﹒⭔⠀Right Infront of You⠀丶
synopsis. You've just gone through a breakup. Satoru — your nerdy, glasses-wearing, ramen-eating, painfully awkward best friend — shows up at your dorm with snacks and a terrible movie. He's been in love with you for years. Everyone knows. Except you. (Until tonight.)
mini series. part 1 of "From The Library to Your Heart) series. all parts will be found here!
pairing. bsf nerd!gojo satoru x f!reader
content & warnings. breakups, comfort fluff, pining gojo, college au, nerd gojo, bossy-at-first gojo (because he cares), shy-during-confession gojo, jealous gojo, oblivious reader, best friends to lovers, soft angst, happy ending
word count. 2.5k+
A/N. this is part one of a short mini-series (best friends to lovers). glasses, sweaters, ramen, library study dates, and him being completely down bad for reader!! 😼 (please ignore any mistakes, i did not proofread this TvT)
P.S, this is a req by @uiuiuaa !! i loved the idea sm i'm going to make it a mini series HIHI
You were on your bed.
The dorm room was dark except for the blue glow of your laptop screen. Some sad playlist was on shuffle — the one you'd made after your last breakup, the one you swore you'd never use again. The blanket was pulled up to your chin. The tissues were scattered on your desk.
A week.
A week since your ex — a finance bro named something-you'd-already-forgotten — had told you he "needed space" and "wasn't ready for something serious" and "it's not you, it's me."
The usual.
You'd cried. You'd eaten instant ramen. You'd re-watched old movies and pretended you weren't sad. But tonight, you were just... empty.
Someone knocked on the door.
You didn't move.
Another knock. Louder this time. More insistent.
"I know you're in there."
Satoru. His voice was firm — not angry, just... bossy. The tone he used when he was done letting you wallow.
"I can see your light on," he continued. "And I can hear your sad playlist. And I know you're ignoring me because you think you're being subtle, but you're not. Open the door."
You groaned, pulling the blanket over your head.
"I'm coming in," he announced. "You have three seconds."
The lock clicked. You'd given him a key months ago — for emergencies, you'd said. He'd never used it without announcing himself first.
He stepped inside, and the first thing you noticed was that he was wearing his favorite sweater — the oversized grey one with the elbow patches. His glasses were slightly crooked, like he'd been running his hands over his face. His hair was messier than usual.
His arms were full. A bag of takeout from your favorite ramen place. A six-pack of your favorite soda. Another bag that crinkled — more snacks, probably. And tucked under his arm, a DVD case.
He set everything down on your desk, then walked over to the bed. He stood there, hands on his hips, looking down at you with an expression that was equal parts exasperated and concerned.
"You look terrible," he said.
"Thanks."
"I mean it in the nicest way possible."
"You're terrible at compliments."
"I'm not here to compliment you." He reached down and pulled the blanket off your face. "I'm here to make sure you eat something that isn't instant ramen."
"You don't know that I've been eating instant ramen."
"There are three empty cups on your desk."
You looked. There were, in fact, three empty cups on your desk.
"Get up," he said.
"No."
"Yes."
"Satoru—"
"Get up, or I'll carry you."
"You wouldn't."
He bent down and scooped you up like you weighed nothing.
"SATORU—"
"You had your chance." He carried you toward the small couch under your window, ignoring your protests. "You're going to eat real food. You're going to drink something that isn't crying fuel. And you're going to watch a movie so bad you forget your own name."
"This is kidnapping."
"This is friendship."
You stopped struggling. "You're impossible."
"I'm efficient." He set you down on the couch and pointed a finger at you. "Stay."
"I'm not a dog."
"Could've fooled me."
You threw a pillow at him. He caught it.
He made you change into comfortable clothes while he set up the room.
When you came out of the bathroom, he'd turned on your fairy lights — soft, warm, easy on your puffy eyes. He'd fluffed the pillows. He'd laid out the takeout containers on the tiny coffee table. He'd even opened your soda can for you.
"Sit," he said, pointing at the couch.
"You're very bossy tonight."
"You've been sad for a week now. Someone has to be bossy."
You sat down.
He sat down on the other side of the couch — close, but not too close. He handed you a container of ramen and a pair of chopsticks.
"Eat."
"Yes, sir."
"Don't be sarcastic."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
He shot you a look, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
The movie was, as promised, terrible. A low-budget sci-fi film from the 90s that Satoru had found in the library's free bin. The acting was bad. The special effects were worse. The plot made no sense.
