➽─────── gojo…scores a date. ───────❥
a/n ~ whoops friends ive been busy... ahahah.... i work so many hours now i want to die <3 taglist CLOSED! enjoy, next part will be the last part (and u already know what happens in that one hehehe)
it’s been two days since gojo got your instagram, and in those painful near-48 hours of silence from you, he’s learned that he cannot sit still for the life of him.
he’s been pacing around the living room for ten minutes, phone in hand, locking it, unlocking it, opening your profile, closing it, opening messages, closing them.
“just text her,” toji says from across the room, not even looking up.
“i’m not just gonna text her,” gojo shoots back immediately.
“you’ve opened the chat like six times.”
“you’re overthinking,” geto corrects, glancing up from his book.
gojo scowls, flopping back onto the couch dramatically. “there’s a difference.”
he stares at the ceiling again, phone resting in his palms, thumb hovering.
he scrolls your profile again for the fiftieth time like inspiration might strike him, and then a story notification pops up.
gojo freezes and waits a respectable twenty seconds (which he doesn’t think of as desperate, but rather curious) before tapping it. it’s a picture of a matcha cup, sunlight hitting the table you’re at - some outdoor cafe - with the location tagged.
gojo sits up so fast he nearly drops his phone. “okay,” he says. “okay, this is my in.”
“your ‘in’,” toji asks lazily. “what is it.”
gojo’s already typing. stops. deletes. types again. deletes again. “this is stupid,” he mutters.
“you’re stupid,” toji replies.
gojo ignores him, brain racking to find a way to make ‘hey’ sound cool and not sleazy.
gojo: is it good should i go
he stares at it. and sends it before giving it another thought.
“fuck,” he says, chucking his phone across the room to the other couch, and lasts four seconds before he’s springing up again to check his alerts.
“don’t double text,” geto reminds him calmly.
“i’m not gonna double text.”
you don’t reply. it’s been one minute. two. five, and gojo’s back to pacing.
“she’s not gonna answer,” toji says.
gojo goes still again and opens his phone.
he exhales like he just ran a marathon. “she replied,” he announces.
“congrats,” toji says flatly.
you: depends who you’re going with
gojo stares at that for a second, then slowly grins.
he leans back, suddenly feeling like the room tilted in his favor.
gojo: guess i’ll need a good recommendation then
he watches the three dots appear and disappear like it’s reality tv.
you: i’m not recommending anything to you
he huffs out a quiet laugh.
gojo: we should go together sometime so i can make sure it’s good
there’s a longer pause this time, long enough for doubt to creep in. oh god, i’m gonna get ghosted already.
gojo: i’ve been told
gojo: let me take you
his thumb taps nervously against the screen now.
your phone is in your hand, half-finished matcha on the table across from you, and the faintest smile on your face.
your brows furrow slightly. okay? that's...it?
you stare at your phone. you can practically hear him saying it. you press your lips together, fighting a smile.
gojo: please? i'll buy whatever fancy matcha order you have
gojo: my treat
your friend looks you over, narrowing her eyes slightly. "you're texting him."
you don't even look up. "i'm not."
you drop your phone onto the table. "i'm not texting him."
she leans forward, a glint in her eye. "then who."
she doesn't believe you for a second.
she lunges across the table, unlocking it quickly (you internally curse yourself for having told her your pin, a while back), eyes scanning over the text thread with a grin.
"you're literally setting up a date."
she's already typing. your eyes widen, heart thumping in fear, and you reach your hand forward to grab your phone, but she ducks.
"i swear to god, what are you—"
your throat feels tight. "what. did you send."
she grins, waving your phone in front of you, and tossing it back. "i just sent what you were thinking."
you scramble to unlock it, looking at the screen.
your heart drops into your stomach. “oh my god.” you stare at her, head feeling light all of a sudden. “why would you do that.”
she shrugs, completely unbothered. “because you were going to say yes anyway.”
she just smiles, slow and knowing. “you’ve got this whole act on. i can see right through you.”
you open your mouth to argue then close it.
because, annoyingly, she's not...entirely wrong.
your phone buzzes and you both look down.
gojo's heart has never raced so fast in his life. he closes instagram five times and tries to distract himself with reels, waiting for you to answer, and when your message comes in, his hands even shake a little.
