SynopsisąŖāā“ You tell one tiny lie at work. One. Now your coworkers want to meet your boyfriend...The boyfriend who doesn't exist. Enter Bokuto Koutarou, who hears about your dilemma and, with the confidence of a man who has never once doubted himself, says: "I'll be your boyfriend." Fake dating should've been simple. Instead, it somehow involves fake anniversaries, couple lore, coffee deliveries, karaoke dates, way too much hand-holding, coworkers who are far too invested, and a fake boyfriend who's suspiciously good at acting like the real thing. The real problem isn't convincing everyone else they're dating. It's convincing themselves they aren't.
tagsąŖāā“ fake dating, coworkers to lovers, happy ending, the both of you are kinda dumb, idiots in love, first relationship, office shenanigans
NOTESąŖāā“ sorry for not uploading last week, life has been crazy and so full RAHHHH but I hope y'all enjoy this new chapter!
The days at work after that feltā¦ wrong in a way you couldnāt quite explain. Nothing much had changed on paper. The office was still the same, your tasks were still the same, your coworkers were still loud at lunch and annoying in the exact same predictable ways.
But Bokuto was no longer part of your day.
Or at least, not in the way he used to be.
Before when your mind was still so full of him from the unanswered question of why he had left your message unanswered, it seemed like his presence had nearly vanished.Ā
You could still hear him at timesāhis voice had always been particularly loud,Ā laughing from the other side of the office, or catching snippets of his voice when he passed through shared spaces.Ā
But there were times where youād go more than an hour without seeing him at all. Maybe it was to be expected now that you two werenāt a āthingā, whatever that āthingā was. But, even before the whole fake relationship you two had made up, he wasnāt a rare sight to bump into at work.
Maybe you were just more hyperaware of his absence since you had spent nearly a month together. And you hated how much you noticed his dwindling presence.Ā Ā
It was almost as if he was avoiding you. But you figured that was something you made up to comfort yourself rather than facing the truth that maybe all this while, there really wasnāt anything special at all between you too after all.Ā
And worse, you were now quickly adapting to avoid him too.
Youād take slightly longer routes to the pantry if you heard him nearby. Youād suddenly become very invested in your screen whenever you heard someone call his name from afar. If there was even a slim chance of him entering your space, you found a reason to be somewhere else.
It was pathetic, really.
But every time something or someone reminded you of him, something in your chest tightened in a way you didnāt know how to sit with. Like your body remembered something your brain was desperately trying to delete.
And then, of course, your brain made it worse.
Because soon enough, it started to notice her too.
Akane.
After two whole days of avoiding him, you had stumbled upon a scene of the two by Akaneās cubicle while you went over to print something. It wasnāt like you were in her department on purposeāthe printer in your office had ran out of ink and you didnāt have time to wait around for someone to fill it back up.
And what made it even worse was how you had subconsciously started observing every interaction between them.
It wasnāt even like they were doing anything explicitly suspicious. That was the cruel part. Just small things. Passing conversations. Brief moments where Bokuto laughed at something she said. The occasional overlap when they were walking in the same direction through the corridor.
Normal coworker behaviour. But your mind didnāt care about ānormal.ā It replayed everything with extra detail.
The ease in his expression when he spoke to her. The way he didnāt seem careful the way he was with you now. The fact that he didnāt hesitate around her. Didnāt pause. Didnāt think. Didnāt avoid.
You didnāt want to admit it, but it was a jab to your own ego. This was Bokuto in a natural setting, interacting with another woman on his own accord, not because of some fake relationship he wound up in because he decided to help a poor coworker in distress.Ā
Your stomach twisted every time you caught them in the same frame which was utterly stupid. You knew it was stupid. You didnāt have any reason to even make it a big deal. You two werenāt together, never were.
So why did it feel like you were watching someone take something from you anyway?
You gripped your pen a little too tightly at your desk one afternoon, forcing yourself to look away when you caught them talking again through the reflection of your monitor.
You shook your head, ripping your gaze away from the screen and shifting your seat to block them out.
Stop it.Ā
Stop thinking like that.
Heās not yours.
The thought shouldāve helped.
It didnāt.
If anything, it made your chest feel tighter.
By lunchtime, you were already exhausted from your own head. You still sat with your usual group today. It wouldāve been easier not to, but habit pulled you there anywayāthe same table, the same voices, the same routine.
Except it didnāt feel the same anymore.
You picked at your food while the conversation moved around you, nodding at the right moments, laughing when it made sense to laugh, but most of you feltā¦ absent. Like you were sitting slightly outside your own life.
Mika was mid-story about something dramatic when she suddenly paused, looking at you properly.
āHey,ā she said slowly, tilting her head. āWhereās Bokuto been lately?ā
Your chopsticks froze halfway to your mouth. The table didnāt go quiet immediately, but your brain did.
āOh,ā you said too quickly, then cleared your throat. āHeāsā¦ been busy, I think.ā
āBusy?ā Yui repeated, frowning slightly. āHe hasnāt been coming by at all though.ā
You stared at your food like it had suddenly become very interesting.
āYeah,ā you said again, softer this time. āProbably just work stuff.ā
There was a short pause.
And then Fumiko, far too casually, added, āDid you two break up or something? I havenāt seen him around our department lately either.ā
That was it.
That was the sentence.
Your brain tried to process it normally, tried to find something light to attach to it, something joking, something easy. But nothing came.Instead, your vision blurred slightly before you even realised what was happening.
A single tear dropped onto your plate.
Just one.
But it might as well have been loud.
The entire table reacted instantly.
āOh my godāwaitāā Fumiko shot up slightly in her seat, eyes wide. āIām so sorry, I didnāt mean it like thatāā
Yui looked panicked immediately. āNo no no, I shouldnāt have said anythingāā
āIt was a joke, I swear,ā Fumiko added quickly, reaching across the table like she could physically undo the moment.
You blinked rapidly, completely thrown off by how quickly everything escalated.
āNoāno itās fine,ā you said, voice cracking halfway through despite your best efforts. āItās notāā
But your face betrayed you completely, and the more you tried to explain, the worse it got. Now there were hands waving, apologies overlapping, someone sliding you a tissue, someone else telling you to breathe like you were about to ascend into another dimension.
And the attentionāall of it suddenly focused on youāmade your brain short-circuit entirely.
āIām fine,ā you tried again, but it came out hopeless when your voice cracked at the last syllable.
Mika looked like she was one second away from setting the entire situation on fire out of guilt. āWe didnāt know I didnāt knowāoh my god, please donāt cryāā
āIām not trying toāā your voice cracked again at the worst possible moment.
And that was it. Something in you just gave up.
A very undignified sound escaped you as you covered your face with both hands, shoulders shaking slightly as everything you had been bottling up for days decided this was the exact moment to fall apart in front of your very concerned coworkers.
āWahhhāā you whined into your hands, half-laughing, half-suffering, fully losing all dignity at once.
The table descended into chaotic panic and apology all over again. And somewhere in the middle of it, you had the very unhelpful thought that Bokuto would absolutely never let you live this down if he saw it.
Which, unfortunately, only made you cry harder.
The panic didnāt last forever, but it didnāt disappear cleanly either. It sort ofā¦ collapsed in on itself, leaving you sitting there with a face that felt too hot and a chest that still hadnāt figured out how to behave.
You dragged in a shaky breath, very aware of every pair of eyes still on you, and tried to convince your body to stop acting like the world had ended. It hadnāt. It was just lunch. Just a stupid question. Justā
A tear threatened to fall again and you immediately wiped at your face with the back of your hand, horrified at yourself.
āSorry,ā you muttered, voice cracking in a way that made you want to evaporate on the spot. āIām fine. Iām actually fine.ā
āYouāre not fine,ā Mei said immediately, leaning forward like she was inspecting a crime scene.
āI amāā you started, but it came out weak, which made it worse.
The chaos around you slowly softened into concerned silence, like the entire table had just collectively realized they had accidentally triggered something way bigger than they intended.
Mika was the first to lean in again, her earlier teasing completely gone now. āOkayā¦ okay, breathe,ā she said, softer this time. āTell us what happened.ā
Izumi, looking mildly horrified at how fast everything escalated, wordlessly slid a pack of tissues across the table. āHere.ā
You took one, hesitated for exactly half a second, and then blew into it far too loudly and dramatically for the situation. The sound alone made someone at a nearby table glance over. You immediately regretted your life choices.
āā¦Iām fine,ā you tried, voice coming out a little hoarse as you wiped your face quickly. āItās not a big deal.ā
Mei didnāt even blink. āThat was absolutely not fine.ā
Yui nodded slowly like she was confirming a theory. āYeahā¦ no. That was a full emotional collapse.ā
You let your shoulders drop slightly, the fight draining out of you now that the initial embarrassment had already peaked. There wasnāt really a point in pretending anymore. Not after that.
So you exhaled.
āā¦We broke up,ā you admitted quietly.
The table reacted instantly.
āWhat?ā
āSince when?!ā
You flinched a little at the volume, then quickly raised your hands. āOkay, okay, not like thatā it was mutual. It wasnāt messy or anything.ā
That seemed to calm them just enough to lean back and actually listen.
You fiddled with the tissue in your hand, suddenly finding it very interesting. āIt justā¦ kind of ran its course, I guess We justā¦ thought it was getting a bit much.ā
āWhat does that even mean?ā Mika frowned immediately, offended on your behalf. āThat doesnāt sound like Bokuto at all. If I get my hands on himāā
āItās not like that,ā you cut in quickly, shaking your head a little too fast. āSeriously. It wasnāt anyoneās fault. It was mutual.ā
That part you repeated a little more firmly, like you needed them to believe it as much as you did.
You forced a small, awkward smile. āIām not upset at him. Iām justā¦ still getting used to it, I guess.ā
The words hung there for a second. And in that space, the mood shifted again ā softer now, less interrogative, more careful.
Yui nodded slowly. āOhā¦ā
Izumi slid your drink a little closer without saying anything.
Mika leaned back with a sigh, clearly restraining whatever protective rage sheād briefly prepared. āStill. He shouldāve at leastāā
āItās really okay,ā you said again, quieter this time, and this time it sounded more like you were convincing yourself than them.
For a moment, no one pushed further.
But even as the conversation carefully drifted away into something lighter again, you could still feel itāthe way their eyes occasionally flicked toward you, like they were recalibrating what they thought they knew.
And you just sat there, wiping your face again, pretending the tightness in your chest was only about embarrassment.
Not anything else.
The rest of lunch slowly settled after that moment of chaos, like a wave finally losing its momentum.Ā
The panic at your table didnāt disappear instantly, but it softened, shifting into something more careful. Conversations restarted in quieter tones, as if everyone collectively agreed not to push too hard in case you broke again. Someone tried to lighten the mood with a ridiculous story about a failed online order, and gradually the energy drifted back into something resembling normal.
You stayed quieter than usual, mostly listening rather than participating. Your appetite didnāt really come back, but at least the tightness in your chest had loosened a little.Ā
It didnāt feel good exactly, but it no longer felt like everything was collapsing inward either. More like you had emptied out the worst of it in front of people who, despite their panic, still stayed.
By the time everyone finished eating, you had mostly regained your composure.Ā
Your eyes still felt slightly swollen and your voice wasnāt quite as steady as usual, but the worst of the emotional spiral had passed, leaving behind a tired kind of calm.
Nobody brought it up again as you all left the cafe, and that silence felt surprisingly kind.
When you returned to your cubicle, everything looked exactly the same as it always did, but it felt different in your body. Like your thoughts were still lagging behind what had just happened, still catching up to the fact that it was over.Ā
You sat down at your desk and opened your laptop almost automatically, hands moving out of habit more than intention.
At first, work came in fits and starts. You reread emails, fixed small things, answered messages you had been ignoring. It wasnāt perfect focus, and you could still feel the faint ache behind your eyes from earlier, but it was functional.Ā
Manageable.Ā
For the first time that day, your mind wasnāt entirely consumed by one thing, even if the thoughts still returned in quieter flashes every now and then.
Bokutoās face would appear in your mind for a second, uninvited, then fade again as you forced yourself back into your tasks. The memory of lunch would follow, then disappear just as quickly. It wasnāt gone, but it wasnāt swallowing you anymore either.Ā
It justā¦ existed.
By late afternoon, the office had started to wind down.Ā
The energy shifted in that familiar way, people packing up earlier than usual, chairs scraping softly, conversations becoming more scattered and distant.Ā
You were still at your desk finishing up one last document when Mei and Fumiko appeared beside you.
They were already ready to leave, bags on their shoulders, looking slightly more relaxed than earlier in the day.
āWeāre heading off,ā Mei said gently, glancing at your screen. āYou still staying a bit?ā
You nodded without looking away from your work. āYeah, Iāve got a couple things left to submit. Iāll probably be here a while longer.ā
Fumiko frowned slightly, the concern still lingering in her expression from earlier. āDonāt overdo it, okay?ā
āIām fine,ā you said, and this time it sounded steadier than before, like the words were actually starting to mean something again.
Mei studied you for a moment longer before letting out a small sigh, accepting it. āOkay. But donāt stay too late.ā
Fumiko reached over and gave your head a light pat before stepping back. āGo home safely later, okay?ā
āTry not to overthink everything again,ā Mei added, but there was no bite to it anymore, just familiarity.
You let out a small breath that almost turned into a laugh. āIāll try.ā
They lingered just long enough to make sure you werenāt going to fall apart again, then finally left together, their footsteps fading down the corridor.
And just like that, the office grew quiet.
Not completely silent, but the kind of quiet that only comes when most people are gone and the rest of the building has stopped pretending to be busy. The hum of the lights felt louder.Ā
The distant sounds of the city outside the windows felt further away. Even your own typing sounded sharper in the space.
You stayed seated for a moment, fingers resting on your keyboard without moving, eyes lingering on the screen even though you werenāt really processing anything anymore.
The calm from earlier hadnāt disappeared, but it had settled into something heavier now. A quiet numbness sitting underneath everything else.
Still, you turned back to your work.
And kept going, because there wasnāt really anything else to do.
By the time you finished your last task, the office had already slipped into that end-of-day stillness that always felt slightly heavier than it should. Conversations had thinned out into occasional murmurs, chairs shifted and scraped against the floor as people packed up, and the steady hum of computers lingered like something the building hadnāt quite decided to switch off yet.
You stayed seated a little longer than necessary, eyes resting on your screen without actually taking anything in. The document in front of you was finished. Your work was done. But your body still felt slow, like it hadnāt caught up to the fact that the day was over.
More than anything, your mind just feltā¦ tired in a way that had nothing to do with tasks. It kept circling back in soft, unwanted loops. Lunch. The table. Your voice cracking. The sudden attention. You shut your laptop a bit more firmly than you meant to, as if the sound alone could snap you out of it.
Then you stood, gathering your things, telling yourself you were fine as you walked out of your department.
The corridor outside felt emptier than usual at this hour, lights slightly dimmer, footsteps echoing just a little more clearly. It made everything feel more exposed somehow, like there was less noise to hide inside.
You were halfway down the corridor when someone grabbed your arm.
The reaction was instant. A small jolt ran through you as you stopped abruptly, turning quickly with a startled breath already halfway outā
And then you saw him.
Bokuto.
For a second, your brain didnāt fully catch up. He just stood there like he always did, as if appearing out of nowhere and grabbing your arm was the most normal thing in the world. His grip wasnāt tight, not reallyāmore like he had just needed to make sure you wouldnāt keep walking past him without noticing.
āHey,ā he said all too simply, way too casual for the breakdown you had earlier in the lunchroom. āFollow me.ā
Not waiting for an answer, he gently tugged you along with him, already moving before you could properly question it. Not forceful, not rushedājust certain, like he expected you to follow without argument.
āWaitāwhere are we going?ā you managed, but your feet betrayed you almost immediately, falling into step anyway.
He didnāt answer right away.
That pause was small, but it made something in your chest tighten in a way you didnāt like. Your eyes flicked to him briefly as he led you through a quieter stretch of the office, past desks that were already mostly abandoned, past the soft glow of monitors being shut down one by one.
And then, without much ceremony, he brought you to the vending machine corner again.
The same place.
The memory of standing here alone not too long ago hit you before you could stop it, uninvited and sharp enough to make your stomach twist slightly. You hadnāt even fully unpacked that moment yet, and now you were back in it with him standing right beside you.
Only then did he stop walking as he turned and finally, let go of your arm.
The absence of his hand lingered for a second longer than it should have, like your body noticed the loss before your mind could rationalize it. You shifted your grip on your bag strap, trying to ground yourself again.
You looked at him properly. āWhat was that for?ā
This time, Bokuto wasnāt smiling. That alone made the air feel different.
āI heard you cried today,ā he said.
There was no teasing in his voice nor any exaggeration. Just straightforward concern, like he was checking something he didnāt fully understand yet.
For a second, your brain genuinely blanked. Then it kicked back in too fast, like it was trying to outrun the moment before it could settle.
āOh,ā you said, forcing your tone into something lighter than you felt, as you swatted your hand in the air and let out a chuckle to hide the obvious truth. āYeah, no, I was just watching a sad montage during lunch. You know how it is. Got a bit emotional, couldnāt really help it.ā
Even as the words left your mouth, you could hear how flimsy they were. The kind of excuse that sounded fine if no one thought about it too hardābut started falling apart the second someone actually did.
Bokuto didnāt respond immediately.
He just looked at you.
It wasnāt like he was trying to catch you in a lie. His gaze was quieter than that, steadier, like he was simply taking in what youād said and weighing it against something else he already knew.
After a beat, he gave a small nod.
āā¦Right,ā he said.
That was all.
No follow-up. No teasing. No gentle pushback like you mightāve expected from him.
And somehow, that made it worse. Because it didnāt feel like belief. It felt like acknowledgement without agreement.
A silence settled between you after that. Not uncomfortable in a loud way, but heavy in a subtler oneālike neither of you was sure where to place this version of the conversation. You shifted your weight slightly, suddenly very aware of your own hands, your own breathing.
Then Bokuto spoke again.
His voice was lower this time, less casual.
āI thought it was because ofā¦ā he paused, shifting slightly as he scratched the back of his neck,ā...us.ā
That made you look up properly.
āHuh?ā
He didnāt look away, but there was something more measured in his expression now. Like he was stepping carefully around his own words.
āYouāve been avoiding me since that day,ā he continued. āSo I figuredā¦ maybe there was more to it when you decided to end theā¦ relationship.ā
The way he said it wasnāt accusatory. If anything, it sounded like a genuine question he hadnāt been able to settle in his own head yet. And that landed somewhere uncomfortable in your chest because that wasnāt what you wanted him to think.
You couldnāt have him find out you had grown way too attached over something that was meant to be a farce to fool other people and that you had caught yourself in your own web of lies and started believing the performance you two were putting out.
You straightened a little too quickly.
āNo,ā you said immediately, then paused, realizing how sharp that came out. You exhaled, trying again, softer this time. āNo, itās not that. Itās justā¦ there wasnāt any reason to keep doing that.ā
You paused as you let out a shallow breath. āAnd I wasnāt avoiding youā¦ā
Lies.
But youād rather fool him than having him know the truth.
āI was just busy with work, and I guess you were too, so we didnāt bump into each other much.ā Even as you said it, the word normal felt slightly off.
Bokuto listened without interrupting, eyes steady on you. When you finished, he gave a slow nod, like he was taking your explanation seriously even if something about it didnāt fully resolve for him.
āā¦Yeah,ā he said after a moment. āI guess that makes sense.ā
There was a pause. He shifted his weight slightly, gaze flicking briefly away before returning.
āI didnāt really think stopping would feel thisā¦ā he trailed off, brows tightening faintly as if he was searching for the right word and not finding it immediately. āWeird.ā
You hesitated. āWeird?ā
āYeah,ā he admitted, almost helplessly as he shrugged, looking off to the side. āOr off. I donāt know.ā
That honesty hung there between you, unpolished and unfiltered in a way that didnāt quite match the version of Bokuto you were used toāthe loud, certain, easy one who always seemed to know exactly how to move through a room.
This version felt quieter. Less sure of himself.
After a moment, he added, almost like he was considering it for the first time out loud, āMaybe itās just me.ā
And that, more than anything else, made your chest tighten slightly. Because he didnāt say it like a conclusion. He said it like he was still trying to figure it out.
Thenā
āI liked it,ā Bokuto said.
You blinked, caught off guard by how simply it came out.
His voice didnāt change much in volume, but something about it shifted anyway. Less casual, less thrown-away. Like heād decided not to dress the words up anymore.
āBeing your boyfriend,ā he added after a beat, eyes still on you. āEven if it was fake.ā
Something in your chest tightened immediately, sharp and uninvited, like your body had reacted before your thoughts could even line up properly.
You looked away too quickly.
āYeah,ā you managed, voice quieter than you intended. āMe too.ā
The silence that followed wasnāt uncomfortable in the usual way. It didnāt feel tense or awkward in a way that begged to be fixed. It justā¦ hung there. A little more aware than before, like both of you had stepped into something that neither of you had agreed to define yet.
You shifted your weight, suddenly too conscious of everything at onceāthe low hum of the vending machine beside you, the empty stretch of corridor behind him, the fact that neither of you seemed in a hurry to leave.
Bokuto broke the silence gently.
āā¦Does it still have to be weird now?ā he asked.
You turned your head back toward him.
He didnāt rush to fill the space, like he was choosing his words as he went. āCan I still have lunch with you? Or talk to you in the officeā¦ like before?ā
That landed differently.
It wasnāt said like a demand, or even like a request for something big. It was smaller than thatācareful, almost uncertain in a way you werenāt used to from him. Like he wasnāt asking for anything beyond what already existedājust not wanting it to disappear completely.
