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The Catalyst for Anguish

A/N: Idk how to format things on tumblr help, anyways,

WC: 15,000 (give or take) anyways this was fun, and miserable very slay im on a roll rn, locked and loaded idc. I love writting for pathetic men, yearning is iconic, also angst in this one? Sort of? (a tiny weany bit of 'im not like other girls' behavior IF YOU SQUINT) Reader is lowkey mean (shes scared ur honor), Gojo gets his feelings hurt, readers gets hurt, EVERYONE gets hurt (not the horses tho). if theres any mistakes, im sorry, ts not proofread

Shoko and Geto’s arrival for the wedding and After

Do not copy nor translate my work. :)

Over the top.

Lavish.

Fucking dramatic.

Those were the correct terms to refer to the Gojo family, and they were the only words that could possibly do justice to the event before you.

The chandeliers-yes, multiple, above glittered like diamonds, casting a soft glow over the sea of silk and satin that filled the room. The scent of roses and incense swirled in the air, mingling with the laughter and gossip of nobles, merchants, and foreign dignitaries alike. It was a symphony of excess—an orchestra of opulence—curated by the very hands of the Gojo family.

These types of events were grand affairs, and this time around, your dear mother, had dragged you to one. It was rare- you hadn't gone to one in a while.

The grand hall of the Gojo estate was a spectacle, and you were there. Just a shadow in it all- an expensive looking shadow.

You didn’t belong here, not really.

Not in this world of gleaming tiaras, sharp suits, and the incessant murmur of politics and status. You were the youngest daughter of a noble family, and to your mother’s dismay, the least remarkable.You were the youngest daughter of the esteemed, but not quite exceptional, noble family of Cordova, and you weren’t exactly the one anyone was eyeing tonight.

Five older sisters—each more beautiful, more charming, more eager than you—had long secured their place at the centre of every gathering. They glittered in conversation, graced the floors with smiles and flirts, and were cherished by the men and women who populated these extravagant walls.

But you?

You were relegated to the edges, left to fade into the background, a quiet observer.

In fact, you preferred it.

Solitude was a friend you could rely on, while attention was a curse you could do without. You weren’t shy—not exactly. You simply knew the game, and you knew where you stood in it. Cold indifference was your armor. When they looked at you, they didn’t see much. No one cared to look closely, and that was fine by you.

The evening, as always, was about him.

Prince Gojo. The returning hero, the darling of every highborn woman in the room, the man whose presence could send hearts fluttering and whispers scattering.

He stood at the centre of the room like he belonged there—because, of course, he did. Prince Gojo, the living embodiment of a fairytale prince, dazzling smile, impeccably tailored suit, and all. His hair gleamed under the light of the chandeliers, catching the faintest glimmer of gold, like the gods themselves had decided to put a little extra effort into his creation. Tall, handsome, charming in that effortless way that could make even the most cynical heart skip a beat.

Not yours, though. You were immune.

'Look at him,'you thought, sipping your champagne, 'the man who probably wakes up every morning to applause from the heavens.'

You snorted at your own thought.

'Does he even know how to walk into a room without acting like he owns it?' you mused, leaning against the cool marble pillar at the edge of the hall. 'Probably not.'

Your mother’s voice echoed in your head: 'Smile. Mingle. Be noticed.' The poor woman thought this was your golden opportunity.

As if Prince Gojo would even spare a glance for the quiet girl hiding in the corner, dressed in a gown that, while very lovely, was more understated compared to the shimmering jewels and frothy tulle around you.

'Yes, Mother, because that’s exactly what I want—to throw myself at the feet of a man who already has a fan club bigger than the royal army.'

A passing servant offered you a tray of hors d'oeuvres. You plucked one absentmindedly, nibbling at it as you continued to observe the spectacle. 't’s all a performance,' you thought, 'and he’s the star.'

Yet, something about it all felt hollow, didn’t it? Beneath the glitter and the grandeur, beneath the adoring smiles and lavish praises—what was left? Did Prince Gojo ever get tired of it? Did he ever feel suffocated by the weight of everyone’s expectations? Or did he truly enjoy being the centre of attention, basking in their admiration like it was his birthright?

You sighed, finishing your champagne and setting the glass on a passing tray. 'Who am I kidding? He probably thrives on it.'

The thought was cut short as, almost as if he had heard you, Prince Gojo’s gaze swept across the room—and stopped.

Right. On. You.

For a brief moment, your breath caught in your throat.

'Oh no.'

His eyes sparkled with something that could only be described as mischief, and that infuriatingly perfect smile widened, as if he’d just spotted his next amusement.

'Don’t you dare,' you thought. 'Don’t you even think about it—'

And then, to your horror, he began to make his way toward you, his stride confident, his smile never faltering.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Prince Gojo strode toward you, his smile gleaming like it was carved out of starlight. His every step seemed calculated for maximum impact, the way the silk of his jacket caught the light, the casual confidence in his movements. It was infuriating.

'Oh, wonderful,' you thought, panic bubbling just beneath the surface. 'Here comes the royal peacock himself.'

“(Y/N)!” he called out, his voice rich and warm, like you were old friends—like he hadn’t just upended the social balance of the entire room-also he knew your name??? Huh????. He smiled wider, as if this wasn’t the most mortifying moment of your life. “It’s been too long!”

'Oh gods, kill me now.'

He stopped in front of you, towering slightly, and leaned in like he was sharing a secret, though his voice carried for everyone to hear.

“I almost didn’t recognise you. You’ve grown up since the riding lessons.” He tilted his head, the playful spark in his eyes unmistakable. “Do you remember those?”

You blinked, your lips tightening, trying to keep your expression neutral. Of course, you remembered. Barely. You’d spent those lessons keeping to yourself while Gojo entertained the world with his effortless charm, even as a child. And now he had the audacity to act like you were suddenly important?

“Vaguely,” you said flatly, arching a brow. “But you were always hard to miss.”

His grin widened, as if he thought you were flirting. Typical.

“Ah, I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said smoothly. “You were always the quiet one. But you were better on horseback than most of the adults.”

“Still am,” you replied, your tone sharp enough to cut glass. “Not that anyone noticed back then.”

His expression flickered for half a second, like he wasn’t used to people meeting his charm with cool indifference. Good.

“But I noticed,” he said, softening just a touch. “You were good. No—better than good.”

You didn’t bite, though. Instead, you took another slow sip from your glass and leaned back slightly, letting the silence stretch between you two.

Let him squirm. It was oddly satisfying to watch the seemingly unshakeable Gojo flinch, even if just for a second.

He seemed to catch on quickly, though, his smile flickering slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to challenge him.

“Not going to play along?” His voice was amused, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes- curiosity.

“Enjoy the ball, Your Highness. Try not to break too many hearts.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him standing there in the middle of his grand, glittering court. But not before you heard his final words, soft and amused, trailing after you like a whisper:

“I think you just broke mine.”

Yeah right, you thought, the sarcasm laced in your mind like armor. Like you even have one to break.

*-*

The ride home was suffocating.

The carriage rattled over cobblestones, the silence inside far more oppressive than the extravagant noise of the ball. Your mother sat across from you, hands folded neatly in her lap, lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t until the estate gates came into view that she finally spoke.

“Well?” she began, her voice clipped and cold. “Do you care to explain why you squandered an opportunity like that?”

You didn’t even pretend to misunderstand- if you did, she'd be angrier than she is. You knew exactly what she was referring to. Prince Gojo. The scene at the ball. The conversation that, to any prying eyes, must have looked like some grand, promising moment.

“I don’t see what there is to explain,” you said flatly, staring out the window at the passing darkened fields, thought the situation did make you slightly nervous. “We talked. Nothing more.”

Your mother clicked her tongue, and you had to physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. You hated this, your sisters had been far more suited for this.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she hissed, her left eye twitching ever so slightly, the anger bubbling beneath her otherwise composed demeanour. “Avoiding opportunities, brushing off perfectly good matches. Do you want to remain unmarried forever? A burden to your family?”

“I didn’t realize avoiding shallow conversation with a man who barely remembers me from childhood was such a grievous crime,” you said, turning your gaze back to the window. The fields outside blurred in the darkness.

“He remembered you,” she snapped, as if that alone should have sent you into paroxysms of gratitude. “He spoke to you. In public. Do you understand how rare that is? How valuable?”

Valuable.

As if you were some rare trinket on display. You kept your gaze fixed on the passing fields, your jaw tightening. Yes, Mother, how valuable to be the girl everyone forgets—until a prince remembers. Yaysies.

The distant glow of your estate’s torches grew nearer, and your mother, with her spine straight as an iron rod, she looked almost imperial. You finally spoke.

“Valuable,” you repeated under your breath, as though tasting the word would somehow make it less insulting. “He was joking, Mother. What do you think? That I should be thrilled that Prince Gojo, in all his glory, noticed me for five minutes? That somehow, after all this time, that conversation is some kind of grand gesture?”

