Summary: In college, she tries everything to get the attention of the quiet, beautiful boy everyone mocks but no one really knows. Her devotion borders on obsession—but he never looks back. As her hope fades, her best friend Kashimo offers something steadier. Kinder. But love doesn't always go where it's safe. And some truths come too late.
Warning: Emotional dependency, bullying, slow mental deterioration, unrequited love, implied disability, reader is emotionally obsessive, Gojo is emotionally withdrawn, and Kashimo is heartbreak material. WC: 1.3k.
A/N: Kashimo talks like Gomez Adams because I said so.
Header images are from Pinterest; Saturn dividers are from @asiatic-apple, & the rest of the dividers are by @sisterlucifergraphics.
It started with a coffee cup.
Medium roast, extra oat milk, no sugar. She set it next to his elbow like an offering. Like a prayer.
Gojo didn’t look up.
He was always alone at that corner table in the architecture building—headphones half on, sketchbook open but untouched.
Tall like a model, platinum hair slightly overgrown, glasses too dark for a cloudy hallway.
They called him "Photoshop" and said he was a trust-fund freak who edited his own face.
But his bones were real. She’d looked.
Studied them in class when he wasn’t looking. Sculpted cheekbones, soft under-eyes, and a mouth that never knew what it meant to ask for anything.
She wondered if anyone ever taught him how.
Weeks passed.
She made excuses to sit next to him.
Asked for his notes even when she didn’t need them.
Gave him hers anyway.
“You should eat something,” she murmured once, placing a sandwich on his notebook.
His fingers twitched. That was all.
He never looked directly at her.
Always past her, like she was fog on a lens he hadn’t wiped clean.
Still, she learned his schedule.
He liked room 213 for its quiet.
Never ate lunch.
Sketched with mechanical pencils, not charcoal.
His phone had accessibility mode on, but he never asked for help.
Once, she caught him staring at a wall, unmoving, for six full minutes.
That night, she wrote his name in the margins of her notes eleven times. All caps. GOJO SATORU.
---
“He doesn’t even know your name,” Kashimo said flatly, legs crossed on the dorm rooftop, a Red Bull between his knees.
“I don’t care,” she lied.
Kashimo laughed, mean but not at her. Never at her.
His voice was rough, like he’d swallowed a hundred thunderstorms and only learned to whisper after.
Cyan hair, broad muscles showing, a tattoo above his collarbone that no one knew the meaning of. He wore nail polish and bruises and sat with her when she cried. Always.
“Is this like a Florence Nightingale thing?” he asked, eyes on the sky. “You want to fix him, so he’ll love you?”
“I just want him to see me.”
“He won't.”
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
---
The bullying got worse when finals started.
Someone poured ink on Gojo’s blueprints.
Another smeared ketchup over his chair.
A guy in their cohort called him something she couldn't bare to hear anymore.
She had heard the snickers in the library.
Gojo said nothing.
Just picked up his bag and left, as if disappearing was easier than retaliating.
That night, she waited by the vending machines near the back stairs.
When he appeared—taller in the dark, too-thin hoodie swallowing his sharp edges—she stepped forward.
“I saw what they did. I’m sorry.”
He paused.
“I brought you notes. On Professor Ryomen’s lecture. And… some snacks.”
Still nothing.
“I care about you,” she blurted. “You don’t have to be alone all the time.”
His head tilted slightly.
“You're not alone anymore.”
Then came the silence.
A silence so loud it cracked something in her ribcage.
“…Who are you?” he asked.
---
She didn’t cry in front of him.
But she sobbed later, facedown in Kashimo’s white hoodie, curled on his lap like a child.
“He forgot me,” she choked. “I sat next to him for three months. I—I brought him food. I waited for him after class. I tried.”
Kashimo didn’t say “I told you so.”
He just ran his hands through her hair, soft and slow, like he was afraid she’d break more than she already had.
“I think he’s sick,” she whispered. “Something’s wrong.”
“Something’s wrong with you,” Kashimo murmured, voice low. “You’re trying to drown in someone who won’t even notice the splash.”
She hiccuped.
“You deserve someone who sees you. Really sees you.”
Her breath hitched. “I don’t want anyone else.”