Your throat tightened slightly before you could stop it.
You let out a slow breath.
āYou can,ā you said. āNo oneās stopping you from doing that.ā
The moment it left your mouth, his expression lifted a fraction, like he hadnāt fully believed that would be the answer.
āReally?ā he asked, softer now. āYou wonāt feel uncomfortable?ā
You shook your head once, then hesitatedānot because you didnāt mean it, but because the truth felt a little more complicated than a simple yes or no.
āIād like that,ā you said after a beat. Then, more honestly, your voice dropping just slightly, āIf things justā¦ go back to normal.ā
The word left you before you could properly think about it. But even as you said it, something about it didnāt land right anymore.
Not the way it used to.
Because ānormalā had already shifted without either of you naming it. And now neither of you seemed entirely sure what it was supposed to mean.
SynopsisąŖāā“ You tell one tiny lie at work. One. Now your coworkers want to meet your boyfriend...The boyfriend who doesn't exist. Enter Bokuto Koutarou, who hears about your dilemma and, with the confidence of a man who has never once doubted himself, says: "I'll be your boyfriend." Fake dating should've been simple. Instead, it somehow involves fake anniversaries, couple lore, coffee deliveries, karaoke dates, way too much hand-holding, coworkers who are far too invested, and a fake boyfriend who's suspiciously good at acting like the real thing. The real problem isn't convincing everyone else they're dating. It's convincing themselves they aren't.
tagsąŖāā“ fake dating, coworkers to lovers, happy ending, the both of you are kinda dumb, idiots in love, first relationship, office shenanigans
NOTESąŖāā“ a shorter chapter today, been busy all week now that ive got more things on my plate. adult life is hard, man... i hope there aren't any errors in the chapter. hope yall enjoy!!
Not in a peaceful way, but in a way that made everything in your room feel slightly too loud ā the hum of your ceiling fan, the faint sounds from outside your window, even the soft vibration of your phone on the desk whenever a notification came in.
You told yourself not to think about it too much.
But it was near impossible to stop the dam of a thousand questions flooding your mind when Bokuto had read the message you sent a mere ten minutes after it had been delivered.
And the worst part?
He had left it unanswered.
You instantly spiraled when you discovered the fact that you had been ignored. Or did the fake break-up not mean enough for any acknowledgement?
Regardless of what the reason, the little āseenā notification sat there mockingly beneath your texts each time you opened your chat with him to see when he was last active.
Maybe he was just busyā¦
Your eyes flickered up. Last seen 2 minutes ago.
You stared at the screen from your bed, expression completely blank.
āā¦Cool,ā you muttered to yourself, tossing your phone aside as you collapsed back onto your bed. You stared up at the ceiling, the unnerving weight in your chest leaving you sleepless.
What did this even mean?
If Bokuto disagreed, wouldnāt he say something immediately? If he thought it was awkward, wouldnāt he at least reply casually? Even a stupid sticker wouldāve been better than this strange silence hanging between you now.
But there was nothing. And somehow, the lack of response hurt more than an actual rejection would have because now your brain had room to invent things.
Maybe he was relieved.
Maybe heād only gone along with the fake dating because he felt bad for you in the first place, and now that youād given him an easy way out, he simply didnāt know how to respond without making it awkward.
You grabbed a pillow and slammed it down onto your face, your groans muffled under the soft silk of your pillowcase.
This was awful. Actually awful.
By the time you arrived at work the next morning, a nervous tension had already settled deep into your chest. And unfortunately, Bokuto being normal somehow made it even worse.
He wasnāt avoiding you, nor was he upset or cold. But something had clearly shifted.
You noticed it immediately when you walked into the office and saw him near the neighboring department laughing loudly at something one of his coworkers said. His eyes flicked toward you automatically like they always did whenever you arrived.
There was a small pause before he smiled, sending you a small wave. āMorning.ā
You forced back a smile of your own, but internally, your mind was screaming. Thatās it?
No coffee in his hand. No dramatic greeting. No casual affection like the past few weeks had conditioned you to expect.
Just a normal greeting.
You tore your eyes away from him, spinning on your heels as you headed back to your own cubicle. You sank down to your seat, letting out a weary sigh as you tried very hard to ignore the strange hollow feeling settling in your stomach.
Maybe you were just imagining things.
Except as the day went on, you realized you werenāt.
You were sat at your cubicle for the most part of your morning, your work going by uninterrupted which was an unusual case for you recently. Bokuto was still a loud presence in the office. As always, you could hear his voice regardless of if he was on the other side of the room or by the other department.
He didnāt shy away from being in your presence at all. In fact, he still seemed entirely like himself, his life going forward as per usual, the only difference was that there wasnāt an extra chore to act as your fake boyfriend.
You almost let out a small, bitter laugh, but you bit it back before it could escape.
Maybe that whole persona he had performed for not only your friends, but apparently you too was something he could turn off with a simple flick of a switch. You would never understand the ways of someone experienced with people, anyways.
But what made it sting a lot more than necessary, was the very fact that he had not mentioned or acknowledged your text one bit.
It was more of an attempt to convince yourself that you would be able to let this all go had he acknowledged said text, but you did somewhat believe that he had just given you a simple, āOkay,ā in response to your text, you wouldnāt be here spending so much time thinking about him.
It made the entire day feel strangely tense, like both of you were silently pretending not to notice the sudden absence of everything that had become normal between you. Only, it seemed like you were the only one pretending while it was just another casual Tuesday for him.
And unfortunately for you, your brain responded to this development in the healthiest way possible: By spiraling completely.
As the hours dragged on, the jealousy from yesterday slowly gave way to something far worse.
Regret.
You stared blankly at your computer screen while uncomfortable thoughts piled one after another inside your head.
Maybe Bokuto really had only been doing all those things because of the fake relationship. Maybe the affection had never mattered to him outside of keeping up appearances.
And now that youād basically told him you wanted to stop, he no longer had any reason to continue acting that way toward you.
Your chest tightened unpleasantly.
Because somehow, despite initially being the one who was indeed against this very idea, you hadnāt actually prepared yourself for the aftermath of it all.
You had even started wondering if Bokuto thought you had been enjoying the affection too much. The thought alone made heat crawl up your neck in humiliation.
Had you made it obvious somehow? Had he noticed the way you reacted every time he touched you? The way you looked at him too long sometimes? The way your entire mood had started depending on whether he paid attention to you that day?
God.
Maybe that was why he was being careful now. Because he realized youād gotten attached.
The rest of the day didnāt get any easier.
If anything, the silence from your phone followed you around like a shadow you couldnāt quite shake off. Every time your screen lit up for something else ā an email, a reminder, a random notification ā your body reacted before your mind could catch up, a small, stupid flicker of hope that you immediately hated yourself for.
But it was never him.
And that, somehow, became its own kind of answer.
You tried to work. You really did. You stared at your monitor, clicked through tasks, reread the same sentence three times without retaining a single word. It was the kind of focus that looked functional from the outside but was completely hollow underneath.
By the time lunch rolled around, you gave up pretending.
You didnāt join your usual group today. You told them you had something to finish, something vague and work-related enough that no one questioned it. It wasnāt entirely a lie ā you did have work ā but mostly, you just didnāt have the energy to sit through conversation without accidentally giving yourself away.
So you ended up alone.
Sitting in a quieter corner with a convenience store meal you barely touched, scrolling your phone without actually seeing anything on it.
Your thoughts kept circling back anyway.
That message.
That silence.
The way Bokuto had justā¦ seen it.
You turned your spoon slowly in the plastic container of your ready-meal, feeling your appetite disappear completely as your mind filled in the gaps it hated leaving empty.
By mid-afternoon, you had convinced yourself you were being ridiculous. Or at least, you were trying to. Work helped a littleāit forced your brain into smaller, more manageable pieces of thought instead of letting it spiral freely.
But even that didnāt last.
Some time later, when most of the office had settled into that late-day rhythm of low energy and half-finished tasks, you found yourself still at your desk, trying to focus on a report you had already read twice.
That was when it happened.
You didnāt even notice Bokuto approaching until he was there.
One moment you were staring at your screen, and the next there was a familiar presence near your workspaceānot loud, not disruptive, just close enough that your attention immediately fractured.
You hesitated before looking up.
Your eyes met his, and almost as if it physically pained you to look at him, you turned away. Bokuto reached out, but his hand paused before it landed on your shoulder.
There was a pregnant pause before he first spoke up, āListenā¦ā
The office around you had thinned out. A few people had stepped out and finally clocked out to go home, others buried in the last few touch-ups of theirĀ own work. It left the space between desks feeling wider, quieter.
It also meant there was no one close enough to interrupt.
Bokuto stood a few steps away, hands loosely at his sides. He didnāt look tense, but he also didnāt have his usual ease either. Like something had been sitting in the back of his mind since yesterday and had finally decided to surface now that there was space for it.
āā¦About your message,ā he said after a beat.
Your stomach dropped slightly, your hands clenching underneath your desk as if to brace yourself for this conversation. You hadnāt expected it to come at all..
āI saw it,ā he continued, then paused briefly, eyes flicking over your face like he was checking for something he couldnāt quite name. āDid I do something wrong?ā
That question caught you off guard. You didnāt expect that would be his first question. You blinked at him quickly, too quickly. āNoāno, you didnāt.ā
He waited for an explanation. So you forced yourself to continue, even though the words felt heavier than they should have.
āItās justā¦ we kind of already did what we were supposed to and the others are convinced of our relationship,ā you said, trying to keep your tone casual, like this was all perfectly logical and not something currently twisting your chest into knots. āSo itās kind of unnecessary and weird if we keepā¦ doing all of that.ā
There was a short silence after that. But Bokuto nodded slowly, like he was taking it in properly, processing it instead of reacting immediately the way he usually would.
āI seeā¦ā he said quietly. āOkay.ā
Another pause.
Then, a little softer, āYeah, I guess thereās no need for it anymore.ā
Something in your chest tightened at that, not because he was refusing. But because he wasnāt fighting it. There was no hesitation. No attempt to ask you to reconsider. No teasing pushback like before.
Just acceptanceāclean, simple, final. And somehow, that hurt more than you expected it to. You swallowed it down quickly before it could show on your face, forcing your expression to stay steady.
āYeah,ā you said, voice a little flatter than intended. āItās probably for the best.ā
A beat passed.
Then you added, almost too casually, āThanksā¦ for helping me out with all this, Bokuto.ā
He gave a small nod.
āYeah,ā he said. āNo problem.ā
And just like that, the conversation ended. No tension, no argument, no lingering moment. Just two people standing in the middle of an office that suddenly felt a little too normal again.
Or at least, that was what you told yourself.
Because the second Bokuto said āno problem,ā something in your chest shifted in a way you werenāt prepared for.
It wasnāt the words themselves. It was how easily they came out. Like it really was nothing. Like the last few weeks hadnāt meant anything beyond a simple favour he was doing for you, something he could step out of just as easily as he stepped into it.
Bokuto shifted his weight, his sneakers squeaking slightly against the industrial carpet. He looked toward the exit, his usual vibrant energy dimmed, replaced by a strange, stiff hesitation that didn't quite suit him.
"I'll head out now," he muttered, finally meeting your eyes for a split second before looking away again. "Don't work too hard. Seriously, clock out soon." He gave a small, jerky wave. "Bye."
You felt a strange, cold prickle run down your spine, as if a thread had been cut. "Yeah," you managed, your voice sounding thin and hollow in the quiet room. "Okayā¦ bye."
You stayed rooted to the spot, watching him walk toward the door. You kept your expression neutral, but your fingers curled slightly against your palm under the desk.
Rightā¦
Of course.
That was what this was supposed to be.
A fake relationship. A convenient arrangement. Something light enough that it could be dropped without consequences.
You knew it was something meant to end, its only purpose being to save you from utter humiliation if your friends ever found out you truly had been single all your life.
So why did the feeling in your chest hurt so much more than whatever humiliation you had imagined facing a few weeks back?
SynopsisąŖāā“ You tell one tiny lie at work. One. Now your coworkers want to meet your boyfriend...The boyfriend who doesn't exist. Enter Bokuto Koutarou, who hears about your dilemma and, with the confidence of a man who has never once doubted himself, says: "I'll be your boyfriend." Fake dating should've been simple. Instead, it somehow involves fake anniversaries, couple lore, coffee deliveries, karaoke dates, way too much hand-holding, coworkers who are far too invested, and a fake boyfriend who's suspiciously good at acting like the real thing. The real problem isn't convincing everyone else they're dating. It's convincing themselves they aren't.
tagsąŖāā“ fake dating, coworkers to lovers, happy ending, the both of you are kinda dumb, idiots in love, first relationship, office shenanigans
NOTESąŖāā“ did i mention how i came up with this plot and immediately wrote it all out in one go after watching jb's performance at coachella?
When you agreed to this fake relationship with Bokuto, this was not what you had in mindā¦ at all.
You had expected something simple, minimal, convincing enough to satisfy your coworkers without requiring the two of you to completely destroy your sense of peace in the process. What you had not expected was for Bokuto to commit to the role like his life depended on it.
It started the very next morning after you introduced your boyfriend to your friends at the cafe.
You had barely settled into your seat when someone near the entrance to your department suddenly let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like barely restrained excitement. You looked up just in time to see Bokuto walking in with two coffee cups in hand.
Your stomach dropped instantly.
āOh,ā Yui said from somewhere behind you, voice dripping with amusement. āLook whoās here.ā
You immediately sat up straighter as Bokuto made his way over, completely unbothered by the attention already following him through the office.
āMorning,ā he said easily, holding out one of the drinks toward you.
You stared at him. āYou didnāt have to do this.ā
āI know.ā He grinned. āBut boyfriends do this kinda thing, right?ā
Before you could even process that sentence properly, Bokuto leaned down slightly and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.
Your brain shut off. Actually shut off.
The entire department erupted instantly with a mix of squeals, and gasps, and ohmygods. Heat exploded across your face so fast it physically hurt.
Meanwhile Bokuto just straightened back up like he hadnāt detonated a bomb in the middle of your morning.
āSee you at lunch?ā he asked casually.
You stared at him for a full second before managing a weak, completely incoherent nod.
āCool,ā he said brightly, then walked away like nothing had happened.
The second he disappeared from your sight, you dropped your face directly into your hands. The teasing from your coworkers was merciless after that.
And somehow, Bokuto only got worse.
Every lunch break, he appeared outside your department at almost the exact same time, leaning casually against the wall while waiting for you like this had been your routine for years. At first, you tried walking normally beside him.
That lasted less than two days.
Each time you brought up the necessity of how openly affectionate he was being with you, his excuse would always be the same each timeā
āAuthenticity,ā Bokuto had said solemnly after grabbing your hand in the hallway one afternoon.
āYou cannot keep using that word to justify things,ā you hissed, trying not to combust as several coworkers walked past.
āYes I can.ā
āNo you canāt.ā
āIt helps the immersion.ā
āThere is no immersion!ā
āThere is for me.ā
You nearly tripped over nothing. Bokuto, unfortunately, found your suffering hilarious.
The worst part was that he never acted embarrassed about any of it. Not the hand holding. Not the casual touches. Not the way heād suddenly rest his chin on the top of your head while reading something over your shoulder, completely unaware of the psychological damage he was causing you.
One afternoon, you had been focused on replying to an email when Bokuto appeared behind your chair out of nowhere. You barely had time to register his presence before a warm hand landed gently on top of your head.
āThere she is,ā he said affectionately.
Your entire body froze.
Across the room, Mika made a sound like she was witnessing true love in real time. Meanwhile, you turned slowly in your chair to stare up at Bokuto in disbelief.
āā¦Why are you like this?ā
āWhat?ā he asked innocently. āYouāre cute.ā
You felt your soul leave your body.
Again.
And somehow, despite how absurd this entire arrangement was becoming, despite the embarrassment and the constant teasing and Bokutoās apparently limitless dedication to authenticityā
You were beginning to get used to him.
That was the dangerous part.
At some point, your days had started unconsciously revolving around him. You noticed it slowly, in embarrassing little ways that crept up on you before you could stop them. Expecting to see him outside your department around lunchtime. Looking up whenever someone loud passed by because there was a decent chance it was Bokuto. Catching yourself glancing at your phone during slower parts of the day because he usually sent at least one stupid message before work ended.
It was badā¦ objectively bad. And apparently only getting worse.
āYouāre sulking.ā
āIām not sulking,ā you muttered immediately.
Beside you, Bokuto made a noise that very clearly meant he didnāt believe you for even a second.
The two of you were standing near a food truck parked along the side of the street just outside the office building, the late afternoon air still warm from the sun. Around you, other office workers lingered in small groups, conversations blending into the distant noise of traffic and the occasional hiss coming from the grill behind the counter.
āIām serious,ā you continued. āHe called me into his office over one formatting mistake. One.ā
Bokuto nodded solemnly. āTragic.ā
āAnd then he kept talking about professionalism like I committed tax fraud.ā
āMm.ā
āI fixed it in less than two minutes too.ā
āThatās rough, buddy.ā
You turned sharply toward him. āCan you stop sounding entertained?ā
āIām not entertained.ā
āYou literally are.ā
āIām listening very seriously right now.ā
āYouāre smiling.ā
āThatās unrelated.ā
You narrowed your eyes at him while Bokuto grinned shamelessly, entirely too pleased with himself as he leaned against the side of the truck.
The worst part was that he had been listening to you complain for nearly ten minutes now, and somehow you were still going.
āAnd another thing,ā you continued before you could stop yourself, āwhy does he always act like the department is collapsing every time someone makes a tiny mistake? Like, relax. Nobody died.ā
Bokuto hummed thoughtfully. āMaybe he just enjoys being a sadist.ā
āWell, he should keep it contained to the damn bedroom.ā
That finally made Bokuto laugh properly, loud enough that a few nearby people glanced over. The sound was like a sudden burst of sunshineāraw, unvarnished, and completely impossible to ignore. You watched him, his shoulders shaking with the force of it, his eyes crinkling at the corners.Ā
He didn't care who was looking, didn't care about the line at the food truck or the mundane setting of a street corner. He just laughed until he had to catch his breath, and for a terrifying, fleeting moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be standing there beside him.
The domesticity of the moment hit you with the force of a physical blow. Standing there, waiting for lunch, trading complaints like a couple who had been doing this for yearsāit was a trap, a dangerously comfortable illusion.
And just as quickly as the warmth flooded your chest, you slammed the door on it.
You whipped your head away, staring intensely at the handwritten menu board of the food truck. Your heart was doing a frantic, traitorous rhythm against your ribs, and you felt the heat crawling up your neck. Get a grip, you hissed to yourself, the words a silent mantra. This is all fake.
Your attempts to reel yourself in were interrupted when his hand rested on your head. His touch was startlingly gentle, a warm, grounding weight that traced the line of your hair before retreating. You whipped your head around, eyes wide, only to find him looking down at you with a smile that felt dangerously softātoo fond, too genuine, far too real for someone who was supposed to be reading from a script.Ā
Then, he leaned in just enough to tilt his head, his voice dropping into a low, playful hum. āYouāre cute when youāre angry.ā
The air practically vanished from your lungs. You nearly choked on your own saliva, a harsh, strangled noise escaping your throat before you lunged, smacking his hand away with a frantic, uncoordinated swipe.
āGo away,ā you mumbled, your voice dropping to a desperate, shaky register.
You pivoted on your heel, putting your back to him and staring intensely at a nearby trash can as if it held the secrets to the universe. You could feel your face burning, the heat spreading from your cheeks all the way down to your collarbone, turning you a shade of red that you were certain was visible from space.
What the heck was that?
Your brain felt like it was short-circuiting. How could he say something like that so casually? So easily?
It was a lineāa classic, textbook boyfriend lineābut he delivered it with an offhanded comfort that made your pulse hammer against your ribs. Every rational part of your brain was screaming at you to remember the "fake" label, but your traitorous heart was busy doing backflips. You huddled further into yourself, desperately trying to cool down before he noticed you were completely falling apart.
You heard Bokuto chuckle softly, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate right through the space between you. Before you could retort, a voice from the food truck window barked out your order, cutting through your spiral. Bokuto stepped forward, effortlessly snagging the paper bag of tacos in one hand and expertly balancing the two drinks in the other, his movements smooth and practiced.
"Let's go, babe," he teased, his voice dropping into that infuriatingly smooth, affectionate tone again.
Your arm jerked forward, an instinctual, frustrated swat, but you caught yourself at the last millisecond. You didn't want to be the reason those drinks ended up all over the sidewalk. You settled for rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt, your face still radiating heat. "Let me hold something," you insisted, reaching for the bag. "You're going to drop it."
Bokuto just shifted his weight, deftly dodging your hand with a grin. "Relax, Iāve got it. I've got a grip like a pro."
"Bokuto, really," you pressed, glaring at the precarious stack of cups. "If you drop anything, you're going back down there to buy another one. My lunch isn't going to be the victim of your overconfidence."
He laughed, that easy, infectious sound bubbling up again, making it impossible for you to stay genuinely annoyed. "Okay, okay! Point taken. I promise, the tacos are safe under my protection."
You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you started walking towards the office. You were still vibrating with the lingering embarrassment of his earlier comment, but as he fell into step beside you, looking so completely unbothered and content, you couldn't help but wonder if you were ever going to survive this "fake" arrangement without completely losing your mind.Ā
The days after that blurred strangely in your memory.
Not because nothing happened, but because too many things did. Lunch breaks together became routine. Bokuto started appearing in your department often enough that nobody questioned it anymore. Your coworkers had fully accepted the relationship as fact, and unfortunately, Bokuto seemed determined to make it as believable as possible at every opportunity.