Her eye twitched again-oof not good.

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “Yes, I do think you should be thrilled. Do you know how many young women would kill for even a passing glance from him? And you—” She paused, her voice rising, trembling with fury barely held in check. “You threw it away like it was nothing. I will be telling your father about this."

“He wasn’t serious, Mother,” you said quietly, bitterness lacing every word. “He was mocking me.”

The carriage jolted over a rut in the road, but neither of you noticed. Your mother’s eyes narrowed. “Mocking?” she echoed, her voice dripping with disdain. “Mocking? Is that what you tell yourself so you can avoid responsibility for your own failures?”

You remained silent, knowing that the worst to come.

The instant your father would hear that the prince had called you out by name during the ball, that you had spoken... you were in for a long lecture. Maybe etiquette class?

A little while later, the carriage arrived to your families estate.

You stared at the entrance, knowing exactly what waited inside: more lectures, more disappointment, and your father’s sharp, practised disappointment.

Lovely. Just the perfect way to end the night.

Your mother gathered her skirts, stepping out with the grace of someone born to make everything a performance.

Straight to your father,” she said, her voice tight with anger and restrained fury, as if she were barely holding herself together. “You will explain yourself.”

Explain what? That you had the audacity to not care that a prince—THE Prince Gojo—had noticed you, spoken to you, and made you feel like some kind of display piece for five minutes? Explain that to your father, who would somehow find a way to twist it into yet another lesson on how you were destined to be left behind if you didn’t start playing the game?

Sure, no problem.

Easy peasy.

Your mother didn’t knock, just swept the door open and stepped in, her back straight and stiff with resolve. You followed behind her, your feet dragging like lead, your heart heavy with the impending confrontation.

“Lord Cordova,” your mother greeted your father with a cold nod. “We need to talk.”

Your father looked up from his desk, his brows furrowing slightly at the tension in her voice.

“She wasted an opportunity,” your mother hissed, not bothering with preamble. “In front of the entire court, she spoke with Prince Gojo and—”

Your father took in a sharp breath.

"Who?!"

Ah fuck.

“Who did she speak to? Prince Gojo? The Crown Prince Gojo?” Your father looked like he went through all five stages of grief in an instant.

Oh, great. Here we go. The Prince Gojo. As if there were multiple Gojos strolling around the ball, handing out attention like confetti.

“Yes,” you muttered, keeping your tone flat, hoping the ground might open up and swallow you whole. “We spoke.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was cold, hollow, the kind of laugh that made you feel like a child being scolded for something ridiculous.

"Ha..." he chuckled, but there was nothing even remotely funny about it. "You spoke with Prince Gojo..." He repeated the words like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, as if it was somehow a joke.

Your mother didn’t give him time to process, of course. She was too furious, too eager to see you punished.

"She refused to even entertain the possibility," she snapped. "Turned away from the chance of securing a match with one of the most eligible men in the entire kingdom." She turned to you, her eyes narrowing. "Do you know how many women would kill for that chance, and you—” she practically spat the words, “—you wasted it.”

You stayed silent, knowing that if you spoke, you would be digging your own grave.

“Do you realize how rare an opportunity that was?” he asked, his voice now hard, stern. “Prince Gojo is—he’s everything.” His words trailed off, as though he didn’t even know how to finish the sentence without sounding ridiculous.

"It was just a conversation, just about how we used to have horse ridding lessons when we were younger-" You didn't even finish.

"So?" Your mother snapped. "You turned away from him first. You could've done something."

"Right. Of course. My apologies."

And of course your parents went on tirades, but you simply tuned them out. Instead, you closed your eyes, wishing that this time, you could just disappear—vanish into the shadows where no one could find you, where no one could make you feel this small.

*-*

The first letter arrived on a dreary Tuesday morning.

It was simple, almost annoyingly so, like a child’s handwriting scribbled on the back of a napkin. Your mother found it first, of course, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head when she saw the wax seal-the royal was seal. She'd nearly ripped the damn thing open with more enthusiasm than a child on their birthday.

“It’s from him,” she breathed, more to herself than to you. “Prince Gojo… he wrote to you.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

And then, with the full force of your sarcasm, you said, “Did he? How nice.”

“How nice?” she shrieked, as if the sheer understatement of your words might cause her to combust. “This is more than nice! This is…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence, her breath catching in her throat, choking on the excitement. She turned toward the door, already calling for your father. “Edward! Edward, come quickly!”

You lifted your brow at that, your mother using your fathers first name was a rarity.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair, already tired of whatever circus was about to unfold. 'Of course. Let’s make it a family affair. Gods forbid we handle this with a shred of dignity', you thought.

Your father came stomping in, his heavy boots thudding against the floor, looking as though he expected to find the house on fire , or worse- one of your sisters involved in something disastrous, like an elopement with the local baker- that would probably kill your mother.

“What is it?” he demanded, brow furrowed in concern.

Your mother shoved the letter toward him like it was a trophy, her hands trembling.

“It’s a letter. From the prince. To her.”

He stared at the letter for a long moment, then at you, and back again, like he couldn’t quite believe it. Finally, he snatched it from her hands, his eyes scanning the outside of the envelope, his expression unreadable.

“Maybe he's inviting me to be the court jester? Because I think he’s already got that role covered- but hey, the more the merrier.” You ironised.

Your father's gaze snapped to you, his expression hovering between disbelief and exasperation. “Do you ever take anything seriously?” he asked, voice low and edged with frustration.

Your father finally opened the letter, his fingers trembling just slightly. He read it once. Twice. His brow furrowed.

“Well?” your mother demanded impatiently, her voice barely holding back her excitement.

It was an invitation to one of the royal riding events, something Prince Gojo had apparently personally requested your presence at. He’d written that he remembered you from childhood, and he thought it would be enjoyable to reconnect. No pressure. No formalities. Just company.

Your father read it once, then twice, before handing it off to your mother.

“This…” your father began, his voice tight. “This is… this is something.”

Your mother, clutching the letter like a prize, barely contained herself.

“Do you see this? Do you see this? He remembers you. He wants to see you again!” Her voice was a high-pitched.

“I can’t believe this,” your father said, his voice barely a whisper. He seemed stuck somewhere between disbelief and awe. “He actually wants to see her. The Prince Gojo. The one who could have any woman he wanted, and he wants you.”

Ouch. Right in the ego.

The room was silent for a moment. You could practically feel your parents’ hopes, their expectations, suffocating you from all sides.

"You will go. You will. I will personally drag you there myself." Your mother noted.

"Yes mother." You answered in a monotone voice.

*-*

The riding 'lesson' was arranged for the following week. You almost didn’t want to go. In fact, you spent the night before convincing yourself that you could fake illness, or perhaps just lock yourself in your room and claim to be otherwise occupied.

But, you found yourself in the stables, eyeing your horse with a mixture of indifference and dread. It was a beautiful animal—sleek, strong, and clearly well-trained. But the very idea of being around other people, let alone royalty, still twisted your insides.

When you’d reluctantly agreed to Gojo’s invitation, you hadn’t really expected him to show up. Or at least not without some entourage.

'A royal event', you thought with a smirk, 'where the prince shows up with five of his closest companions—each more glamorous than the last'.

But Gojo arrived alone. His usual confident stride looked a little off today, his posture less assured. His usual charisma had dimmed to something quieter, more subdued.

"Ready to ride?" Gojo’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you blinked, momentarily startled by the directness of his gaze. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Guess so," you replied, trying to match his tone, though the sarcasm was laced thick enough to cut through steel. "Although I must admit, I’m disappointed. No royal entourage? No retinue of nobles to witness this grand moment?"

He chuckled, but there was a flatness to it, a humorless edge that made you look at him with a little more curiosity.

"I thought you’d enjoy the peaceful version," he said lightly, motioning to the open fields behind him. "No drama, no politics, just... us. And a couple of horses."

"Just us? Hmm... sounds too simple for a royal prince. You sure you’re not secretly plotting something elaborate, like a dramatic rescue or a battle of some sort?" You lifted your brow.

He just laughed, as usual, like your sarcasm was nothing but a joke to him. “No, I promise. But seriously, I’m glad you came.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What, are you that desperate for company?”

He shrugged, and gestured towards the saddles, the horses.

“Ready to show off your legendary riding skills again?” Gojo teased, grinning that carefree, almost annoyingly perfect smile of his.

You shot him a sideways glance, unimpressed. “Well, I won’t hold back just because you’re the prince. I’m still better than you.”

Gojo laughed, the sound like a sudden burst of light.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” He mounted his horse with an ease that came from years of practice. You couldn’t help but notice how effortless he made it look, how comfortable he seemed in his own skin, even when surrounded by expectations.

