mean heâs not deserving of a proper apology. for fear of chickening out under the weight of your pride, you will yourself to speak.
âyou know, our choice of venue?â you wince, clearly a little embarrassed by the way youâd been acting. satoruâs mouth forms into an o as a way of telling you he understands.
âiâve been dealing with some things,â you continue, letting out a deep exhale you were unaware youâd been holding in. âbut i shouldnât have let it out on you the way i did. iâm sorry.â
for one, agonizing moment, gojo doesnât answer.
outside, the city hums with a fervor you can only really get in the heart of a college town. tires roll on the asphalt outside, distant music blares from dorm windows, and students wander like they havenât got responsibilities they need to tend to at sunrise.
then, he shrugs. âitâs okay.â
your eyes narrow when you sneak another glance at him. his attention has drifted back over to the window, but thereâs something about his breathing and the way his shoulders relax that tells you thereâs something softer about him now. less guarded.
âno itâs not, thatâs literally the worst response to an apology iâve ever heard.â
âwhat?â he frowns, looking over to where you irritably tap your fingers against the leather wheel. âwhat was i supposed to say?â
âi dunno,â you groan, gripping the steering wheel tighter in an attempt to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. âsomething that makes me feel a little less guilty?â
gojo snorts. âyou feel guilty?â
you sigh, and you think you wouldâve hid your head in your hands by now if they werenât already occupied. âdonât make it weird.â
âiâm not,â he says quickly, and you glance over. âiâm just surprised.â
âwhyâs that?â you hum, and the sound of the car motor fills the brief silence that follows. in his seat, satoru is staring at the passing streetlights like theyâve miraculously become more interesting than your conversation.
âi thought people like you didnât apologize,â he says absentmindedly.
âpeople like me?â âyou know, popular people.â
youâre unable to find it in you to hold back a genuine fit of laughter, and the sound vibrates in the stunned manâs ears like a blessing. not that heâd ever admit that.
âthatâs the dumbest thing iâve ever heard you say,â you wheeze, one hand coming up to wipe a stray tear from your eye before returning to the wheel.
gojo, on the other hand, looks deeply offended. âi donât say dumb things. i thought you were apologizing?â
âi was, then you decided to go say something dumb.â you roll your eyes through a fit of giggles, and in his seat, you swear you catch a glimpse of your partner trying to conceal the ghost of a smile.
âso much for being sorry.â
.
.
.
the second satoru opens the door to his apartment complex, you come to realize two things:
the first being that if the freakish orderliness of his living space is anything to go by, he most definitely lives alone.
the second, and most glaring, for reasons that are currently attacking your eyeline, is that heâs an even bigger nerd than you had ever imagined.
âare you kidding me?â you frown, running your fingers along the edges of his bookshelves where satoruâs numerous lego sets, a curated collection of astronomy magazines, and dusty academic journals reside.
âwhat?â he frowns. he shuffles on his feet from behind you, clearly a little nervous youâve decided to size up his apartment â not that you care. itâs just . . .
was gojo satoru always this big of a geek?
by the tv, a framed photograph from a science competition you donât bother looking close enough to identify gleams like a trophy. on the other end of the table, his rubikâs cube collection is stacked on top of one another from the largest cube to the smallest in a colorful array.
when you picture gojo hunched over, legs crossed on the fluffy carpet, tinkering with one of these things to see how fast he can solve it, you almost crack a smile.
almost.
ânothing, i just didnât know you were such a damn nerd.â
clearly unimpressed, your white-haired partner rolls his eyes but shuffles around the place to find seat cushions for the two of you anyway.
when he pulls two cushions out from god knows where and lays them out onto the carpet, he plops down and looks up at you expectantly.
âsit.â he hums, and when you double back on satoru to call him a, quote, bossy nerd, your bickering comes alive once more.
and surprisingly enough, work gets done.
not a lot of work, but just around the right amount to get this bullcrap done by sunrise. you think it might be because the state of satoruâs apartment far surpasses your own â all warm lighting and vacuumed hardwood as opposed to your own dingy place, strewn with your exâs forgotten sweaters and littered with shoes youâd forgotten to put back in the cubby.
his place feels comfortable. lived in. like the home of somebody whoâs got their shit together and not some heartbroken college girl whoâs been broken up with by the same guy for the nth time.
that, or satoru gojo is just a damn good project partner. every time you get stuck on a problem, heâs right next to you and explaining it in a way that doesnât make you feel stupid. when he goes off on one of his overcomplicated tangents, you reel him back in before he disappears into the nerd dimension.
not that he wasnât already swimming in it before.
the point is, youâre annoyingly functional, and time seems to go by faster the more you and satoru manage to get done. at one point in the night, you stretch your shoulders and yawn with a volume that shouldâve been loud enough to make him look.
it doesnât.
your eyes drift over to where heâs typing on his laptop instead, and satoru is exactly the same as usual: annoyingly focused, hopelessly nerdy, and completely oblivious to your staring.
you nudge him with your foot. âhey.â
âhmm?â he replies absentmindedly, typing away as youâre graciously giving him your full attention.
you nudge him again, harder this time, and itâs enough to make him stop working on the paper and glare up at you.
âwhat?â he says, and itâs accompanied by a sigh so loud that you have to keep yourself from laughing.
âsay,â you start, leaning back on your elbows and pretending not to notice when his eyes flicker to your nearly-exposed chest, then back to you. âarenât you gonna do something about your little crush?â
youâre not quite sure what the beautiful, enigmatic shoko ieiri has done to this boy, but the effect on him is almost immediate. his fingers stop mid-way through typing a sentence, and he stares at his screen like itâll give him the answer if he looks hard enough.
then, he types over the silence as if youâd never said anything at all. nothing of importance, at least.
ânothing,â satoru answers, eyes flickering left and right on his laptop screen significantly faster than they were before. âsheâs been a friend of mine since high school. these things pass.â
you scoff. âiâve known sukuna since high school, and everyone knows how that ended.â
âyouâre comparing a hallway crush to your toxic situation with your boyfriend,â he quips, and the bastard doesnât even look up as you fume at the mention of sukuna.
âex-boyfriend,â you correct him immediately. gojo shrugs.
âtomato, tom-ah-to.â
ignoring another one of his smart ass responses that you, quite frankly, donât even understand, you push at him harder. âwhatever, loser, you and i both know thatâs not an excuse.â
this time, itâs satoruâs turn to groan exasperatedly, leaning back against the couch and staring at the ceiling like it holds all the secrets of the world. one beat passes, then another, and you almost gear yourself up to make another stretch and get back to work when he speaks again.
â. . . sheâs experienced. iâm not.â
you raise your brows. âexperienced?â
the rather pathetic physics major raises his head to glower right at you, blinking up at him, and genuinely confused.
âyou know what i mean,â he sighs, running a hand down his face when you stare at him from across the floor table like heâs gone mad.