You both made fun of it — you more than him, because he kept stealing glances at you instead of watching the screen. Every time you caught him, he looked away quickly, his ears turning pink.
"What?" you asked.
"Nothing."
"You keep looking at me."
"I'm making sure you're eating."
"I'm eating."
"You're pushing your noodles around."
"I'm eating strategically."
He snorted. "That's not a thing."
"It is now."
He shook his head, but he was smiling.
The movie ended. The credits rolled. The food was gone. The soda cans were empty.
You were lying on your side, facing away from him, curled up on the couch. Your head was on a pillow. Your knees were pulled up to your chest.
Satoru was still sitting up, his back against the armrest, his hands in his lap.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
"No."
"Okay."
He didn't push. He never pushed. He just sat there, waiting, his presence warm and steady.
After a while, you spoke.
"He said I was too much."
Satoru went still.
"Too emotional. Too needy. Too—" You shrugged. "Too me."
"That's not true."
"I know. But sometimes I wonder."
"He's an idiot."
"Satoru—"
"He's an idiot," he repeated. His voice was firm. "He didn't deserve you. He never did."
You turned to look at him.
"How do you know?"
He looked at you. His eyes — soft, brown, magnified behind his glasses — were intense.
"Because I know you," he said. "I know what you deserve. And it's not someone who makes you feel like you're too much."
"Then what do I deserve?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away.
"Someone who shows up," he said finally. "Someone who stays."
"Satoru..."
"Someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved."
The room was quiet.
Your phone buzzed.
You reached for it on the coffee table. A text from your ex.
"Hey. Can we talk?"
Your heart dropped.
Satoru must have seen your expression, because he leaned over and looked at the screen. His jaw tightened.
"Don't reply," he said.
"I wasn't going to."
"Good." He took the phone from your hand and set it face-down. "He doesn't get to do this."
"Satoru—"
"He doesn't get to break up with you, ignore you for three days, and then text you like nothing happened." His voice was low. "He doesn't deserve you."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
"How do you know?"
He looked at you. His eyes were soft, but there was something underneath — something he was holding back.
"Because I've been watching you date the wrong people for years," he said. "And I'm tired of it."
"Satoru..."
"He's not the right guy for you."
"Then who is?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
"The right guy might be right in front of you," he said quietly.
The room was silent.
His face was red. His hands were shaking. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and he didn't push them up.
"Satoru?" you said.
"I've been in love with you since freshman orientation." The words came out rushed, like he was afraid he'd lose his nerve. "You were sitting in the back of the lecture hall, and you had this look on your face like you'd rather be anywhere else, and I just — I couldn't look away."
"Satoru..."
"I know I'm not — I mean, I'm not the kind of guy who —" He swallowed. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to say it without sounding —" He stopped. "I just... I wanted you to know. You don't have to say anything. I just — I couldn't keep pretending anymore."
The room was quiet.
He still wasn't looking at you.
"Satoru," you said.
He flinched. "Yeah?"
"Look at me."
He looked up. His eyes were wet. His glasses were crooked. His lower lip was trembling.
"Hey," you said softly.
"Hey," he whispered.
"Come here."
He didn't move.
"Satoru. Come here."
He scooted closer, his movements hesitant, like he was afraid of being pushed away.
You reached up and fixed his glasses for him. Your fingers brushed his cheek. He held his breath.
"I've been in love with you too," you said.
He froze.
"What?"
"I've been in love with you too."
"You're not —" He swallowed. "You're not just saying that?"
"I'm not just saying that."
"You're not going to wake up tomorrow and pretend this didn't happen?"
"I'm not."
He stared at you for a long moment.
Then he pulled you into his arms — tight, desperate, like he was afraid you'd disappear.
"I've been waiting for this for so long," he whispered into your hair.
"I know."
"I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner."
"I know."
"I was scared."
"I know."
He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were wet. His face was red. His glasses were crooked again.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked.
"You're asking?"
"I don't want to mess this up."
"You won't."
He leaned in — slow, hesitant, like he was giving you time to change his mind.
He kissed you.
It was soft. Gentle. His lips were warm. His hands were shaking. His glasses bumped your nose, and he pulled back, embarrassed.
"Sorry —"
You kissed him again.
He made a small, surprised sound. Then his hands cupped your face, and he kissed you back — deeper this time, but still soft, still careful.
When you finally pulled apart, he was smiling like he couldn't believe this was real.
"I've wanted to do that for so long," he whispered.
"Why didn't you?"
"I was scared."
"Of what?"