The ride was uneventful at first, the two of you pushing the horses into a steady trot, the rhythmic sound of hooves against the dirt grounding you both. You fell into a comfortable silence, and though it was easy to pretend this was just another day, you couldn’t ignore the subtle awkwardness between you. He didn’t seem like someone who thrived on small talk, and you weren’t exactly an expert in pretending to care about things you didn’t.

“You know,” Gojo started, his voice cutting through the quiet as his horse matched your pace. “It’s been nice. Having someone to ride with again.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him sideways- the fuck was he on?

“You don’t seem like the lonely type.”

He chuckled, but there was no humor in it.

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? I am.” He took a deep breath, the smile slipping from his face as the tension in his shoulders became evident. “Geto and Shoko left. And I didn’t realize just how much I’d come to rely on them…until they were gone.”

"Ah. So that's what this is? You're in need of company? Don't you have a flock of people that would love to be in my place?"

Gojo didn’t flinch though.

Instead, he just looked at you—really looked at you, as if he was searching for something in your eyes. And you almost short circuited. No one had looked at you like that in a very, very long time.

“It’s funny, right? You think I’ve got it all, that everything is handed to me on a silver platter. But it’s not like that. I’ve had friends... well, used to have friends.” His lips pressed together in a thin line. “Geto and I had a big fight before he left. And Shoko? She went south to be a physician. Guess there was no room for a prince in her life.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, almost automatically. The words felt out of place coming from you, but there they were, falling from your lips like some strange, uninvited guest. "I didn’t know."

He shrugged, the motion light and careless, though there was a heaviness in his light blue eyes.

“You don’t need to be. It’s just... it’s just been hard, you know? I’ve got this image to keep up. But sometimes, I just need someone who isn’t... impressed.” He paused, glancing at you with a kind of odd sincerity. “Someone who doesn’t expect anything.”

“Well,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended. “I guess I’m good at not expecting things.” You smirked. “It’s a talent of mine.”

Gojo grinned at that, though it was more subdued this time.

“I’m starting to think that’s why I liked you when we were kids. You don’t care about any of this.” He gestured loosely to the royal estate in the distance, his voice light but the weight of his words not lost on you. “The politics, the attention, the obligations. You don’t care.”

“Well,” you said, forcing a nonchalant shrug. “That’s probably because I’m too busy trying to stay out of the spotlight. Honestly, I’m just trying to keep my head down until everyone forgets I’m here.”

He laughed again, though this time it was more like a soft exhale, as if the laughter itself was a little bittersweet.

“If only it were that easy for me.” He glanced back toward the estate, his eyes distant. “Sometimes I wish I could just disappear, you know? No one expects anything from me. No one looks at me like I’m the answer to their problems, like I’m supposed to be the one to fix everything.”

And silence settled, the two of you rode together, the silence between you almost comfortable, the distance between your worlds just a little bit smaller. But as the day wore on, you realized that even though Gojo had invited you for a ride, what he’d really been looking for was someone who could just be.

No titles. No expectations. Just two people.

And maybe, just maybe, you were the only one who didn’t want anything from him.

Just a friend.

*-*

When you finally returned home, the estate felt quieter than usual, the kind of eerie silence that only came after an eventful day. You had barely gotten past the front gates when you saw your mother standing near the foyer, her eyes wide with that familiar glint of excitement.

Your mother’s sharp eyes followed your every move, and the unmistakable glint of hope was in her gaze—if you could call it hope. It looked more like desperation mixed with a touch of victory. Your stomach twisted in response.

You barely made it inside before she pounced.

"How was the ride?" she asked eagerly, her voice high-pitched, almost too enthusiastic. "Did His Highness say anything interesting? How did it go? Tell me everything, everything!"

You blinked. Almost tempted to say that the prince fell off his horse and died.

Maybe she'd leave you alone.

"It went fine," you muttered, doing your best to sound as uninterested as possible. “We rode. We talked.”

She caught that last word like it was a golden nugget. "Talked? Talked?! What did he say? Was it—was it personal? Oh, I bet it was. I knew you two would get along!" She clapped her hands together, her eyes wide with hope.

"Talked about riding lessons," you deadpanned. "And horses. You know, the usual riveting topics."

Your mother blinked, momentarily deflated, but then quickly recovered. "Horses... horses?" Her voice cracked a little as she tried to keep the excitement alive. "Well, that’s a start. That’s fine. But it’s not just about horses, darling. You know what’s important, right?" She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with that familiar, almost manic gleam. “This is Prince Gojo we’re talking about! The Prince Gojo. He could choose anyone, and he’s choosing you. That’s what matters!”

You stifled the urge to groan. Of course, she’d see it that way. To her, Gojo wasn’t a person. He was a prize, a trophy, something to elevate your family’s standing.

"Yeah," you muttered, glancing down at your boots. "He’s really chosen me, alright. He’s not after anything, though. He just needs someone to talk to." You could almost hear the sarcasm dripping off your words.

"Oh, darling," she said with a dismissive wave, “you’re being modest. I know you’re not used to being pursued like this, but that’s exactly what’s happening. Can’t you see it? He’s interested in you. Not your sisters, not anyone else. Just you."

You opened your mouth to answer that no, he didn't want you, he just wanted a friend. But she didn't let you.

"Why are you so determined to downplay this?" Her voice cracked, though you could tell she was trying to mask it with an air of control. "Do you understand what this could mean for our family? You’re not just some noble daughter, darling. You’re a potential princess. Think of it!"

“A potential princess?” you echoed in disbelief, shaking your head. “I’m a nobody. I’m not some prize for Gojo to win. I’m not some... not some step in the right direction for his royal bloodline.” You let the bitterness seep into your voice now, because really, what else was there left to do?

Your mother didn’t seem to hear any of it. She was too lost in her dreams of grandeur.

"You’re wrong. You’ll see. He’ll come for you. He’s just being careful, like all men are-especially one of his standing." She smiled as if she had already won the game, as if all her efforts were somehow paying off, one letter at a time. “This will be the beginning of everything.”

You could only stare at her, a hollow ache in your chest. Maybe it wasn’t even about Gojo anymore.

Maybe it never was. Maybe it was just about your mother wanting so badly for you to mean something in the grand scheme of things. To be something more than just the second youngest Cordova, the one who wasn’t quite pretty enough, wasn’t quite clever enough, wasn’t quite anything enough.

You were tired. So tired of all the expectations.

So tired of never being enough in the eyes of your family.

“Sure, Mom,” you said quietly, fighting back the sting behind your eyes. “I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

But you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that it wouldn’t. That, in the end, you weren’t the one who mattered at all.

You were just a pawn, waiting to be played.

And that was the worst part. You didn't even know if you could blame Gojo for it.

*-*

That white haired, blue eyed motherfucker didn't stop sending you letters.

Much to your shaggrine.

Every event, every horse ride... it meant your parents planning and scheming further.

Now even the gossipers knew of you- and not like they had in the past, as the failure daughter of the Cordona family, but this time, as the girl who caught the Crown Prince's eye.

How fun.

*-*

The first time Gojo asked to hang out again, it was after one of the many royal events you’d been dragged to. As usual, he’d found you hiding near the back, surrounded by delicate conversations about politics, fashion, and all the things you couldn’t care less about. When his presence loomed at your side, you thought for a second you were imagining things.

“Hey,” Gojo said, a playful glint in his eyes. “Fancy a walk?”

You blinked. “Is this part of the royal entertainment package? Because I’m not really in the mood to be paraded around like a prize horse.”

“Come on,” he said, unfazed. “You could use a break from the charm of the nobility.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re starting to sound like you’re in a bad romance novel.”

He grinned, his eyes gleaming. “Well, if the crown fits…”

You snorted. “It doesn’t, though. You’re not that charming.”

“Right. And you’re definitely not that sarcastic.”

You shot him a look. “I’m not sarcastic. I’m just... realistic... and funny. ”

By the end of the walk, you were both a little damp from the rain, but Gojo seemed completely unfazed. There was something... unnervingly easy about being around him. No masks, no titles, no expectations. Just him, and you, having a quiet moment where neither of you had to be anyone but yourselves.

Too bad it’s all just a game. A distraction. Whatever.

*-*

It happened over the course of multiple months.

It started innocently enough. He appeared another morning at the stables, after summoning you again, and far too early for any reasonable royal, but of course, it was Gojo.

Grinning, sparkling, irritating as ever.

“Thought I’d join you for a ride,” he announced, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

"Again, didn't have a choice, you summoned me." You eyed him, unimpressed. “Since when do you get up before noon?”

“Since now.” He swung himself onto a horse with an obnoxious flourish. “Admit it, you missed me.”

“Like a hole in the head,” you muttered, but rode alongside him anyway.

*-*

The rain battered the windows of the small sitting room where you found yourself, Gojo lounging across from you with a chessboard between you.

He was terrible at it. Absolutely atrocious.

How was he the crowned prince and couldn't play chess??