âno,â you say, awkwardly rubbing at your neck. âi donât.â
a groan slips past his lips as he throws his head back against the couch cushions, the movement ruffling up his already messed-up hair. for one glorious second, he looks less like the put-together mystery from your physics lecture and more like a man whoâs been pushed to the limit by one annoying classmate.
unfortunately for him, youâre having the time of your life.
the apartment falls silent for a moment, and suddenly, everything begins to click into place. the awkwardness. the red ears. the lack of confidence despite looking like, well, that.
âgojo,â you start, and he knows heâs been busted when a wild grin blooms across your face. âare you a virgin?â
one beat passes, then another, and satoru blinks up at you like itâs his turn to be deeply confused.
â. . . is that supposed to be a bad thing?â
you stare at him for half a second before you break.
and honestly, your laugh comes out so suddenly that it startles even you, whoâs now begun to double down in her laughter and clutch at the carpets for dear life. across from you, gojoâs face immediately twists into something between annoyance and confusion as he watches you fold in on yourself.
âno,â you wheeze, clutching your stomach with one hand and wiping a tear from your eyes with another. âitâs not a bad thing.â
youâre not trying to be mean, because if anything, youâre impressed. the man is six-foot something of sweet cologne and a pretty damn good allowance by the looks of this apartment, not to mention his unfair genetics. if you had noticed satoru gojo sooner, you wouldâve assumed girls were throwing themselves at his feet.
âitâs just . . . you look like that, and youâre telling me you havenât done anything in twenty years?â
âtwenty-one years,â he corrects immediately, but stops himself from pursuing that argument any further when he realizes heâs not exactly helping his own case. âand not everybodyâs life revolves around dating.â
âyouâre talking like you havenât been in love with her for like, five years.â
âwho said anything about love?â he murmurs defeatedly, tearing his eyes off of you when you only laugh harder.
you narrowly miss the cushion he tosses at you, and eventually, the conversation eventually dies the death it deserves. after a few final edits to your paper, a 30-minute attempt to get satoruâs dusty old printer to spit out said project, and another heated argument, you finally convince him not to walk you to your car.
âjust go to sleep,â you blink, cocking your head as he stubbornly stays put by the door to his place, arms crossed and eyes winking off to sleep.âweâve been up all night.â
the man is exhausted, and you can see it in the way his shoulders drop and the shadows that pool beneath his pretty eyes. he stands by the door with a fiery determination like heâs not half asleep as you know it, and you nearly scoff in his face.
âitâs dark,â he murmurs, head lolling when he yawns for the nth time in the past 5 minutes. âjust let me walk you.â
âweâre in the safest part of campus,â you roll your eyes, shoving satoru back inside his apartment, where thereâs no more space to argue with you. âjust make sure that paper is on the old manâs desk by ten. gânight!â
âwait ââ
with that, youâve slammed the door in his face and his absurdly comfortable apartment forever, you hope.
and as your heels click on the pavement outside his apartment complex, youâre still smiling when you try to fish your keys from your purse. maybe itâs the relief of finally finishing the damn paper, or maybe itâs because you finally spent the last few hours thinking about something other than sukuna.
whatever it is, you carry it with you down the road to your beetle. because for whatever reason, your chest feels lighter than it has in weeks. not completely healed, not even close. just lighter, like your prick of an ex-boyfriend has finally begun to flush from your system.
that is, until you glance up and regret ever leaving the damn apartment.
because less than five feet away and conveniently parked under a flickering streetlight is the devil himself: ryomen sukuna, leaning back against his black suv as you physically recoil at the sight of him. and to make matters worse, he spots you immediately, red eyes narrowing at you like heâs seeing double.
he isnât, and it takes all of your self-control not to shrivel up under his red, hot stare.
for a moment, neither of you moves. the parking lot sits suspended in time, and you blink at each other underneath the orange glow of the streetlights and the distant sounds of nightlife. like youâre mutually suspicious.
unfortunately, life continues, and so does your ex.
âdoll?â he frowns, and youâd gag at the nickname if it didnât mean looking like a fool in front of this bastard. âwhatâre you doing here?â
your stomach drops, and you cross your arms over your chest in a poor attempt to conceal your slow-rising panic.
say something. anything.
âi was visiting my cousin,â you say quickly, and you keep yourself from wincing when his slit brows furrow in confusion. as far as sukunaâs knowledge and the truth go, you donât have any cousins.
âyour cousin . . . that iâve never heard about?â
âwell, you never asked.â you huff, glaring into the distance where youâre half-sure you parked your car. maybe if you started running now, you could . . . wait.
âi could ask you the same thing,â you continue flatly, and for the first time since spotting you, sukuna lets his gaze drift away from you and towards the apartment complex behind you.
slowly, downright cruelly, the pieces begin to fall into place.
the moving boxes. the suv. the fact that heâs standing under a streetlight at this ungodly hour.
âdonât tell me . . .â you gasp, taking a few steps back in horror when a grin blooms across your ex-boyfriendâs smug face. âyour bum ass lives here now?â
this canât be happening.
âbingo, pretty. so are you gonna tell me why youâre here at this hour or ââ
âWAIT!â a shout tears through the emptiness of the parking lot, and both of your heads snap towards the apartment entrance.
a few feet away, the doors to the building blow open so fast they practically fly off the hinges. suddenly, poor, oblivious satoru gojo is jogging through the lot with your keys in hand and the urgency of a man trying to stop a national emergency.
âyou forgot your keys in my apartment!â he calls out, waving them above his head like a madman. sukuna freezes. gojo keeps going.
âyou wouldâve been stuck out here all night. god, i leave you alone for five minutes and you â â
the words die in his mouth when he spots sukuna practically fuming from next to you, and satoruâs frantically waving hand immediately drops to his side, keys dangling along with the wind.
across from you, sukunaâs face contorts into multiple stages of horror in milliseconds, and youâre completely aware of how this looks. you, leaving this geekâs apartment after spending hours alone in the middle of the night.
you can practically see the image forming in his head, and something forms in his expression that 3 years of on-and-off makes pretty hard to miss: pure, unadulterated jealousy.
his eyes move from you, to satoru, to the keys in his hand, then the apartment complexes behind him, before a realization crashes into you with the force of a bullet train:
the perfect fake-boyfriend has been existing right under your nose for all this time, in the form of nerdy satoru gojo and his complete and utter inability to realize the kind of damage he causes.
âyou forgot these,â satoru says weakly, like thatâll fix this utter mess.
synopsis. after one breakup after another with your toxic boyfriend sukuna, you decide youâre done playing his games. enter gojo satoru, the sexy nerd from your physics class whoâs more than glad to help you make your ex jealous . . . in exchange for some intimacy advice.
pairing. nerd!jo x popular!reader
tags. university au, rom-com, fluff, enemies to (reluctant) friends to lovers, fake dating, teaching intimacy trope, they donât play abt each other, suggestive themes, violence, profanity, major character development, frat!kuna as readerâs ex, smut in the following chapters, plug!choso and philosophy major!nanami have cameos in this LOL
wc. 8.7k
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header art by nekozuu_ on x and ig!
