one shot: SatoruGojo x f!reader
You know he’s bad for you. You know he never stays, never means what you want him to mean but somehow, Satoru Gojo always finds his way back in. One night, after letting him in a little too easily, you say the one thing you shouldn’t have and he reminds you, without ever raising his voice, exactly where you stand.
tag: nsfw, 18+, narcissistic gojo, lowkey spineless reader, p in v, oral (f!recieving), fingering, creampie, unprotected, pinning.
You don’t realize how quiet the hallway is until you’re standing in it, keys still in your hand and your shoulder aching from the weight of your bag. The kind of tired that settles behind your eyes and makes everything feel just slightly out of place.
You slide the key into the lock, turning it slowly, but pause just before pushing the door open. Something faint tugging at your attention, subtle enough that you almost ignore it. You don’t, though.
The door opens anyway. The lights are on.
I don’t remember leaving them on.
Your grip tightens slightly before you step inside, slower now. Your eyes moving across the room without fully committing to concern. Just enough awareness to notice that something isn’t quite right.
Your bag slips from your shoulder and lands softly near the door. And then you see him.
Sitting on your couch like he’s always been there. Like he didn’t just let himself into your apartment without asking. Like this is a completely normal place for him to be at the end of your day.
He’s leaning back, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, posture loose, unbothered, as if he hasn’t interrupted anything at all. His gaze lifts to you, slow and casual, like he’s just now acknowledging your presence.
Your jaw tightens before you can stop it.
You close the door behind you with a quiet click, then lean back against it for just a second longer. You’re grounding yourself in something real before stepping further inside.
“You’re in my apartment,” you say, your voice even, but edged with something tired rather than sharp. You don’t have the energy to make it more than that.
He tilts his head slightly, considering the statement rather than reacting to it, his expression unreadable in that way that always feels intentional.
“Looks like it,” he answers, like the situation doesn’t require anything more than that. You push yourself off the door, taking a few steps further in. Your eyes narrowing just slightly as you look at him.
“How did you even get in?”
He gestures vaguely toward the door with a small movement of his hand, like the answer is obvious.
“That’s not the point,” you reply. The irritation finally slipping through, though it still stays controlled and contained.
“It kind of is,” he says, his tone light, almost absent of any real weight. He’s deliberately keeping it that way. You exhale slowly through your nose, dropping your keys onto the counter as you pass by. The sound a little sharper than it needs to be.
“You can’t just show up whenever you feel like it,” you say, turning back toward him, arms folding loosely over your chest. He watches you for a moment before answering, his gaze steady in a way that feels too focused for how casual the rest of him is.
“You don’t usually stop me.”
There’s a pause. You shift your weight slightly, your grip tightening against your own arms.
“That doesn’t mean you should,” you say, like you’re choosing your words more carefully than you want to. He hums softly, like he’s considering that, though it doesn’t really look like he is.
The question lands differently than the others. You don’t answer right away. You could.
Instead, you glance away, your attention drifting toward the kitchen for a second before coming back to him.
“Does there have to be a reason?”
He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. Closing some of the distance between you without actually moving closer.
“Yes,” you answer immediately, your brows pulling together faintly.
“Because normal people don’t just walk into someone else’s apartment and sit on their couch like they live there.”
A faint smile touches his mouth, brief and almost nonexistent. “I’ve never said I was normal.”
You roll your eyes, though there’s less force behind it now. “That’s obvious.”
There’s a period of silence that follows, quieter than the ones before. Heavier in a way you can’t quite place.
“I said I’d come by earlier.”
Your chest tightens just slightly at that. You look at him again, slower this time.
“Yeah,” your voice softer, but not in a gentle way, more like something worn down, “you did.”
You let out a quiet breath, your gaze drifting away from him again. “Something always comes up.”
You expect him to brush it off. You expect him to move past it like he always does, like it doesn’t matter enough to sit in.
“I’m here now,” his tone still calm and still controlled, but there’s something under it now. Something you can’t immediately name.
You shake your head slightly.
“That’s not how that works.”
“Then how does it work?” he asks, watching you again. That same steady attention that feels like too much for how little he’s giving back.
You open your mouth, then close it again, your frustration catching somewhere in your chest because you don’t even know how to explain it without sounding like you care more than you want to.
“I don’t even know why I expect anything from you,” you say finally, quieter than you meant to, the words slipping out before you can stop them. The room goes still for a second.