“Is it normal to lose three pawns in one move?” he asked, moving a piece in some bizarre diagonal.

“No,” you deadpanned, flicking your knight into position. “But it is impressive.”

He squinted at the board, lips quirking. “I think you’re cheating.”

You arched a brow. “You think I need to cheat?”

His laughter filled the room, and for a moment, the storm outside seemed distant.

You smiled, even if it was a tiny bit.

'It’s nice,' you thought, surprised at the warmth that bloomed in the quiet. 'But it’s just Gojo. Nothing more.'

*-*

He insisted you come to the royal festival with him. You didn’t want to—large crowds, loud music, pointless parades. But he showed up at your door anyway, eyes shining.

“You need to see the fireworks,” he said, practically dragging you along. “They’re better than the ones at the palace.”

“I hate fireworks,” you lied, trying to ignore the way your heart jumped when his hand brushed yours.

“Then you’ve been watching the wrong ones,” he replied, grinning.

And later, as the sky exploded in color, you caught him staring—not at the fireworks, but at you.

"Fucking hell.." You mumbled- your mother would've slapped the back of your head if she had heard?

“See?” he said softly. “Better.”

You looked away, pretending you hadn’t noticed. 'It’s nothing. He’s just… Gojo.'

*-*

A letter arrived, unexpected and short. Just a few lines, hastily scribbled.

"Thought you might like this."

With it was a small pressed flower, one from the field where you used to ride as children.

You stared at it for a long time, unsure what to feel- friends right? Yeah. Friends.

Your mother, of course, thought it was a declaration. “He’s clearly smitten!” she said, eyes gleaming.

“He’s not,” you replied, setting the flower aside. “He’s just bored.”

But the ache in your chest didn’t agree.

*-*

It happened slowly, almost imperceptibly, like rain softening stone over time. One moment, you were just a quiet figure in the background of Gojo’s grand, glittering world—a respite from the endless parade of sycophants and expectations. And the next, without warning, you were more. More than the silent companion. More than just the girl who gave him honest, unfiltered conversation. More than a friend, though Gojo didn’t have the self-awareness to name it.

Not yet.

*-*

It started small. Little things that, to anyone else, might’ve seemed insignificant.

Gojo found himself lingering longer after your rides, watching as you meticulously tended to your horse, the way your hands moved with a practiced ease, the faint crease between your brows when you concentrated. He liked that you didn’t fawn over him like everyone else. You treated him like an equal—or sometimes, like an annoyance, which was oddly refreshing.

'She’s just a good friend', he told himself, leaning casually against the stable wall, arms crossed as he watched you brush down your horse. 'That’s all it is. A good friend who’s good at ignoring my jokes and doesn’t care that I’m a prince. Simple.'

"Do you need something?" you asked without turning around.

Gojo grinned, but it faltered slightly when you didn’t look up.

"What? Can’t a guy enjoy some quality stable time?" he quipped, even though part of him felt like an idiot for standing there, loitering like some lovesick stablehand.

You glanced over your shoulder, arching a brow. “Stable time,” you repeated flatly, as though the words themselves were somehow offensive. "Right. Because that’s what you’re here for. Not to avoid your royal duties or anything."

He laughed, but it felt a little hollow. “You know me too well.”

You shrugged, returning to your task. "Someone has to. You’re not exactly subtle, Gojo."

Not subtle. He rolled the words over in his mind later, lying awake in his ridiculously oversized bed. His head sank into the silk pillow, but sleep wouldn’t come. He told himself it was the simplicity he appreciated. No pretense. No hidden agendas. Just the two of you, existing in a space where titles didn’t matter. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, staring up at the ornate ceiling. He could still hear your voice, low and unamused, calling him out on his nonsense like no one else dared.

*-*

Meanwhile, your mother was relentless, the moment you stepped through the door.

“Another afternoon with the prince,” she cooed, practically draped in self-satisfaction. “And still, you act as though it’s nothing. Darling, do you understand what this means?”

You dropped your riding gloves onto the table, your face carefully neutral. “Yes, Mother,” you said, voice void of emotion. “It means I’m the only person who isn’t throwing themselves at him.”

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she rallied quickly, the determined sparkle returning to her eyes. “Exactly. That’s what makes you different. That’s what makes you special. He doesn’t want someone like your sisters—he wants you.”

You resisted the urge to scream, your voice cold and clipped. “He wants someone who doesn’t expect anything from him. Someone who doesn’t care.”

She smiled wider, not even hearing the ache in your voice. “Exactly.”

*-*

The first time Gojo realised something had shifted, it was months later- 7 months later exactly, it was raining.

Not the pleasant, soft drizzle that made you want to curl up with a book, but the kind of torrential downpour that turned roads into rivers and made the air thick and heavy. He’d been sitting by the window in his private study, watching the rain streak the glass, when your face flashed in his mind.

She probably loves this kind of weather, he thought absently. Probably smirking right now, pretending not to be annoyed but secretly hating every second of being soaked.

The thought came unbidden, and it should’ve been harmless. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t because he could practically hear your voice in his head, that sharp-edged sarcasm you wielded like a weapon. He could hear you teasing him, calling him out on his ridiculousness, and it made him smile.

Then the smile faded as realisation clawed at him. Why am I thinking about her?

*-*

Then came the letters.

More of them. Invites to more royal events, more occasions where he made it clear—without actually saying it—that he wanted your company. It wasn’t about love. No, you knew better than that. But somehow, every invitation felt like it was designed just to keep you in his orbit.

"You’re coming to the ball next week, right?" he asked, casually, his fingers trailing over the rim of his wineglass. "It’d be good to see you again."

You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms. "Why? You’re not tired of my company yet?"

He paused, his smile faltering for just a moment. "I don’t get tired of good company," he said softly, the words as sincere as they were out of place. You caught the edge of his gaze—a look that said something more, but he was too busy pretending it wasn’t there.

Yeah, right. Good company. More like he was trying to convince himself of that, trying to make himself believe he wasn’t doing all of this because, secretly, he was trying to win you over.

But you knew better than to fall for that. He was just playing the game. The same one everyone else played. He didn’t know how to stop. Not when it came to impressing people.

The worst part was, you could see it now. You could see the game. You could see the subtle moves, the small gestures, the extra attention. But that didn’t mean you had to play along. Did you?

Did you?

Your sarcasm was your armor, the only thing you could rely on, because deep down, it didn’t matter what Gojo really felt. It didn’t matter if he was falling for you or if this was just another phase for him. What mattered was that he never seemed to notice that you weren’t like the others.

The others? They would’ve eaten this up. They would’ve been flattered by the attention, thrilled by the idea of the prince wanting their company.

You?

You were tired.

And no amount of his flashy tricks or his stupid little gestures was going to change that.

"Yeah, I’ll come to the ball," you said finally, your voice flat. "But don’t expect me to act like I’m impressed."

Gojo blinked, his grin fading, and for a brief moment, you swore you saw a flicker of something in his eyes.

A flash of doubt and guilt.

But you didn’t stick around long enough to find out. You turned away, your heart heavy, and left the room before you had to see him try any harder.

Because you both knew how this would end, didn’t you?

In the end, it was never going to be enough- you were never going to be enough.

*-*

The music swelled as he spun you into the center of the ballroom, other dancers parting to make room as though you were the only two people there. His hand rested at your waist, his grip firm but not unpleasant. It was almost… gentle.

"You didn’t have to," you said quietly as he twirled you. "I’m sure someone else would’ve been far more excited for this."

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Didn’t have to what?"

"Make a scene. Drag me onto the floor."

His smile faltered for a split second, and there it was again—that flicker of guilt, maybe. But it passed quickly, and the mask of charm slid back into place. "I wasn’t aware I was dragging. I thought I was dancing."

You rolled your eyes. "You know what I mean."

He sighed, spinning you again, slower this time. "Maybe I just like spending time with you."

You snorted softly, shaking your head. "You like the idea of it, maybe. The simplicity. I’m not like the others, right? No expectations, no drama." The bitterness bled through, and you didn’t care enough to stop it. "But it’s not real. You’re not real."

Gojo’s grip on your waist tightened, just for a moment, and his expression darkened. "Why do you do that?" he asked softly, voice low enough that only you could hear. "Act like I’m a joke."

You blinked, startled by the seriousness in his tone. "Because you are," you whispered back. "And so am I."

The music swirled around you, but neither of you moved. You were stuck, locked in a dance that felt more like a battle. His smile had vanished completely now, replaced by something raw, something too close to real.

Everyone was staring.

"I’m not mocking you," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I never was."

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. "Then what are you doing?"

He didn’t answer. He just stared at you, searching, as if he was trying to find the right words and failing. And for once, Prince Gojo—the man who always had something witty to say—was silent.

The music ended. He let go of you slowly, his hand lingering for just a moment longer than it should have. You stepped back, breath shallow, and forced yourself to smile.