SCIENCE SAYS THAT the average force behind a bitch slap ranges from anywhere between 200 to 400 newtons. considering factors like the victimâs stance, your point of impact, and good olâ friction, it should take about 600 to 1000+ newtons to fell a braced target.
you knocked over ryomen sukuna with less â with a fresh set of hot pink acrylics to boot.Â
âi canât believe you,â you heave, your perfectly manicured hand stinging where itâd made contact with your boyfriendâs smug face just moments ago. âyou â you lying, cheating, whore!â
âma,â he groans, rubbing at his reddened cheek with one hand and clawing at his desk for support with the other. âlet me explain ââ
âoh, yeah!?â you yell, shoving past your pleading boyfriend to stomp over to his bedside, where some other girlâs lacy teal bra lay hanging from the tableâs edge. you can practically feel him wince when you grab at it, dangling it in front of his face. âthis a gift for your mom, then?â
âwell ââ
âweâre done, asshole,â you spit, glaring down at the pathetic mass youâd called your man and whipping around to fish your phone from your mini purse. with a few sharp clicks on the number pad, you almost get done punching down your homegirlâs number with every intention for her to come pick you up until â
âcalm down, woman,â sukuna grumbles defeatedly. those beefy, tattooed arms slowly come to wrap around you from behind as he buries his face in your neck, taking in your sweet perfume. âya know she ainât mean shit âta me. not like you do.â
and admittedly, you almost give in. almost. you pause for a moment too long before rolling your eyes and shrugging him off of you.
âdonât care,â you scoff, turning your head and quickly running your fingers through where your bum of a boyfriend had ruined your hair beforehand. âi want your shit out of my house and the spare key back under the plant by tonight.â
âoh, yeah?â he frowns, ruffling his pink locks and crossing his arms in exasperation. youâve already packed your things and are halfway through stomping out his bedroom door when he says something that makes you stop in your tracks.
âyouâll be back,â sukuna mutters viciously, glaring holes into your back as you practically tremble with rage. âwe always come back.â
â. . . go fuck yourself, âkuna,â you grumble, sending your pink-haired ex one last glare over your shoulder from where he sits atop his mattress half-naked. âor that bitch. see if it matters to me.â
the last thing you see before shutting the door in his face is the way his facial expressions contort from cocky to indifferent to absolutely outraged as you whizz out of his musty dorm, and hopefully, out of sukunaâs life for good.
âweâre fucking soulmates!â he yells from where youâve abandoned him, the sound muffled from where his ass sits pathetically glued in place. âweâll get back together, youâll see!â
youâd seriously rather die.
.
.
.
not to be dramatic or anything, but by the second week of your very real, very permanent separation from sukuna, youâve come to realize youâd seriously rather die than be apart for any longer.
and when you tell becky that, all solemn expressions and teary regret, you swear she comes this close to smacking you in the head for all of the campus cafe to see.
âare you fucking ââ your best friend groans, damn near throwing down her plastic fork into her rather pathetic-looking bowl of caesar salad and stopping herself when a few wandering eyes turn to look. âare you serious?â
you let your head fall into your hands and groan. hard.
as if finding some other girlâs trashy bra by your boyfriendâs bedside table when you came by to surprise him for your anniversary wasnât punishment enough, the two, grueling weeks where youâve been forced (read: by no one but yourself) into no-contact have been some of the worst in your life. as for ryomen, he simply proceeds as usual, hanging out at the quad with his frat friends and guzzling alcohol at ragers whenever his schedule allows it.
when you close your eyes, you can almost imagine it: him seeing other girls. touching them. fucking them. you swear you could hurl by subjecting your poor, poor imagination to any more of this nonsense.
âugh, i feel like i need to be sedated, or something,â you mumble, getting up from your pool of misery to rub at your temples. âi feel like shit.â
âuh, hello?â becky scoffs, waving her hands around exasperatedly like youâve gone mad and all she wants is to resuscitate you. âare you forgetting who you are? you run this school. anybody who matters in this place has to be seen with you.â
âyouâre right,â you sniff. âi should move on.â
âthank you,â your friend groans, picking up her trashed cutlery to go on to finish her first meal of the day in peace. âfinally, bitch. i was starting to think you were ââ
â â but can i just say one thing!?â you cut in crazedly, and you swear poor, goodhearted becky is halfway through the process of imploding. âwe were together for 3 years, becky. that stuff doesnât just go away!â
âyeah, 3 years on and off,â she says, repeatedly snapping her perfectly manicured fingers in your face like itâll wake you up from your sukuna-induced trance. it doesnât, and it takes every little bit of her self-control not to reach over the table and strangle you. âyou know what you need?â
â. . . no?â
âyou need to catch a dick.â
âbeck!â you gasp, and your friend only doubles down in obnoxious laughter when you glare daggers at her for even suggesting such a travesty.
in fact, your stomach practically twists at the thought of being with someone else so soon. your impeccable figure and devilishly good looks aside, youâve never been with someone â well, other than sukuna himself â during one of your breaks. doing that would just make it feel real, and your little break being real would mean that you and him are over.
forever.
though, werenât you practically over already?
for two long, grueling weeks, sukuna hasnât even done so much as text you to see if you were doing okay. in fact, the only times you do see him are when heâs slacking off in your classes or fucking with other women at parties. not that he wasnât doing that already while you were in a relationship.
but you wonder, albeit a little aimlessly, if heâd said you were soulmates that day in his dorm because he truly believed it â or if he was just sure that youâd come back to him after each and every fuck-up.
like some dog he could call over with the right treats.
as if a lightbulb has gone off in your head, you stand up so fast your chair screeches from behind you. your best friend looks just about at a loss for words when you lean over the cafeteria table and squeeze the life out of her.
âbeck, i could kiss you right now!â
âoh, girl . . . please donât.â
if sukuna thought he could make you surrender with promises of soul-bonding and a little calculated indifference, he was dead wrong.
after all, youâve figured out the perfect solution to make him come to you instead â and all it would take was a few flirty phone calls and some expert persuasion. hell, you practically have to keep yourself from squealing out loud as you walk out of the cafeteria, heels clicking and your tiny purse swinging at your side.
and so, your plan commences.
you try nanami first, leaning over the counter of the milkshake place near campus that your band of loyal followers very kindly took the liberty of bringing to your attention as his new workplace.
âhi, kento,â you coo, fluttering your false lashes at him like a wicked woman with an even worse agenda. âyou work here now? cute!â
between the whirr of the blenders in the background and the aggressively bright and cheery neon lighting from overhead, nanami kento still manages to look ridiculously fine. he looks up from the register with the look of a man who is moments away from walking into traffic, all broad-shoulders and brooding stares that make your ears flush pink.
and in his own, mature and absurdly-sexy way, a philosophy major. if he werenât wearing that tight white apron and little paper hat atop his head, youâd consider leaning over to give him the time of his life right here and now.