Which was why you now found yourself seated inside a karaoke room with a drink in hand and a growing sense of dread.
Mika and her boyfriend had just finished massacring a love song together to thunderous applause from the rest of the group. Laughter filled the room as Mika dramatically bowed from the couch before collapsing into her seat again, still wheezing.
āOkay, next!ā Yui announced, grabbing the remote before tossing it toward Bokuto.
Without hesitation, he caught it one-handed.Ā
Your stomach immediately sank.
Bokuto leaned forward slightly, scrolling through the song selection screen while everyone else shouted suggestions over one another. The flashing lights from the television reflected across his face as he scanned lazily through the queue.
āOh!ā Yui suddenly pointed at the screen. āAdd that one!ā
Bokutoās finger froze mid-air against the scrolling list. He leaned in, peering at the title Yui had pointed out, and a slow, lopsided grin spread across his face.
āOh,ā he said, his voice dropping into a tone of mock-seriousness. āThis? This is actually the song I confessed with.ā
The room went dead silent for a heartbeat, and thenā
āWhat?!ā Izumi shrieked, a laugh already bubbling up in her throat.
Bokuto stood up, unbothered by the collective gasp, and headed toward the front of the room. He glanced back over his shoulder at her, his expression perfectly deadpan. āYeah. Iām serious. This is the song I confessed with.ā
Your jaw dropped, your neck snapping toward him so fast a sharp jolt of pain shot through your spine. Excuse me? When had you ever agreed to a confession song? And more importantly, when had it ever beenā¦ that?
The room erupted.
āWait, hold on!ā Mika roared, clutching her stomach as she leaned back against the cushions. āYou confessed with Justin Bieber?!ā
Mei was already leaning heavily against Fumiko, both of them doubled over and wiping tears of laughter from their eyes. āNo way! Thatās actually a crime!ā
āThat is absolutely insane,ā Yui added, cackling as she drummed her hands on her knees.
Izumi was shaking her head, grinning wildly. āThat is the corniest thing I have ever heard in my entire life! Youāre kidding, right?ā
Bokuto didnāt even flinch at the roasting; he just leaned against the speaker, looking entirely pleased with himself. āHey, at least it worked,ā he said, flashing a grin that was far too bright. āSheās my girlfriend now, right?ā
He nudged his head in your direction, and the room turned its collective gaze toward you. You could feel the heat radiating off your face, turning your skin a bright, indignant shade of crimson.
āI am notāā you started, your voice pitching up in a desperate attempt to defend your dignity, but Bokuto cut you off before you could even finish your sentence.
āShe couldnāt help it,ā he teased, winking at the group. āShe thought I was charming.ā
The room absolutely lost it. The girls were howling with laughter, and even Mikaās boyfriend let out a loud guffaw, standing up to dap Bokuto up in full support of his ridiculousness. Bokuto laughed along with them, his eyes finding yours with a look of pure, unadulterated mischief.
He turned back to the console and pressed the screen, the track blasting into the room immediately. He held out another microphone toward you, his eyebrow raised in a silent, playful challenge.
āWhy not we sing it together?ā he asked, his grin widening.
"What?" you squeaked, your voice barely audible over the beat pumping through the room.
The cheer from your friends was deafening. "Get up there!" Izumi shouted, clapping in time with the music. "Don't leave him hanging!"
Bokuto gave the microphone a playful shake, moving closer to you until you could feel the warmth radiating from him. "Why not? Itāll be fun," he promised, his eyes dancing with that familiar, maddening sparkle.
"It's a solo, though," you hissed, shaking your head so hard your hair whipped across your face. "You don't just 'make' it a duet. That's not how music works."
He just shrugged, looking entirely unbothered by your logical protest. "We can always make it into a duet if we take turns after each line. Come on, don't tell me you're scared of a little Biebs."
Knowing there was no way outānot with the entire group watching and Mika already filming with her phoneāyou begrudgingly reached out and snatched the microphone from his hand. You stalked to the front of the room, grumbling under your breath about how you were going to make him pay for this later.
As you stood next to him, the screen began to scroll the lyrics in vibrant, neon colors, and the performance was in play.
At first, it was exactly as chaotic as you expected. Bokuto sang like he had no shame at all, exaggerating every line, moving around the small space like he was performing for a stadium instead of a cramped karaoke room. You could barely keep up with your own lines without laughing, half embarrassed and half amused at how seriously unserious he was being.
The room was loud again, everyone reacting, cheering, laughing, completely absorbed in the performance.
And then, somewhere in the middle, it shifted.
It wasnāt obvious at first.
Bokuto was still singing, still moving, still playfulābut when the song reached the bridge, his energy changed just slightly. He turned toward you without making a big show of it, and for a second, it felt like the noise in the room dulled in comparison.
He wasnāt grinning anymore. Just singing, and looking at youānot in a teasing way. Justā¦ steady. Like the joke had stopped being a joke for half a breath too long.
Your hands tightened slightly around the microphone without you realizing it.
Then the moment passed just as quickly as it came.
Bokuto straightened again, laughter slipping back into his expression as the song moved forward, the roomās energy catching up once more.
By the time the chorus hit again, he was fully back in performance mode, pointing dramatically toward you as he sang the final part with exaggerated confidence.
āIf I was your boyfriendāā
The room immediately exploded into cheers again.
Bokuto threw himself back into the chaos like nothing had happened, laughing loudly as he finished the song with way too much energy, completely shameless once more.
And you?
You just stood there for a second after it ended, still holding the microphone, still trying to understand why that brief moment in the middle felt louder than everything else combined.
By the time the song ended, the room had fully erupted again.
Cheers, laughter, and overlapping teasing voices filled the space as Mika practically collapsed into her boyfriendās side, still laughing while everyone around them reacted to what had apparently been one of the most unnecessarily entertaining performances of the night. The energy didnāt settle; if anything, it lingered, warm and loud, like no one was quite ready to let go of the moment yet.
You let yourself be guided back to your seat beside Bokuto.
He dropped down easily next to you, as if he belonged there, and without thinking twice slung an arm over the back of your chair. Not around you, not fully, but close enough that you were very aware of him beside you in a way you couldnāt quite ignore.
Around you, the teasing continued.
āThat was actually kind of insane.ā
āHe committed way too hard to that.ā
āWhy did that lowkey feel romantic though?ā
You gave the appropriate reactions at the appropriate timesāsmall laughs, brief smiles, just enough participation to not seem absent. But most of your attention wasnāt really on the group anymore.
It was stuck on him.
On the way he had looked at you during that brief shift in the song. The way the joking energy had softened for just a moment, like something underneath it had almost surfaced before being buried again just as quickly.
You shifted slightly in your seat, fingers tightening around your drink.
Get a grip.
This was still the same thing it had always been. Fake. Convenient. Something that worked because it had to.
Nothing more.
Bokuto, meanwhile, was laughing freely at something Mikaās boyfriend said across the table, completely relaxed, completely unbothered, like he hadnāt just taken up more space in your thoughts than he had any right to.
Then, without warning, he leaned slightly closer. His voice dropped just enough for only you to hear.
āSee?ā he said casually, like he was continuing a conversation that had nothing particularly important about it. āI knew weād sound good together.ā
Your breath caught for a second, but you didnāt respond immediately. He didnāt wait for one either.
Just as easily, he turned back toward the group again, laughing at something someone else had said, slipping right back into the conversation like nothing had happened at all. Like he hadnāt just left your thoughts in complete disarray.
You sat there very still, very aware of the arm resting behind you, very aware of how close he was. And then, almost without thinking, your gaze drifted back toward him, enough to look at him properly from the side.
He was smiling at something Fumiko said, eyes bright, posture relaxed, completely at ease in the middle of everyone.
And you justā¦ watched him. A little longer than you meant to, quiet in a way no one else would notice. But something in you, for the first time, didnāt move away from it.
First of all, congratulations on completing your fic, ā The One That Got Awayā
Although I am not an angst person, and I usually run away from fics like this, but something about your fic, really just had its hold on me.
It really did show how actual relationships work in real life, and how complicated feelings really are.
I have so many things to say, letās hope I am able to fit at all in thisšš
With all that said, I want to respectfully say GOJO GET YOUR MFING SHIT TOGETHER MANšļæ¼if i see this man IRL, itās on-sight for him!!
And dear MC/yn oh my Godš I lowkey wanna give her a hug but I also want her to just put herself first and not let her sorry joke of a best friend be the anchor to everything she holds together š
My heart broke for her when I realised she loved this man all her life, and she loved him enough to let him go find happiness, even if itās not by her side, she genuinely gave such sound advice everytime for him to fix his relationship issues, even though she was dying on the inside.
And what did Gojo do? Gave her signals. Let her on because this man was confused himself šš and what hurt the most is that until the end he was oblivious to her feelings, didnāt value her time or her music enoughā just felt like she was side character in his life who just would just pop up when he was going through a hard time :/ļæ¼and on the other hand, Gojo was MCās entire damn world, her anchor. Just getting a tiny crumb from him and sheād play the guitar so much better. Just a tiny hi from him and all her moodiness evaporates and sheās feeling light again.
While I could see how unhealthy that was from an outside perspective, but I also understood that she was SO in love with him that she would take any sort of bare minimum, in fact below bare minimum, he would throw at her. And by the time, she realised where she really stood in his life, it was too late, not only did she spiral, she dragged her band down with her. (that chapter really hurt, I cried, please pay for my therapy!)
Throughout the fic, I really hoped that Gojo would have a moment of clarity, where he realised what he was really doing. This man was just was in his own world, head above the clouds, just dealing with things right in front of him, instead of thinking about his life, his friendships and his relationship in an introspective manner.
I donāt get it, he gave MC SO unnecessary mix signals and no I donāt want to believe that somewhere down in his heart Gojo did have feelings for her best friend MC and that he was just confused (Iād probably knock his teeth out)
Now the gf, Mina, Iād say sheās the perfect example of the fact that thereās no black and white when it comes to people in general and relationships. Mina started off as a warm bubbly character who was in love, she had the life everyone wanted, she was supposedly kind, smart, confident. Her first impression when she met the friend group really good, it looked like she really wanted to know the people in her BFās life. But the gradual display of how she became the very reason he had to cut his friends off for a while or just become MIA at their usual hangouts, felt so unfairly real š. One of their last scenes together, was in stark contrast with her first meet with the friend group ā all the warmth gone, the drop in her expression, she just wanted monopolise Gojo the championās time and she want Geto and Shoko gone (MC was already in self inflicted exile thanks to her and Gojo and MC herself)
Is this who she really was all along? Or did the unhealthy relationship turn her into this? Because after the first few weeks, after the so called spark fizzled, Gojo and Mina were absolutely not good for each other.
At one point, it felt like Gojo was just trying to make a point by keeping the relationship ongoingā almost felt like a matter of pride or vanity? that this is the girl he openly proclaimed to be The One and that one he changed his opinions on relations (the whole I donāt do relationships/ itās not for me) ā I think he was in denial for a long time that the one he chose ended up being not what he wanted/hoped for. All he was saying was thereās something missing and not that oh perhaps the healthy thing to do is step back and think why I feel this way. He just blindly took all the advice MC gave and gave his all to Mina and isolated himself from his friend group.
And his whole self punishing behaviour towards the end was just to satisfy and ease his own guilt, because Geto was right, Gojo didnāt have to courage to go face the MC and him losing his spark and living like a zombie didnāt fix what was forever broken.
But then again, that how people are š such is life and the complexity of it. Thereās just no black and white in these situations.
Now coming to the people around MC, Geto, Shoko and then the band:
While the band spoke of so many years of history and connection with the MC and how she was the soul of the band and how she set the Lead Guitaristās standard so highā but Iām not sure if itās just me but from the beginning the band kind of felt detached. Perhaps thatās how their dynamic was, because they knew clearly something was up with the MC, her behaviour and her music kept fluctuating and all they kept saying was oh get it togetherā i think once someone asked if sheās okay and then MC being who she asked shut them downā so perhaps thatās just how they were.
Ahh, perhaps I wish at least the band cared enough to stage an intervention, just to see wtf is happening with their lead? Why her sound and music was suddenly a mess? While I personally know Iād hate it if someone tried to stage an intervention for me BUT for once I really wanted the MC to be saved because she was not capable of saving herself at that moment ššš
At the same time, if I were someone from the band, I wouldnāt have been able to forgive MC for the stunt she pulled! Which makes me mad because I understand where theyāre coming from as wellššš
And Geto and Shoko, I wish MC opened up to them a bit, instead of bottling everything up. Because no matter how much you extend your hand, those who donāt want to be helped are really a lost cause ššhurts my heartš
And also, I do believe that Geto was WAY BETTER friend to MC than Gojo ever was. 1000x better!! Geto knew MC loved Gojo all long, he knew sheād be hurt in the first chapter when Gojo and mina were kissing and during the first meet with mina. Geto also knew feeding MC would make Gojo react, heck Geto even knew MC would hate if anyone saw her in her state after she spiralled, while Gojo only seemed surprised Geto knew MC that well.
In a way, Geto truly saw MC for who she was and what she was going through. He saw through her everytime and I wish MC let down her walls around him, perhaps they couldāve been something else, happier, good for each other? but UGHH, heart just wants what it wants š„¹
Ahh man, I wanna know if you plan on giving us a bonus Drabble or just a small something for this ficā while the MC did seem to get her shit together, Iād love to know how she is doing, she loved Gojo enough to let him go and be happy on his terms, I wanna know if MC has started loving herself enough to put herself first, be her own anchor, let herself be loved and adored and cared by the people around her.
While I understand sheās been scarred by romantic love, I hope she herself finds her way back to it, not because something silly like she needs a happy ending but because deserves to be loved the way she gives out her love to the ones close to her heart.
Ahh, that was an entire essayš I didnāt even write this much for my SOP yallšš
Anyways, so those were my two cents on your wonderfully written fic! Iām so glad you wrote it. Iām so glad I read it. Thank you so much for the wonderful reading experience šš! I hope you continue to write and please do take care of yourselfšš!
Yours Truly,
- š¦¢
hello š¦¢šš
I don't even know where to begin. Thank you so, so much for taking the time to write all of this. Genuinely. I sat there reading your message with the biggest smile on my face.
It honestly means so much to me that you looked beyond the plot and really understood the characters and their dynamics. Seeing you pick up on things like MC's unhealthy attachment to Gojo, Mina's complexity, and especially Geto's role in the story made me so happy because those were all things I put a lot of thought into while writing.
I also laughed way too hard at "GOJO GET YOUR MFING SHIT TOGETHER" because trust me... there were plenty of moments while writing where I wanted to shake him too. š
Knowing that this story made you feel so many emotionsāand that you cared enough to write me such a thoughtful messageāis honestly one of the biggest compliments I could receive as a writer. Messages like yours remind me why I love writing in the first place.
Thank you again for reading, for sharing your thoughts, and for supporting my work. It genuinely made my day, and I hope you'll stick around for the stories to come. Please take care of yourself too! š¤
SynopsisąŖāā“ You tell one tiny lie at work. One. Now your coworkers want to meet your boyfriend...The boyfriend who doesn't exist. Enter Bokuto Koutarou, who hears about your dilemma and, with the confidence of a man who has never once doubted himself, says: "I'll be your boyfriend."
Fake dating should've been simple. Instead, it somehow involves fake anniversaries, couple lore, coffee deliveries, karaoke dates, way too much hand-holding, coworkers who are far too invested, and a fake boyfriend who's suspiciously good at acting like the real thing. The real problem isn't convincing everyone else they're dating.
It's convincing themselves they aren't.
tagsąŖāā“ fake dating, coworkers to lovers, happy ending, the both of you are kinda dumb, idiots in love, first relationship, office shenanigans
NOTESąŖāā“ i hope yall enjoy this short fic ive written! it'll be a five-part series, it's more of a light-hearted series compared to 'the one that got away' but i hope it's a good and fresh change for y'all hehe
wcąŖāā“ 8.5k
taglineąŖāā“ comment below if you wanna be added to the taglist!
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | FINALE
The lunchroom buzzed with the familiar chaos of midday chatterāplastic containers popping open, chairs scraping against the floor, someone loudly complaining about deadlines from two tables away.
You sat tucked between your coworkers with your salad and phone in hand, only half listening as the conversation drifted around you.
āā¦and then he had the audacity to say I was overreacting,ā Mika groaned dramatically, making the rest of the table burst into laughter.
āMen are actually ridiculous.ā
āNo, because why are they all emotionally constipated?ā
āSpeak for your own boyfriend,ā Mei snorted. āMine cried because I accidentally washed his favorite hoodie.ā
The table dissolved again.
You laughed softly along with them, more out of habit than anything. These conversations happened almost every lunch break nowadaysārelationships, dating apps, bad exes, anniversaries. The kind of topics everyone else seemed to slide into naturally while you mostly stayed quiet and nodded at the appropriate times.
Not because you hated talking about romance.
You justā¦ never really had anything to contribute.
It wasnāt like youād never tried. There had been crushes before, a few awkward dates here and there too, usually set up by overly enthusiastic friends who swore their coworkerās cousin or former classmate would be āperfectā for you.
None of them ever really went anywhere. Sometimes the conversations died after the first date, sometimes you realized halfway through dinner that there wasnāt enough chemistry to justify a second meeting. Once, a guy spent forty minutes talking about cryptocurrency before ghosting you the next day.
At twenty-five, it shouldnāt have bothered you as much as it did. But sitting there surrounded by stories of anniversaries, arguments, exes, and long-term relationships made you feel strangelyā¦ behind. Like everyone else had received some guidebook on love youād somehow missed out on.Ā
You stabbed absentmindedly at your salad.
āā¦Hold on.āĀ
You looked up to find Yui narrowing her eyes at you from across the table.
āYouāve been suspiciously quiet this entire conversation.ā
Immediately, several heads turned toward you. Your stomach sank.
āOh no,ā Mika gasped dramatically. āWait. Donāt tell me youāve never actually been in a relationship before.ā
The table erupted.
āNo way.ā
āSeriously?ā
āWait, really?!ā
Heat crawled up your neck almost instantly.
āOh my god,ā Fumiko laughed. āNo wonder she never says anything during these conversations.ā
The sudden wave of attention felt heavy, the good-natured teasing suddenly putting you under a harsh spotlight. You stared at your salad, the fork still gripped tightly in your hand, trying to figure out how to laugh it off or change the subject before the heat on your face gave away just how much the comment stung.Ā
āHold on,ā Mika suddenly leaned forward again, eyes narrowing. āYouāre not dodging this. Youāve never actually been in a relationship, have you?āĀ
Your fingers paused around the bottle.
āWhat?ā you said quickly, too quickly. āWhy are you all suddenly interrogating me like this?ā
āThat wasnāt a denial,ā Yui chimed in immediately, amused.
āIt literally was,ā you insisted, though your voice sounded weaker than you wanted it to.
āNo, no,ā Izumi said, shaking her head with a grin. āThat was panic. Thereās a difference.ā
The table broke into laughter again, and you slumped slightly in your seat, trying to play it off like it wasnāt affecting you more than it should. It wasnāt even mean-spiritedāyou knew that. If anything, they sounded genuinely surprised, like the idea just didnāt compute in their heads.
But that somehow made it worse.
Because it wasnāt pity. It was confusion.
Mei leaned forward, elbows on the table now, clearly invested. āOkay, but seriously though. How is that even possible? Youāre twenty-five. Youāre pretty, youāre normal, you have your life togetherādonāt tell me nothing has ever happened.ā
You made a face at her. āI donāt really see why itās such a big deal.āĀ
That earned you a few amused looks, but it didnāt quite end the conversation the way youād hoped it would. If anything, it only made them more curious, like youād just confirmed there was something worth digging into.
Mika leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. āBecause you always dodge the topic every time it comes up.ā
āI donāt dodge anything.ā
āYou literally just did.ā
āI didnāt,ā you said quickly, a little too quickly again.
Yui smiled like sheād caught something. āOkay, then explain it properly. Youāve never mentioned anyone. Not even once. No stories, no complaints, no nothing.ā
Your grip tightened around your plastic fork.
Five pairs of eyes stared back at you expectantly.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
And maybe it was the embarrassment. Maybe it was the pressure. Or maybe your pride simply snapped first.
Because before your brain could catch up to your mouthā
āI am seeing someone, actually.ā
The first thing that came was the silence. And then, it was the excruciating regret that pooled in the pit of your stomach as you nearly combusted at the realization of your own words that had spilled out before you could contain them.
You felt your soul leave your body.
Mika blinked.
Fumikoās mouth gaped open.
Yui who was across the table actually choked on her drink.
āā¦You what!?ā Mika finally shrieked, her voice bouncing off the walls of the lunchroom, garnering the attention of some others at the tables nearby.
The entire table exploded at once.
āNo way.ā
āAre you actually serious?ā
āSince when?!ā
āHold onāwhy would you hide this?ā
Your heart slammed violently against your ribs as the attention somehow tripled. You had not thought this far ahead. Not even remotely.
āUhā¦ā you laughed weakly, already feeling sweat gather at the back of your neck. āItās justā¦ recent.ā
The questions started coming faster after that, like someone had flipped a switch and suddenly everyone had decided this was the most interesting thing that had ever happened during lunch.Ā
āWhatās his name?ā
āHow did you meet?ā
āWhat does he do?ā
āWait, is he cute?ā
āShow us a picture!ā
āA picture?!ā you repeated, voice rising slightly in alarm.Ā
āWell obviously?ā
Your brain felt like it was actively overheating. You tightened your grip around your drink just to ground yourself, forcing out a breath that did absolutely nothing to calm you down.