"Thank you for the dance," you said, cold and polite, like it hadn’t just broken something inside both of you.

You walked away before he could say anything else, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the ballroom.

Your parents’ faces glowed with triumph as you returned, but all you felt was hollow.

Because the truth was, it didn’t matter if he was falling for you.

You weren’t sure you wanted him to.

*-*

ately, there were moments when his confidence faltered, when his eyes seemed too earnest, too searching, as if he was looking for something that wasn’t there.

It was during a sparring session, of all things.

You had agreed to join a small group for practice, mostly to pass the time. You didn’t care for swordplay, but you knew it was something that would help you keep your mind distracted from the incessant pressure of your family and the mounting tension with Gojo.

At first, it was the usual: he was flawless, dancing around opponents with that cocky grin on his face, effortlessly deflecting blows and making mockeries of anyone who dared challenge him. The onlookers laughed, cheering him on like he was some kind of legend. He was a legend, to them—he was a prince, after all.

But then, as the practice wore on, Gojo’s gaze kept flicking to you. It wasn’t the usual teasing, the usual flirtation. It was almost… nervous. Like he was waiting for something—waiting for your approval?

Was he?

Those couple times when you managed to lock eyes-for a fleeting moment, he looked like a little boy, begging for approval, wanting to be seen beyond the prince-the soldier he was.

'Nuh uh' was the only thing going through your head.

*-*

The next time you saw him was days later, at another royal gathering. Of course, your mother insisted you attend, as if every event was an opportunity for you to be seen, to make a perfect impression. You slipped into the corner of the ballroom, barely noticed by the glittering crowd around you.

And that’s when it happened again.

As soon as Gojo stepped into the hall, his eyes locked on your figure, almost as if he always knew where you were. This time, there was something different—something almost desperate. You tried to focus on the sparkling chandeliers and the murmur of conversation around you, but your gaze kept straying back to him. He wasn’t smiling like he usually did. He wasn’t the carefree, cocky prince.

He looked… lost.

Was it just you, or was it really happening? Was Gojo—Prince Gojo—the untouchable, flawless man—falling for you?

And if so, why?

You couldn’t risk believing in him. Not when you were just another thing to conquer.

*-*

The tension in the royal court had been simmering for months, and now it was boiling over.

So you withdrew from court.

Naturally, you feigned illness, you wanted nothing to do with the crown prince. Much to your parents dismay. At first your mother was beyond furious-but your father.. your father noticed how exhausted and distant you had become. So he laid off your back.

But it didn't matter, the damage was done, eight months of being friends with the crown prince doesn't just disappear. The air buzzed with whispers, rumors spreading like wildfire. It was no longer a question of if Gojo would marry—it was who. And the speculation only grew louder as the days passed.

You heard it all, of course. Curtesy of your mother- and sometimes your sisters who would come have dinner. And anyways, the nobles had a way of making sure you knew, especially since your family’s name had started to surface in hushed conversations. The Cordova family was respectable, wealthy enough, but not particularly powerful. That was, until Gojo began to show interest—or whatever it was he was doing—in you.

And now? Now, suddenly, your family was worth noticing.

You stood on the balcony of your estate, the cool breeze brushing against your skin. Below, in the garden, your mother and father were deep in conversation with some visiting noble. No doubt they were basking in the newfound attention, relishing every rumor like it was gold.

*-*

Inside the palace walls, things weren’t much better. Gojo sat in the grand hall, his advisors gathered around him like vultures. The marble floors gleamed beneath them, the high ceilings amplifying every tense word.

He wanted to strangle one or two- actually no. The lot of them.

“You cannot continue like this, Your Highness,” one of the elder advisors said, his voice trembling with a mix of exasperation and desperation. “The kingdom needs stability. A marriage alliance would provide that.”

Gojo leaned back in his chair, the lazy arrogance he so often wore like a second skin noticeably absent. Instead, he looked tired, his usual spark dimmed. He didn’t even bother to hide the irritation in his voice.

“And you think marrying someone will solve all our problems?” he drawled. “I wasn’t aware a wedding could fix political unrest.”

Another advisor, younger and more ambitious, chimed in. “It’s not just about you, Your Highness. It’s about the future of the throne. You need someone who can solidify alliances.”

Gojo sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I know what you want,” he said quietly, his voice sharp with annoyance. “You want me to pick some perfectly obedient noblewoman, smile for the portraits, and pretend everything’s fine.”

The older advisor stepped forward. “This isn’t just about you! You owe it to the kingdom.”

“Owe it?” Gojo’s voice rose, and for a moment, the tired prince was gone, replaced by a man on the edge. “I’ve given everything to this kingdom. My time. My freedom. My life. And now you want me to hand over my heart too? No.”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable.

*-*

Back at your estate, the rumors finally reached your ears in full force.

Your mother burst into the sitting room, eyes alight with barely contained excitement. “It’s happening,” she whispered, practically vibrating with glee. “The court is pushing for a match. They’re pressuring him to choose.”

You didn’t look up from your book. “How fascinating,” you said dryly. “Do you think they’ll host a tournament? Maybe I should start sharpening my sword.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so flippant. This could change everything for us.”

“For us,” you repeated, glancing up at her with a raised brow. “But not for me.”

Her face flushed with frustration. “You are so ungrateful. Do you realize what an opportunity this is? You could be queen.”

You laughed, the sound cold and hollow. “Queen of what? A man who doesn’t care? A court that sees me as a pawn? No, thank you.”

She advanced on you, eyes blazing. “You think you’re above this? You think you’re better than the rest of us?”

“No,” you said quietly, your voice like ice. “I think I’ve just learned the difference between being wanted and being used.”

She stared at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before she finally turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

*-*

A month after withdrawing from court, your mother had had enough of your 'tantrums', and dragged you to another ball.

It was another grand affair, another gilded evening of silks and jewels—this time, a royal ceremony commemorating some diplomatic victory. You wore a dress chosen by your mother, a confection of midnight blue that made you feel like a reluctant participant in someone else’s dream.

You were staring at the small champagne glass in your hand, it was half full- wondering if you could potentially drown yourself in it.

The chandeliers glimmered above, casting golden light across the gathered crowd, but the weight in your chest had nothing to do with the elegance of the scene.

It was the conversation you’d overheard.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. You were wandering the fringes of the ballroom, hoping to find a moment of peace when you caught the hushed voices of Gojo’s advisors behind a column. You didn’t recognize all the voices, but one was unmistakably his chief advisor.

“Prince Gojo has been far too indulgent,” the man said, his voice clipped and frustrated. “It’s time he stopped playing games. The Cordova girl is a practical match. Their family isn’t as high as some, but they bring wealth, connections. And she’s pliable enough.”

Pliable. Like you were some piece of clay to be molded.

“Does he know?” another voice asked, quieter but equally firm.

“He doesn’t have to. He’ll come around. He’s already spending all this time with her, isn’t he? A few more nudges, and he’ll fall in line.”

You felt like the ground had dropped beneath you-then you felt foolish, embarrassed even.

Everything—the letters, the riding lessons, the moments that felt almost real—was nothing more than a well-calculated push. You’d been naive, hadn’t you? Letting yourself believe, even for a moment, that maybe you were different. Maybe you weren’t just another pawn in this game.

But you were.

*-*

From that moment, you decided to pull away. Emotionally, physically—you retreated into yourself.

Those fuckers had tried to play you? Well two could play that game.

You became colder, more distant. When Gojo sought you out, you found excuses: sudden headaches, an urgent need to be elsewhere. You danced with others at the ball, smiled at others, but never him.

Gojo noticed.

Of course he did. He noticed everything about you. Down to your breathing pattern.

He cornered you in the gardens a month later, in the evening, the moon casting silver light over his face. His usual playful grin was gone, replaced by something more fragile, more confused.

"You’ve been avoiding me," he said, his voice soft but edged with tension.

You didn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead on the stone path beneath your feet. "I’ve been busy."

Gojo scoffed, stepping closer. "Busy? You’ve never been good at lying, you know."

Your heart twisted painfully, but you forced yourself to stay distant. "What can I for you, Your Highness?"

Oof, formal tittle? That wasn't good. His frustration bubbled to the surface, and for once, his mask slipped.

"I want to know what I did. One moment we’re fine, and the next, it’s like I don’t exist. Did I offend you? Say something wrong?"

You laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the still night.

"Offend me? No, Gojo. You didn’t offend me. You’ve been perfectly charming, as always."

"Then what is it?" His voice cracked slightly, and that vulnerability you’d seen creeping into his eyes was suddenly laid bare. "Why are you pulling away?"

You finally looked at him then, your expression carefully blank. "Because I know what this is."

He frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "What are you talking about?"

"I heard them," you said, the words tasting like ash. "Your advisors. Talking about how this—" you gestured vaguely between the two of you, "—isn’t real. How they’ve been pushing you toward me because I’m a ‘practical match.’"