âi . . . uh,â you start, leaning further over the counter. your cleavage damn near fights for its life against the neckline of your baby pink top, and you have to keep yourself from smiling when his eyes flicker downwards, then back to your own. âlike your get-up?â
nanami only blinks. âcan i help you?â
âsure you can!â you purr sweetly, twirling a lock of your hair around a fresh acrylic nail. âtake me out this friday night?â
checkmate, you think, and youâre already halfway through mentally envisioning the outfit youâre going to pick out when nanami ultimately decides to take you out on a romantic â
âno thanks,â nanami grunts, reaching over to grab for the little âemployee sanitation guidelinesâ card from behind the registrar and placing it smack in the middle of the counter for all to see. âi donât do rebound relationships.â
your jaw practically drops, and itâs almost impressive how fast you go from wanting to fuck this man to wanting to kill him in one sitting.
âexcuse me?â you gape, practically fuming from the ears at the thought of even the homely, school-centered nanami kento knowing about your disaster of a breakup with your deadbeat boyfriend.
the corner of his mouth twitches like heâs fighting an amused smile, and annoyingly enough, it kind of suits him. he simply reaches over the counter to pat your steaming head with enough concern to slightly dampen the flames of your fury before turning to pin an order slip by the kitchen window.
âcall me when you have no intentions of seeing him anymore.â
you glare at him hard. âoffer rewoked.â
âitâs revoked, doll.â
you decide, right then and there, that nanami kento and his beefy biceps and low-hanging glasses arenât worth all this trouble anyway. hell, youâd even flashed him your best smile! the kind that made professors forgive your patchy attendance and made sukuna fold in 30 seconds flat. did that mean nothing to him?
with a huff and a sharp turn on your heel, youâre on your way to your next destination: the shadiest corner in the parking lots behind the apartment complexes.
you decide youâll try choso next, partly because heâd been a recurring fling of yours in freshman year and partly because itâs easy to score a meeting with him due to his â well â occupation.
you suppose thatâs how you ended up in the passenger seat of his tinted black car under the false pretense of a drug deal, as choso kamo blinks at you slowly from behind the wheel.
âyouâre here to buy weed,â he says cautiously, but youâre far too busy sizing up his transportation to pay him much attention.
âuh-huh,â you say mindlessly, running your fingers across the hood of his car. itâs got that fresh new car smell despite being over 3 years old, and youâre frankly pleased that sweet, sensitive choso hasnât traded his natural hygienic nature to whatever body spray-scented madness your ex has going on in his own ride.
but as much as youâd like to be sitting pretty in the passenger seat of that musty old car again, desperate times call for desperate measures. and choso â dark-eyed, mysterious, and tattooed choso is exactly the type of man that would drive sukuna insane.
and honestly, you get the hype! if anything, thatâs exactly why youâd been spread out in the backseat of this very car every monday, wednesday, and friday night in freshman year before youâd inevitably been snatched up by your ex.
âbut. . .â choso starts. âyou donât even smoke.â
the senior carefully eyes you from beneath those messy black locks tied up into two space buns, tattooed fingers coming down to tap at the wheel in anticipation. itâs obvious you still make him a little nervous, and you have to keep yourself from smiling when it hits you that you have the campus plug wrapped around your pretty little finger after all this time.
you are so getting it this time.
âhmm, you caught me,â you murmur softly, leaning over the center console until your perfume fills the space between you. âsue a girl for wanting an excuse to see you again, cho.â
choso visibly stiffens in his seat, looking waayyy too flustered for a man in the middle of a deal. âare you flirting with me?â
âi just think,â you continue slyly, dragging a nail across the armrest of one of his leather seats. âthat a guy as cute as you should take me out for real this time.â
bingo. you brace yourself for the nastiest makeout session of your life when he subconsciously starts leaning closer, cheeks red and eyes trained solely on your lips before â
âi canât.â
âwhat?â you screech, and the deafening sound of your fury makes the boy wince. âwhy?!â
âbecause,â he tries to reason with you, burying his tattooed face in his palms and groaning as if turning you down pains him just as much. âyour ex buys from me.â
you gasp, blinking at him in utter disbelief as he awkwardly begins to rub at his neck like a teenager fresh out of high school. âheâs like one of my best customers . . . iâm sorry.â
âoh my god, cho,â you sputter, collapsing against the passenger seat as he looks over at you with poorly concealed pity. âyou supply my ex with weed?â
âto be fair, he mostly buys edibles.â
ânot helping!â you snarl, opening the passenger seat and promptly stepping out into the cold air. any weather, you suppose, would be easier than being subject to more of this humiliation. âugh, have a good night.â
âwait,â choso says suddenly, and you stop in your tracks just before you can slam the door shut in his face.
âdo you still want the weed?â
âno!â
.
.
.
never, in your 20 fabulous years of life, did you ever expect to lose to emotional intelligence and criminal commitment to customer loyalty.
youâre campus royalty, for goodnessâ sake! being turned down by men shouldâve remained something unheard of in your limited dictionary, and yet here you are, dragging your heels across pavement after one rejection after the other.
had the men on this campus developed an immunity to your charm overnight? or worse yet, had you somehow lost it in those three years youâd been tied to sukuna? you practically shiver thinking about it, furiously fishing your phone from your purse to text becky.
you
THIS CAMPUS IS SICK!!!!!!!!
you
THE DRUG DEALER REJECTED ME
when you pocket your phone and find it in yourself to look up, the sky overhead has long since faded into deep shades of indigo, and you find that not even the cool breeze is enough to cure the hurt of humiliation that still swirls in your chest.
and even worse? youâre late to physics.
you donât know why a fashion merchandising major would even need to take physics in the first place, but you drag your feet towards your sweaty lecture anyway. youâd caught something about general-ed requirements and a bunch of other bureaucratic crap before you tuned out your incredibly unhelpful academic advisor halfway through his pointless rambling.
you decide not to skip anyway, for fear of your terrible prof and a sinking feeling youâd try for toji fushiguro next. and if youâre being completely honest, the thought of cozying up to the hot, recently single, phys-ed major while heâs got little megumi at home is enough to make the hairs on your neck stand up a second time.
a step-child is not a commitment youâre ready to make â fake girlfriend or otherwise.
still, thatâs not to say you donât believe whoever invented evening lectures deserves jail time.
by the time you push open the heavy doors to your lecture hall, youâre already 30 minutes late, wildly irritated, and running completely out of spite.
ânice of you to join us, l/n,â your professor huffs, sending you a glare over his shoulder as a few students deviate attention from their notes to snicker quietly.