(thank god toji and geto can't see that. he'd never live it down.)
he opens it, reads it once. twice, because there's no way...
he actually stands up. “yes,” he says out loud.
geto smiles. “to what part.”
gojo’s already typing again, faster now.
gojo: we’re not just doing matcha
gojo: we’re making it a whole thing
gojo: matcha
gojo: then something
he grins, pacing again now, circling around the coffee table.
“okay,” he mutters. “okay, think.”
you stare at the message.
you smirk slightly. that should do it. that should scare gojo off. there's no way he'd agree to an art gallery. he's the type to get bored in five minutes, who'd complain, and who'd ruin the outing.
you send it, look up at your friend all triumphantly.
“there,” you say. “problem solved.”
she raises a brow. “you think that’s gonna scare him.”
your phone buzzes immediately.
gojo: amazing
gojo: art gallery it is
gojo: matcha, gallery
gojo: whole afternoon
you stare at your phone, face falling. “…what.”
your friend leans over, reading, then laughs. “oh, you’re in trouble.”
“he’s insane,” you mutter.
“well, now you've got a nice little date set up,” she teases, and you glare at her.
“this is your fucking fault.”
“please. you have me to thank.”
you stare at his messages, but your heart does that weird thing again, and you hate it. just a little.
meanwhile, gojo drops back onto the couch, staring at the conversation like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
“he’s smiling like an idiot again,” toji says.
“he’s gone,” geto agrees.
gojo doesn’t care. he’s already planning it out in his head. matcha, then art gallery. if he's lucky, maybe a walk in the park after.
he hates art galleries. hates them. he winced when he saw your text but knew it was a tactic to push him away.
ha. like that would work.
he giggles like a schoolgirl. toji and geto share an unimpressed look.
you're standing in front of your mirror a few days later, staring at your reflection.
this is stupid. you shouldn’t care this much. it's just matcha and an art gallery with a guy you don't even yes sort of really like.
you adjust your outfit anyway, fix your hair, step back. frown. “…whatever.”
your phone buzzes on your bed.
you stare at it for a second.
you: i’ll just come to your place
you: i have to drop something off for choso anyway
three dots almost immediately.
gojo: oh
gojo: okay
gojo: i’ll be here
you don’t know why that makes your chest feel weird.
you ignore it, and ignore it even more when you pull up in the frat's driveway a half hour later, your chest bubbling up annoyingly. you hesitate for a split second before knocking.
geto opens the door after a moment and he blinks. "...hi."
you tilt your head slightly. "hi."
there’s a pause, a noticeable one, like his brain lagged for a second. "come in," he says finally, stepping aside, but his eyes flick over you again like he’s recalibrating something.
you step inside, glancing over at toji, who's sprawled on the couch, mid-scroll, and he doesn’t look up until geto shuts the door.
"who is—" he looks over and stops, mouth hanging open slightly. "...oh. uh."
you glance between them, unimpressed already. “is this a staring contest or..”
toji huffs out a quiet laugh, sitting up a little. “nah, just—”
geto clears his throat lightly. “you look nice, y/n.”
you give a small, flat nod. “thanks.” then you hold up the textbook in your hand that you brought from home.. “where’s choso?”