“You don’t expect it from anyone else.”
Your head lifts, your eyes narrowing slightly. “You don’t know that.”
He doesn’t push. He just looks at you for another second. He’s already decided he’s right and doesn’t need to prove it.
You exhale slowly, your shoulders dropping just slightly as the tension shifts into something heavier. Something more frustrating because it isn’t loud anymore.
“You’re exhausting,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.
“And you’re still here,” he replies easily.
You hate how easily he says things like that, like they don’t mean anything. He’s not fully aware of what they do. Or maybe he is.
You hesitate for a moment longer than you should, then walk past him. Dropping onto the far end of the couch with a quiet exhale, your head tipping back briefly.
You don’t tell him to leave.
You don’t say anything at all. There’s a subtle shift beside you. The couch dipping slightly as he adjusts, not moving closer, not pushing, just… staying.
Like he knew you wouldn’t make him go
The room settles into a quiet that isn’t quite comfortable, but isn’t empty either. Something in between that lingers longer than it should.
And as much as you hate it…
You lean back into the couch, head tipping slightly, eyes closing for a second like you’re trying to shake off the rest of the day. It doesn’t really leave. Not when he’s sitting right there beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him without him actually touching you.
Of course he doesn’t move away.
There’s a small shift next to you, the cushion dipping just slightly as he adjusts. His voice cuts through the quiet, lower than before, like he’s settled into something.
“So,” he starts, dragging the word out just enough to get your attention without sounding like he’s trying, “how was work?”
You let out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. Except there’s no humor in it, just disbelief that he’s even asking.
“You don’t get to ask me that,” you say, eyes still closed. Your voice tired but steady, like this part at least is familiar territory. There’s a pause, brief but noticeable.
“Why not?” he asks, like he genuinely doesn’t see the problem, like he didn’t just—
You open your eyes, turning your head slightly to look at him, your expression flat.
“Because you said you were going to come by earlier,” you remind him, your tone calm but edged, “and then you didn’t, which is usually how this goes, so no, you don’t get to show up whenever you feel like it and suddenly care about how my day was.”
He watches you while you talk. Not interrupting, not reacting much at all, just… listening in that quiet way that feels more intentional than anything else he’s done.
And that almost makes it worse.
When you finish, there’s a small pause, like he’s deciding what to do with what you just said.
“I do care,” he says, just as easily as before, like the conversation didn’t shift at all. You blink at him, unimpressed.
He tilts his head slightly, studying you for a second.
“That’s not the same thing.”
You look away first because you’re tired. Because you don’t feel like arguing in circles when you already know how this ends.
There’s a shift beside you again, closer this time. Though not enough that you can call it out without sounding dramatic.
His hand finds the back of your neck. It’s light at first. Barely there. Just the weight of his fingers resting against your skin like he’s testing whether you’re going to pull away.
Instead, you stay exactly where you are. Your breath catching just slightly before you force it to even out. Your shoulders tensing for half a second before settling again.
His thumb moves slowly, brushing along the base of your neck, absent-minded, like it’s something he’s done a hundred times before. Maybe he has.
“…You’re not even going to apologize,” you say less sharp, like the fight is already slipping out of it. He hums softly behind you, his hand still resting there. Still moving just enough to keep your attention on it whether you want it or not.
“Would it make a difference?” he asks.
No. Not really. You hate that.
“That’s not the point,” you say anyway, though it doesn’t sound as convincing as it did before.
“It usually is,” he murmurs. Your eyes close again for a brief moment. Your head tilting just slightly into his hand before you catch yourself and still.
“You’re tense,” he adds quietly, his voice dipping just a little lower. He’s not trying to argue anymore, just… talking.
“I’ve been at work all day,” you reply, like that explains everything, like it has nothing to do with him. He doesn’t call you out on it
He just lets his hand move again, slower this time, more deliberate, his fingers pressing lightly before easing off. He’s working tension out that he didn’t cause. Or maybe he did.
“You get like this when you don’t eat enough,” he says after a second. You let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.
“I do,” he replies easily.
“You don’t,” you repeat, though there’s less resistance behind it now. He doesn’t argue. His touch steady and consistent. He knows exactly how long to keep going before you stop thinking about it. The room feels quieter now.
“You’re unbelievable,” you murmur after a moment, though it lacks any real heat. More out of habit than anything.
“And you’re still here,” he says again, softer this time. That line again. It sits heavier now.