āWhy are you all so intense about this?ā you tried, but it came out more helpless than firm.
āBecause you literally just dropped life-changing information on us,ā Mika said, leaning forward once more. If she wasnāt personally invested before, she definitely was now. āWe thought you were out here living like a nun.āĀ
āI was notāā you started, but it faded out into a strangled groan as you buried your face into your hands. āPlease stop talking.
But they werenāt done with you yet.
āSo who is he?ā
You blinked, face still buried into your hands. You slowly lifted your head up, your mouth opening on instinct. But no words came out.
Because that was the moment your brain very helpfully reminded you that you had, in fact, created a boyfriend out of thin air with absolutely zero supporting documentation.
You swallowed.
āWait,ā Izumi said slowly, squinting at you now like she was piecing together a puzzle. āIs he from work?ā
You nearly tipped your drink over from how you jerked at the mere question.
āWhat? No!ā you blurted too fast.
A couple of heads tilted immediately.
āThat reaction was suspicious.ā
āIt wasnāt suspicious.ā
āIt was extremely suspicious.ā
āOh my god,ā Mei gasped. āItās an office romance.ā
āNo it is not!ā But your voice cracked just slightly at the end, and that was enough for them to erupt all over again.
āI knew it.ā
āWho is it?ā
āHow long has this been going on?ā
Your face felt like it was actively on fire now.
You felt your entire body go rigid, like you had physically run out of survival responses. Every direction you looked, there was another face waiting for an answer you did not possess.
And then, like a final escalation from the universe itself, Mika suddenly clapped her hands together.
āOkay, okay,ā she said, grinning like sheād already decided the ending to this story. āBring him around someday.ā
Your stomach dropped. āWhat?ā
āWe wanna meet him.ā
āYes,ā Yui nodded immediately, fully on board now. āWe should all go out together sometime.ā
āDouble date,ā Mei added.
āOr karaoke!ā
āWait, yesākaraoke would be perfect!ā
Your soul left your body for the second time that afternoon.
Because for a split second, your mind supplied absolutely nothing except the image of you standing there, awkward and exposed, while an imaginary boyfriend you had just invented was expected to exist in public.
You forced out a laugh, but it came out thin and wrong even to your own ears. āHahaā¦ yeah. Sure, Iāll ask him if heās okay with it.ā
The conversation slowly drifted away again after that, but you barely caught any of it. Your brain was still stuck in the same loop, replaying every question they had thrown at you like it was some kind of interrogation you had somehow survived without actually surviving it properly.
You needed air.
Or distance.
Or both.
āUhāā you cleared your throat and pushed your chair back a little too quickly. āIām just gonna go get a drink.ā
Mika barely looked up. āVending machine?ā
āYeah,ā you said, already grabbing your things. āVending machine.ā
Yuiās eyes flicked up at you immediately, a slow grin forming on her face the second she realized you were leaving so abruptly.
āOho,ā she sing-songed, leaning back in her chair. āCalling your lover boy?ā
Your entire body froze for half a second.
āNo,ā you said quickly, far too quickly. āIām not doing that.ā
āMm-hm,ā she hummed with an amused look, clearly unconvinced. āSure.ā
You didnāt give them the satisfaction of continuing the teasing. Instead, you forced another awkward laugh, waved vaguely in their direction, and turned on your heel before anyone could say anything else that would make this situation even worse than it already was.
But just before the doors could fully seal shut, Mika's voice cut through the gap.
"Wait... doesn't she have a drink right here?"
You didn't stay to hear the rest.Ā
By the time you reached the vending machine corner, your pace had slowed, your shoulders finally dropping as you stopped in the middle of the walkway. Your eyes were glued to the floor beneath you before you slapped a hand over your mouth.
āOh my god,ā you said out loud, staring into the empty space like it was going to answer you.
Your hand immediately went into your hair, tugging hard as your face twisted. āWhat did I just do?ā
You paced two steps forward, turned and paced another two steps back, walking circles in the small space of the corridor by the vending machines for approximately eight seconds. Then you stopped, your feet planted to the ground firmly like your body had given up on functioning properly.
āI just said I have someone,ā you muttered, voice rising slightly. āI just said that in front of all of them.ā
You let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh that had no humor in it at all.
āNo I didnāt. I did not just do that.ā
A beat.
You looked around the empty vending machines like they might validate you.
They did not.
You stared ahead for a second like the wall might have answers, then dragged both hands down your face with a long, miserable exhale.
You had not meant to do that. You had not meant to say that. You had not even meant to think that far. And yet here you were, standing by the vending machine like a complete idiot, having just announced to a whole table of people that you were apparently seeing someone.
Someone nonexistent.
Someone fictional.
Someone you had made up in under two seconds because your brain had panicked and taken the wheel.
You let out a strained little laugh that sounded nothing like actual amusement. More like the sound of a person realizing they had just signed themselves up for consequences they absolutely could not afford.
āWhat am I supposed to do now?ā you muttered. āI have to send in my notice, I have to find a new job, I have toāā
āHEY!ā
You screamed. Your body jerked back as you flinched from the sudden interruption of your thoughts by that booming voice that had no reason being that loud. You spun around so fast you nearly smacked into the vending machine next to you.
There, Bokuto stood, staring back at you with equally wide eyes, his hands raised to his chests, balled into fists as if he were bracing for a sudden, unprovoked assault.
āWoah, calm down!ā He burst out laughing almost immediately once he saw the shock-striken look on your face. āWhat the hell was that reaction?!ā
You clutched your chest like youād just narrowly survived cardiac arrest.
āOh my god,ā you gasped, genuinely breathless. āWhat is wrong with you?!ā
āWith me?ā Bokuto pointed at himself, still laughing. āYou screamed like I was a serial killer!ā
āYou scared me!ā
āI just said hi!ā
āYou yelled it!ā
āI always yell it!ā
āThat doesnāt make it normal!ā
Bokuto snorted, completely unbothered as he stepped further into the vending machine corner while you tried to recover from the near death experience he had just inflicted on you.
āSeriously though,ā he said after a moment, tilting his head at you. āWhy are you standing here looking like your taxes got leaked?ā
You stared at him, giving him a look.
āā¦What does that even mean?ā
āI donāt know,ā he admitted honestly. āBut you look stressed.ā
āIām not stressed.ā
āYou were talking to yourself.ā
Your entire body froze.
āā¦You heard that?ā
āI heard the āwhat am I supposed to do nowā part,ā he said brightly. āBut if Iām gonna be honest, I couldnāt make out the rest since you were mumbling.ā
You wanted the floor to open up and consume you whole. āOh my god.ā
Bokuto laughed again, softer this time, before glancing around the vending machine area. āSo what were you even doing here?ā
āOh,ā you said quickly, gesturing to the vending machine. āI was getting a drink.ā
A pause.
Bokuto looked at the vending machine. Then back at you. Then slowly back at the vending machine again.
It was completely empty. The entire machine had clearly been unplugged and emptied out for restocking. There was literally nothing inside except a crooked āOUT OF SERVICEā sign taped to the glass.
Bokuto blinked.
You blinked back.
āā¦Right,ā he said carefully.
Your soul briefly left your body again.
āIā okay, listenāā
āYouāve just been standing here staring at an empty vending machine?ā
āI didnāt notice it was empty!ā
āHow did you not notice?ā he laughed.
āI was having a crisis!ā
āThat actually explains a lot.ā
You groaned loudly and covered your face with both hands while Bokuto continued laughing beside you, clearly having the time of his life at your expense.
And somehow, embarrassingly enough, it made the knot in your chest loosen just a little.
āOkay,ā he said eventually, still grinning. āNow you definitely have to tell me what happened.ā
āNothing happened.ā
āYouāre standing in front of an empty vending machine talking to yourself.ā
āā¦That doesnāt prove anything.ā
āIt proves a lot actually.ā
You let out another long suffering sigh, dragging your hands down your face before slumping slightly against the wall beside the machine.
Bokuto waited.
Which, somehow, made it worse.
Because usually people filled silence quickly around him. But now he was just standing there patiently, watching you with open curiosity like he genuinely intended to wait this out as long as necessary.
You groaned again.
āI said something stupid at lunch.ā You finally admitted.
āHow stupid are we talking?ā
You stared at him with a defeated look, your shoulders sagging as you sighed. āā¦Potentially life ruining.ā
Bokuto burst out laughing immediately. āThat bad?ā
āItās not funny!ā
āItās a little funny.ā
āItās not!ā
He was still visibly trying not to laugh when he leaned beside the vending machine next to you, folding his arms casually.
āSo whatād you say?ā
You opened your mouth. Then closed it again. Because now that you actually had to say it out loud, it somehow sounded even more insane.
Bokuto raised an eyebrow.
āā¦Well?ā
You looked away first.
āI told them I was seeing someone.ā
A second passed.
Then Bokutoās eyes widened dramatically.
āYou have a boyfriend?!ā
āOh my god! Shut up!ā you hissed immediately, lunging forward to smack his arm while glancing around in panic. āWhy are you yelling?!ā
āYou just said you have a boyfriend!ā
āI know what I said!ā
āSince when?!ā
āSince never!ā
And then, the silence drowned out the space around you two. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Bokuto blinked at you in confusion for the umpteenth time in the past seven minutes you were talking.
And then, with completely zero scraps of dignity left in you, you sank to the floor, hugging your knees up to your chest.
āI donāt actually have one,ā you mumbled quietly, the admittal making you want to bury yourself alive.
You didnāt dare look up at Bokuto who was sure to have found this amusing. But the silence stretched on for a second too long. Thenā
āā¦What?ā
You turned your head down a fraction more, still refusing to fully look at him out of embarrassment.
āI donāt have a boyfriend,ā you admitted weakly. āI just panicked.ā
Bokuto stared at you from above for a few seconds longer before the pieces visibly clicked together in his head.
āOhhh,ā he said slowly. āSo you lied.ā
You made a miserable sound, almost a choke but not quite as you snapped your head up at him. āI didnāt mean to! They just kept asking things and then suddenly everyone was staring at me and I got overwhelmed and it justā came out!ā
āYou told your coworkers you have a whole boyfriend because you got nervous?āĀ
āI donāt know!ā you cried, burying your face in your hands again. āI was overwhelmed!ā
Bokuto looked genuinely fascinated by this information. You saw the way he shifted, crouching down to your level, his shoulder leaning against the vending machine as he chuckled. āThatās actually kind of amazing.ā
āItās actually ruining my life.ā You snapped your head up to give him a glare. He only met your gaze with a look of amusement, as if the fact that your life was crashing down was pure entertainment to him. You wished you could wipe that very smirk of his face.
āSo,ā he hummed, āwhat happened after?ā
At the mention of that, you were reminded of the very problem with your life at this moment, and you let out an audible groan. āThey want to meet him.ā
His face lit up immediately as a wave of understanding finally washed over him, piecing together why you had been mumbling to yourself earlier like you were chanting a curse upon this world.
āOhhhh.ā
You frowned, pointing at him accusingly. āStop reacting like this is entertaining.ā
āBut it is entertaining.ā
You let out another frustrated groan, sliding a hand in your hair that was now messed up from how many times you had run your fingers through it in frustration.
āI seriously donāt know what to do,ā you muttered. āThey wanna do group outings and karaoke and double dates and I literally invented a man out of nowhere.ā
Bokuto hummed in understanding as you spoke, nodding along. For the first time since arriving, he actually went quiet.
Not joking quiet.
Thinking quiet.
You barely noticed at first, too busy spiraling internally, until you glanced up and realized he was staring off slightly with an oddly thoughtful look on his face.
Then suddenly, as if your mind hadnāt burst enough that day, his eyes snapped back to meet yours andā
āWhy donāt I go with you?ā
The air between you stalled, heavy and thick with the sudden shift in gravity. Bokuto didn't break his gaze; the intensity of his focus was absolute, pinning you in place while the sheer absurdity of his proposition echoed in the silence.
You blinked, your mouth opening and closing like a fish, before you finally managed to choke out, āWhat...?ā
Bokuto looked back at you like heād suggested something completely normal. āI can pretend to be your boyfriend.ā
You stared at him, your brain frantically trying to parse the words that had just tumbled out of his mouth.Ā
āWhat?ā you repeated.
āYou know,ā he said with a shrug. āJust for the time being. Since theyāre all on your ass about meeting him now.ā
Your mouth opened, almost about to retort about how ridiculous he was being, that this wasnāt a joke to you. Your life was at stake here! But no words came out when you saw the sheer sincerity in his gaze, so you only sealed your lips closed.Ā
āAre you being serious right now?ā You asked in disbelief. Were you to blame? Anyone in your position right now would find this whole thing absurd.Ā
But maybe not Bokuto as he deadpanned, āYeah?āĀ
He said it so casually that for a second it genuinely threw you off balance. Did he not realize how wild his own suggestion was? Why would he go to such lengths to fake date a coworker? And why did it seem like he believed this was somehow a perfectly reasonable solution to this disaster?
But maybe what made it all even more confusing was that this was Bokuto.
Bokuto, who floated through the office like human sunlight. Bokuto, who talked to everyone, laughed with everyone, made everyone around him feel comfortable without even trying.
You got along with him, sure, he was fun to be around. But you werenāt close-close, which made this whole conversation feel even crazier somehow.
āYou canāt just pretend to be my boyfriend,ā you said weakly, trying to find reason in this ridiculous situation you had found yourself in. How did you even get here?
āWhy not?ā He asked, tilting his head in genuine confusion.
āBecause itās weird!ā
āItās only weird if you make it weird.ā
āYou donāt get itā.ā
āI think I do?ā
You stared at him again, trying to figure out if he was genuinely insane. At your silence, Bokuto tilted his head slightly. āDo you have another plan?ā
You stared at him, your mouth hanging slightly agape as you searched for a single coherent argument to dismantle his logic. But your mind was a wasteland. Every time you tried to construct a sentenceāwe aren't close enough, theyāll definitely know, this is the most unhinged idea Iāve ever heardāit just dissolved into a mess of static.
You looked at himāreally looked at him. The way he was standing there, radiating that baffling, golden-retriever confidence, waiting for you to hand him the reins to your social survival. He looked so incredibly pleased with himself, as if heād just solved a complex puzzle rather than volunteering to commit social suicide on your behalf.
The silence dragged on, vibrating with the sheer stupidity of the proposal. You felt your shoulders slump, your last shred of resistance evaporating under his relentless, wide-eyed sincerity.
You shook your head slowly, a desperate, pathetic gesture.
"No," you breathed, the word heavy with the dawning, terrifying realization that you were actually considering it. "I have... literally no other plan."
āThen there you go.ā He clapped his knees as he stood back up, as if he was wrapping up a high-stakes business negotiation instead of a fraudulent romantic arrangement.
He beamed at you, that signature, sharp-toothed grin spreading across his face like heād just landed a winning point in a match. He looked entirely too satisfied with himself, his posture shifting from relaxed to energized, as if the sheer adrenaline of the deception was already fueling him.
āNow, wait a minute,ā You stood up along with him, trying to reign him in before he went overboard, a hand flying up to pinch at your nose bridge. āJust give me a minute to thinkā¦ā
āWhatās there to think about?ā He asked. āWe have the perfect solution.ā
You groaned loudly at his words, dragging a hand down your face again. This was a terrible idea. A genuinely horrible idea. Probably the worst idea youād had all week.
But unfortunately, it was the only idea you had.
āā¦Ugh,ā you whined into your hands.
Bokuto waited.
And after another few painful seconds of internal suffering, you finally lowered your hands just enough to glare at him weakly.
āā¦Okay fine.ā
Bokuto grinned immediately.
āThere we go!ā he said brightly, like youād just agreed to something far less life altering than fake dating your coworker. āDonāt worry. Iāll do a good job.ā
You stared at him blankly.
āā¦A good job?ā
āYeah.ā He pointed at himself confidently. āIāll be an excellent boyfriend.ā
You felt your soul leave your body yet again. Somehow, agreeing to this had made everything feel ten times more real.
āYou say that like this is a group project,ā you muttered weakly.
āIt basically is.ā
āThatās not comforting.ā
Bokuto only laughed again, entirely too pleased with himself as he pushed himself away from the vending machine.
Meanwhile, you remained standing there looking completely lifeless, like your spirit had permanently detached from your physical form somewhere around five minutes ago.
āSeriously though,ā he said, starting to walk backwards down the hallway. āText me the details of the meetup, okay?ā
You let out a tired sigh. āOkayā¦ā
āOh!ā Bokuto snapped his fingers suddenly like heād just remembered something important. āWe also gotta figure out our amazing backstory.ā
You blinked, your mind fried beyond recognition. āOur what?ā
āOur couple lore,ā he said confidently.
āOurāā
āLike how we met. Our anniversary. Favorite things about each other.ā He started counting on his fingers enthusiastically. āOoh, and maybe a cute confession story too.ā
You stared at him in horror. āWhy are you taking this so seriously?ā
āBecause if weāre doing this, we gotta commit.ā
You had no words left for him. Bokuto ignored the look on your face completely.
āOh man,ā he continued, already fully invested now. āWhat if they ask how long weāve been together?ā
Your eye twitched. āPlease stop talking.ā
āNo wait, we should probably align our stories first or else weāre gonna expose ourselves immediately.ā
āIām begging you to stop talking.ā
He laughed loudly at your suffering before finally turning properly toward the hallway again.
āAlright, alright. I gotta go before Akaashi snitches on me to the department manager for disappearing during work hours, anyways.ā
āYou disappeared for like ten minutes.ā You pointed out.
āAnd yet somehow he always knows.ā Bokuto shrugged, stepping away.
āThatās terrifying.ā
āIt really is,ā Bokuto nodded solemnly. Then, just before turning the corner, he looked back at you again and flashed you an easy grin. āDonāt overthink it too much, okay?ā
You blinked slightly because he said it so casually. So simply. Like this wasnāt a complete disaster waiting to happen. Like helping you was the most natural thing in the world.
And before you could even figure out how to respond to that, Bokuto lifted a hand in farewell and disappeared down the hallway, leaving you standing alone beside the empty vending machine once again.
You stared after him for a few long seconds. Then slowly looked down at your phone and back at the hallway, then back at your phone again.
āā¦What the hell is happening?ā you whispered.
Because somehow, in the span of less than fifteen minutes, your imaginary boyfriend had become a real person.
Well.
Not a real boyfriend.
But apparently real enough to require a relationship timeline, a fake anniversary, and what Bokuto had very passionately referred to as ācouple lore.ā
You let your head fall gently against the wall behind you with a soft thunk.
This was either going to solve all your problemsā¦
or completely ruin your life.
ā
āSo our official first meeting story is still the elevator incident, right?ā Bokuto asked as he walked beside you, hands stuffed into his pocket. He leaned over, bending down ever so slightly too meet you in the eyes.
You looked up immediately, taken aback by how close his face was to yours before you turned your head away slightly. āWhat elevator incident?ā
Beside you, Bokuto looked at you like youād personally betrayed him.
āThe one I talked about yesterday,ā he said slowly.
āOh, right.ā
It was the only thing you could muster out as a reply. Your hand gripped onto the straps of your purse a fraction tighter, your mind in many places but none of them landing as a coherent thought. The two of you were walking down the street to a cafe Yui had recommended when they finally decided on a day to meet this long-awaited boyfriend of yours.
It wasnāt anything grand. Just brunch on the weekends involving the few girls who had put you up to this. Even still, a simple cafe outing should not have been enough to make your stomach twist itself into knots with every step closer to the meetup point.
āYou have to remember these things,ā Bokuto continued seriously. āWhat if someone asks how we met?ā
āI didnāt think weād have to be this serious about it.ā
āHey, itās your social life thatās at stake here, not mine.āĀ
You shot him a flat look, but Bokuto remained completely unbothered, hands still tucked into his pockets as he walked comfortably beside you.
Honestly, the most concerning part of this entire situation was how natural he seemed. Meanwhile, you, on the other hand, felt like your soul was attempting to leave your body every five minutes.
āSo,ā Bokuto continued, āyou dropped all your papers in the elevator, and I helped you pick them up.ā
Bokuto didnāt even glance at you, just kept walking with that infuriatingly relaxed stride. "Hey, itās literally how we met. Weāre just making a slight adaptation out of it.ā
You let out a short, scoffing breath. "An adaptation? You mean you took a boring, awkward encounter and turned it into a meet-cute."
He chuckled, the sound deep and effortless as he kept his eyes trained ahead. "I mean, it was cute. You looked pretty frazzled."
"I was stressed," you corrected quickly, feeling your face warm up. "There's a difference."
"Whatever you say," he teased, and then, without missing a beat, he leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping into that smooth, practiced tone that made your pulse jump. "Plus, itās easier to sell the story if we tell them you fell in love with me immediately because I was just so handsome and charming. Itās hard for people to argue with the truth, right?"
You stopped dead in your tracks, staring at him as if heād lost his mind. "I did not fall in love with you immediately," you hissed, your voice climbing an octave. "That is not part of the script!"
Bokuto just shrugged, looking entirely too satisfied with himself as he kept walking. "Maybe not in your version of the script, but Iām the director of this production. Trust me, it adds the right amount of drama."
You stared at him.
āIt adds narcissism.ā
Bokuto gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest, faking wounded hurt. āWow. And after everything Iāve done for this relationship too.ā
āThis relationship isnāt even real.ā You mumbled, puffing your cheeks slightly as they tinted a flush pink.
āWow,ā he repeated, sounding even more offended now. āYou say the cruelest things sometimes.ā
Despite yourself, you felt a laugh threaten to slip out. As ridiculous as this entire situation was, the tight knot of panic in your chest had loosened just a little.Ā
You glanced over to Bokuto who was staring ahead as he walked, the lighthearted energy in him spilling out with each step he took. You let out a snort, feeling a momentary wave of ease settle in you. Maybe because it was Bokuto in place of this whole fake boyfriend thing that it made everything seem like it could turn out okay. It made you feel a bit better about your predicament.