“kitchen,” geto says, still watching you like he’s trying not to be obvious about it.
you walk past them, completely unfazed. toji leans toward geto the second you’re out of earshot. “is she hotter than i remember or am i tripping?”
geto exhales quietly. “satoru's cooked.”
you find choso quickly, hovering near the counter like usual. “hey,” you say, holding out the book. “you needed this, right?”
choso looks up, a little startled. “oh—thanks, y/n.” he takes it carefully, like it matters more than it should. “you didn’t have to—”
“i was in the area,” you cut in. you glance around, fighting back an eyeroll at the thought of gojo. "...where is he?"
choso blinks. "oh, i think—"
before he can answer, a door down the hall opens, and gojo walks out.
and shit, that nagging voice inside you tells you he cleans up good. he's in dark linens, a pair of sunglasses pushed up through his white hair, and he's halfway through adjusting his sleeves when he looks up and sees you.
he stops mid step completely, like someone hit pause. his mouth opens and closes, all rational thoughts evaporating into steam as he looks at you, heart squeezing in his chest. “…hi,” he manages intelligently. “erm. hi.”
you raise a brow slightly. “hi.”
he’s holding flowers. a pretty bouquet of pale pink tulips, held loosely in his hand as he just stands there, like he forgot how to function.
it’s quiet for a second too long.
gojo blinks like he just remembered he has a body, and walks toward you a little too fast, then slows down halfway like he’s trying to look normal.
“these are—uh—” he starts, then clears his throat. “for you.”
he holds the flowers out. you look at them, then at him. “…thanks,” you say, taking them.
he nods too many times. “yeah,” he says. “yeah.”
geto and toji are very much watching this from the living room. toji looks like he’s holding in laughter and geto looks like he’s witnessing a historical event.
gojo straightens slightly, trying to gather whatever remains of his usual composure. “shall we,” he says, a little too formally.
you glance at him then to the door. “alright.”
he exhales softly in relief and holds the door open for you, swallowing thickly as he catches a waft of your perfume as you walk by. he looks back at toji, who facepalms, and choso, who gives him a supportive little thumbs up. geto’s still stifling laughter.
“okay,” gojo mumbles under his breath. “i got this.”
he catches up to you, opening the passenger door, and you slide in as he circles around to the driver’s side, hands gripping the wheel for a second before he starts the car. he glances at you then away quickly, his palms feeling sweaty.
“you look really pretty,” he says, quieter this time.
you glance at him. “…thanks.”
gojo clears his throat. “are you excited?”
he nods. “right. sorry. i’m, uh, excited.”
“that’s nice,” you say, looking out the window, and gojo can’t help but glance at your sweater dress again, and the way it hugs you so perfectly.
the car ride is silent. not awkward, but the air is thick and almost charged, as gojo restlessly taps his fingers against the steering wheel and you stare out the window, tulips still in your lap.
gojo keeps glancing at you. quick, almost stolen looks, like he’s checking something and then pretending he didn’t. naturally, you notice, and at first you ignore it, until his fingers start tapping against the wheel, stopping, and starting again so much, and he keeps looking at you, biting the inside of his cheek, that you have to squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance
his mouth opens and closes like he wants to say something.
you give him a minute, then another, and he keeps looking at you, eyes darting away when you make eye contact, that you sigh, turning your head fully now. "just ask me."
he startles a little. “what?”
“whatever you’re thinking,” you say flatly. "you've been deliberating for almost five minutes.
he huffs a quiet breath. “…i’m not—”
he hesitates, glancing at you then back at the road. “…why did you say yes,” he asks finally, slower now. “if you hate me.”
you blink before looking away again, out the window. "...i don't hate you."
“i act like you’re annoying.”
he glances at you again. “then what is it?”
your fingers shift slightly around the stems of the tulips in your lap, and you huff softly. "i guess you're not that insufferable."
a slow, shit eating grin spreads on gojo's face, and you immediately regret what you just said.
"high praise," he says, and you scoff, rolling your eyes.
"i take it back. you are insufferable."
"alright," he says lightly, turning the corner into the lot, and you feel that little buzz under you're skin you've been pretending isn't there when gojo's pretty blue eyes blink at you softly after he parks.
you just unbuckle your seatbelt and reach for the door, swallowing thickly. “you parked too far.”
gojo glances at the empty spot literally right in front of the café. “…it was the closest one.”