You shift slightly, your shoulder brushing his without meaning to, and neither of you moves away from it. His fingers slow for a second, like he notices, like he’s adjusting to it.
“You’re quiet,” he adds after a moment. You glance at him again, your expression flat.
“You talk enough for both of us.”
That earns a small, almost invisible smile.
You roll your eyes, but it’s weak. Lacking the energy to make it anything more than a reflex.
The room settles again. The tension not gone but softened, stretched thinner across something that feels easier to sit in. You don’t tell him to leave. You don’t ask why he’s still here.
You don’t move away from him, either.
And he doesn’t say anything else about it.
He just stays, his hand still resting at the back of your neck. His presence steady in that way that feels just enough to keep you there without making you question it too hard.
That’s the part you don’t think about. Not while he’s still sitting next to you. Not while you’re still letting him.
There’s a shift beside you again, more deliberate this time.
You feel it before you fully register it. The way the space between you closes just slightly. The warmth of him pressing closer, not enough to startle you, just enough that it’s impossible to ignore.
His hand at the back of your neck lingers for a second longer before his arm slides more fully around you. Your breath catches, barely there.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice closer now. Brushing against your ear in a way that makes your shoulders tense before slowly easing again.
You hate how easily your body listens.
“I am relaxed,” you reply, though it lacks any real conviction. He hums like he doesn’t believe you, his arm tightening just slightly. Pulling you closer until your shoulder rests against him. Your head angled just enough that you’re aware of every small movement he makes.
“You don’t sound like it,” he says, almost absent, like he’s commenting on something simple. Not the way your heartbeat just picked up.
You stay still, your hands resting in your lap. Fingers curling slightly like you’re holding onto something invisible. You could pull away. It wouldn’t even be hard.
He hasn’t trapped you. Hasn’t forced anything.
His thumb brushes lightly against your jaw, slow, testing, like he’s waiting for you to react.
“Long day,” he murmurs again, softer this time, like he’s circling back to something easier, something safer.
“Yeah,” you breathe. Your voice barely above a whisper now.
His hand shifts, fingers tilting your chin just slightly toward him. Not enough to force eye contact, just enough that you feel it.
“You think too much,” he adds quietly.
Your brows pull together faintly.
Your words falter because his lips brush against your temple.
You freeze for half a second, your breath catching in your throat. Your body going still in a way that has nothing to do with resistance and everything to do with not knowing what to do next.
Another kiss closer this time, just at the edge of your forehead.
Unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world.
You swallow, your fingers tightening slightly against your own palm.
“…You’re doing that thing,” you murmur, though there’s no real edge to it anymore, your voice is thinner.
“What thing?” he asks softly, his lips brushing just beneath your cheekbone now.
You don’t answer. You don’t even know how to explain it without admitting you feel it. His hand shifts again. Thumb tracing lightly along your jaw before tilting your face just enough that you can’t avoid him anymore.
Your eyes meet his for a second.
Another kiss, closer now to the corner of your mouth. Lingering just a second longer than the others.
You should stop him. You know you should. You don’t.
Your lips part slightly, like you’re about to say something, but nothing comes out.
There’s the faintest pause, like he’s giving you a chance to pull away.
His fingers settling more firmly at your jaw as he finally closes the distance. His lips pressing against yours, slow at first, almost testing, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll resist.
You shouldn’t be doing this.
And then it slips. You lean into it.
The kiss deepens, like he’s easing into it rather than taking it. His thumb brushing lightly against your cheek as your hand finally lifts. Hesitating for a second before resting against his arm.
You hate how familiar it feels.
How your body settles into something you already know the shape of. His grip tightens just a little, pulling you closer, not enough to overwhelm. Just enough to keep you there, to keep you from drifting too far into your own head.
In the warmth, the way he’s holding you like this is something simple, something normal. Like it doesn’t come with everything else.
There’s a quiet thought sitting at the back of your mind, persistent, unwelcome.
You’re going to hate this later.
He pulled back enough to break the kiss, his breath warm against your swollen lips. His blue eyes lock onto yours with a mix of mischief and hunger.
“Let me make it up to you.” He murmured, his voice low and seductive that sends shivers down your spine. Memories of your earlier resentment flickered in the back of your mind.
He promised a romantic evening only to ghost you with some half-ass excuse about work demands. Leaving you alone and fuming in your apartment.
Now with his big strong hand gripping your hip and fingers digging into your curves, that anger melted into heat. Your body betrays your guarded heart as you arched instinctively into him.