His face paled. "That’s not—"

"Don’t," you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. "Don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid, Gojo. I know how these things work. I know what I am."

"You don’t," he insisted, stepping forward, his eyes desperate now. "You don’t know. They can push all they want, but that’s not why—"

"Then why?" you demanded, your voice trembling. "Why did you seek me out? Why the letters, the rides, the—everything? If it wasn’t because they told you to, then why?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came. He looked like he wanted to say something, like he was on the verge of some great revelation, but nothing emerged.

You laughed again, softer this time, but no less bitter. "That’s what I thought."

"No," he said, almost a whisper. "It’s not like that."

"Isn’t it?" You shook your head, stepping back. "You don’t even know what you want. You’re torn between your heart and your duty, and I’m just the convenient middle ground. You don’t have to choose if I’m already here, right?"

"That’s not fair," he said, his voice breaking. "I didn’t want this."

"Neither did I," you snapped. "I never asked for any of this, Gojo. I never wanted to be part of your world. But here we are. And now I have to watch you pretend this is something more while knowing it’s just another move in a game I never wanted to play."

He was silent, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him.

"You should go," you said softly, turning away. "Go be the prince they need you to be."

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, you heard his footsteps retreating, leaving you alone in the cold moonlight. As he left, you swore you heard him whisper:

"I just wanted a friend."

But you couldn't be sure, it was probably the wind.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to cry.

*-*

At first, Gojo had told himself that it was just a phase—that you were upset, perhaps, or just needing space. But with every passing day, the silence between the two of you became louder, more suffocating. He had spent so many years avoiding the weight of responsibility, always choosing to float above it all with his charm, his wit, and his easy smile.

But now, in the cold quiet of the night, as he sat alone in his study, the weight of his actions hit him with full force.

'I’m an idiot.'

He had been blind. So incredibly blind. He had spent all this time thinking he was merely enjoying your company—thinking that what was happening between the two of you was simple, carefree friendship. But now he realised, painfully, that it was so much more than that. It was love. It had always been love.

'Gods, how did I not see it?'

Gojo’s heart pounded in his chest as the truth sank in. With you.... With you, he had fallen so effortlessly, so completely, that he hadn’t even realised it. And now, it was too late. You were gone, pulling away from him, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

He had tried to show you his affection through small gestures—inviting you to ride with him, sharing private conversations, letters he knew you’d roll your eyes at—but now, with the realisation crushing him, he understood: 'those weren’t gestures of friendship. They were attempts to show her the part of you that you’ve hidden for too long.'

'How could I have been so stupid?'

*-*

He found you in the garden during the next ball-so like a week later, sitting beneath the ancient willow tree. The early sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the grass, but the light felt wrong—too soft for the weight of what he was about to say.

You looked up when he approached, your expression as guarded as ever. "Prince Gojo," you greeted coolly, and the formality in your voice stung more than it should have.

He winced. "Don’t call me that."

"What should I call you, then?" you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "Your Grace? Your Highness? The man who doesn’t know what he wants?"

"Stop," he said quietly, his voice raw. "Please."

You stiffened, but you didn’t move to leave. You just stared at him, waiting. He realised he hated the distance between you, both the physical space and the emotional chasm he had carved with his own carelessness.

"I didn’t come here because they told me to," he began, his voice trembling. "I never sought you out because of politics. I came because I wanted to. I came because you were the only one who didn’t expect anything from me."

You scoffed, looking away. "And that makes it better?"

"No," he admitted, stepping closer. "It doesn’t. But it’s the truth."

There was silence, heavy and suffocating, before you finally spoke. "Why now, Gojo? Why tell me this now?"

"Because I’m a fool," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn’t realize it until I lost you."

You laughed, bitter and broken. "You never had me to begin with."

"But I wanted to," he whispered, the words trembling with desperation. "I wanted to have you. Not as a trophy, not as a political move—because I’m in love with you."

A beat passed.

"You’re in love with me," you repeated, the disbelief in your voice sharp. "How nice."

The sarcasm cut through him like a blade. He had expected anger, confusion, maybe even pity—but not this.

"Yeah," he murmured, eyes falling to the ground, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?"

"Pathetic?" You scoffed, your voice low. "No. It’s just... convenient."

Gojo winced at the sharpness of your words.

"You don’t love me," you continued, your voice steady but hollow. "You love the idea of me. You love what I give you—peace, escape. But that’s not love, Gojo."

He shook his head, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "No, it’s more than that. I swear it’s more than that."

"Then what?" you demanded, your voice rising with anger. "What is it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like convenience."

"It’s not," he said fiercely. "It’s you. It’s the way you look at me like I’m just a man, not a prince. It’s the way you challenge me, the way you make me feel alive." He paused, his voice softening. "I didn’t realize it until you walked away, but it’s you. It’s always been you."

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "And what about your duty, Gojo? What about the throne? Are you willing to throw all of that away for me?"

His silence was deafening.

You laughed bitterly. "Exactly. You can’t. You never could. So don’t stand here and tell me you love me when you’re still tethered to a life I’ll never be part of."

"Please," he said, his voice breaking. "Don’t do this."

"You already did," you whispered.

The tension stretched between you, fragile and aching-like a bowstring about to snap. He reached out, but you stepped back, shaking your head.

"I can’t be your escape," you said softly. "I won’t."

Gojo’s face crumpled, and for the first time, you saw the man beneath the crown—heartbroken, vulnerable, lost. "I’m sorry," he said, and it sounded like the end of everything.

"So am I."

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him alone beneath the willow tree, where the sun rose on a man who had everything but the one thing he truly wanted.

*-*

The door slammed behind you as you stumbled inside, the heavy weight of the night pressing down on you like a suffocating fog. You didn’t even notice your mother standing in the entryway until her voice broke through the haze of your own misery. You couldn’t. Your mind was consumed with the image of Gojo’s face, his words, his hollow confession that had shattered something inside of you. His love. Or was it? What was he even doing?

“What happened?” she asked, her tone far too calm for the storm brewing in your chest. Her eyes widened when she saw the state you were in—tears streaming down your face, mascara smudged, and your body shaking with the aftermath of an emotional breakdown.

You didn’t want to answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt tight, like you couldn’t breathe without choking. Everything was suffocating.

“I... I can’t... I can’t breathe,” you gasped, stumbling towards the nearest chair. The world spun around you, and you felt your knees buckle under you. You barely managed to sit, burying your face in your hands.

She didn’t say anything at first, just watched. But then, with a look that made you feel small—insignificant—she crossed her arms.

"What on earth happened at that ball?" Her voice was sharp, an edge of disappointment threading through every word. "The one time I allow you to go alone.."

You couldn’t answer. The sobs wouldn’t stop. You clutched your sides, gasping like you were drowning.

By the time she got you inside, your mother was frantic. She guided you to the drawing room, where the fire was still burning low, and knelt before you as you collapsed onto the settee. Her hands were surprisingly gentle, brushing the hair from your face, though her voice trembled with impatience and fear.

“Speak,” she urged. “Tell me what’s happened. Is it Gojo? Did he—did he hurt you?”

You laughed through the tears, a broken, bitter sound. “No, Mother. Not like that.”

“Then what?” she demanded, her voice tightening. “What has reduced you to this? You’re acting like—like your heart has been ripped out.”

"Maybe it has," you choked out, biting back another sob. "I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore."

Her face softened for a moment, as if she wanted to understand, but she couldn't quite manage it. “You’re being dramatic,” she said, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. “You always knew this would be complicated. He’s a prince. His heart was never truly yours to keep.”

"Complicated?" you echoed, laughing bitterly. "He made me believe he cared, Mother. And maybe he does, but it doesn’t matter because he will never choose me. Not when the crown’s at stake. I’m nothing to him but a temporary distraction."

Her brow furrowed. “You can’t know that. He—”

“I heard them,” you interrupted, your voice cracking. “His advisors. They were talking about marriage, alliances. And do you know who they suggested?” You looked at her through your tears, your face twisted in anguish. “Me. As if I’m just a pawn to be moved across a board.”

Then the crying got worse- your mother became worried, she had never seen you like this- not in years.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” she continued, her voice trembling now. “Not since you were a child.”

And then she did something she hadn’t done in years: she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close, and for once, you didn’t push her away.

“You poor thing,” she murmured, stroking your hair like she used to when you were small. “You foolish, foolish girl." She wiped a mutlitude of tears from your face, "You were brave. You did what you had to do.”

“But I loved him,” you confessed, the truth spilling out like a wound that had festered too long. “I loved him, and now it’s over, and I don’t know how to make it stop hurting.”

Her eyes softened, filled with a pain that mirrored your own. “It will hurt,” she said gently. “It will hurt for a long time. But you will survive this. You always do.”