“mm,” you hum, stepping out anyway, shrugging whatever that feeling was out of your bones, and he watches you walk ahead for half a second, then scrambles out after you.
inside, it's warm and bright, and you curl your fingers into the sleeves of your sweater dress, looking up at the menu as you step up to the counter.
“what are you getting,” gojo asks, stepping up beside you and leaning low to talk into your ear, you nearly shiver.
“strawberry matcha,” you say. “small.”
he hums, but when you open your mouth to order he smoothly cuts in. “two strawberry matchas, and make both large, please.”
you turn your head slowly. “…i said small.”
“then why did you order large.”
he shrugs, already handing his card over. “because i wanted a large.”
you stare at him. “i got a small for a reason.”
you hesitate. “...dunno, because you're paying, and i didn't wanna be rude.”
he looks at you, grinning. "oh, now we're scaling back the rudeness?"
you glare, shoving his arm slightly, and he laughs, the barista looking at you two with a little smile. she calls your order a minute later and gojo grabs both cups before you can. of course he does.
he hands yours over, fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. you ignore it, and ignore the rush you feel.
“thank you,” you say, because you have manners.
“you’re welcome,” he says, like he’s a gentleman.
you narrow your eyes slightly, then turn toward the door. “outside.”
he grins, following you out anyway. you pick a table in the back, half in the sun, and gojo sits across from you, sliding his sunglasses down his face before wrapping his hands around his drink.
you take a sip of your matcha first and he watches you like it's some kind of test. you lower the cup. “…what.”
“nothing,” he says quickly, taking a sip of his own. he makes a face, coughs slightly.
you catch it immediately. “nice.”
“do you not like matcha?”
“...it tastes like grass.”
you exhale, looking up at the sky like the conversation is paining you. “then why'd you ask to come here?”
“cause you like this place,” he says simply.
you look at him wordlessly and take another sip of your drink.
“so,” he starts, leaning back slightly. “what’s your major.”
you glance at him over the rim of your cup. “why.”
“because i don’t know anything about you.”
his brows lift. “really.”
you narrow your eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
he gestures vaguely toward you. “you analyzing me this whole time.”
“you definitely are.” he shakes his head, smiling a little. “okay, miss psych major. what’s your diagnosis.”
you study him for a second, eyes lingering long enough to make him shift slightly in his seat. “inflated ego,” you say finally.
he gasps, mock offended. “wow.”
“with a tendency to talk before thinking.”
“and,” you add, cutting him off, “a little bit desperate.”
he leans back, squinting at you. “a little bit?”
he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, studying you like he’s trying to decide if you’re serious or not. “desperate is crazy,” he says finally.
you shrug. “you begged for my instagram.”
you shoot him a look and he holds up his hands, laughing. "okay, but it worked."
you just take another sip of your drink and he watches you again.
"i'm not staring," he says, voice soft.
you make a face and he grins, teeth flashing. “you’re not even a little bit curious about me?” he asks after a second.
“it is,” he insists. “you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t at least a little curious.”
you shrug. “i wanted matcha.”
“matcha tastes like shit, i'm sorry,” he says after another small sip of his drink, and you facepalm.
he taps his fingers lightly against his cup. “what do you do when you’re not analyzing people and insulting them?”
he gives you a look and you sigh. “i read. i work. i go out with my friends.”
“i didn’t ask for your review.”
“i’m just saying, there’s room for improvement.”
you raise a brow. “and you’re the improvement.”
you stare at him and shake your head, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of your mouth.
his grin softens slightly. “i like when you smile,” he says.
“you literally just did.”
“no proof,” you cut in, and he leans forward, laughing.
“i’ll get it on camera next time.”
“too late. i’m already planning it.”
you scoff and gojo just smiles, watching you with a soft kind of intensity that makes your stomach churn.
you don’t rush the drinks. in fact you stay sitting there a little longer than necessary, fingers tracing the condensation on your cup while gojo talks about some story. you only correct him twice, and he grins every time you do.