You could hear your pulse in your ears, torn between the urge to push him away and the overwhelming pull of his charisma. Satoru’s white hair clinged to his forehead as he widened his grin.
His free hand trails up to cup the swell of your breast. Thumb brushing over your hardened nipple.
“You know you want this.” He whispered, his words laced with that playful manipulation you both despise and crave. It ignites a fire in your stomach.
You gasped as his touch grew bolder. His fingers slipping under the hem of your dress to explore the dampness between your thighs. The room spin with the shared desire.
Your hands roam over the hard planes of his chest. You could feel how rapid his heart was beating. Mirroring yours.
Satoru’s lips captures yours once again. You surrendered to the whirlwind of sensation. You rocked your hips against his hand, a soft moan escapes your lips as he slipped a finger inside you.
Beneath the passion, a deeper connection stirred. One that whispered of redemption and the fragile hope that this impulsive man might one day see you more than just a fleeting thrill.
Satoru’s strong arms encircle your waist, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, fingers tangling in his white hair as he carried you down the dimly lit hallway to your bedroom.
The room enveloped you both in shadows. The faint glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains, casting soft patterns on the bedspread where he gently laid you down. His eyes never leaving yours, a mix of adoration and hunger that made your heart race even faster.
His lips found yours again, tender at first, then trailing a scorching path downward. Over the curve of your neck and across the valley between your breasts. His breath hot and teasing against your flushed skin.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky with awe as he peeled away your dress. Exposing the soft swell of your breasts and the plane of your stomach. His fingers tracing the delicate lines of your body like he was worshiping a masterpiece.
Each kiss lingered, his tongue flicking lightly over your hardened nipples. Drawing gasps from your lips as the resentment of his earlier abandonment faded into the background. Replaced by waves of intoxicating pleasure. He continued his descent, his hands sliding down to part your thighs, praising every inch of you.
"God, your skin is like silk, and this pussy is already so wet for me" before his mouth closed over your most sensitive spot.
His tongue delving in with skillful strokes that sent jolts of ecstasy through your core.
You arched your back, your fingers gripping the sheets as Satoru's lips and tongue worked their magic. The world narrowing to the exquisite rhythm of his movements. The musky scent of your arousal mingling with his oaky cologne in the air.
Every flick and suck erased the memory of his flimsy excuses. Your body responding with unbridled need, your moans echoing softly in the room as you felt the build of something profound.
A connection that makes you wonder if this was the start of true redemption in his eyes. His praises continued, whispered against your throbbing flesh. Fueling the fire within you until all that remained was the shared intensity of y’all’s desire.
With a final, lingering flick of his tongue against your throbbing flesh. Satoru pulled back, his lips glistening with your essence as he gazed up at you with that same intoxicating mix of hunger and vulnerability in his piercing blue eyes. 
You lay there, breathless and exposed on the bed. Your body still quivering from the waves of pleasure he'd unleashed. When he rose fluidly to his knees, his white hair falling messily across his forehead. Without a word, he leaned over you, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss that tasted of your own arousal and his.
His hands already working at the waistband of his pants, tugging them down with urgent efficiency. The fabric slid away, revealing the hard lines of his hips and the thick length of his cock springing free and eager. Its smooth skin flushed and veined with the pulse of his need.
Your breath hitched against his mouth as he pressed closer. His body hovering over yours, the heat of his erection brushing teasingly against the slick folds of your pussy. He rubbed the tip slowly along your swollen lips, coating himself in your wetness.
His voice a low, whisper laced with that playful dirty talk you couldn't resist.
"Feel how hard you make me, y/n-so fucking ready to bury myself inside you," he murmured, his words vibrating through you as his cock slid back and forth.
The friction igniting fresh sparks of pleasure that made your hips buck instinctively toward him. There was an edge to his tone as if he were seeking not just physical release but a deeper affirmation. In that moment, you felt the fragile threads of connection tightening between you both. Your guarded heart cracking open just a little more.
Then, with deliberate slowness that heightened the anticipation. Satoru positioned himself at your entrance. His hands gripping your thighs to pull you closer. He eased into you inch by inch, the stretch of him filling you completely.
A mix of pressure and warmth drew a gasping moan from your lips. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails leaving faint trails as he sank deeper. Both of your bodies merging in a rhythm that felt conjoined. The room filled with the sounds of your shared breaths and the wet slide of skin against skin.