Hours dripped by, like the tears than ran freely across your face. Aftger a while you had basically cried yourself to exhaustion. Your mother helped you to your room, helped you into your sleepwear.

She straightened up, gathering herself, trying to regain control of the situation. “We’ll talk about this later. You’ll compose yourself and we’ll handle this properly.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

*-*

The rain was relentless, pounding against the windows of the Cordova estate like a desperate plea. You sat in the drawing room, watching the storm rage, feeling every bit as turbulent as the sky outside. Your mother was off somewhere fussing over another scheme, and your father had retreated to his study—content to stew over the latest disappointment you’d no doubt become.

You had cried so hard in the last couple days that your eyes, lungs.. everything hurt.

You weren't even dressed properly.

The carriage wheels had barely stopped when your mother’s shriek rang through the halls of your family’s estate.

“WHAT?!”

You had just been sitting in the drawing room, lost in a book, when the servant burst in, panic-stricken. “The prince… Prince Gojo... he’s here. At the gate.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Gojo. What the hell is he doing here?

Your mother was already moving toward the door, face flushed, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ll speak to him, I’ll—” She didn’t even finish the sentence before she was gone, no doubt already scheming some sort of disastrous charm offensive.

You glanced at your father. He sat there, frozen for a moment, clearly unsure of what to make of this, before he let out a low growl.

“Prince Gojo? That’s… bold. Damn bold.”

Your parents stood near the fireplace, stunned into silence, clearly trying to figure out how to act. Your father’s arms were folded, but his fingers twitched as though he was ready to start waving them around like a conductor.

“Your Highness,” your mother stammered, still in shock, “What—what brings you to our humble home?"

Gojo glanced at you, and you felt his gaze like a physical weight. It sent a strange shiver down your spine, but you didn’t let it show. You refused to. Not again.

“I came to see her,” he said, his voice softer than it had ever been before, but loud enough to break the tension in the room.

Your mother blinked, a bright flush creeping up her neck. “Her? You mean—”

“Yes,” he said, cutting her off with an expression that was a mixture of apology and resolve. “I mean her. I need to speak with her. Alone.”

Your father finally spoke up, his voice tight with suspicion. “You’ve come all the way here to speak to my daughter, Your Highness? At this hour?”

Gojo stood straighter, nodding solemnly. “Yes. I have.”

Your father looked to your mother, who was still gaping, before he sighed, clearly not sure how to react. “Very well, but we’ll be in the next room,” he said with a nod. “We’ll leave you two alone for… a moment.”

The instant the door shut, Gojo fell to his knees- literally.

Gojo Satoru.

Crown prince, was kneeling before you.

For a moment, your brain refused to comprehend what you were seeing. Your mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. 'What the hell is he doing?'

“Gojo, what—” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t even know what to say.

He was the prince. The untouchable, charismatic prince.

He didn’t kneel.

He didn’t beg.

He was never the one to put himself in a vulnerable position. And yet, here he was, on the floor in front of you, as if his entire world had come down to this one moment.

The great, untouchable Gojo, who had women at his feet and entire kingdoms in his pocket, was kneeling in front of you, like he was begging for something you couldn’t even grasp yet.

His head was bowed, eyes closed, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the muscles in his neck straining. He wasn’t just on his knees physically—he was on his knees emotionally.

“Gojo—” Your voice cracked in surprise, the sarcasm you’d buried deep suddenly bubbling up like a bitter reflex. “What is this? A royal performance? Because if you’re trying to impress me, you’re failing miserably.”

“I’m not trying to impress you,” he said, his voice soft, but thick with something raw and desperate. “I’m just... asking you to believe me.”

You took a step back, your breath hitching in your throat. 'This is insane'. You had to be dreaming.

“Do you have any idea how stupid this is?” you said bitterly, voice shaking with suppressed emotion, feeling the heat of your frustration rise in your chest. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts to even think you’re doing this for me?”

“Then don’t think,” he whispered, his voice just above a breath. “Don’t think, just listen.” He lifted his gaze, his eyes wide, pleading. “I’m not doing this for anyone else. Not for the throne. Not for my advisors. I’m doing this because... because I can’t stop. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting you, even if I don’t deserve you.”

You tried to swallow, but the lump in your throat was impossible to push down. 'God, why did this have to hurt so much?'

“Why now?” you asked, your voice laced with bitterness. “Why didn’t you care before? Why didn’t you come to me before everything was so messed up?”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing-you had to remind yourself to look at his eyes- as he tried to find the right words.

“I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought it was just another thing. Another distraction. But the moment you pulled away, I realized I was... wrong. I was stupid. I was always stupid.”

“Yeah, you were,” you muttered under your breath, too angry to care about the tears threatening to spill over. “You still are.”

Gojo didn’t flinch. His gaze never left yours, even as his shoulders trembled ever so slightly.

His head dropped for a moment, his long hair falling into his eyes.

“But I swear to you, I didn’t come here to play with your emotions. I didn’t come here for some political match, some obligation. I came here because I can’t keep pretending that I don’t love you.”

“Gojo, this—this isn’t some story,” you said, your voice cracking slightly, even though you didn’t want it to. “You can’t just—this doesn’t just happen. You don’t just fall in love with me. Not like this. Not after everything—”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he interrupted, his voice barely a whisper now, but full of intensity. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t choose it. It just... happened. I convinced myself that I just wanted your friendship, that I could ignore it, but every time I walked away from you, I felt like I was losing a part of myself. I was... I was terrified. Terrified of you because you—” He inhaled sharply. “You see me. You see through the prince, through the crown, and I— I didn’t know how to deal with that.”

He raised his eyes to meet yours, his gaze intense and full of something you didn’t know how to name.

“But now? I can’t run anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t feel this. I can’t pretend I don’t need you. I don’t care what the court says, what my advisors say, what my duty says. I want you. I need you.”

You were frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. His words were washing over you, stirring emotions you had long buried deep down. Why now? Why me? All the doubts you’d carried for so long began to surface, but underneath all of that, a quiet yearning grew. He was laying it all bare in front of you, exposing himself in a way you didn’t know was possible.

Gojo continued, his voice breaking with frustration, a soft sob of helplessness caught in his throat: “But please—please just let me show you that this is real. I’ve never been more serious in my life. I don’t care what the kingdom expects from me anymore. All I care about is you. If you’ll have me.”

And the worst part? You found him so very pretty, his pure blue eyes shinned with tears-No. Stop it.

“I don’t know when I fell in love with you,” he said, his voice softening, trembling. “Maybe it was during the first ride, or maybe it was when I started to see the real you. The person who doesn’t bow to expectations, the person who doesn’t get caught up in all the nonsense. I fell in love with your strength. I fell in love with how you see the world. You’re not just another woman to me, you’re the woman who makes everything else fade away.”

Gojo reached out slowly, his fingers brushing your arm, and you didn’t pull away. His touch was warm, and his gaze never left you.

“You’re not a conquest,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “You’re everything. I’m not asking for perfection, I’m not asking for guarantees. I’m asking for the chance to love you. I’ll fight for you, even if it means tearing my world apart. Because you’re worth it.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill, but you kept your composure. 'This can’t be real. Not with him. Not with the crown prince.'

And yet, as you stood there, your breath shallow, you realised something—deep down, buried under the scepticism and the fear and the doubt—you wanted to believe him, so bad.

He finally stood, ha-he was taller now.

How annoying.

You sniffled.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his hand tightening around yours just slightly. “But I’m willing to try. I’m willing to fight for you, for us. I want to be the man you deserve, not the prince who everyone expects me to be. But I need you to take a chance on me, just as I’m taking a chance on you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. 'Gods, he’s serious. He’s so serious.'

You couldn’t pretend anymore, not with him looking at you like that, so broken, so earnest, so full of desperate hope.

“Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep, Gojo,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat.

He shook his head, his eyes hard with determination. “I won’t break it. I’ll keep it. I swear to you.”

And when Gojo finally kissed you, it wasn’t some dramatic declaration. It wasn’t a grand gesture. It was soft, tentative, and filled with the weight of everything that had come before it.

But in that kiss, you felt something shift. You felt something like love—raw, imperfect, and painfully real. And for the first time in your life, you didn’t want to run from it.

It was also a very, very wet kiss.

Miserable and wet.

*-*

The evening had been... overwhelming. That was the only way to describe it, right? Overwhelming and, in a way, utterly absurd. Gojo had confessed his feelings, dropped a bomb on you, and now... now, he was standing in front of your parents, looking entirely too calm for someone who had just ruined whatever sort of normalcy you’d once clung to.

What the fuck.

You had gone from crying over the crown prince a couple days ago, to... to this??

He had just kissed you, for the gods' sake—kissed you—and now you were supposed to just sit here and pretend that your world wasn’t about to spin completely out of orbit.