“so,” he says eventually, “i'm assuming you're always this mean on first dates.”
you don’t even blink. “this isn’t a date.”
“right,” he says easily. “this is a very structured, multi-location, several-hours-long hangout where i bought you a drink.”
“more than one location is multi-location.”
you give him a look, and he just smiles back, unbothered. there’s a pause before you glance at your empty cup. “…we should go.”
“yeah,” he says, standing immediately. “yeah, okay.”
gojo thinks he might slowly be losing his mind.
it's in a good way. definitely in a good way. he keeps catching whiffs of your perfume, or little hints of your smile that make him feel sort of dizzy.
and the way you're so casual with your answers, still kinda dismissive, a little bit rude? he loves it. he wants to ask you more, find out more about you, talk to you more.
he doesn’t say that out loud, obviously.
he just opens the door for you again and follows you out like a normal person who is not, in fact, losing his mind over a girl who called him annoying ten minutes ago.
the drive to the gallery is quieter than before. definitely not a bad quiet, gojo thinks to himself. just different. he catches himself glancing over at you at red lights, then immediately looking back at the road, chest feeling tight.
you get to the gallery shortly after and gojo mentally preps himself before stepping inside :
don't ask dumb questions.
make sure to sound kind of smart.
just don't look like an idiot.
he pauses when you step inside one of the rooms. he hates places like this. it's too quiet and too still and the white walls make everything feel so boring.
he glances at you. your arms are crossed, eyes tracing over the painting you said was 'part of the renaissance movement' (whatever that means), and you're both standing in silence.
he lasts about eight seconds.
“i’m gonna be honest,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “i don’t get it.”
you sigh, but it’s lighter than before. “you don’t have to get it.”
“no,” you say, finally glancing at him. “you’re seeing, not looking.” you turn back to the painting, and something in your expression shifts.
he forgets whatever he was about to say.
you lean in slightly, arms folding loosely, gaze tracing the piece again. “see how the colors move,” you say, quieter now. “the subtle brushstrokes.”
gojo’s eyes flick to the painting then back to you.
“it pulls your attention across,” you continue, pointing lightly. “it’s not random. there’s intention.”
gojo is not listening to a single word about the painting.
he’s watching you, cataloguing everything.
the way your voice dips when you’re thinking. the way you pause before explaining something, and how you bite your bottom lip. the way your expression softens just a fraction when you find a painting you like.
he swallows, his cheeks definitely dusted a little pink.
“it’s about movement,” you continue. “see what the artist did with how this section was painted?”
“yeah,” he says, nodding like he understands. “i see it.”
he absolutely does not see it, and he panics slightly. “…the colors,” he adds, gesturing vaguely. “they’re—uh—doing things.”
he commits, laughing awkwardly. “the blue is very…blue?”
there’s a beat, and then you snort, your laugh echoing in the dead-quiet gallery.
the sound hits him straight in the chest. i did that. i made her laugh.
“that’s your big takeaway,” you say, shaking your head.
“i’m easing into it,” he says quickly, recovering. “there's lots to, erm...analyze.”
“right, of course.” you roll your eyes, but you're smiling. “now, this next piece is one of my favourites...”
he listens to you as you happily ramble on about symbolism and whatever colour theory you had to talk about now, and gojo tries harder to listen. he asks a question (that doesn't sound too dumb) and you answer him without immediately shutting him down. when you correct him, you're laughing a little now, and gojo wants to laugh when you laugh, too. all the time.
you stop in another room, empty except for the two of you. he follows you as you point to the next painting, telling him to 'watch the intent behind this' or 'look at this technique'.
he glances down. your hand is right there, relaxed and close.
his heart does something stupid and he hesitates because this is the part where he usually just goes for it. (but again, when's gojo ever gone to an art gallery with a girl?)
he doesn't want to mess it up with you, so after taking a short inhale, he asks, "can i...hold your hand?"
his voice comes out quieter than he expected and you just look at him. he doesn't joke or backtrack, he just stands there, waiting.
your expression shifts slightly, and you lift your hand, hold it out like it's nothing.
gojo reaches for it carefully. your hand is warm, soft, fits into his like it belongs there. it hits him all at once. he wants to grin, or say something stupid, and his heart feels light. he wants to jump of joy.
you turn back to the painting like nothing happened, still holding his hand, and his thumb brushes small circles over yours as you walk.