"Of losing you." He pressed his forehead to yours. "You're my best friend. I couldn't lose that."
"You won't."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He was quiet for a moment. His thumb traced small circles on your cheek.
"You know," he said, his voice still soft, still a little shaky, "I practiced what I was going to say. Like, a lot. I rehearsed in front of the mirror. I wrote it down. I had a whole speech."
You blinked. "You wrote a speech?"
"Multiple drafts." He laughed — a small, embarrassed sound. "Shoko found one. She made fun of me for a week."
"What was in the speech?"
His face went red again. "I'm not telling you."
"Satoru."
"It's embarrassing."
"I just told you I love you. You can tell me the speech."
He hesitated. Then he took a breath.
"I was going to say —" He stopped. Swallowed. "I was going to say that I've been in love with you for so long I don't remember what it felt like before. And that you're the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person I think about before I fall asleep. And that I know I'm not — I'm not smooth or cool or any of that. But I'd spend the rest of my life trying to be the person you deserve."
Your heart stopped.
"Satoru..."
"And then I was going to say something about how your smile makes me forget how to breathe." His voice got smaller. "And how I've been saving up to take you to that ramen place you like because I know you've been wanting to go. And how I already picked out a spot in my apartment for your books because I thought — I hoped — maybe someday you'd want to move in with me."
"You thought about me moving in with you?"
"I thought about everything." His ears were bright red. "I thought about what our wedding would look like. I thought about what kind of dog we'd get. I thought about —" He stopped. "This is so embarrassing."
"It's not."
"It is."
"It's cute."
"It's pathetic."
"It's romantic."
He looked at her like she'd just said the most absurd thing in the world.
"How is any of that romantic?"
"Because you thought about our future." You cupped his face. "You thought about a life with me."
He stared at you.
"Of course I did," he said quietly. "I couldn't stop myself."
You kissed him again — soft, slow, full of everything you couldn't say.
When you pulled back, he was smiling.
"So," he said, "does this mean I can stop pretending I don't stare at you during study sessions?"
"You stared at me during study sessions?"
"I'm not confirming anything."
"You literally just confirmed it."
"I'm a bad liar."
"You're a terrible liar."
He grinned. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."
"Yeah," you said. "I do."
You woke up to sunlight streaming through your window.
Satoru was still asleep — his face soft, his hair messy, his hand still wrapped around yours. His glasses were on the coffee table. He looked younger like this. Peaceful.
You watched him for a while.
Everything had changed.
Nothing had changed.
He was still your best friend. Still the person who bossed you into eating real food and made you watch terrible movies and showed up when you needed him most.
But now, he was also yours.
You pressed a kiss to his forehead.
He stirred, pulling you closer without waking up, his arm tightening around your waist like he was afraid you'd disappear even in his sleep.
You smiled.
Then he stirred again.
"Mmm," he mumbled, his eyes still closed. "If you're staring at me, that's embarrassing."
"I'm not staring."
"You're totally staring."
"I'm admiring. There's a difference."
He opened one eye. "That's the same thing."
"It's not."
"You're impossible."
"You love me."
He smiled — soft and sleepy and full of love.
"Yeah," he said. "I really do."
He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair.
"I love you," he murmured.
You reached up and brushed his hair from his forehead. "I love you too."
His eyes fluttered shut. "Say it again."
"I love you, Satoru."
"One more time?"
"You're greedy."
"I know."
You laughed, and he smiled against your hair.
"
"Hey," he whispered after a moment.
"Yeah?"
"I meant everything I said last night. About the future. About the dog. About—" He stopped. "About you moving in with me. I wasn't just saying that."
"I know."
"I have a spare toothbrush. I bought it months ago. Just in case."
"Satoru."
"I also have your favorite tea. And an extra blanket. And—"
"Satoru."
He looked at you.
"I'd love to move in with you."
He stared at you.
"Really?"
"Really."
His face broke into the biggest smile you'd ever seen.
"Okay," he said, his voice a little wobbly. "Okay. Good. That's—" He took a breath. "That's good."
"You're crying."
"I'm not crying."
"You're literally crying."
"These are happy tears. There's a difference."
You laughed, and he pulled you closer, and the sunlight streamed through the window, and everything felt right.
A/N. I LOVEVEEE COLLEGE AU NERD GOJO !!!!!! i love nerds sm why cant nerdjo be real 😭 now that part 1 is done, part 2's coming !! stay tuned for it 😼💞 and also, why are all my fics 2.5k+ words most of the time!?
Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3