âsorry, mister!â you chirp sweetly, flashing him your prettiest smile and straightening up to toss your hair and scan the hall for an available seat.
unfortunately for you, physics majors are horrifyingly punctual. they fill up every nook and cranny of the place, and when your eyes finally land on one, singular seat by the very back row, you have to bite your tongue to suppress a groan. of fucking course.
you begin the humiliating trek to the back anyway, looking around for any halfway-decent men to distract yourself with in the meantime. and to nobodyâs luck, they get worse and worse the deeper into the room you get.
too lanky. too sweaty. one briefly catches your eye, and you briefly consider hitting him up after class before he sneezes directly into his hand, and you think mm, better not. your gaze continually sweeps the nerds that fill the room before they finally land on the occupant of the seat next to your empty one.
you pause, blinking hard like itâll make the sight before you any less real.
how tall is this guy? you frown, shuffling into your seat and hardly even bothering to pull out a notebook as you rake over him from head to toe. heâs 190cm, at the very least.
and that hair. is it natural? dyed? where have you seen this guy before? you can barely keep from pumping your fist when you realize heâs too busy to notice you oggling, scribbling equations across a notebook already overflowing with messy handwriting and post-it notes.
heck, you even begin to think he might be halfway decent if it werenât for the suffocating scent of nerd and those thick-framed glasses sitting atop his nose before you pinch yourself for even having the thought in the first place. it makes you shake your head violently, not at all minding if you look like a madwoman.
suddenly feeling faint, you obnoxiously rustle through your purse for a stick of gum without minding the stares you receive for noisily going through your everyday items like a raccoon. whatever. youâd find the perfect scapegoat to make sukuna come crawling back to you in the span of a little less than a week, and your sleazy ex could come kiss your big, hairy â
âl/n and gojo satoru,â your professorâs voice cuts through the room, and your head snaps up the moment your name is called. you look around to see if anyone else had caught what the old croak had been saying prior, but your nerdy classmates all seem to have their heads buried in their notes.
âhey,â you whisper, lightly nudging your seatmateâs ankle with a polished heel. âwhatâd the old guy say?â
your seatmate finally stops writing. and when he looks up at you from beneath those long, white lashes, youâd almost forgotten what you were trying to ask him in the first place. when he sighs and sets his pencil down, youâre far too entranced by the magnificent blue that sits behind his eyes to care.
theyâre electric. sharp. like somebody had stolen them out of an anime and magicked them into the body of an exhausted physics major.
âthe professor,â he says slowly, like heâs speaking to someone whoâs mildly concussed. âwas assigning partners for the paper due tomorrow?â
and oh, he knows you. every living soul on campus knows your name.Â
even if gojo had somehow managed to successfully evade the endless stream of gossip that flows throughout your university, heâd still recognize you on sight. itâd be impossible not to. pretty girls with perfect hair and a talent for commanding a room are usually hard to miss.
unfortunately, your reputation doesnât really stop there.
heâs heard more stories than he can count about your infamous relationship with ryomen sukuna. the breakups. the makeups. the screaming matches outside the frat house and the dramatic reconciliations that always seem to occur when everybody has begun to accept that youâre over for good.
and to be frank, heâs never understood it. not your popularity, and definitely not your very public relationship. not when someone whoâs clearly capable of having whoever she pleases chooses the guy who treats commitment like a summer job.
unfortunately, none of that is going to change the fact that heâs been forced into writing a physics paper with you.Â
âtomorrow?!â you yelp, immediately bowing your head to apologize when multiple heads come to turn to the source of the noise. â. . . and whoâs gojo?â
âthat would be me.â
oh.
so thatâs where youâd seen him before.
you lean back in your chair to assess him with squinted eyes, rubbing your chin in a manner that makes your seatmate wonder if heâs somehow landed in a bad detective movie. âyou related to toru from sigma chi, or do you just have a secret double life?â
if the way gojoâs lips purse into a thin line is anything to go by, your joke didnât exactly land.
âheâs my twin,â he explains frankly. and when he impatiently drums his fingers on the table like heâs got somewhere more important to be, youâre finally smacked in the face with what should have been apparent before:
he doesnât like you very much.
but can you blame him, really, when youâd just been ruthlessly assessing the value of all his male classmates five minutes prior? if your senses are anything to go by, this gojo person is a lot more perceptive than his meathead brother.
not that you could care less about a grumpy nerd and his freaky sense of perception. you came here with one mission, and one mission only â to get your attendance signed for this stupid lecture. paper be damned; youâll get to that when you manage to find the perfect temporary boyfriend whose only purpose is to get you back with your real boyfriend.
unfortunately, your professor seems determined to ruin your day even further.
âbefore anyone leaves,â he pipes up as students begin packing their things. âwork must be split evenly between two partners. pairs who do not follow the fifty-fifty contribution rule will automatically be given failing marks.â
immediately, you find yourself sitting straighter.
âpeer reviews will also be considered.â your professor finishes. students begin to filter out of the lecture hall as quickly as they came, and you only break out of your shock-induced trance when gojo begins to stir beside you.
next to you, gojo simply gathers his notes into a clear folder as you stare at him in utter disbelief. because seriously, who even uses folders?
âso,â you clear your throat, refusing to falter when he looks over at you with those horrifyingly pretty eyes. you flash him the most genuine smile you can muster, but the man is unmoved. âyou wonât let me down during that peer review, wonât you?â
gojo narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, and it almost makes you regret asking.
âas long as you do exactly fifty percent of it, sure.â
âlisten â iâve kinda got this thing tonight.â you rub your neck, but the disgustingly handsome freak your professor did you the disservice of pairing you with is as clueless as ever.
âso do i,â he shrugs, neatly placing the rest of his things into his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.
you frown. âdoing what?â
âhomework.â
your face immediately falls, but you somehow manage to conceal the soul-crushing urge to laugh when he looks at you like heâs confused you had a reaction to his very real, very pressing plans he needs to get to. tonight.
looks like you have no other choice.
âfine, but iâm driving.â you pinch your nose bridge with one hand and shovel your minimal belongings into your purse with the other. âwhere do we work on this thing?â
âthe library?â
âuh, ew.â
âa cafe?â
âtoo many people.â
âthe student center, then?â
âdouble ew,â you cross your arms, glaring up at your exasperated new partner as he glowers right back at you with the heat of a thousand suns.
the white-haired man groans, rubbing at his cheek with one hand. âwhat about your apartment?â
the suggestion leaves his mouth casually enough, but itâs almost like this gojo person has struck you in the face from the way your heart drops to your stomach. absolutely not. not when sukuna still hasnât hauled his things out of your apartment after you told him to do it weeks ago.
he could barge in at any moment, and youâd seriously rather not take the time out of your day explaining to him why thereâs a geek sitting pretty in your apartment.
you look away, arms still crossed. and you so hate the way gojo is sizing you up right now, trying to figure out why exactly your face dropped. âcanât. iâve got rats.â
âuh-huh,â he squints, and youâre both completely oblivious of the way the lecture hall has completely fizzled out of people aside from the two of you right now. âwhere do you live again?â
â. . . the luxury apartments on oak street?â
when your partner blinks at you, you blurt out the first thing on the tip of your tongue to save you from your own stupid lie. âtheyâre very aggressive rats. big and mean.â
the corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a ghost of a smile for the first time tonight, just enough to annoy you enough to glare down at your feet in the hopes he wonât call out our lame fib.
âright, my place then.â
you look up, and gojo mentally notes that thatâs the fastest heâs ever seen you move â in class and on campus. from the way you immediately recoil, he guesses youâre not very fond of that suggestion either.
he sighs, already halfway through pitching his next venue idea to you when you cut him off with an urgency that leaves even him uneasy.
âalright,â you say quietly, and the man has to refrain from rubbing his ears to see if heâd just heard you correctly.