But that only lasted until the cafe finally came into view ahead of you. The reality youād be facing of the endless interrogations, their reactions to see Bokuto of all people walking in with you, and how youād be able to navigate this and act on the spot left your stomach in twists.
You slowed slightly on instinct, letting out a slow, ragged breath. Beside you, Bokuto noticed immediately. He chuckled as he glanced at you, āRelax, weāll do fine.ā
You met his eyes, the anxiety creeping up to you. But before it could get worse, Bokuto extended his arm towards you, offering you his hand for you to hold. You looked at him questioningly.
āMakes it more believable,ā was all he had to say.
After a pause, you reached out, grabbing his hand. Almost immediately, his fingers intertwined with yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand in slow, circular motions.
āJust follow my lead, okay?ā He gave you one last look. You let out a deep sigh, loosening your shoulders before you allowed Bokuto to guide you to the cafe, pushing the door open. Instantly, the warm chatter inside washed over the two of you.
It didnāt take long to spot your coworkers.
The five girls were alreadyĀ gathered around a large table near the back, some of them in the midst of chatter while some others were hunched over the menu.
Yui noticed you first. Her face lit up instantly as she lifted a hand to wave you over before you saw the distinct second her eyes snapped to your right and landed on the familiar grey tousle of hair next to you. The others turned as well when Yui waved at you, but you saw the way their reactions settled in real time.
The entire table froze.
Fumiko and Mikaās jaws dropped simultaneously. Mei actually slapped a hand over her mouth. Izumi stared like her brain had temporarily stopped functioning.
You felt your soul attempting to leave your body yet again.
āHahaā¦ā you laughed weakly, lifting a hand in the worldās most awkward greeting as you two approached the table. āHey guys.ā
āBokuto?!ā Mika practically yelled.
The guy blinked once at the collective chaos before smiling easily and lifting his own hand to offer a casual wave, as if his entrance hadnāt shaken the very Earth to its core.Ā
āYo.ā His voice was lax, free of any of the tension that you seemed to be feeling yourself.
āYou didnāt tell us Bokuto was your boyfriend!ā Yui accused immediately, eyes snapping to you, sounding personally betrayed. You shifted uncomfortably under her stare.
āI didnāt think there was a need toā¦ā you mumbled.
āYou donāt just date another coworkerāBokuto, of all peopleāand keep it a secret!ā Mika pointed aggressively at the two of you, narrowing her eyes in betrayal.
Fumiko who still looked genuinely stunned leaned forward to ask, āSince when was this happening?ā
āYeah!ā Izumi cut in, āyou guys work on the same floor and youāre telling me no one has noticed you two are dating?ā
You felt your palms get sweaty at all the questions asked. Were you supposed to answer all of them? Beside you, Bokuto gave your hand a firm squeeze as he let out a laughānot one of nervousness, rather, the same amusement he had shown you the first time you expressed your troubles to him by the vending machines.
āWell, we were trying to keep it lowkey,ā he said smoothly, then glanced down at you. āSeems like we did a good job, huh?ā
You met his eyes, the smile on his face soothing your nerves a tad bit. Then, you turned to your friends. āYeah, we didnāt really want it to be known.ā
Yui narrowed her eyes at you, āHow long has this been going on?ā
You glanced at Bokuto again, too stumped to say anything. Naturally, he took charge, answering without a beat, āAbout seven months.ā
You whipped toward him so fast you nearly got whiplash.
Seven months? Was that even believable?
Bokuto continued smiling casually like he had not just invented a timeline out of thin air. āRight, babe?ā
Your soul ascended.
For a second, you just stood there, staring at him like your brain had short-circuited trying to process what heād just call you. But as you glanced back at your friends, you cleared your throat, nodding your head.
āYep.ā You said, averting your eyes. āSeven months.ā
āDang, girl,ā Mei smirked at you. āDidnāt know you had it in you.ā
You frowned, your brows furrowing deep at the jab. āWhat is that supposed to mean?ā
āIt means youāre a great fucking actress, thatās what.ā Mika countered, her smirk sharpening as she leaned back, crossing her arms. āYouāve been stringing us along like weāre absolute fools, acting like you were trying to live your life out like a total nun or something. We thought you were strictly 'career-focused,' and meanwhile, youāve been hiding this under your sleeve for half a year?ā
She gestured toward Bokuto, who was standing beside you with an expression of such practiced, casual devotion that it made your skin crawl in the most confusing way possible. Sometime throughout the conversation, his hand had found its way, restingāa little too naturallyāon the small of your back, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic circle against your shirt.
Fumiko finally rolled her eyes at the chaos and tapped the table. āAlright, everyone, calm down. Youāre scaring them. Let them at least sit down before you grill them.ā
Only then did you realize youād been standing there like a statue the whole time, completely paralyzed by the interrogation.
Bokuto gave your back a gentle push, guiding you toward the booth. You slid in next to Izumi, who pulled her purse off the seat to make room for you. Bokuto followed right behind, sliding in next to you so closely that your shoulders brushed.
Now that you were actually sitting, the weight of the lie felt even heavier. You stared at your plastic fork again, praying someone would change the subject.
But no one did.
The moment everyone settled, the questions came crashing in once again.When had this started, how did you two meet, how you two were able to conceal it so well. Seven months was apparently a scandalous amount of time to keep something like this secretāwhich even you agreed to. But Bokuto had somehow managed to play it off.
You tried to answer where you could, but the problem was that the story had already taken on a life of its own. Every time you opened your mouth, someone else jumped in, another question overlapping the last, the conversation bending into something you could no longer steer properly.
Bokuto, on the other hand, didnāt seem to struggle at all.
He answered like it was easy. Like there was nothing strange about any of this. When someone asked how it all started, he leaned back slightly in his chair and said it happened in the office, that you had dropped a stack of papers in the elevator and heād helped you pick them up. It was something the two of you had rehearsed, but hearing him say itāso casually, with that easy smile of hisāmade it feel as though it were real.Ā
āAnd then what?ā Mika asked, leaning forward, clearly invested now.
Bokuto glanced at you for half a second before continuing. āThen I kept seeing her around. Lunch breaks, hallwaysā¦ that kind of thing.ā
You could feel your face getting warmer.
Because that part wasnāt exactly untrue either. It just sounded different when he said it out loud, like something that had always been leading somewhere instead of something that had justā¦ happened.
Somewhere along the way, the conversation shifted fully into storytelling. People laughed, reacted, teased. And Bokutoāhe fit into it too well.
It wasnāt even that he was performing. It was worse than that. He was just being himself, but filtered through a version of reality where you were already part of his everyday rhythm.
When someone asked what you were like, he answered without hesitation. When they asked about habits, he listed them casually like they were things he had picked up over time. At one point, he slid your drink slightly closer to you without thinking, as if it belonged there already.
āSheās picky with food,ā he said offhandedly when someone asked, making you turn to stare at him immediately. āBut sheāll still eat anything if sheās hungry enough.ā
āI am notāā you started automatically.
But the table was already laughing, and Bokuto just looked at you like he hadnāt done anything strange at all.
And the strangest part was that you adjusted to it. Slowly, awkwardly, but still. You found yourself reacting to him more naturally than you expected, picking up the rhythm of his presence beside you, falling into the gaps of conversation he left open for you without even realizing it.
At some point, Mika leaned back in her chair with a grin and let out a small sigh. āYou two are honestly kind of ridiculous,ā she said. āBut it works.ā
āRight?ā Yui added. āItās like youāve known each other forever.ā
There was a brief pause after that.
Bokuto gave a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck in a way that looked almost shy. āYeah,ā he said lightly. āI guess we just got used to each other fast.ā
You didnāt look at him right away but you felt it anyway. The way his shoulder shifted slightly closer under the table, not touching, just there. Present in a way that made it harder to pretend you werenāt aware of him.
And for a moment, sitting there surrounded by laughter and voices and the warmth of the cafe, it didnāt feel like you were pretending. It just felt like you had somehow ended up in a version of reality where this had always been true.
The conversation didnāt really end so much as it slowly dissolved into overlapping chatter againāsomeone laughing about something across the table, someone else reaching for dessert the waiter placed down, chairs shifting as people settled more comfortably into the idea of this strange, unexpected couple sitting among them.
For a moment, you just stayed where you wereāhalf listening, half still trying to catch up with yourself. Because somehow, without you noticing exactly when it happened, the entire performance had stopped feeling like a performance.
It had started to justā¦ exist.
You felt it in the small details you couldnāt quite unsee anymore. The way Bokuto sat beside you like he belonged there. The way he answered questions about you without hesitation, like he wasnāt building a story on the spot but recalling something already familiar. The way you didnāt have to scramble to fill in gaps because he kept doing it for youāeffortlessly, naturally.
It shouldāve felt wrong.
It didnāt.
That was the problem.
A small laugh broke through the table again, pulling you back into the moment just enough for you to adjust in your seat, fingers loosely wrapped around your drink. You glanced sideways without meaning to.
Bokuto was already looking at you.
Not intensely. Not in a way that demanded anything.
Justā¦ checking.
Like he always was.
You turned your head back around so fast you nearly got whiplash, letting your hair fall over your face to hide the pink hue dusting your cheeks.
The rest of the meal passed in a blur of clinking silverware and overlapping voices. You found yourself relaxing into the rhythm of itāthe familiar comfort of your friendsā laughter, the way the table felt a little less intimidating now that the "big secret" was out in the open. Every now and then, Bokuto would chime in with something ridiculous, or heād casually rest his arm along the back of your chair, his presence a constant, grounding weight at your side. It was surreal, how quickly youād adjusted to his hand being near you, or the way heād subtly steer the conversation whenever the questions got a little too detailed.
Before you knew it, the plates were cleared, the drinks were drained, and the loud, bustling energy of the restaurant had settled into a comfortable, post-dinner haze.Ā
You were in the middle of laughing at something Izumi had said when Mika suddenly pulled her phone out, tapped the screen, "Well, look at the time.ā
She glanced up at the lot of you, āI have a nail appointment in thirty minutes, so I should start heading out.ā
The rest of the group followed suit, the collective rustle of bags being zipped and chairs being pushed back filling the air. There was a flurry of activity as people checked their own notifications, murmuring polite, half-distracted agreements.
"Yeah, Iāve got an early start tomorrow," Yui said, gathering her coat. "We should probably call it."
As they stood, the booth felt suddenly spacious and quiet. You shifted, your knee brushing against Bokutoās, and for a split second, you felt a strange pang of reluctance at the thought of the "act" ending for the night. You stood up, too, clutching your bag to your chest as the reality of being back out in the real worldāwithout the protective bubble of the groupāstarted to set in.
One by one, they filed out, calling out goodbyes and lingering, teasing remarks about "lovebirds" and "don't stay out too late." You offered a tight, polite smile to everyone, feeling like a fraud as they walked away.
Soon, the bustling group was just a collection of backs growing smaller down the sidewalk, leaving you and Bokuto standing alone in the cooling evening air outside the cafe. The silence that rushed back in was stark, punctuated only by the distant hum of city traffic.
You finally let your shoulders drop, the tension of the last few hours leaking out of you. You turned to look at him, realizing he was already watching you, that same unreadable, thoughtful look back in his eyes.
"Well," you murmured, not quite sure what you were supposed to say now that the audience was gone. "That went... surprisingly well?"
Bokuto tilted his head, his expression earnest as he searched your face. āDoes that mean I did good?āĀ
You hesitated, the remnants of the adrenaline still buzzing under your skin. You looked at himāreally looked at himāand realized he wasnāt just acting anymore; he was genuinely waiting for your approval. You felt a soft, genuine smile tug at your lips. āYeah,ā you whispered, your voice catching slightly. āYou did good. You did... really good.ā
Bokutoās face lit up, a bright, satisfied grin that made your own cheeks heat up instantly. You quickly looked away, focusing on the cracks in the sidewalk to hide the flush you knew was blooming across your face.
āIāll walk you home,ā he said, his tone shifting into something steady and protective.
āOh, you really don't have to,ā you countered, waving a hand dismissively. āItās only a fifteen-minute walk. Iām fine.ā
He didn't miss a beat. āAll the more reason why I should be able to do it. Consider it part of the boyfriend duty package.ā
You stared at him for a second longer, trying to find a reason to push back, but his expression was so casually expectant that you simply gave in. ā...Okay,ā you murmured, letting out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.
The two of you began to walk, the rhythmic tapping of your shoes against the pavement the only sound in the cooling night air. Your mind wouldn't stop churning. You replayed the entire eveningāhow effortlessly heād handled your friendsā interrogation, how convincingly heād slipped into the role of the devoted partner, and how strange it felt to have that hand resting on the small of your back. He had played the part perfectly. Too perfectly.
But the performance was over. Your friends had dispersed, the charade had served its purpose, and the stakes were gone. So why was he still here? Why was he going out of his way to walk you home when he could have easily headed back to his own place?
You glanced sideways at him. He had his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his gaze fixed straight ahead as he walked with that easy, familiar stride. Maybe that was just who Bokuto was. He was always the friendly, over-the-top figure in the office, the kind of person whoād go the extra mile for anyone. This wasn't any different; he was just being helpful, just being Bokuto.
You looked away, staring down at your own feet. You had to keep reminding yourself: the performance was over. Everything that had happened in the cafe was just a fabricated web of lies designed to save face. It was a script, a bit of social engineering, nothing more. You shouldn't be confusing his helpfulness for anything that felt remotely like... more.
You sighed, the sound barely audible over the distant city hum. You were probably just reading into it because youād been single for so long that your brain was hallucinating chemistry where there was only a guy doing a favor.
"I've definitely been single way too long," you muttered to yourself, shaking your head to clear the lingering, hopeful thoughts away.
āYou good?ā Bokuto asked, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you, his pace slowing just a fraction.
You blinked, startled, and snapped your head up toward him. āHuh?ā
Bokuto looked at you with a mix of genuine concern and confusion, his head tilted slightly to the side. āYouāve been sighing like youāre carrying the weight of the world for the last three blocks. You sure youāre okay?ā
You felt your cheeks heat up, embarrassed that your internal spiral had been so transparent. You quickly smoothed out your expression, offering a forced, casual shrug. āOh! Iām good. Iām justā¦ Iām good. Uhā¦ā You took a breath, trying to keep your voice steady. āI just really wanted to say thanks. For helping me out with this wholeā¦ fake dating thing. Youāre a real life-saver, Bokuto.ā
Bokuto blinked, his expression softening as he processed the words. He didn't rush to fill the silence with a joke or a boisterous comment. Instead, he just smiledāa slow, quiet expression that felt far more genuine than his office persona.
āIām glad I could help,ā he said simply.
You offered him a small, sincere smile back, the lingering tension in your shoulders finally beginning to ebb away. The air felt lighter, the night quiet, and the path to your apartment stretched out ahead of you, peaceful and uncomplicated. You turned your gaze back to the sidewalk, and the two of you continued walking, side by side, into the soft glow of the streetlights.
SynopsisąŖāā“ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojoās aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotionsāunsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojoās side, or if itās time to move on.
tagsąŖāā“ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, complicated relationships, emotional dependency, mutual pining, right person wrong time, bittersweet ending, realistic relationship dynamics, gojo needs to get his shit together
ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT | NINE | TEN | ELEVEN | TWELVE | THIRTHEEN | FOURTEEN | FIFTEEN | SIXTEEN | SEVENTEEN | EIGHTEEN | NINETEEN | FINALE
It had been a little over an hour since he left the underground barāmaybe two. Gojo couldnāt really tell anymore; time had seemed to blur the second he saw you walk out onto that small, dimly lit stage.Ā
Ever since the final chord of your performance faded, Gojo had done nothing but aimlessly wander the city streets, his footsteps dictated more by muscle memory than conscious thought. At some point, he realized where his feet had led him.
The convenience store near your studio.
It wasn't the one a block away from the bar, nor was it the one near his own apartment. It was this one. The one tucked away just around the corner from your studio. It was the place he used to come with you after every grueling, late-night practice session you had with your bandāthe place where the fluorescent lights felt warm instead of sterile, and where the silence between you felt like a language all its own.Ā
Standing before the automatic glass doors, he hesitated. The air felt heavy with the phantom scent of cheap coffee and the lingering feeling of your presence, even though you were nowhere to be found.Ā
Eventually, he stepped forward and pushed the door open with the chime of the bell following after him.Ā
Inside, the air was too bright and too still. The kind of artificial lighting that slightly removed him from the outside world. Shelves lined in neat rows, refrigerators humming quietly along the back wall, and a cashier behind the counter who didnāt look up immediately.
Gojo didnāt even need anything from here; it was just habit. A routine he had gotten so familiar with that his body had memorized it, leading him to scour the aisles even before his mind could fully compute. He stopped in the chip aisle, eyes glancing over the endless options of salt-dusted bags but not really looking. For a while, he just stood there, staring at the colorful plastic as if it might grant him a wish if he just stared and waited long enoughāas if, in some twisted, comedic twist of fate, the perfect bag of snacks would materialize into the person he was actually looking for.
Then, the bell chimed.
It was a sharp, cheerful sound that cut through the low hum of the refrigerators, startling him out of his trance. He didn't turn around immediately, his hand still hovering vaguely near a bag of spicy seaweed chips he knew you used to love. He held his breath, a strange, prickling sensation crawling up the back of his neck, though he chided himself for the theatrics of it. Itās just a customer, he told himself. Just someone else looking for a midnight reprieve.
But then came the sound of footstepsāhesitant, light, and terrifyingly familiar. They weren't the heavy, dragging boots of a salaryman coming off a shift, nor the hurried click of a tourist. They were the steps of someone who knew exactly where they were going, someone who knew this store as well as he did.
Gojo finally turned, his heart doing an uncharacteristic, stuttering flip against his ribs.
Standing near the entrance, looking just as bewildered to be here as he felt, were you.
You were still wearing your stage clothes, a light jacket thrown haphazardly over your shoulders, looking like a ghost from the memory he had been chasing all night. The fluorescent light hit your face, and for a moment, the distance between the chip aisle and the front door felt like a canyon he wasn't sure he could cross.
You froze when your eyes landed on him, the ambient hum of the store suddenly feeling deafeningly loud.
For a moment, there was silenceāthe kind that stretched thin and tight, vibrating with everything left unsaid. Then, with a flicker of motion, you lowered your head. You didn't stop, didn't offer a glance, just brushed past him and slipped into the neighboring aisle.
Gojoās eyes tracked you, his gaze anchored to your silhouette as you moved toward the beverage section. He watched as you opened the glass door, the cool fog of the refrigerator spilling out, and bent down to reach for your usual bottle of iced tea. The sight of itāthat specific, mundane habitāhit him harder than the performance had. It was so achingly familiar, a ghost of a routine that shouldn't exist anymore.
Before he could overthink the impulse, he moved. His feet carried him across the linoleum, stopping just a foot away from you.
He didn't make a sound, but as he stared at the condensation on the glass, he could see your reflection. You were watching him, your hand still gripping the handle of the fridge door, your eyes wide and unblinking.
You straightened up, the movement fluid and sharp. As you turned to face him, the refrigerator door swung shut behind you with a soft, final thud.
Then, almost at the same timeā
āHey.ā
āHi.ā
There was a quiet pause as you both stood there. The storeās hum seemed to amplify, a low, electric drone that filled the space between you, highlighting just how much air was suddenly missing. Gojo shifted his weight, his tall frame suddenly feeling too large for the narrow aisle. He reached up, his fingers brushing the back of his neck in a restless, nervous tic, his eyes flickering from yours to the floor-to-ceiling windows and back again.
He didnāt know what he was looking forāmaybe an escape, or maybe just a sign that you weren't about to walk away again. When he finally looked back, he locked onto your waiting eyes, finding that same intensity he used to get lost in months ago.
He didn't need to ask for permission, and he didn't need to ask if you were tired. The way your hand tightened around the cold bottle of iced tea was enough of an answer.
With a quiet breath, he broke the tension, giving a simple, inviting cock of his head towards the glass doors.
"Outside?"
You didn't answer with words, but the way your shoulders droppedāa tiny, imperceptible release of the defensive posture youād been holding since you walked ināwas enough. You gave a single, small nod, and without another look at the shelves, you began to walk toward the cashier, rang up your bottle of iced tea, and headed for the exit.
You two made your way out, the automatic doors sliding shut with a final hiss behind you, sealing away the sterile hum of the store. Without a word, you navigated toward the curb and sat down, your legs pulled up toward your chest. Gojo watched you for a heartbeat, his tall frame lingering for a moment before he followed, settling onto the concrete beside you with a grace that felt entirely out of place on the grimy sidewalk.
The two of you sat in silence for a long moment, staring ahead at the rhythmic pulse of the city. Headlights streaked by like low-flying stars, illuminating the street in flashes of white and amber, while the occasional pedestrian walked up to the convenience store, the chime announcing their arrival and departure like a distant, recurring heartbeat.
You finally cracked the seal on your bottle of iced tea, the sound sharp in the quiet night. You took a long, slow gulp, and when you pulled the bottle away, a heavy, weary sigh escaped your lipsāa sound that seemed to carry the weight of everything that had happened since you last sat like this together.
Only then did Gojo turn to look at you.
He didn't speak. He didn't rush to fill the quiet with a joke or a deflection. Instead, his gaze trailed over your face, cataloging the small changes: the way your jaw was set, the slight smudge of eyeliner beneath your eyes from the stage lights, the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin. He searched your features with an intensity that felt almost tactile, as if he were trying to re-map the terrain of your expressionātrying to find the version of you that heād memorized, and reconciling it with the stranger youād become in his absence.