“this one’s cool,” you say, smiling as you approach another piece.
gojo nods. “yeah,” he murmurs.
he’s not looking at it, not really. he’s looking at you, and thinking, yeah. definitely a good way to lose my mind.
gojo doesn’t let go of your hand until the very last second, right when you walk up to his car. even then it's slow, like he's testing if you'll pull away first. you don't, your hand just slipping out naturally as you approach the parking lot.
the drive back to the frat is shorter than he wants it to be. he pulls up, parking beside where you left your car earlier, and for a second neither of you move. the engine hums softly then he turns off the car, resting his hands on the wheel.
you reach for the flowers first, lifting them carefully from where you set them down earlier, adjusting them in your hands.
“i had a really nice time,” gojo says.
you glance at him. he leans back slightly in his seat, one hand still resting on the wheel, the other rubbing at the back of his neck.
“even if,” he adds, a little sheepish, “the gallery was boring as fuck.”
you stare at him for a second before smiling. “…me too,” you say quietly.
gojo’s grin breaks out immediately, bright and stupid and completely unfiltered, like you just handed him the best news of his life. he leans back in his seat slightly, exhaling. “okay,” he says, nodding once like he’s processing it. “okay, good.”
you glance at him. he looks happy, genuinely. it does something weird to your chest again.
“we should do it again,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
you don’t even hesitate. “no.”
he snorts, shaking his head. “you’re funny.”
he leans a little closer, resting his arm on the center console, looking at you like he already knows the answer. “you will.”
you meet his gaze, unimpressed. “no.”
you roll your eyes, pushing the door open. “you're delusional.” you step out, closing the door behind you, flowers still in hand. he’s out of the car a second later, walking around to the sidewalk where you are.
he shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels. “bye, y/n.”
you turn back toward him. he's looking at you with that same soft, slightly dazed expression he’s had all afternoon.
you step closer and he stills, then you lift slightly onto your toes and press a soft, quick kiss to his cheek. it's light and barely-there. “bye, gojo.” you pull back before he can react, already turning, walking toward your car like nothing happened.
gojo doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. doesn’t breathe, actually.
he just stands there, completely still, eyes wide, heart doing something violent and uncoordinated in his chest.
he lifts a hand slowly, touching his cheek like he needs to confirm it happened.
you’re already unlocking your car, not even looking back. he watches you drive off.
he stands there like his brain short-circuited. “…holy shit,” he whispers, turning back to the house, legs a little wobbly, eyes a little dazed. definitely not normal.
toji looks up first from the couch, then geto and choso walk out of the kitchen.
gojo doesn’t answer right away. he just stands there, loopy smile etched on his face.
geto narrows his eyes slightly. “…you look insane.”
“it was good,” gojo says finally, voice a little distant.
“just good?” toji asks, suspicious.
gojo shakes his head slowly. “no. it was—” he stops like he doesn’t even have the words.
geto stands, walking a little closer, studying him. “…is that—”
toji hops up from the couch. “no way.”
choso looks confused. “what?”
toji points at gojo’s face. “you’ve got something on your cheek.”
geto’s already grinning. “lipstick.”
toji bursts out laughing. “oh, you’re done,” he says, shaking his head. “you’re actually finished.”
choso’s eyes widen slightly. “she—?”
gojo smiles, completely, utterly gone. “shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it.
“you have lipstick on your face,” toji laughs.
“shut up.” gojo walks past them, heading toward his room, you on his mind, already planning your next date.
toji calls after him, still grinning. “you’re in love, man.”
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