âwha- are you serious?â
âwhat, do you not want to do it in your apartment?â you look up to glare at him through your lashes, and the tips of his ears burn red from your poor choice of wording. satoru has to give himself a few seconds to recalibrate before he even thinks about responding.
did you really have to say it like that?
âitâs just . . . you didnât like any of the other places i said.â
you blink, and for the first time since youâve been granted the displeasure of this manâs company, you turn to really look at him.
not glance, look. and somehow, the image of gojo satoru is a little less intimidating up close.
sure, heâs just about as tall as a doorframe, but without the harsh lights of the lecture hall turning him into some kind of academic cryptid, the shadows that grace his features now just make him look like a tired college student. his white hair sticks out in every direction imaginable, and his navy sweater hangs three sizes too loose over his body like he hadnât even bothered to check the tag before he paid for it.
plus, his glasses are crooked. not very noticeably so, but they hang dangerously low on his nose. so much so, that they force him to push them back up every few minutes.
heâs nothing like toru, who dresses like heâs godâs gift to women. and honestly? itâs kind of pathetic. a little cute, even, and you immediately shudder at the thought.
âwhat now?â satoru frowns, and itâs only then that you realize youâve been staring.
ânothing,â you blurt out, and gojo starts to look a little suspicious.
and through all of it, this guy stood there like a man who was just trying to finish his damn paper â and make his partner feel a little more comfortable throughout the process.
gross, you think self-awareness might be your least favorite motion.
âi just think your apartmentâs fine,â you mutter, unable to meet his eyes all of a sudden. gojo blinks once, then twice, like heâs waiting for the punchline for a bad joke.
it never comes.
âalright,â he says, honestly a little stunned youâd given in so easily. and to his apartment, of all places. did someone hit you in the head prior to this? your differences aside, he sure hopes not.
and thatâs it. no sly smiles, no teasing, and definitely no celebrating victories. your white-haired partner simply exists in the same space, clearly relieved you stopped trying to put up a fight.
you donât know why that irritates you so, but you haul ass and drag your purse over your shoulder anyway. after all, you have a paper to finish.
outside, campus has fallen into its usual evening rhythm.
the streetlamps illuminate the darkness, casting golden splotches of light onto the streets and across the sidewalks. the students have lessened by this time, traveling between buildings in little groups as they laugh and carry on with their takeout containers.
obnoxious music blares through one of the boyâs dorm windows, and off in the distance, you spy a couple talking and laughing on a bench.
you donât know why your stomach twists at the sight.
you shove your hands into your pocket, and beside you, satoru is enveloped in a strange kind of silence that neither of you really know how to get past. like neither of you really expected to spend your evening together.
when you reach your vehicle that youâd conveniently parked in the farthest corner of your building, your new nerd friend suddenly slows next to you.
âhey, whatâs ââ
âshoko?â he blinks, and you stop in your tracks.
his gaze is trained onto something like itâs grabbed him and refuses to let go, and when you follow his eyes, you begin to understand why.
only 5 feet away, shoko ieiri is stepping off her motorbike beneath one of the flickering street lamps. sheâs dressed in black scrubs and an oversized jacket, dark circles gracing her features in a way that makes the woman even prettier, somehow.
which is unfair, really.
âsatoru,â she calls out, tucking her bike helmet under her arm and flashing you two a lazy smile. âis that you?â
and oh, you know this girl. everyone does. shoko ieiri is only 20 and has somehow managed to become a full-time medical student and part-time campus legend.
youâve heard enough stories about this lady to write her a biography, for goodnessâ sake. rumor has it is that she scored ninety-seventh percentile on the mcat while absurdly hungover.
sheâs brilliant, beautiful, and weirdly enough â
friends with gojo satoru.
the same kid whoâs wearing a sweater that could house a family of four and whose glasses have almost slipped right off his nose for the tenth time tonight. and when you spot his ears go red from the corner of your eye, you have to keep yourself from grinning.
interesting.
âoh? whoâs your friend?â she asks kindly, a smile slowly creeping onto her face when she rakes her eyes over the way you fall into step beside one another.
the reaction is immediate.
âweâre not ââ
âno.â you huff, the two of you speaking at the same time. shoko raises an amused brow, and you only smile at her sweetly. gojo on the other hand, looks like heâs about to combust.
âweâre partners,â you say simply, shifting your weight from one foot to another in an attempt to fend off the cold.
â. . . for physics,â the white-haired boy adds, but to no avail. shokoâs infuriatingly beautiful smile only grows wider and more suspicious of you two by the second, and your eyes continue to flick between the two of them like youâve been personally tasked to assess the situation.
because if you know anything at all â itâs love.
and from the way gojo satoru fiddles with his fingers and looks down at his feet, heâs got it pretty damn bad.
oh, you could bark out a laugh right here and now.
âwell, good luck with that,â she grins, and before gojo can stop her to say sheâs got it all wrong, sheâs off like a woman on a mission. âiâll get going now. these readings wonât complete themselves.â
âuh, bye â !â
âbye honey,â you chime in after your rather pathetic excuse of an assignment partner, and she shoots you a salute you before sheâs off, probably in the direction of the library.
you bet gojo is pretty damn grateful you insisted on his apartment right about now.
the moment shoko turns the corner and is completely out of sight, you turn around to look at him accusingly.
âyou have the hots for shoko ieiri.â
âno i donât,â he retorts, wincing when you bark out a mean laugh and fiddle with your keys to unlock your car. the moment the vehicle clicks and the headlights whirr to life, heâs immediately sliding into the passenger seat like itâll save him from any more of your humiliation.
it doesnât.
âi dunno,â you tease, opening up the door to the driverâs seat and sliding inside. âthat response was pretty fuckinâ quick.â
âi donât have âthe hotsâ for her,â gojo starts. he grabs at his seatbelt, pressing down until he hears a click before heâs fiddling with his fingers again. âi have a completely normal amount of respectable feelings for her.â
you double down in laughter, pulling out of the parking lot as your newfound friend seethes in the seat beside you. âshe is so out of your league, nerd.â
âyeah, yeah,â he mutters, and you hate yourself for wanting to coo at the pout you can hear in his voice.
maybe your breakup with sukuna really had messed you up, because youâre not quite sure where in between your rocky relationship with a frat boy your brain decided to be attracted to pathetic, loser men.
âif it makes you feel better, i think she might be into you too.â you glance over your shoulder to smile at him, and for the first time tonight, itâs completely genuine.
â. . . you think so?â
âi know this stuff,â you say as a matter-of-factly, and gojo turns to look at you with an indescribable twinkle in his eyes that he quite obviously tries very hard to hide. âtrust me.â
you glance to the side, and the look on his face is enough to make your stomach churn. because for one, glorious second, satoru forgets to be suspicious of you.
he doesnât glare, or squint, or retort â he only looks hopeful. in that disgustingly sincere, gojo satoru way. so much so, that you nearly regret opening your mouth lest you give him false hope.
which is unusual, because youâve known this man for exactly two hours and thirty five minutes, and spent ninety percent of that time warring over this stupid paper your professor wants on his desk by tomorrow morning.
you snap your eyes back onto the road. focus.
the conversation fizzles out naturally after that, and the radio begins to buzz louder than your words once did. streetlights flash past your tinted windows in consistent intervals, and somewhere along the way, gojo stops fiddling with his fingers and sinks deeper into his seat.
neither of you say anything for a long time. and somehow, you donât seem to mind it.
maybe because youâre tired. or maybe â maybe because youâre not quite used to men that donât demand everything from you at any given moment.
satoru simply exists beside you, like any other stranger at university would. deep down, you find that you quite like that.
you sneak a glance sideways, and gojo is staring out the window. and before you can even begin to stop yourself, your mouth is running.