Beneath the overwhelming sensation, you sensed a shift in him. As if this act might bridge the gap between his impulsiveness and your longing for something real.
As he thrust deeper, your desires intertwining in a haze of passion that promised, if only for tonight, a fragile hope for more. Satoru's voice broke the rhythm with a growl of raw possession. His hips slamming into you with increasing force.
"That's it, baby, take every inch of my cock. Feel how deep I can fill you, how your tight little pussy grips me like it was made for this," he rasped, his words a filthy symphony that sent shockwaves through your body. Each thrust hitting that sweet spot inside of you, making your walls clench around his thick length in desperate rhythm.
The bed creaked beneath you. The air thick with the slick sounds of y’all’s deep breaths and the musky scent of sweat and arousal. His white hair brushing against your face as he leaned in closer, his piercing blue eyes locked on yours. Revealing a flicker of something deeper than lust. A craving for connection that mirrored your own hidden yearnings.
Without warning, he pulled out just enough to flip you onto your stomach. His strong hands guiding you with effortless dominance, pressing you down into the mattress as your breasts flattened against the cool sheets.
He hovered over you as you could feel his breath hot against the nape of your neck. His face inches from your as he whispered more of his tantalizing filth.
"You're mine tonight, y/n. You’re so fucking perfect when you're like this, ass up and ready for me," he murmured, his cock sliding back inside you from behind.
The new angle driving him even deeper, stretching you in ways that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You gasped, your body arching involuntarily as he pinned your head gently but firmly with one hand. His fingers tangling in your hair, the intimacy of his proximity makes your heart pound as fiercely as your core.
"I... love you," you choked out, the words tumbling from your lips in a choppy whisper. Broken by the relentless drive of his hips and the overwhelming rush of sensation.
Your voice cracking with vulnerability that surprised even you. In that fractured confession, borne from the edge of pleasure and the fragile hope blooming between them. Satoru's rhythm faltered for a heartbeat.
That unguarded truth only fueled Satoru's fire, his breath catching for a mere heartbeat before he plunged deeper with renewed vigor. His hips snapping faster against yours, driving his cock into your slick, clenching heat with a relentless rhythm that made the bedframe rattle beneath them.
"Oh, baby, you love me?" he purred, his voice dripping with that signature narcissistic charm. A self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he leaned closer. His white hair brushing your cheek like a whisper of possession.
"Of course you do. Who wouldn't, with a cock like this buried inside you, making you scream like that? You're mine, all mine, and I'll make you feel this good every time, just for saying those words."
His words wove a web of false hope, painting a picture of endless nights wrapped in his arms, but you knew deep down it was just another layer of his manipulation even as your body responded with eager thrusts. Your pussy gripping him tighter, the friction igniting fireworks along every nerve.
The pace quickened, his strong hands gripping your hips to angle you just right. Each powerful stroke hitting that perfect spot deep within you, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your core and up your spine. You moaned into the pillow. The scent of y’all’s sweat slicked skin filling the air as his balls slapped against you with rhythmic intensity.
His breaths coming in harsh, ragged gasps that mirrored the storm building inside him. "Fuck y/n, you're so tight, so perfect for me," he groaned, his voice laced with that raw edge of vulnerability he rarely showed.
With a final, deep thrust that seemed to touch your very soul, he tensed above you, his cock pulsing wildly as he climaxed hard. Spilling his hot release deep seed inside you. Filling you with the warm rush of his essence that made your walls flutter in response.
For a long minute, he stayed buried within you, his body pressed flush against yours. His chest heaving against your back as you both catch your breaths. The aftershocks of pleasure rippling through them in gentle waves.
You felt a fragile thread of connection, your heart aching with the hope that this might mean more to him. He finally pulled out slowly, his softening cock slipping free with a wet glide, leaving a trail of your shared warmth between your thighs.
You sensed the shift, the way his touch lingered just a second too long before he rolled onto his back. Already distancing himself with that playful grin, leaving you to wonder if this whirlwind had truly changed anything at all.
The quiet lingers, but it doesn’t feel wrong yet.
You’re still close, still half tangled in him. The warmth not completely gone, his hand resting lazily against your side like he hasn’t fully let go.
His thumb brushes absently along your arm, slow, unthinking. Like he’s not paying attention to it at all.
You let yourself stay there.
Your head turns slightly toward him, your voice softer in a way you didn’t mean for it to be.