Kashimo’s silence was a knife. Then—
“Then you’ll die waiting.”
---
She tried again. Of course she did.
Brought him a small cake on his birthday. He didn’t eat it. She found it two days later in the trash, untouched, box unopened.
She told herself maybe he just didn’t like chocolate.
---
Winter turned the quad into ash.
Bare branches clawed at gray sky.
Her GPA slipped. She lost weight.
She stopped laughing.
Kashimo noticed. He always noticed.
“You’re not sleeping,” he said one night, brushing snow off her shoulders as they walked back from the studio.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re fading.”
She smiled, brittle. “I’m just tired.”
Kashimo grabbed her wrist, sudden and cold.
“No, you’re bleeding out, and he’s the wound.”
She didn’t answer. Just looked away.
“Stay with me tonight.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Does it have to be?”
She blinked.
He let go.
“Forget it.”
---
Weeks later, Gojo sat beside her on the bench near the east fountain.
He didn’t say hello.
She didn’t say anything either.
Then—
“I know you.”
Her breath caught.
“I didn’t before,” he added. “But I… do now.”
He turned his face toward her. Too directly.
His glasses were gone.
His eyes were pale. Too pale.
“Were you the one with the coffee?”
Her throat burned.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He nodded, slow.
“I remember your voice.”
Her heart cracked open.
“I didn’t know how to talk to you,” he said.
“I still don’t.”
He reached for her hand but missed. Grabbed air.
That’s when she knew.
He wasn’t ignoring her.
He was blind.
---
She cried in Kashimo’s arms again that night.
But this time it was different.
“I thought he hated me,” she whispered. “I thought I wasn’t enough.”
“You’re too much,” Kashimo said bitterly. “Too much for someone who can’t even see the light you drag into rooms.”
“I just wanted him to love me.”
“And what about me?”
Her breath caught.
His jaw was clenched.
“I sat with you through every breakdown. Every night you cry for a ghost. I fucking see you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She didn’t answer.
Kashimo stood up.
“I would’ve kissed the bruises he left on your heart if you let me.”
His voice cracked.
“I would’ve loved you gently.”
She couldn’t look at him.
He walked away.
---
Gojo apologized the next day.
His hands trembled when he passed her a note written in blocky, slanted letters.
I’m sorry I made you feel invisible. I didn’t mean to. I don’t… see well. Or understand people. But I remember your voice. I liked it. I still do.
She didn’t know what to say.
So she hugged him.
He flinched like it hurt.
---
Things got better.
In class, Gojo started sitting beside her. He laughed once. Awkward, too loud. But real.
People stopped bullying him. She made sure of it.
But Kashimo stopped texting back.
She missed him more than she could admit.
---
Graduation came.
Gojo held her hand when they walked across the stage.
She smiled in photos. But her eyes were elsewhere.
---
Months later, she found Kashimo at an art gallery downtown.
He was thinner. New piercings. His smile wasn't the same.
“You look good,” she said.
“You look lost.”
She laughed.
He didn’t.
“You still love him?”
She nodded.
“He still doesn’t know how to love back?”
Another nod.
Kashimo looked at her for a long time.
“I would’ve let you ruin me,” he said quietly. “But you wanted someone who couldn’t even hold a mirror.”
She reached for him.
He stepped back.
“I’m done being your second choice.”
She didn’t cry this time.
But she wanted to.
---
That night, Gojo asked her why she felt sad.
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
“I miss someone,” she said.
Gojo held her hand.
“I’ll try harder,” he whispered.
She nodded.
But inside, she knew:
He couldn’t try what he’d never learned.
And she couldn’t fix what wasn’t broken.
It just… was.
Unlovable in its shape.
Like rain in a paper cup. Beautiful. Temporary. Inevitable.
A/N: Let me know if you guys would like another part to this. 💜❤️💙
Be honest, besties: are you choosing Kashimo or Nerdjo?
KASHIMO HAJIME DESERVES MORE THAN 12 PANELS AND A DEATH SENTENCE.
So I made a whole ass community for him:
➡️ Kashimo's Cult: Shocking Behavior Only ⚡
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🕯️ Do you wake up thinking about his lightning-charged thighs?
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THEN THIS IS YOUR SAFE SPACE.
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