âsorry for being a dick earlier,â you murmur, shrinking under the weight of his gaze when he shifts in his seat to look at you.
âwhat for?â he blinks, and your heart twinges in your chest. gojo might be a little clueless, but that doesnât mean heâs not deserving of a proper apology. for fear of chickening out under the weight of your pride, you will yourself to speak.
âyou know, our choice of venue?â you wince, clearly a little embarrassed by the way youâd been acting. satoruâs mouth forms into an o as a way of telling you he understands.
âiâve been dealing with some things,â you continue, letting out a deep exhale you were unaware youâd been holding in. âbut i shouldnât have let it out on you the way i did. iâm sorry.â
for one, agonizing moment, gojo doesnât answer.
outside, the city hums with a fervor you can only really get in the heart of a college town. tires roll on the asphalt outside, distant music blares from dorm windows, and students wander like they havenât got responsibilities they need to tend to at sunrise.
then, he shrugs. âitâs okay.â
your eyes narrow when you sneak another glance at him. his attention has drifted back over to the window, but thereâs something about his breathing and the way his shoulders relax that tells you thereâs something softer about him now. less guarded.
âno itâs not, thatâs literally the worst response to an apology iâve ever heard.â
âwhat?â he frowns, looking over to where you irritably tap your fingers against the leather wheel. âwhat was i supposed to say?â
âi dunno,â you groan, gripping the steering wheel tighter in an attempt to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. âsomething that makes me feel a little less guilty?â
gojo snorts. âyou feel guilty?â
you sigh, and you think you wouldâve hid your head in your hands by now if they werenât already occupied. âdonât make it weird.â
âiâm not,â he says quickly, and you glance over. âiâm just surprised.â
âwhyâs that?â you hum, and the sound of the car motor fills the brief silence that follows. in his seat, satoru is staring at the passing streetlights like theyâve miraculously become more interesting than your conversation.
âi thought people like you didnât apologize,â he says absentmindedly.
âpeople like me?â âyou know, popular people.â
youâre unable to find it in you to hold back a genuine fit of laughter, and the sound vibrates in the stunned manâs ears like a blessing. not that heâd ever admit that.
âthatâs the dumbest thing iâve ever heard you say,â you wheeze, one hand coming up to wipe a stray tear from your eye before returning to the wheel.
gojo, on the other hand, looks deeply offended. âi donât say dumb things. i thought you were apologizing?â
âi was, then you decided to go say something dumb.â you roll your eyes through a fit of giggles, and in his seat, you swear you catch a glimpse of your partner trying to conceal the ghost of a smile.
âso much for being sorry.â
.
.
.
the second satoru opens the door to his apartment complex, you come to realize two things:
the first being that if the freakish orderliness of his living space is anything to go by, he most definitely lives alone.
the second, and most glaring, for reasons that are currently attacking your eyeline, is that heâs an even bigger nerd than you had ever imagined.
âare you kidding me?â you frown, running your fingers along the edges of his bookshelves where satoruâs numerous lego sets, a curated collection of astronomy magazines, and dusty academic journals reside.
âwhat?â he frowns. he shuffles on his feet from behind you, clearly a little nervous youâve decided to size up his apartment â not that you care. itâs just . . .
was gojo satoru always this big of a geek?
by the tv, a framed photograph from a science competition you donât bother looking close enough to identify gleams like a trophy. on the other end of the table, his rubikâs cube collection is stacked on top of one another from the largest cube to the smallest in a colorful array.
when you picture gojo hunched over, legs crossed on the fluffy carpet, tinkering with one of these things to see how fast he can solve it, you almost crack a smile.
almost.
ânothing, i just didnât know you were such a damn nerd.â
clearly unimpressed, your white-haired partner rolls his eyes but shuffles around the place to find seat cushions for the two of you anyway.
when he pulls two cushions out from god knows where and lays them out onto the carpet, he plops down and looks up at you expectantly.
âsit.â he hums, and when you double back on satoru to call him a, quote, bossy nerd, your bickering comes alive once more.
and surprisingly enough, work gets done.
not a lot of work, but just around the right amount to get this bullcrap done by sunrise. you think it might be because the state of satoruâs apartment far surpasses your own â all warm lighting and vacuumed hardwood as opposed to your own dingy place, strewn with your exâs forgotten sweaters and littered with shoes youâd forgotten to put back in the cubby.
his place feels comfortable. lived in. like the home of somebody whoâs got their shit together and not some heartbroken college girl whoâs been broken up with by the same guy for the nth time.
that, or satoru gojo is just a damn good project partner. every time you get stuck on a problem, heâs right next to you and explaining it in a way that doesnât make you feel stupid. when he goes off on one of his overcomplicated tangents, you reel him back in before he disappears into the nerd dimension.
not that he wasnât already swimming in it before.
the point is, youâre annoyingly functional, and time seems to go by faster the more you and satoru manage to get done. at one point in the night, you stretch your shoulders and yawn with a volume that shouldâve been loud enough to make him look.
it doesnât.
your eyes drift over to where heâs typing on his laptop instead, and satoru is exactly the same as usual: annoyingly focused, hopelessly nerdy, and completely oblivious to your staring.
you nudge him with your foot. âhey.â
âhmm?â he replies absentmindedly, typing away as youâre graciously giving him your full attention.
you nudge him again, harder this time, and itâs enough to make him stop working on the paper and glare up at you.
âwhat?â he says, and itâs accompanied by a sigh so loud that you have to keep yourself from laughing.
âsay,â you start, leaning back on your elbows and pretending not to notice when his eyes flicker to your nearly-exposed chest, then back to you. âarenât you gonna do something about your little crush?â
youâre not quite sure what the beautiful, enigmatic shoko ieiri has done to this boy, but the effect on him is almost immediate. his fingers stop mid-way through typing a sentence, and he stares at his screen like itâll give him the answer if he looks hard enough.
then, he types over the silence as if youâd never said anything at all. nothing of importance, at least.
ânothing,â satoru answers, eyes flickering left and right on his laptop screen significantly faster than they were before. âsheâs been a friend of mine since high school. these things pass.â
you scoff. âiâve known sukuna since high school, and everyone knows how that ended.â
âyouâre comparing a hallway crush to your toxic situation with your boyfriend,â he quips, and the bastard doesnât even look up as you fume at the mention of sukuna.
âex-boyfriend,â you correct him immediately. gojo shrugs.