It slips out before you can stop it. Not needy. Just hopeful enough to notice. He doesn’t answer right away. His hand stills for a second, then resumes, slower this time.
“Depends,” he says lightly.
He exhales, shifting slightly beside you, not pulling away completely. Just enough that you feel it—the beginning of distance.
“What you want it to be,” he replies.
That sounds like something.
It sounds like it could mean something. You search his face for a second, your brows pulling together faintly.
“And what do you want it to be?” you ask, your voice steadier now, like you’re trying to meet him somewhere real.
He just stares at you. Looking right through you. There’s something there. Something quieter than before. Less careless. It’s enough to make your chest lift slightly.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he murmurs. Your stomach drops, but you don’t let it show immediately.
“Looking for something that’s not there.” The words aren’t harsh. They’re worse than that.
Like he’s explaining something simple.
You shift slightly, the warmth between you starting to feel thinner now. Like it’s not holding the same weight it did a second ago.
“I’m not looking for anything,” you say, your tone quieter and controlled.
“You just asked me what I wanted it to be,” he replies, like that proves his point.
You shake your head slightly. “No, you didn’t.”
He exhales again, this time a little sharper. Like you’re starting to make it complicated.
“That’s not an answer,” you press, your voice still calm, but tighter now. You’re holding something back.
“It is if you don’t overthink it.”
You pull back just slightly, enough to look at him more clearly now, your expression flattening. “I’m not overthinking,” you say, quieter now, more serious.
“I’m just asking a question.”
“And I’m answering it,” he replies, his tone just as calm, but there’s something under it now… something dismissive.
He looks at you again, but it’s different now. More… detached. Like he already stepped out of whatever this was.
Your chest tightens again. “Why what?”
“Why does it have to be anything more than what it is?”
That hits you harder than anything else he’s said so far. You saw this coming and got your hopes up anyway.
“And what is it?” you ask, your voice quieter now, almost careful.
You feel something in your chest drop, slow and heavy. “Just this,” you repeat, like you’re trying to understand it out loud.
He nods slightly, already leaning back now. Already pulling away in a way that feels too familiar.
The room feels different. Colder. Even though nothing’s really changed. You swallow, your hands resting in your lap now instead of on him. Your fingers curling slightly into your palms.
“You said—” you start, then stop, your voice catching for just a second before you push through it, “you said something earlier.”
He glances at you, like he knows exactly where this is going.
You nod slightly. “I said I loved you.”
For a second, neither of you says anything.
“…And?” you ask, quieter now. He looks at you, head tilting slightly. He doesn’t understand what you’re asking for. “I said I loved you.”
He doesn’t look away immediately, which almost makes it worse. For a second it feels like he might actually say something back.
“Yeah,” he says instead, like he’s acknowledging something small, something already passed. Your chest tightens, your fingers curling slightly against your palm.
“…And?” you ask, quieter now, like you’re not sure if you even want the answer anymore.
There’s a pause long enough to make it feel like a choice.
“You know how you get,” he says, almost gentle in a way that doesn’t match the words. Something in your chest shifts.
He exhales softly, glancing away for a second like he’s already half out of the conversation.
“It means…” he starts, trailing off briefly before settling on it, “you get caught up.”
You stare at him, your throat tightening slightly.
“It’s not a bad thing,” he cuts in, still calm, still controlled, like he’s smoothing it over, “it just… is.”
You shake your head, a quiet breath leaving you. “So that’s it?” you ask, your voice thinner now, the control slipping just enough to notice.
You let out a small, humorless breath. Your gaze dropping away from him because you can’t keep looking at him and pretend this isn’t exactly what it sounds like.
There’s nothing else to say after that.
He shifts beside you, the movement more final this time as he stands. Putting his clothes back on and reaching for his things like the moment already ended a while ago.
“I’ve got to go,” he says, like it’s just another part of the night.
You just nod once, even though he’s not really looking at you anymore.
He pauses near the door, hand resting against the frame for a second, like he might say something else.
“Don’t stay up over it,” he adds, almost absent, like a passing comment.
The quiet that settles in after is different now. Not the kind you were in before. This one doesn’t feel occupied.
You stay where you are for a moment, your body still. Your chest still feels tight, but not in the same way. No in a soft way but… hollow.
You let yourself believe it might’ve been something else. And he didn’t even have to lie to you to prove it wasn’t.
A/n: had this is in drafts for a while :p