Your mother, sitting across from you, was holding herself together with an unnerving amount of composure, despite her hands shaking slightly. Your father, on the other hand, was staring at Gojo with all the suspicion of a man who had just been handed a live grenade.

Gojo, ever the composed prince, looked at your parents like this was just another day at the office—something he could handle with that all-too-charming smile of his. But tonight, that smile had a certain edge to it.

Gojo’s eyes flicked to you for a brief moment, the softness in them betraying the calm air he was trying so hard to maintain. And then, just like that, he turned his attention back to your parents.

“I have a request, actually,” Gojo said, his voice carrying a quiet weight. You froze, suddenly feeling like your heartbeat had gone missing. You had no idea what was coming, but it felt big. Too big.

Your father raised an eyebrow, his expression still guarded but curious. “A request?”

Gojo nodded, not a hint of hesitation in his posture. He was so sure of himself. “Yes,” he said, leaning forward, the words about to spill from his lips like an irreversible truth. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I’ve come to a decision.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time with your daughter,” Gojo continued, his gaze flicking to you once more, this time more lingering. “I’ve gotten to know her, and I’ve realized something important. Something I didn’t expect. I’ve fallen in love with her. And I…” His gaze hardened a fraction, eyes now fixed on your parents with that undiluted confidence he wore so well. “I wish to marry her.”

The room seemed to hold its breath.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Did he just—

You stared at him, trying to make sense of the mess your heart had suddenly become. “So... you’re really serious about this?”

He grinned widely, that familiar sparkle in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have come all the way here, and kneeled like a fool, if I wasn’t serious.”

Your mother’s jaw nearly dropped, and your father blinked a couple of times as if the words had to be translated into something that made sense.

Your mother, composed as always, finally found her voice.

“Well,” she began, her tone strained but polite, “that is quite the announcement.” Her eyes darted toward you, narrowing slightly, as if to silently ask, What have you done?

You didn’t respond. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo, infuriatingly calm, kept his gaze on your father, clearly waiting for his reaction. There was no trace of his usual arrogance, but there was an undeniable determination in his expression—a resolve that made your stomach twist in a way you desperately didn’t want to think about.

Your father cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to wake up from a particularly strange dream.

“You’re serious,” he repeated, sounding tired, bewildered. “You want to marry my daughter?”

Gojo leaned back in his chair, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. Instead, he was oddly serious, his hands folded in front of him like some kind of noble. He nodded.

'If you squint hard enough', you thought, 'he’s almost dignified- and even worse- he looked really pretty. Ew.'

Your mother's gaze softened for a brief moment, before it quickly turned back to Gojo. “But... this is Gojo Satoru. Crown Prince of the Kingdom. You think we—”

“I know exactly who I am,” Gojo interrupted, a rare note of seriousness in his voice. “But I also know who I am when I’m with her. And that’s someone who wants to spend every moment I can with her. Not because it’s convenient. Not because it’s politically advantageous. But because I genuinely love her."

Your father sighed:

"Well.. who are we to refuse the crown prince?" He took a deep breath, "If you’re serious, then...” He trailed off, glancing at your mother for support. “I suppose we should discuss this properly.”

“Great,” you said flatly, sarcasm coating your words. “So, you’ve professed your love, secured the approval of my parents, and what? I’m supposed to swoon now?”

“Swooning would be nice,” he teased, but there was a nervous edge to it, like he wasn’t sure how far he could push. “Or, at least, less glaring.”

“I don’t trust you,” you said finally, quietly.

Gojo’s face softened, and for the first time, he looked unsure. Vulnerable.

“I know.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever trust you.”

“I’ll wait,” he said simply. No hesitation. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered, though your voice lacked the bite it should’ve had.

He grinned then, bright and disarming, like he hadn’t just knelt before you, kissed you, and then asked you parents for your hand in marriage. “I’ve been called worse.”

*-*

The spring air was cool, crisp, carrying the scent of blossoming lilacs across the estate’s sprawling grounds. It was the kind of evening that felt suspended in time, the sky bruised with hues of gold and lavender, the sun clinging stubbornly to the horizon as if it too didn’t want this moment to end.

You sat beneath the ancient oak tree on the edge of the gardens, your skirts spread out in a careless pool around you, watching as the last light painted everything in soft warmth. It had been a long year. A tumultuous one. And yet… here you were.

"You're hidding from me again."

'Of course he found me. He always finds me.'

“I’m not hiding,” you said, your voice lazy, dripping with feigned innocence. “I’m merely... avoiding you.”

“And here I thought we were past the whole avoiding-each-other phase,” he said, his tone light but teasing. “Is this because I stole the last piece of cake last night?”

You finally lifted your gaze, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. “You didn’t steal it. You demanded it, like the royal tyrant you are.”

He grinned, wide and unrepentant, and it made him look like a mischievous boy rather than a crown prince. “I don’t remember you putting up much of a fight.”

“Only because I was too tired to argue,” you retorted, though the corners of your lips twitched despite yourself.

Gojo took that as his invitation, sinking down beside you with an exaggerated sigh, sprawling like he owned the entire earth. His shoulder brushed yours, warm and solid, and for a moment, you were hyper-aware of how close he was. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him in the cool spring air.

“So,” he said, tilting his head to look at you, his white hair catching the fading sunlight, “are you going to keep pretending you don’t enjoy my company?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not pretending. Your company is… tolerable, at best.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest dramatically, as if wounded. “You wound me, my love.”

You snorted. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” His voice softened, losing its playful edge. “You are.”

The words settled between you, gentle but firm, and for a moment, the sarcasm on your tongue faltered. Damn him. Damn him and that stupid sincerity.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain your footing. “You’re awfully confident for someone who’s been rejected more times than I can count.”

Gojo grinned, turning toward you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Rejected? You mean the time you said, ‘Leave me alone or I’ll push you into the lake’? That was just foreplay.”

You snorted, biting your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “Foreplay? You were soaking wet and whining like a child.”

“I was laughing,” he corrected, smug. “And you were staring at me the whole time.”

“Because I was making sure you didn’t drown. Didn't wanna be accused of killing the crown prince."

“How noble of you.” He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Admit it. You like me.”

“I tolerate you,” you said, turning your face away to hide the warmth creeping up your neck.

“Tolerate,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. He let it hang in the air for a moment before leaning back on his hands, looking out over the gardens. “That’s progress. I’ll take it.”

And your lips met- you were kissing your fiancée, as the sun set on the lake of the royal palace.

Though his hands got a little too handsy, you broke the kiss, 'tsk-ing' at him.

"Nuh uh, Satoru Gojo. The marriage is in a week."

Gojo groaned dramatically, flopping onto his back and covering his eyes with an arm like a tragic hero.

“Cruel. So cruel,” he lamented. “You tease me with kisses and then deny me any fun. What’s a man to do?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning over him, your hair falling in soft waves as you smirked.

“A man should learn patience,” you quipped, flicking his forehead lightly. “Something you’ve clearly never mastered.”

He peeked at you from beneath his arm, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Patience is overrated,” he murmured, voice low and sultry, “especially when you’re this close.”

You leaned back just enough to deprive him of the closeness he was enjoying. “Ah, poor prince,” you mocked, feigning pity. “Reduced to whining like a child because he can’t get his way.”

Gojo sat up, propping himself on his elbows, his face only inches from yours. His expression softened, the teasing fading into something more genuine. “I’m not whining,” he said quietly, the words so different from his usual bravado that they caught you off guard. “I’m just... happy. Here. With you.”

You felt your heart stutter, and you hated that he had this effect on you. “You’re a menace,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

“And you’re stuck with me,” he replied, grinning again. “For better or worse, remember?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to regain the upper hand. “We’re not married yet.”

“Details,” he waved dismissively. “You already said yes. No take-backs.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I should’ve made you sign something.”

“Oh, you want a contract?” He leaned in, so close you could feel his breath against your skin. “Fine. I, Satoru Gojo, do solemnly swear to be the most annoying husband ever.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “You didn’t even need to swear. I already knew that.”

He gave you a lazy, satisfied grin. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“Unfortunately,” you teased, though your tone was soft, affectionate.

He reached for your hand then, threading his fingers through yours, and the warmth of his touch was startlingly comforting. “I love you,” he said, with none of the usual flair, no theatrics. Just simple, honest truth.

You stared at him, the weight of those words settling over you like a blanket. “I know,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “I hate it.”

He laughed, the sound rich and full of joy, and you knew you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Good,” he said, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. “Then we’re even.”

“Even?” you asked, amused.

“For all the times you’ve made me fall harder than I ever thought possible,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, we’re even.”

You sighed dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you love it.”

“Unfortunately,” you echoed, letting the warmth of his presence wrap around you. “Yeah, I do to.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of deep indigo and gold, but neither of you noticed.

You were too lost in each other.

A/N: i fr hope yall like this, love yall, stay safe and all

kiss kiss

:)

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