âtomato, tom-ah-to.â
ignoring another one of his smart ass responses that you, quite frankly, donât even understand, you push at him harder. âwhatever, loser, you and i both know thatâs not an excuse.â
this time, itâs satoruâs turn to groan exasperatedly, leaning back against the couch and staring at the ceiling like it holds all the secrets of the world. one beat passes, then another, and you almost gear yourself up to make another stretch and get back to work when he speaks again.
â. . . sheâs experienced. iâm not.â
you raise your brows. âexperienced?â
the rather pathetic physics major raises his head to glower right at you, blinking up at him, and genuinely confused.
âyou know what i mean,â he sighs, running a hand down his face when you stare at him from across the floor table like heâs gone mad.
âno,â you say, awkwardly rubbing at your neck. âi donât.â
a groan slips past his lips as he throws his head back against the couch cushions, the movement ruffling up his already messed-up hair. for one glorious second, he looks less like the put-together mystery from your physics lecture and more like a man whoâs been pushed to the limit by one annoying classmate.
unfortunately for him, youâre having the time of your life.
the apartment falls silent for a moment, and suddenly, everything begins to click into place. the awkwardness. the red ears. the lack of confidence despite looking like, well, that.
âgojo,â you start, and he knows heâs been busted when a wild grin blooms across your face. âare you a virgin?â
one beat passes, then another, and satoru blinks up at you like itâs his turn to be deeply confused.
â. . . is that supposed to be a bad thing?â
you stare at him for half a second before you break.
and honestly, your laugh comes out so suddenly that it startles even you, whoâs now begun to double down in her laughter and clutch at the carpets for dear life. across from you, gojoâs face immediately twists into something between annoyance and confusion as he watches you fold in on yourself.
âno,â you wheeze, clutching your stomach with one hand and wiping a tear from your eyes with another. âitâs not a bad thing.â
youâre not trying to be mean, because if anything, youâre impressed. the man is six-foot something of sweet cologne and a pretty damn good allowance by the looks of this apartment, not to mention his unfair genetics. if you had noticed satoru gojo sooner, you wouldâve assumed girls were throwing themselves at his feet.
âitâs just . . . you look like that, and youâre telling me you havenât done anything in twenty years?â
âtwenty-one years,â he corrects immediately, but stops himself from pursuing that argument any further when he realizes heâs not exactly helping his own case. âand not everybodyâs life revolves around dating.â
âyouâre talking like you havenât been in love with her for like, five years.â
âwho said anything about love?â he murmurs defeatedly, tearing his eyes off of you when you only laugh harder.
you narrowly miss the cushion he tosses at you, and eventually, the conversation eventually dies the death it deserves. after a few final edits to your paper, a 30-minute attempt to get satoruâs dusty old printer to spit out said project, and another heated argument, you finally convince him not to walk you to your car.
âjust go to sleep,â you blink, cocking your head as he stubbornly stays put by the door to his place, arms crossed and eyes winking off to sleep.âweâve been up all night.â
the man is exhausted, and you can see it in the way his shoulders drop and the shadows that pool beneath his pretty eyes. he stands by the door with a fiery determination like heâs not half asleep as you know it, and you nearly scoff in his face.
âitâs dark,â he murmurs, head lolling when he yawns for the nth time in the past 5 minutes. âjust let me walk you.â
âweâre in the safest part of campus,â you roll your eyes, shoving satoru back inside his apartment, where thereâs no more space to argue with you. âjust make sure that paper is on the old manâs desk by ten. gânight!â
âwait ââ
with that, youâve slammed the door in his face and his absurdly comfortable apartment forever, you hope.
and as your heels click on the pavement outside his apartment complex, youâre still smiling when you try to fish your keys from your purse. maybe itâs the relief of finally finishing the damn paper, or maybe itâs because you finally spent the last few hours thinking about something other than sukuna.
whatever it is, you carry it with you down the road to your beetle. because for whatever reason, your chest feels lighter than it has in weeks. not completely healed, not even close. just lighter, like your prick of an ex-boyfriend has finally begun to flush from your system.
that is, until you glance up and regret ever leaving the damn apartment.
because less than five feet away and conveniently parked under a flickering streetlight is the devil himself: ryomen sukuna, leaning back against his black suv as you physically recoil at the sight of him. and to make matters worse, he spots you immediately, red eyes narrowing at you like heâs seeing double.
he isnât, and it takes all of your self-control not to shrivel up under his red, hot stare.
for a moment, neither of you moves. the parking lot sits suspended in time, and you blink at each other underneath the orange glow of the streetlights and the distant sounds of nightlife. like youâre mutually suspicious.
unfortunately, life continues, and so does your ex.
âdoll?â he frowns, and youâd gag at the nickname if it didnât mean looking like a fool in front of this bastard. âwhatâre you doing here?â
your stomach drops, and you cross your arms over your chest in a poor attempt to conceal your slow-rising panic.
say something. anything.
âi was visiting my cousin,â you say quickly, and you keep yourself from wincing when his slit brows furrow in confusion. as far as sukunaâs knowledge and the truth go, you donât have any cousins.
âyour cousin . . . that iâve never heard about?â
âwell, you never asked.â you huff, glaring into the distance where youâre half-sure you parked your car. maybe if you started running now, you could . . . wait.
âi could ask you the same thing,â you continue flatly, and for the first time since spotting you, sukuna lets his gaze drift away from you and towards the apartment complex behind you.
slowly, downright cruelly, the pieces begin to fall into place.
the moving boxes. the suv. the fact that heâs standing under a streetlight at this ungodly hour.
âdonât tell me . . .â you gasp, taking a few steps back in horror when a grin blooms across your ex-boyfriendâs smug face. âyour bum ass lives here now?â
this canât be happening.
âbingo, pretty. so are you gonna tell me why youâre here at this hour or ââ
âWAIT!â a shout tears through the emptiness of the parking lot, and both of your heads snap towards the apartment entrance.
a few feet away, the doors to the building blow open so fast they practically fly off the hinges. suddenly, poor, oblivious satoru gojo is jogging through the lot with your keys in hand and the urgency of a man trying to stop a national emergency.
âyou forgot your keys in my apartment!â he calls out, waving them above his head like a madman. sukuna freezes. gojo keeps going.
âyou wouldâve been stuck out here all night. god, i leave you alone for five minutes and you â â
the words die in his mouth when he spots sukuna practically fuming from next to you, and satoruâs frantically waving hand immediately drops to his side, keys dangling along with the wind.
across from you, sukunaâs face contorts into multiple stages of horror in milliseconds, and youâre completely aware of how this looks. you, leaving this geekâs apartment after spending hours alone in the middle of the night.
you can practically see the image forming in his head, and something forms in his expression that 3 years of on-and-off makes pretty hard to miss: pure, unadulterated jealousy.
his eyes move from you, to satoru, to the keys in his hand, then the apartment complexes behind him, before a realization crashes into you with the force of a bullet train:
the perfect fake-boyfriend has been existing right under your nose for all this time, in the form of nerdy satoru gojo and his complete and utter inability to realize the kind of damage he causes.
âyou forgot these,â satoru says weakly, like thatâll fix this utter mess.
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