Under his scrutiny, you didn't look away. You just stared at the passing cars, the condensation on your bottle dripping cold against your palm.
Gojo shifted his gaze back to the street, his eyes tracking the blur of tires against the asphalt before the stillness finally became too much to bear.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
His voice was uncharacteristically hushed, stripped of its usual playful edge and replaced with a quiet, grounding sincerity. He caught the subtle movement of your head from his peripheral vision as you glanced at him, then looked away, letting out a soft, barely audible, "Yeah..."
The air between you felt dense, saturated with the history you were both trying not to touch. He traced the lines of a distant streetlight, his jaw tightening slightly before he spoke again.
āYou played good tonight,ā he murmured, his attention remaining fixed on the empty road ahead, as if the darkness made it easier to be honest. ā...Really good.ā
You didn't answer immediately. You let the silence hang, letting the hum of distant traffic fill the gap before you finally spoke, your voice barely a breath. "I didn't think youād be there."
The words landed softly, stripped of any accusation, leaving only a lingering resonance. Gojo let out a quiet, mirthless chuckle, his fingers tracing a jagged crack in the concrete curb.
"Yeah," he murmured, shifting his leg so his knee bumped almost imperceptibly against yours. "I didn't think youād be playing so soon, especially afterā"
He cut himself off, the ghost of the last few months hanging heavy in the air. He didn't need to finish the sentence; the memory of everything was right there, sitting between you on the cold pavement.
A long pause stretched out, punctuated only by the distant wail of a siren.
"Suguru was the one who told me about your gig today," he admitted, his eyes still fixed on the streetlights ahead.
You nodded slowly, listening, your expression guarded but not unkind. You didn't rush to fill the silence, letting him navigate the awkward terrain of his own making.Ā
"Well, it kind of just worked out for me, I guess," you said, your thumb absentmindedly picking at the label of your iced tea as you kept your gaze fixed on the asphalt. "I'm not sure if you heard, but they were scrambling to find a replacement. They couldn't pull it off, so... thatās how I ended up back in the rotation." You let out a soft, dry chuckle that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Back to the grind, I suppose."
Gojo gave a tight-lipped smile, his jaw working for a second as he processed that. "Yeah, I saw the flyers going up outside the studio," he said, his voice low.
He fell silent again, the ambient city noise filling the space before he turned his head, finally meeting your gaze fully. His expression was softer than you had seen it in months, stripped of the usual practiced indifference.
"But Iām glad it worked out," he added, his tone carrying a weight that made your pulse jump. "They couldn't find a replacement because, let's be honest, no one is better than you. Iām sure they knew that."
He held your eyes, daring you to look away, to hide from the sincerity in his expression. For a heartbeat, the lingering tension of the last few months seemed to waver, caught in the gravity of his stare. You stared back, searching for a trace of the old Gojo, and finding enough of him there that it caught you off guard.
Slowly, the corner of your mouth tilted upward, breaking into a small, genuinely amused smile. It was the most natural thing youād felt all night.
For a few heartbeats, you just sat there in the quiet, the weight of his compliment lingering between you like a fragile thing. You were the first to look away, your smile lingering on your lips but your gaze retreating to the dark patterns of the sidewalk. Gojo saw the shiftāsaw the way you closed yourself off just a fractionāand it landed in his chest with a heavy weight.Ā
A moment later, he followed suit, turning his eyes back toward the street. He started to bounce his knee, a rhythmic, restless motion that betrayed his calm facade.
It was jarring. You two had never been like thisāstiff, guarded, painfully aware of every breath. Before, conversation with you had been the easiest thing in his life. He used to be able to say whatever rattled around in his head, to slump against you and drop the pretenses, to just be. But tonight felt like a cold, hard piece of evidence. It was proof of how his own choices had dismantled everything, how heād taken the ease and trust you once shared and turned it into this jagged, uncomfortable mess where you couldn't even hold his gaze.
The silence grew thick, suffocating in its intensity. He couldn't let it sit there anymore; the tension was a physical ache.
Finally, his lips parted. His voice was steady, even if he couldn't quite bring himself to look at you as he said it.
"We need to talk about what happened."
The words came out quieter than heād meant them to, but they still landed with the force of a landslide. Gojoās fingers curled into tight fists in his lap, his knuckles turning pale against the dark fabric of his pants. A sudden, sharp spike of anxiety hit himāthe kind that made his chest feel too tight and his thoughts scatter. He kept his eyes locked firmly on the distant, flickering neon signs, terrified that if he dared to look at you, the fragile mask he was holding onto would shatter entirely.
He could feel the air between you turning brittle.
It seemed like you needed a moment to steady your own breathing, too. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant hum of the city, before you finally offered a hollow, quiet response.
"Yeah," you whispered, the word barely catching the air. "We probably should."
But even as the agreement hung in the air, the silence remained unbroken. It was as if the words you had been hoarding for weeksāthe arguments youād rehearsed in your head and the grievances youād replayed in the darkāhad simply evaporated the moment you were actually forced to confront them. You were both stuck in a paralysis of shared history, unable to bridge the distance that had grown between you.
You swallowed, the dry lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe, let alone articulate the mess inside your mind. You were desperately trying to grab onto a starting point, a thread to pull, but before you could find your voice, Gojo shattered the stillness.
His voice was low, stripped of its typical bravado, sounding raw and unvarnished in the night air.
"I... I messed up a lot, didn't I?"
He didn't turn to look at you, his eyes still fixed on the horizon, but his shoulders were slumped, his posture losing that rigid, defensive tension. It was the closest he had come to an admission all night, a quiet surrender that seemed to strip away the remainder of his pride.
"I didn't..." He started, his voice catching before he exhaled sharply through his nose, cutting his own sentence short. He shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the ground between his boots. "I don't think I ever actually stopped to think about it.ā
ā...Not properly."
He fell silent for a heartbeat, his brows drawing together in that familiar, troubled expression that used to make your heart ache.
"It was just..." He trailed off, struggling to find the vocabulary for his own negligence. "You were always there. Just... always. And I guess I didnāt realizeāI never knew that I was..."
He clamped his jaw shut, frustration evident in the way he pulled his hands from his pockets, only to wring them together. When he spoke again, his voice was a fraction of its usual volume, sounding almost brittle.
"I never intended to make you feel the way you did."
He could feel the weight of your presence beside himānot through direct eye contact, but through the tension in the air. He caught in his peripheral vision that you were just as guarded as he was, your gaze fixed on the asphalt or the flickering streetlights, avoiding the collision of your eyes. But he could feel the way you were truly listening. That specific, quiet attentiveness you had always possessed.Ā
The way you always did.Ā
āSo many things got so out of hand,ā he said, not really knowing where he was going with any of this. āIf something happened, I justā¦ end up going to you.ā
āBecauseā¦ā
Another beat stretched between you, heavy and thick.Ā
āYou were always there.ā
That part lingered longer than the rest. He didnāt continue immediately after, like he needed some time for the words to settle before he could speak again.
āAnd I guess Iā¦ got used to it.ā The confession tasted bitter, a hollow admission he clearly despised hearing in his own voice.Ā
Gojo swallowed hard, but the phantom lump in his throat didnāt really go away. It just stayed there as his mind flurried to say whatever made sense to him at the time.Ā
āI didnāt really see what that caused,ā he added after a moment. āOr I did, and I justā¦. didnāt understand it properly at the time.ā
A sharp, ragged breath escaped himānot quite a sigh, more like a release of long-held pressure.Ā
āI should have.ā
The apology hovered in the space between you, fragile and incomplete. He finally shifted his head, his gaze vulnerable as he looked toward you, his eyes searching yours.
"I'm sorry I didn't."
A long, heavy silence settled over you.Ā
When youād walked through those automatic doors earlier, your mind had been a blank slate, guided only by the ghost of muscle memory. You hadn't prepared for a confrontation, and you certainly hadn't prepared for thisāthe vulnerability in his voice, the way he was unravelling the knots of your shared past right there on the sidewalk. You were paralyzed, the words stuck somewhere between your chest and your throat, refusing to surface.
Gojo, however, seemed to find a strange, frantic momentum in the quiet. He didn't seem to mind your lack of response; in fact, it seemed to give him the space to keep digging.
āI never really thought that youād ever get upset with me,ā he said, his voice dropping low. He frowned then, his brows knitting together as if the words themselves tasted like ash. It was a clumsy admission, one that laid bare the sheer extent of his former arrogance. āI didnāt think youād ever be.ā
His jaw tightened, the muscles flexing as he grappled with his own memories. āBut I was wrong.ā
He let out a shaky breath, and the white-knuckled grip heād had on his knees loosened just a fraction, a small sign that the confession was draining the rigid tension from his frame.
āAnd if only I had known what I was doing to youā¦ā He faltered, the sentence fracturing mid-air. He looked down at his hands, then back out at the blurred streetlights, his voice turning raw. āIf Iād realizedā¦ I wouldāve done so many things differently.ā
He left the statement hanging there, a desperate, belated promise of a past he couldn't rewrite. The confession filled the space, vibrating with a sincerity that made your heart hammer against your ribs, leaving you to decide if his regret was enough to bridge the distance heād spent months causing.
"But we still have time ahead of us, right?"
He turned fully toward you, his body angling in to bridge the physical space between you. You met his gaze, and for the first time in months, you didnāt look away. The raw, desperate sincerity swimming in his blue eyes was so potent it felt like a physical pressure against your chest, making it hard to breathe.
"I canā¦ I can try to make it right," he said, his voice barely a whisper, thick with the weight of everything he was suddenly realizing he had lost. "I can try again."
He held your stare, searching your face for any sign of a green light, any small shift in your expression that would tell him it wasnāt too late. But as he watched you, he saw the way your brows dippedānot in anger, but in a profound, quiet sorrow. He saw the way you searched his face, your silence stretching out, heavy and absolute.
A coldness, sharper than the night air, washed over him. The hope that had been fueling his frantic confession began to flicker and die in the face of your stillness.
The corner of his lips hitched upward, settling into a small, fragile, and utterly heartbroken smile. He didnāt need you to speak; the truth was already written in the way you held your breath, in the way you couldn't quite bring yourself to lie to him.
He sucked in a harsh breath.
"There isn't an 'again,' is there?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the distant rumble of the city.Ā
The question hung there, almost as if no answer was needed because it was painfully obvious. Gojo didnāt look away. His eyes just stayed on you, waiting for anything you would give him, waiting for a contradiction that he already knew wasnāt coming.
But no answer ever came and the silence only thickened under the weight of everything this meant for you two.Ā
And that was answer enough.
Gojo shifted, his gaze dropping away from you as his jaw tensed. He inhaled sharply through his nose, like something had just hit him all at once and left no space to react properly to it. For a moment, he just sat there, unmoving, as if everything in him had gone quiet at the same time.Ā
āSoā¦ā He trailed off. The words he wanted to say broke off before they could fully form, like something in him refused to push them all the way out.
For a moment, he just sat there with it, like he was weighing whether not saying it would make it hurt less.
It didnāt.
His breath came in sharper through his nose, quiet but uneven, and his fingers tightened briefly around the rough edge of the curb before loosening again.
And then, like he had decided he couldnāt stay in the half-step between knowing and saying itā
āIs this it?ā
Only then did he finally look at you.Ā
And when your gaze locked onto each other, something in his chest shiftedālight, almost instinctive, like air rushing back into a place that had gone too tight. But it didnāt settle into relief. It caught halfway, wrong somehow, like even that breath came with something he couldnāt quite trust.Ā
Your lips parted, then closed again for a brief second, as if you were still deciding whether you could actually say it out loud.
When you finally did, your voice was quieter than before.
āI thinkā¦ā
You stopped there, like the rest of it didnāt want to follow cleanly. Your throat tightened slightly as you looked away for a moment, gathering yourself in a way that didnāt fully work.
āI have to move onā¦ā
A small pause.Ā
āā¦without this.ā
After that, nothing moved right away.
Gojo stayed looking at you for a moment too long, but it didnāt really feel like he was seeing you anymore. His eyes were still there, still on you, but something behind them had gone quiet in a way that didnāt immediately show on his face, like the sentence hadnāt fully landed yet. Or like it had landed somewhere deeper than he could reach quickly.
For a second, he just sat with it.
Then his gaze shifted slightly away, not fully turning from you, just enough to break the weight of it.
āā¦Okay,ā he said.
That was all.
For a moment, the two of you just sat there. Gojo was staring ahead, not because he couldnāt look at you anymore, but because he needed something steady to hold onto before whatever came next could fully settle.
Except nothing really settled.
Not inside him.
It sat there, suspended, like his mind was still trying to find a version of this that wasnāt final.
He glanced at youāquickly, like he wasnāt sure he was allowed to hold it for longer than that.
There was something in him tightening after that. Not panic, not yet. Just the slow recognition that there wasnāt anything left to work around anymore. Nothing that could be reshaped into something softer.
For a moment, he looked like he was about to speak, but didnāt. Whatever came to mind didnāt make it far enough to become words.
And then your voice came again.
His nameāsofter this time.
āSatoru.ā
It wasnāt loud. It didnāt need to be. It slipped into the space between you both like it still belonged there, like it hadnāt lost its place in your mouth even after everything that had already been said.
And something in him shifted instantly.
His head turned before he could think about it, like the sound had pulled him back without asking for permission. Not startledājust responsive, instinctive, as if heād been waiting without realizing he was waiting at all.
When he looked at you properly this time, it felt different, like heād finally been allowed to be here with you again, even if only for a moment.
"I donāt want you to think..." you started, your fingers twisting the plastic bottle until it crinkled in the quiet. You struggled to steady your voice, casting your gaze down at the rough, cracked concrete. "That Iām still upset. Or that... that Iām trying to punish you."
You trailed off, unable to find the thread that would lead to the rest of the sentence. The weight of the words felt too heavy to carry, too complex to untangle here on a street corner, under the harsh flicker of a dying streetlight. "I just..."
You couldn't finish it. The silence stretched between you, brittle and honest.
Gojo watched you, his expression softening into something devastatingly gentle. He didn't interrupt, and he didn't try to pull you back to him. He just let you be, his presence steady and grounded in a way it hadn't been in months.
"I understand," he said, his voice low and devoid of the defense he usually wore like armor. He offered you a faint, tired nod, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a weariness that went bone-deep. "Itās... itās okay."
He didn't mean that it was fineāthat the situation was anything other than a slow-motion wreckageābut he understood what you were giving him: a mercy. He was accepting the distance you were drawing, not because he wanted to, but because it was the only way he could honor the truth youād just laid bare.
Silence fell over the space again. It wasn't the suffocating, jagged silence from before. It was something heavier, something more final. The distant sound of a car passing by, the hum of the convenience store's neon signageāthe world kept moving, oblivious to the fact that two people had just decided to stop moving together.
Gojo remained still, his hands resting on his knees, watching the way the shadows danced across your face. He was listening to the quiet, finally hearing the end of the story heād spent the whole night trying to rewrite.
Then, he asked, his voice hesitant and stripped of its usual confidence. "Is it okay if..."
He trailed off, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. A muscle in his jaw jumped. "Can I... can I hug you?"
The words tumbled out before he could filter them, before he could weigh them against the gravity of his own mistakes. As he looked at you, the stark, agonizing reality of it all hit himāthat his own choices had built this wall, that his selfishness had carved out the distance between you. It was unbearable. It felt shameful to even breathe the same air, let alone touch you. The audacity of the request left him bracing for the rejection he knew he deserved. Of course you would neverā
His internal spiral was cut short, silenced by the sight of you offering a small, soft smileāa ghost of the kindness he hadnāt dared to expect. As you stretched your arms wide, opening the space between you, the breath hitched in his chest. He paused, staring at you, momentarily dumbfounded by the grace you were showing him despite everything he had broken.
But he didn't need a second invitation. He moved instantly, his tall frame uncoiling as he scooted across the gritty pavement to close the gap.
When he reached you, he didn't just pull you in; he seemed to collapse into you, his large frame folding inward as if he were trying to occupy the smallest space possible. He buried his face deep into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, while his fingers bunched into the fabric of your shirt, gripping the back of it so tightly his knuckles turned white. He was holding onto you like you were the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly turned to smoke.
It took you a heartbeat to steady yourself, your own hands trembling as you finally reached up to wrap your arms around his neck. When your palms pressed against the back of his shirt, he let out a soundānot a sob, but a sharp, broken intake of airāand he felt your own breath shudder against the shell of his ear, warm and heavy with everything you were choosing to leave behind.
The two of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, suspended on that patch of cold concrete, surrounded by the indifferent hum of the city. You hugged each other with a desperate, quiet violence, trying to commit the sensation of this moment to muscle memory. You were memorizing the way he feltāthe weight of him, the familiar scent of himābecause you both knew, with a clarity that was sickening, that this was the final tether being cut.
Every second that ticked by on the street corner felt like a countdown to a future that was already arriving, cold and inevitable. There was no promise of a tomorrow in this embrace, only the excruciating reality of now. You were holding onto the last piece of your shared history, clinging to the warmth of each other as the encroaching reality of the life you were both about to walk intoāapartāseemed to press in from the edges of the night, demanding you let go.
Everything in himāevery instinct heād ever possessedāscreamed at him to tighten his grip, to drag you back into the orbit heād spent his life taking for granted. The urge to never let you go, to anchor himself to you and refuse to let the world move on, was a physical ache, a tidal wave of regret crashing against his ribs. He wanted to apologize for the months of absence, for the way heād left you behind, but he knew the words were hollow now.
Yet, underneath the desperation, a jagged, sober clarity remained. He realized, with a sickening clarity, that this was the threshold. If he held on for a second longer, if he let his forehead rest against your shoulder for even one more heartbeat, this wouldnāt be a goodbye anymore. It would become a bridge that neither of you knew how to burn, a trap of his own making that would keep you tethered to his chaos.
He couldn't do that to you again. He had already taken so muchāyour patience, your stability, your lightāand he refused to take your freedom, too.
He didnāt want to hurt you anymore. That was the singular truth left in the wreckage.
So, with a slow, agonizing deliberation, he began to retreat. His fingers, which had been white-knuckled in your shirt, slowly uncurled, sliding away from you like sand. He pulled back, the air rushing into the space between you like a cold draft, and for a moment, he looked completely lost, his eyes wide and unfocused, as if the physical act of detaching himself had left him adrift in the dark.
He shifted back, the few inches of distance between you feeling like a vast, insurmountable canyon. When his eyes finally found yours, he saw the way you were desperately avoiding his gaze, your chin tucked down. But he didn't need to see your eyes to know the damage heād done; he saw the way your shoulders hitched, the way the slight, rhythmic trembling betrayed the composure you were trying so hard to maintain.
He reached out, his hand hovering for a second before his fingers gently caught your chin, tilting your face up toward the dim streetlampās glow. The breath died in his throat.
Your eyes were swimming, and as he watched, a single tear tracked a slow, jagged path through the dust of the night, followed by another. The sight shattered whatever remained of his resolve.
"Please, don't cry..." he whispered, the words ragged and barely audible, stripped of all the bravado he usually carried. His thumb moved with agonizing tenderness, brushing the moisture from your cheek. His skin felt searingly hot against your cooling face.
For a long, suspended moment, the only sound was the stifled, rhythmic hitch of your breath as you sniffled, trying to regain control. Gojo stayed frozen there, his hand lingering on your jaw. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to abandon his restraintāto cup your face with both hands, to press his forehead against yours, to pull you back into that embrace and swear heād never let go, consequences be damned.
He wanted to beg you to stay. He wanted to promise you the world, even though he knew heād already burned it to the ground.
But his hand stayed steady, anchored by the weight of his own guilt. He remembered the look on your face earlier, the quiet, exhausted finality in your voice when you said you had to move on. He had already hurt you once; he had already stolen enough of your time, enough of your peace.Ā
Heād rather die than be the reason you broke again. So, he just kept wiping your tears, offering you this one last, quiet mercy, knowing that once his hand fell away, he would have to turn and walk into the dark alone.
Finally, your ragged breaths evened out into soft, shaky exhales. Gojo let his thumb rest against your skin for a final, lingering stroke, his eyes searching yours with a look of profound, quiet grief.
"You'll be okay," he murmured. It wasn't a boast, and it wasn't a comfortāit sounded like a prayer, or perhaps a desperate attempt to convince himself of a future that felt impossible to navigate.
His hand fell away, retreating to his own knee, the sudden absence of his touch leaving the air feeling strangely thin and cold. He held your gaze for one heartbeat longer, as if he were trying to memorize the way you looked under the dying streetlights, before he broke the contact.
He gave his knees a sharp, decisive clap, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet night.
"I'll head off first, okay?"
It wasnāt really a question. Not in the way it sounded.
More like something he needed to say out loud so his body could follow through with it.
He stood up in one fluid, graceful motion, not giving you the chance to argue or beg or pull him back. He didn't wait for your response, didn't leave room for the conversation to restart.
It wasn't a question. Not really. It was a command to his own restless heart, a line he had to draw in the dirt so his body would have no choice but to follow through with the departure. He stood up in one fluid, graceful motion, his height suddenly looming over you. He didn't wait for your permission or your protest; he was already pulling away, his posture stiffening as if he were preparing to face a physical gale.
You tilted your head back, looking up at himāat the silhouette of the man youād loved, now rendered a stranger by the choices heād made. You didn't stop him, but your voice cut through the hum of the city, soft and steady.
"Congratulations," you said, the word catching slightly. "On going pro."
He froze, his back still turned to you, his shoulders hitching in surprise. You managed a small, tremulous smile, forcing the corners of your mouth upward despite the stinging heat behind your eyes.
"Iām sorry," you added, your voice barely audible. "Iām sorry I wasnāt there to celebrate with you. I really am."
Gojo turned then, the streetlamp casting long, distorted shadows across his face. When he looked at you, the guarded, hollow expression heād been wearing all night finally crumbled. A slow, genuine smile bloomed across his featuresānot his usual cocky grin, but something soft, sad, and impossibly fond.
"It's okay," he replied, his voice thick with a sudden, quiet ache. "Honestly... this? Being here with you? This was enough. It was more than enough." He took a half-step back, his boots crunching on the gravel.Ā
"Take care, yeah? I hope you and the band do great things. I know you will."
"You too, Satoru," you whispered, the name feeling both heavy and foreign on your tongue. "Goodbye."
He hesitated, his lips parting as if he wanted to reach for a dozen more excuses to stay, but the finality of your tone pinned him to the spot. He settled for a short, shaky exhale.
"...Bye."
It was the quietest thing youād ever heard him say. He didn't look back; he simply turned, his gait steady and deliberate. As he walked away, his tall figure slowly dissolved into the shadows of the city, leaving you alone on the curb, the cool night air closing in to fill the space where he had just been.
FINAL NOTES ąŖāā“ annnnddd that's a wrap for The One That Got Away! Thank you all so much for reading this story. I had so much fun writing this as my first ever published fic. I hope you all enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it š£²ā
I'm so very grateful for everyone who stayed until the very end! And I sincerely hope, that even bittersweet, that everyone enjoys this ending.
When I started writing again after that long break, one of the biggest things i wanted to explore was the idea that not every painful situation needs a clear villain.
Sometimes people hurt each other without meaning to. Sometimes love, comfort, dependence, fear, guilt, timing, selfishness, and care all exist in the same place at once, and because of that, things become messy.
I think a lot of my own experiences and observations shaped the way I wrote these relationships too. Over time, Iāve realized that some of the most painful situations are often the ones where nobody is entirely wrong, but nobody really walks away untouched either.
I never wanted these characters to feel perfect. I just wanted them to feel human, and I hope I managed to make them feel that way to all of you too.
Thank you again for following this story until the end ā”
Do stick around for more stories soon!
SynopsisąŖāā“ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojoās aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotionsāunsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojoās side, or if itās time to move on.
tagsąŖāā“ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, complicated relationships, emotional dependency, mutual pining, right person wrong time, bittersweet ending, realistic relationship dynamics, gojo needs to get his shit together
NOTESąŖāā“ proofreading? idk her. FINALE IS COMING SUNDAY OMGOMG i hope this story was worth ur time :,)
ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT | NINE | TEN | ELEVEN | TWELVE | THIRTHEEN | FOURTEEN | FIFTEEN | SIXTEEN | SEVENTEEN | EIGHTEEN | NINETEEN | FINALE
The win still lingered in his body like a ghost that hadnāt decided whether to leave yet.
Even two days later, Gojo could still feel it if he stopped moving for too longāthe sharp rush of adrenaline cutting through the final seconds of the match, the way the stadium had exploded into sound as the scoreboard locked in, the heat that had climbed up his neck and settled in his face like something almost unbearable. There had been a moment, brief and blinding, where everything had aligned into something so loud it felt like it might carry him somewhere higher than himself.
He remembered laughing then. Not because anything was funny, but because there had been nowhere else for the feeling to go. His teammates had crashed into him, hands grabbing at his shoulders, voices shouting over each other in disbelief and triumph. The ice beneath his skates had felt unreal, like it belonged to someone elseās body. Even the air had felt charged, electric, too bright to properly inhale.
And then, slowly, almost politely, it had begun to fade.
Not all at once. Not dramatically.
Just enough for him to notice the edges of it thinning out.
By the time the crowd had emptied and the noise had softened into echoes, the feeling that had lifted him so high started to leave something behind in its place. It wasnāt sadness. Not exactly. It was absence, subtle at first, like a space being cleared out without anything visibly being removed.
The higher you went, he realized distantly, the less there was to hold onto.
And somehow no one had warned him that reaching what he had chased for years would feel like that.
Now, two days later, he sat in a room that smelled faintly of coffee that had been reheated too many times and air-conditioning that couldnāt quite hide the heat of bodies filling it. The walls were glass, modern, designed to impress. Outside, the city moved without pause, indifferent to whatever decisions were being made inside.
Inside, everything was official.
Reporters waited in a sectioned-off area behind a low barrier, cameras already lifted, lenses already aimed. His coach sat beside him, posture straight, expression composed in that practiced way of someone who had done this enough times to know exactly where to place pride and where to place restraint. Representatives from the new management team spoke in careful, polished sentences, each word measured as if it had been approved long before it left their mouths.
Gojo nodded when it was expected. Responded when it was directed at him. Sat when told to sit. Looked where he was supposed to look.
It should have felt like arrival.
Everything about it suggested that it was.
This was what people meant when they said you had made it. The contract in front of him, thick and neatly bound, represented years of effort compressed into pages and signatures and clauses. His name sat on it in clean print, waiting for ink.
Someone slid a pen toward him with a smile that didnāt quite reach their eyes.
āJust here,ā they said. āThen weāre done. Congratulations, Satoru.ā
He took the pen.
For a moment, he didnāt move.
Not because he was unsure.
Because there was something strange about how ordinary it felt. How quietly something so large could sit in front of him, asking only for a signature, as if it were no different from signing for a delivery or confirming a schedule.
His gaze dropped to the page. Lines of text blurred slightly together under the overhead lights. Terms, obligations, endorsementsāwords that were supposed to mean direction, structure, future. He read none of it properly.
Not out of disrespect.
Out of distance.
It didnāt feel like it was about him in the way it should have.
So he signed.
The scratch of pen on paper was louder than expected in the quiet that followed. Then came the shiftāchairs adjusting, bodies leaning forward, the immediate release of tension that always followed completion. Applause broke out in polite waves, spreading across the room in practiced timing. Cameras clicked rapidly, flashes stuttering across his vision in bursts of white.
He stood when they asked him to. Smiled when they turned him toward the cameras. Allowed his name to be said in congratulatory tones, allowed hands to be shaken, allowed the moment to be framed and recorded and turned into something that would later be replayed as success.
And he played his part well.
On every screen, in every photograph, in every clip that would circulate later, he looked exactly like he was supposed to.
But anyone who knew him before would have noticed it.
The smile never fully settled.
It reached his mouth, did what it needed to do, then stopped just short of his eyes. Not cold. Not absent. Justā¦ slightly misaligned, like it belonged to a version of him that was standing a fraction of a second out of sync with the rest of the room.
When the applause finally softened and the cameras lowered, Gojo remained where he was for a moment longer than necessary, hands loosely at his sides, gaze somewhere past the people still speaking to him.
He had achieved what he was supposed to achieve.
He had stood at the top of something he had spent years climbing toward.
And yet, as the room continued to move around himāvoices layering, congratulations repeating, schedules being discussed for what came nextāthere was a quiet, steady realization forming at the edges of him.
The peak wasnāt empty because nothing was there.
It was empty because there was nothing familiar enough to hold onto once you arrived.
By the time the press conference ended, the building had already started to empty itself of noise.
Gojo left through the side corridor instead of the main hall, his presence still being called for somewhere behind himāsomeone asking for one more statement, one more photo, one more controlled moment to be archived. He gave none of it the attention it wanted. Just a vague nod in passing, a hand raised without real meaning, and then he was through the doors and into the colder air outside.
The car waiting for him was black, unmarked, too clean in the way all official things tended to be. The driver greeted him with careful politeness that didnāt ask anything beyond what was necessary. Gojo got in without much thought, the door closing behind him with a soft finality that felt louder than it should have.
For a while, he just stared out of the window.
The city moved past in strips of light and shadow, reflections of buildings sliding over the glass like something temporary. Everything outside looked like it was continuing normally, unaffected by anything that had just changed for him. That was the strangest part. Nothing in the world had shifted in a way that made space for what he had just done.
He had signed something that was supposed to define the next years of his life.
He had smiled for cameras. Shaken hands. Been congratulated like he had crossed into something greater.
And still, none of it clung to him properly.
There was a part of himāquiet, almost stubbornāthat kept waiting for the feeling to arrive. The one people always implied would come at moments like this. The sense of arrival. The sense of rightness. The internal confirmation that everything he had done had been building toward this exact point.
But it didnāt come.
Instead, there was only a strange disconnect, as if the version of him sitting in the car and the version of him everyone else was applauding were not entirely aligned.
Teenage Gojo would have called this the dream without hesitation.
That thought crossed his mind almost absently.
And yet, sitting here now, he couldnāt figure out where that version of him had gone wrong in imagining it.
The car slowed eventually as it turned into a quieter street, the city thinning out into something more residential, more curated. The apartment building came into viewāsleek, modern, the kind of place designed for athletes who were supposed to have already made it. The team had arranged everything. Contracts, relocation, furnishings, convenience layered neatly on top of convenience.
A life already assembled and waiting.
He got out before the driver fully stopped speaking, offering a brief thank you that didnāt really land as gratitude or dismissal, just habit. The doors of the building recognized him automatically. The elevator did the same. Everything responded to him now without hesitation, as if the world had finally been trained to accommodate his presence.
When he stepped into the apartment, the silence greeted him immediately.
It was a well-designed space. That much was obvious at a glance. Clean lines. Warm lighting. Furniture placed with intention rather than clutter. Nothing was out of place because nothing had ever been placed by him.
He stood just inside the entrance for a moment, keys still in hand, looking at a life that technically belonged to him now.
It was better than his old place. Objectively. No argument there.
And yet, the longer he stayed still, the more unfamiliar it felt. Not uncomfortable in a physical sense. There was nothing wrong with it. Nothing he could point to and fix.
It just didnāt feel like it had learned him yet.
Like it existed beside him rather than with him.
He had stayed here the past three nights already, and each time it had felt the same. A space that functioned correctly but didnāt recognize him beyond its surfaces.
Eventually, he moved.
Shoes off. Bag dropped near the couch. Steps quiet against the floor as he walked through the apartment without really looking at anything for too long. The kitchen was stocked. The fridge empty but ready. The bedroom lights already adjusted to something soft and automatic.
Everything was prepared for him.
Everything except the part of him that was supposed to feel settled inside it.
In his room, he finally let himself fall back onto the bed.
It was softer than his old one. That was the first thing he noticed. Too soft, almost. Like it was trying too hard to be comfortable.
He stared at the ceiling for a while without moving, one arm draped over his eyes, the other reaching lazily toward his phone on the bedside table. When he finally picked it up, the screen lit his face in the dim room.
Notifications flooded in almost immediately.
Messages from his hockey group chatāloud, chaotic, celebratory. Friends from his course saying things he would probably reply to later. Coaches, staff, acquaintances, people who now had his name attached to their contacts for reasons that suddenly mattered more than they used to.
Shokoās message sat near the top.
proud of u idiot
He stared at it for a second longer than the rest.
A faint exhale left him through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite.
Then his thumb moved again.
Geto.
No extra text. Just a link.
This time, he didnāt even think twice before clicking it, already half-expecting something stupidāan edit, a joke, a rickroll, something deliberately irritating in the way Geto sometimes did when he wanted a reaction.
He clicked it anyway.
The page opened into a poster.
Five faces. Familiar in a way that made his throat tighten before his mind even caught up. The name of the band sat above them in sharp, designed lettering. Professional. Rebranded. Final.
But there was something missing.
His eyes lingered a fraction longer, scanning again without meaning to. Thatās when it settled properly ā the empty space where your presence shouldāve been. The lineup was incomplete in a way that wasnāt accidental. Not an oversight. A decision.
And Gojo understood it immediately.
It didnāt feel like anger at first. Just a quiet, almost detached click in his head as pieces aligned. You werenāt there. You werenāt on the stage, not in the image, not in the version of the group that was being sold to the world.
He stared at it a little longer than necessary.
Then Getoās chat bubble appeared.
I heard sheās playing.
That was it.
No context. No explanation.
Just that.
Gojo froze.
For a second, his brain didnāt process the sentence as language. It sat there as sound without meaning, like it hadnāt decided what to become yet.
Then it hit.
She.
As in you.
His thumb hovered over the screen without touching it.
āWhat?ā slipped out under his breath before he even realized heād said it.
His eyes snapped back to the poster again, like it might correct itself if he looked hard enough. Like there was some detail he missed. Some logical explanation where that sentence didnāt mean what it clearly meant.
You were playing.
Now?
He tapped the link again. Faster this time. No patience for loading screens, no time for anything that wasnāt immediate confirmation. The page reopened and this time he didnāt stop at the poster ā he forced himself past it, down into the details.
Date.
Time.
Venue.
7:00 PM.
Tonight.
His gaze locked there.
And something in him shifted violently into motion.
Because it wasnāt just that you were playing.
It was that you were playing inā
His eyes flicked back.
An hour.
Forty minutes away, if traffic didnāt decide to ruin him.
The realization didnāt come gently. It didnāt unfold into thought or consideration or hesitation. It hit like a switch flipping off somewhere deep in his chest.
Gojo stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor behind him.
There was no decision-making process he could point to later. No rational thought forming in sequence. Just a sudden, absolute need that cut through everything else that had filled his day ā the contract, the signatures, the applause still faintly echoing in his memory like it belonged to someone else.
That had been supposed to matter.
It did matter.
It just didnāt matter right now.
He grabbed his keys without checking where they were. His phone was already in his hand, thumb moving on instinct as he exited the message thread, opening maps before he even registered doing it. The world narrowed down to coordinates and distance and the fastest possible route between him and something he couldnāt afford to miss.
Not think about.
See.
The hotel room blurred behind him as he moved. The door shut, then the hallway, then the elevator he didnāt remember pressing. Everything outside the thought of you became background noise ā irrelevant, muffled, secondary.
By the time he stepped into the parking area, his mind had already stopped trying to justify it.
Because there was nothing to justify.
He just needed to get there.
And the strangest part ā the part that wouldāve unsettled him if he had the space to notice it ā was how completely his body understood that before his mind did.
Like this, more than anything he had signed that day, felt like something he actually couldnāt walk away from.
The taxi pulled up a little too abruptly, braking just short of the curb like it had somewhere better to be.
Gojo was already moving before it fully stopped.
He pushed the door open, stepped out, and for a second just stood there in the spill of streetlight and noise. The air outside hit differently from the apartment ā colder, thicker, carrying the low vibration of a city that didnāt care who you were or what youād signed earlier that day.
He barely felt it.
His hand was already pulling his hood up, the motion sharp and impatient, like he was trying to make himself less visible to a world that suddenly felt too aware of him. Not because of fans, not really. It wasnāt that kind of attention he was avoiding.
It was something else.
Something closer to being seen too clearly in a moment he didnāt fully understand yet.
The entrance to the venue was tucked slightly below street level. A narrow stairwell leading down, lit by a flickering sign that made everything look like it existed somewhere between memory and noise. Music didnāt reach him properly yet ā just a dull pulse through concrete.
But he could feel it anyway.
He made his way down, shoulders brushing past strangers as he slipped into the crowd. It wasnāt packed shoulder-to-shoulder, but it was enough that he had to thread through bodies, angling himself sideways when needed, muttering quiet apologies that no one really heard over the hum of anticipation building inside.
At the back, he found a pocket of space near a wall. Not a good view, not a bad one either. Enough.
He stayed there for a second without moving, catching his breath without realizing he needed it.
Then he checked his phone again.
7:01 PM.
Same place.
Same time.
He exhaled through his nose, tension he hadnāt realized he was holding settling into something sharper instead. Real. Confirmed.
No mistake.
A voice crackled through the speakers before he could think any further, cutting through the low murmur of the crowd.
āAlrightāletās hear it for tonightās set!ā
The reaction was immediate. Scattered cheers, whistles, claps bouncing off the low ceiling. Gojo barely registered any of it. His eyes stayed fixed forward, past the heads in front of him, past the shifting silhouettes near the stage.
Waiting.
And then the lights changed.
Not dramatically ā just enough to signal something was about to begin. A subtle dimming, a refocus, like the room itself had decided where attention should go.
One by one, they came out.
The band first.
Nanami first, steady as always, like he belonged there without needing permission from the room. Choso followed after, settling into place with that quiet focus that made everything around him feel slightly more grounded. Yu appeared next, glancing briefly toward the crowd with a quick, almost nervous energy before looking away again.
Iori came last in that initial wave of presence, stepping forward just enough to acknowledge the audience. She spoke into the micāsomething about the night, about the set, about the usual formalitiesābut Gojo didnāt catch most of it.
Because you werenāt there yet.
And then you were.
It wasnāt dramatic. Nothing about the way you stepped out suggested you were trying to be seen in any particular way. But the moment you entered the light, something in the air shifted anyway, like the stage had been waiting for that exact shape to complete it.
Gojo stopped noticing the crowd entirely.
You looked the same in the simplest, most literal sense of it. Same silhouette, same hair falling the way he remembered, same familiar outline his mind didnāt have to work to recognise. But the familiarity didnāt soften the impact of itāit made it sharper, like something he should have adjusted to long ago suddenly refusing to be normal in his presence.
Because it wasnāt just that you were there.
It was how you were there.
There was a stillness in the way you held your instrument now that didnāt feel uncertain anymore. Not confident in a loud, attention-seeking way, but settledālike you werenāt asking the stage for permission to exist on it. Like you already had it.
And for a moment, that alone made his chest feel too tight.
Yu leaned slightly toward you then, tapping your arm and saying something low enough that only you could hear. You glanced at him, and there was a flicker of something softer thereāan almost-smile, small and fleeting, but real enough that it didnāt feel like it belonged to performance.
Iori spoke next, introducing the band properly now. Her voice carried more clearly, and the crowd responded in kind, noise rising in anticipation.
Gojo barely registered it all.
Because his attention had already locked in place.
You adjusted your stance slightly, just once, as Choso lifted his sticks. A beat of silence stretchedāthin, electricāand then the first hit came down.
The sound hit the room like a switch being flipped.
Everything started at once after that, but somehow it still felt controlled. Not chaotic. Not overwhelming. Justā¦ building. Layer by layer, the music filled the space until the room stopped feeling like an audience and started feeling like something shared.
And Gojo watched you.
At first, he was only aware of the fact that you were playing. Then it became the fact that you were good. Then, almost uncomfortably, it became the realisation that he had known you for years without ever really understanding this part of you properly.
Because you werenāt just keeping up with the music.
You were inside it.
There was a momentāsmall, almost imperceptibleāwhere your focus sharpened. A slight narrowing of your attention as something tricky passed between the band, a transition that required you to adjust mid-motion. You did it cleanly, but not without effort. It showed in the smallest tension at the corner of your expression.
And then, just like that, you found your rhythm again.
It was seamless after that.
Not perfect in a sterile sense, but alive in a way that made it feel like the imperfections were part of the structure rather than flaws in it.
Gojo realised, somewhere in the middle of it, that he had never actually seen you like this before.
Not properly.
Not when you werenāt second-guessing yourself in the spaces between notes.
His grip on nothing tightened slightly without him noticing.
There was pride there, somewhere underneath everything else. Quiet, steady pride that sat in the same place as relief usually would.
But it didnāt come alone.
Because alongside it, something else kept pressing in.
A strange, quiet ache that wasnāt about loss exactlyābut about recognition. About how clearly you belonged here without him in the frame of it.
That thought didnāt hurt in a sharp way.
It just stayed.
And then it got worse when you looked up.
It happened mid-set, almost randomly, like your eyes had drifted without intention. For a fraction of a second, your gaze swept across the crowd.
And landed on him.
Everything didnāt stop the way it does in stories.
But something in the rhythm of it definitely broke.
Your fingers faltered on the fretboardājust a fraction of a second, just enough for a wrong note to slip out before you corrected it almost immediately. Your expression tightened, like your body had reacted before your mind could catch up.
Then you looked away.
Fast.
Too fast to pretend it didnāt matter.
Gojo didnāt move.
He didnāt even blink properly.
For the rest of the song, you didnāt look back.
You played cleanly, almost deliberately so, like fixing something invisible that only you could see. Your attention stayed locked forward, toward the music, toward the band, anywhere but the middle of the crowd where he was standing.
But when the final note cameāwhen everything loosened and the sound dissolved into applauseāyou glanced back again.
Just briefly.
Not fully.
Not long enough to hold onto.
Just a flicker of uncertainty that passed over your face like you werenāt sure what it meant that he was still there.
Then you turned and followed the rest of the band offstage.
Gojo stayed where he was, the noise of the crowd rising around him again like nothing had happened.
But he wasnāt really part of it anymore.
He was still standing in the moment you had looked at him and then decided not to.
You left the stage quickly, following the rest of the band through the side exit before the applause could fully settle into something you had to sit with. The corridor backstage was dim and tight, the kind of space that always felt too small after a stage that felt too large. Your heartbeat hadnāt quite caught up with reality yetāstill stuck somewhere between the last note and the first breath after it.
But even as you walked, your mind wasnāt really there.
It kept circling back to the stage.
To the moment your eyes had lifted without permission.
To those blue eyes in the crowdāsteady, unmoving, locked onto you like nothing else in the room mattered.
You swallowed once, harder than you needed to.
And then, like a stubborn echo you couldnāt shake, your mistake resurfaced too. The slip. The second too-long hesitation. Not enough to ruin anything, but enough that you noticed it. Enough that it sat in your chest now, uncomfortable and sharp, made worse by the fact that he had been there to see it.
By the time you reached the powder room, your thoughts were already tangled.
No one had said much on the way in, which didnāt help. You lingered near the entrance for a second, just watching.
Yu and Iori were talking like nothing had happened, voices light, overlapping, still riding whatever high the performance had left behind. Iori laughed at something Yu said, rolling her eyes in a way that wasnāt sharp, just familiar.
Choso was already by the counter, casually opening a bottle. Nanami stood beside him, quieter, but not tenseājustā¦ steady, like he always was after shows. Like nothing needed to be dissected unless it actually mattered.
You waited another beat.
Then your eyes shifted to Naoya.
He noticed immediately.
His gaze met yours, sharp and direct, like heād been expecting something without actually knowing what. āWhat?ā
It wasnāt warm. It wasnāt hostile either. Just blunt. Like youād interrupted something without meaning to.
Your throat tightened slightly anyway.
āI messed up the transition,ā you said, before it could sit in your head too long. The words came out controlled, but not soft. You werenāt trying to excuse it. Just name it.
For a second, no one reacted.
Then Iori let out a small sound, somewhere between disbelief and annoyance. āOh my god, chill. I barely noticed.ā
Yu nodded quickly, already unscrewing a bottle. āYeah, and you fixed it like immediately anyway. It was fine.ā
Naoya didnāt react beyond what he already had. The bottle opened, the cap twisted off, and he sat down like the conversation had reached its natural end. With him, silence wasnāt avoidanceāit was finality. If there was something wrong, he would have said it. He didnāt. So there wasnāt.
That shouldāve been enough.
Still, your body didnāt fully agree yet.
You lingered for a second longer, standing there like the room hadnāt quite decided where you belonged in it again. Then Naoyaās voice cut in, flat and impatient in the way only he could manage without raising it.
āYou just gonna stand there?ā
It wasnāt rude. It also wasnāt gentle. Just functional, like you were holding up the space by accident.
You exhaled through your nose and finally sat down.
The couch was warm from movement, already claimed by the others. The shift of it under you grounded you slightly, but not enough to fully pull you out of your head. The adrenaline was still there in tracesāyour fingers slightly too aware, your skin still carrying the memory of stage lightsābut it was fading quickly now, replaced by something quieter and far less manageable.
Because the performance wasnāt what your mind kept returning to.
It was the moment before it ended.
The crowd.
And him.
That part replayed without effort, like your mind had decided it mattered more than anything else that had happened on stage. Not the music, not the flow, not even the mistake you were supposed to be focused on.
Just him.
Standing there like he didnāt belong in the space anymore, and somehow still fitting into it too easily for your brain to ignore.
Your mistake followed right after it, smaller in reality than it felt in your memory. A slip, a correction, a recovery so quick no one else wouldāve marked it.
But you did.
Because youād felt it happen at the exact same time you felt him watching.
You exhaled slowly, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees.
It shouldāve been nothing. You knew that.
It was nothing.
But your body hadnāt caught up to that conclusion yet.
Across the room, voices rose and fellāYu laughing at something, Iori talking over him, the easy noise of people already letting the performance go. Normal. Unbothered.
You tried to follow it.
Couldnāt.
Then your phone buzzed.
Once.
Clean. Interrupting.
You already knew before you looked.
Gojo.
The message was short when you opened it.
You did well.
That was it.
Simple enough that it shouldnāt have meant anything more than courtesy. Something you couldāve answered in a second and moved on from.
But you didnāt.
Your thumb hovered.
Not over thinking. Not debating.
Justā¦ still.
Then you closed the app.
No reply.
The screen went dark in your hand, but the feeling didnāt leave with it.
After a beat, you reached for a bottle on the table and took a drink, slower than necessaryālike you needed something physical to interrupt whatever your head was still trying to do with that name sitting in it.
And even that didnāt fully work.
Because the part of you that had seen him in the crowd was still there.
SynopsisąŖāā“ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojoās aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotionsāunsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojoās side, or if itās time to move on.
tagsąŖāā“ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, complicated relationships, emotional dependency, mutual pining, right person wrong time, bittersweet ending, realistic relationship dynamics, gojo needs to get his shit together
NOTESąŖāā“ again, not proofread >< also, to the anon who i told that the last chapter would be on wednesday, i lied, we have 2 more uploads after this! it honestly feels unreal that its ending soon but i hope everyone stays tuned until the very end <3
ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT | NINE | TEN | ELEVEN | TWELVE | THIRTHEEN | FOURTEEN | FIFTEEN | SIXTEEN | SEVENTEEN | EIGHTEEN | NINETEEN | FINALE
The screen of your phone was dark, reflecting nothing but the tired line of your own expression. You stared at it for a few seconds more, waiting for a glow that never came, before tossing the device onto the tangled sheets of your bed.
You had redownloaded Telegram the very afternoon you ran into Nanami, your heart hammering against your ribs as the app synced and the familiar, dusty chat logs reappeared. At first, you checked it every ten minutes. Then every hour. But as days bled into weeks, the silence from his end began to feel like a definitive answer.
The anxiety was a constant, low-frequency hum in the back of your mind. You found yourself wondering if Nanami had changed his mind, or if the "weāll talk" had just been a polite way to usher you out of his path. Worse was the thought that the band had simply moved onāthat while you were holed up in your room, they had found someone else to plug into your spot. Someone who didn't come with baggage. Someone who actually showed up. Every time the image of a stranger holding your guitar surfaced, it caused a physical pang in your chest that left you breathless.
You were sitting in the middle of a particularly dry lecture one day, staring blankly at a half-finished page of notes, when the vibration hit.
The sharp ding of a notification cut through the professorās drone. You fumbled for your phone, and the moment you saw the name on the lock screen, a sharp, audible gasp escaped your throat. It was loud enough that the students in the row in front of you turned around, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
Heat rushed to your cheeks. "Sorry," you muttered, clearing your throat awkwardly and ducking your head behind your laptop screen.
You waited exactly three seconds before unlocking your phone under the desk.
Weāre having a performance on the 28th of this month. Come to the practice studio on these dates: 12th, 15th, 19th, 21st, 23rd, 25th | 4PMā8PM.
That was it.
No greeting. No explanation. No reassurance.
Just details.
Very Nanami.
And yet your chest still tightened so hard with relief that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling like an idiot in the middle of class.
It was a simple set of details, a "very Nanami" sort of message, but to you, it felt like a lifeline. Excitement, sharp and frantic, brimmed over, making it impossible to focus on the rest of class. The world suddenly felt like it had shifted back into color.
By the time the lecture ended, you were already stuffing your belongings into your bag before the professor properly dismissed everyone.
The excitement sitting in your chest felt strange after so long.
Unfamiliar.
Fragile enough that you were almost scared to acknowledge it too directly.
Still, your feet carried you somewhere before you could second-guess yourself.
The music store.
The bell above the entrance chimed softly the moment you stepped inside, and immediately the familiar scent of polished wood and metal strings wrapped around you again.
Your gaze drifted automatically toward the rows of guitars lining the walls.
You hadnāt realized how badly you missed this feeling until now.
Not performing.
Not stages.
Just this.
Being surrounded by music without fear attached to it.
You were browsing the electrics, your hand hovering just inches from a sleek, familiar fretboard, when a voice broke your concentration.
"Back again?"
It was the store clerk youād spoken to the last time. He recognized you immediately, leaning against the counter with a knowing tilt of his head. He looked from your face to the guitar you were eyeing, then back again.
āYou remember me?ā you asked before thinking.
He gave a small shrug. āYou drew a crowd in the middle of the store,ā he replied dryly. āHard to forget.ā
Embarrassment flickered briefly through you before your attention drifted back toward the guitar again. The clerk followed your gaze knowingly this time.
"You've spent enough time staring at that one to earn a dividend," he joked, stepping closer. "So, what do you think? Are you finally ready to take it home, or are we just window shopping today?"
You looked at the guitar, then down at the text still sitting in your inbox. For the first time in a long time, the weight of the past didn't feel like it was pulling you backward.
"Yes," you said, your voice steadier than it had been in months. "I'm buying it."
That day, you left the music store with a guitar case slung over your shoulder and a strange feeling lodged somewhere between your ribs.Ā
It wasnāt happiness exactly.
Not fully.
It felt too fragile for that.
But it was close.
The entire walk home, your eyes kept glancing down at the handle of the case like you needed physical confirmation that it was actually there. That this was actually happening.Ā
By the time you got back to your apartment, the sun had already started dipping lower outside your windows, washing the room in muted orange light. You stood near the entrance for a moment longer than necessary before finally setting the case down carefully against the couch.
Then slowly, almost cautiously, you unzipped it.
The smell of the new instrument hit you, sharp and clean. You reached out, your thumb tracing the smooth, cool wood of the fretboard, and a sudden lump formed in your throat.Ā
You had deprived yourself of this for so long. a self-imposed exile born of guilt and a desperate need to stay invisible. Now that the barrier was gone, the excitement was there, but it was shadowed by a paralyzing nervousness.
Not just performing. Not just the band.
Music itself.
And you knew why you did it.
Because somewhere along the line, the thing you loved most had become tangled up with humiliation, guilt, failureāevery ugly emotion you didnāt know how to separate from it anymore.
Your thumb moved slowly along the fretboard, the feeling painfully familiar.Ā
You swallowed hard.
The excitement was there, undeniably. You could feel it pulsing beneath your skin every time you thought about rehearsal, about plugging in again, about hearing yourself play properly after so long.
But fear sat right beside it.
What if the band didnāt trust you? What if they looked at you and only saw the person who ruined everything? Or worse, what if they gave you another chance and you failed them again anyway?
Your grip tightened slightly around the neck of the guitar.
Because the truth was, you werenāt only worried about whether the band believed in you anymore.
You werenāt fully sure you believed in yourself either.Ā
Tuesday arrived quicker than you expected. The walk to the studioāa route that used to be as mundane as breathingāfelt like a journey through a whirlwind. Every block you covered felt like a choice you couldn't take back.Ā
By the time the building came into view, your stomach was twisted so tightly you thought you might actually throw up.
You paused outside for a second, pulling out your phone.
Iām here.
You sent the text to Nanami before stepping into the elevator.Ā
The lift ride to the third floor felt agonizingly slow. When the doors finally slid open, Nanami was already there, leaning against the hallway wall with his usual stoic composure.
"You're on time," he said, a brief, clipped greeting.
"Yeah," you managed, the word feeling small and awkward as you adjusted the strap of your guitar bag. "Hi."
Nanami gave a short nod and turned to lead the way toward the studio door at the end of the hall. You took two steps before your feet seemed to glue themselves to the carpet. A sudden, sharp realization hit you.
"Wait," you called out. Nanami stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "Theyā¦ they know Iāll be coming, right? You told them?"
Nanami didn't answer immediately. He adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable in the dim hallway light. Then, he spoke with a bluntness that made your stomach drop.
"No."
Your eyes widened.
"What?" you gasped, your voice rising in pitch. "What do you mean, no?"
He turned back toward the door, his pace steady and indifferent to your sudden panic. "They know a session player is coming. Justā¦ not you."
āWaitāstop.ā You hurried after him, catching up just as he reached the studio. You could hear the faint, muffled sounds of voices and instruments being tuned from behind the heavy door. You lowered your voice to a frantic, hushed whisper. "Why didn't you tell them? You know Naoya wonāt accept me back. Heāll lose it the moment he sees me."Ā
Nanami paused with his hand on the lever. He looked at you then, his gaze cool and analytical. "Then why are you here, if you're so certain of that?"
"Because I thought you told them!" you hissed, gesturing wildly toward the door. "I thought you handled it and they were all on board with me coming back."
Nanami opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the heavy sound of the latch clicking echoed in the hall. The door swung inward, revealing Iori. She was holding a sheet of lyrics, her expression one of mild impatience.
She spoke to Nanami first, her view of you completely blocked by the width of the open door. "Whereās the session player, Nanami? You said theyād be here soonāā
Her words cut off the moment Nanami silently stepped aside and pulled the door wider open to reveal you standing there with your new guitar gripped tight in your hand.Ā
āSheās here.ā
Iori froze. The lyric sheet in her hand fluttered slightly as her eyes widened, darting from Nanami to you and back again. A sharp gasp escaped her, the sound echoing in the narrow hallway before you were ushered into the room.
The shift in the studio was instantaneous. One second, there was the low hum of an amp and the scattered rhythm of Choso tapping on his drums; the next, the air turned to lead. Every head snapped toward the door. The music didn't just stopāit died.
Then, predictablyā
āWhat the hell is she doing here?ā
Naoyaās voice sliced through the silence without hesitation.
The question wasn't directed at you. He didn't even look you in the eye; he aimed it straight at Nanamiās head like a physical blow.
"She is the session player I told you about.ā
The entire room seemed to freeze for half a second longer.
Yu looked outright confused, gaze flickering rapidly between you and Nanami like he was trying to process whether this was serious. Iori still looked shocked enough that she hadnāt fully recovered from seeing you at the door.
Choso said nothing.
But the disapproval on his face was immediate and obvious.
Naoya actually laughed once under his breath, though there wasnāt anything amused about it.
āYouāre joking.ā
āIām not,ā Nanami replied evenly.
Naoya stared at him for a second like he was waiting for the punchline to appear. When it didnāt, his expression hardened almost immediately.Ā
āYou disappeared for weeks,ā he said, finally looking directly at you now. āYou screw up our biggest performance and now you just walk back in like nothing happened?ā
āNaoya,ā Iori started quietly, but he ignored her completely.
āNo, seriouslyāwhat is this?ā he continued, gesturing sharply between you and Nanami. āWeāve spent the last month cleaning up the mess from that performance and your genius idea is bringing her back?ā
āSheās not rejoining the band,ā Nanami said calmly. āSheās here as a session player.ā
āThat doesnāt make it better.ā
āIt actually does,ā Yu cut in carefully from the other side of the room.. āI meanā¦ technically she already knows all the songs.ā
Naoya turned toward him immediately.
āWhose side are you on?ā
Yu blinked. āIām not taking sides, Iām just sayingāā
āShe froze on stage.āĀ
The room went quiet again at Chosoās voice. Unlike Naoya, he sounded calm which somehow made it worse.
Choso leaned back slightly in his chair, arms folded across his chest as he looked at you steadily.
āWe lost that scouting opportunity because of what happened,ā he said. āYou know that, right?ā
Your grip tightened around the strap of your guitar case.
Naoya scoffed sharply. āNo, I donāt think you do.ā
āNaoya,ā Iori warned quietly, but he barely acknowledged her.
āWhat?ā he snapped. āAm I supposed to pretend this is normal?ā
He looked back toward Nanami again, frustration sharpening every word now. āYou didnāt even ask us first.ā
Nanami didnāt react to the accusation at all.
āI made the decision because weāre running out of time,ā he said simply. āAnd because none of the audition players have been able to replicate the sound we need.ā
āThat still doesnāt mean she should be here.ā
āYou have a better option?ā
Naoya opened his mouth immediatelyā
Then stopped.
And that brief hesitation said enough on its own.
Nanami continued before anyone else could fill the silence.
āYouāve all complained that the performances havenāt sounded complete,ā he said. āThis is the most realistic solution we currently have.ā
āOh, bullshit,ā Naoya muttered, shaking his head. āThis isnāt about sound anymore. Itās about trust.ā
That one lodged itself directly into your chest. Because underneath the anger and the hostility and the resentment, he wasnāt wrong.
The room fell quiet again after that. Not the shocked silence from before, but something heavier now. Something strained and unresolved.
Yu looked uncomfortable. Iori conflicted. Choso remained unreadable, though the tightness in his jaw made his position obvious enough already.
And through all of it, Nanami stayed frustratingly composed.
Then Naoya looked back at you.
His expression hardened slightly.
āWhat happens if you freeze again?ā he asked bluntly. āWhat then?ā
The question wasn't just heavy; it was a challenge. Naoya was leaning forward now, his eyes narrowed as if he were trying to find the crack in your resolve before you even had a chance to speak.
No one said a word.
Not even Iori.
Your throat tightened under the weight of all their attention suddenly fixed on you again. It would've been easier if Naoya had just kept yelling. Easier if Choso kept looking at you with that cold disappointment. Easier if someone just told you to leave outright.
Instead, they waited.
And somehow that felt worse.
Your fingers curled tighter around the strap of your guitar case before you forced them to loosen again.
You swallowed once.
āI know I messed up,ā you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended at first. You cleared your throat lightly and tried again. āI know I did.ā
Naoya scoffed under his breath, but you continued before he could cut in.
āI know I hurt the band. I know I made things harder for all of you after the performance.ā Your gaze lowered briefly toward the floor before lifting again. āAnd I know none of you have a reason to trust me right now.ā
The honesty of it seemed to take a bit of wind out of the room.
You weren't defending yourself.
That alone shifted something.
āIām not here because I think things can just go back to normal,ā you continued carefully. āIām not expecting forgiveness either.ā
Chosoās expression flickered slightly at that.
āI justā¦ā Your grip tightened slightly again around the guitar case. āI wanted to at least do this properly.ā
The words sounded embarrassingly small once they left your mouth.
But they were true.
You exhaled shakily through your nose before continuing.
āI know I disappeared,ā you admitted. āAnd honestlyā¦ part of me thought Iād never touch a guitar again after that night.ā
Yuās expression softened almost immediately.
āBut I donāt want the last thing I gave this band to be me ruining it.ā
Silence followed again.
This time it felt different.
Less sharp.
Still tense. Still uncertain. But listening now.
Naoya looked away briefly, jaw tightening like he was annoyed the conversation had stopped being simple anger.
āYou say that now,ā he muttered eventually. āBut what happens when you panic again?ā
The fear in your stomach twisted violently at the question because the answer wasā
you didnāt know.
And maybe that was exactly why your next words came out more honestly than rehearsed.
āThen I deal with it.ā
Naoya frowned.
Your voice cracked a little on the last word, and embarrassment immediately burned through you for letting it happen.
You looked away for a second, gathering yourself.
Then quieter, your voice broke out. āI miss playing.ā
That one came out before you could stop it. Not polished. Not strategic. Just painfully real. And the room went still again. Because suddenly this wasnāt about scouting opportunities or rehearsals or replacing sounds anymore.
It was about you.
Because suddenly the room didnāt feel like a rehearsal studio anymore. It felt like a group of people realizing, maybe for the first time, how completely you had disappeared from something that used to look inseparable from you.Ā
Even Naoya seemed caught off guard by that realization for half a second.
You looked back up eventually, forcing yourself not to retreat under their stares.
āI know I donāt really deserve another chance from you guys,ā you said softly. āBut Iām asking for one anyway.ā
Another silence followed, long enough that your pulse started climbing again. Then finally, Nanami spoke.
āYou wanted honesty,ā he said calmly, looking toward Naoya and Choso now. āThere it is.ā
Naoya clicked his tongue softly against the inside of his cheek, clearly irritated that he no longer had a clean argument to swing around. Choso exhaled quietly through his nose before leaning back further into his chair.
Neither of them looked convinced. But neither of them told you to leave either.
And somehow, that tiny difference felt enormous.
Naoya rubbed a hand over his face before finally muttering, āIf this blows up in our faces again, Iām blaming him,ā while jerking a thumb toward Nanami.
āNoted,ā Nanami replied flatly.
That earned the faintest, reluctant snort from Yu, breaking some of the suffocating tension in the room at last.
Naoyaās eyes shifted back toward you one final time. His expression was still hard, still wary but no longer completely closed off.
āā¦Donāt fucking disappoint us again,ā he said.
I would so rather reader make amends with the band than with Gojoā¦ I hope she make it work as artist and Gojo has to watch and :C and understand what he did wrong because >:C
well i hope u stay tuned to find out! we only have until next wednesday to see how the story ends! hehe ><
SynopsisąŖāā“ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojoās aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotionsāunsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojoās side, or if itās time to move on.
tagsąŖāā“ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, complicated relationships, emotional dependency, mutual pining, right person wrong time, bittersweet ending, realistic relationship dynamics, gojo needs to get his shit together
NOTESąŖāā“ sorry i didnt proof read this im so jetlagged and i got a stomach bug from the trip im lowkey dying... also can u believe we're nearing the end? and can u also believe i actually dont like the ending as much anymore but idk how to salvage it hahahahahaa :,)
ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT | NINE | TEN | ELEVEN | TWELVE | THIRTHEEN | FOURTEEN | FIFTEEN | SIXTEEN | SEVENTEEN | EIGHTEEN | NINETEEN | FINALE
The breakup hadn't just happened; it had detonated. Within forty-eight hours, the news had saturated every corner of the campus, traveling through group chats and whispered conversations until it was common knowledge.
Mina hadnāt shown up to classes for the rest of the week. At first, people assumed she was sick. Then someone saw one of her friends crying outside the humanities building. Someone else overheard an argument in the hallways. By Friday, the story had mutated into ten different versions of itself, each more dramatic than the last.
Geto had heard every version of them.
People talked because that was what people did on campus when something cracked open publicly. They took fragments and turned them into entertainment.
Geto never asked which version was true.
What he did know was that Minaās friends glared at Gojo like heād committed a crime.
He saw it happen twice that week.
Once outside the lecture hall, when Gojo walked in late and one of Minaās friends muttered something sharp enough that the entire row went quiet for a second. Gojo didnāt react. Didnāt even look at them. He just dropped into his seat, took out a pen, and stared at the front like heād been there the whole time.
That unsettled Geto more than if heād gotten angry.
Because anger, at least, would've been familiar.
But lately, Gojo moved through campus like someone following instructions only he could hear.
Class. Practice. Training. Repeat.
No lingering conversations. No unnecessary stops. No loud greetings across hallways. No leaning over tables bothering strangers for fun. No lazy grin that usually came before some insufferable comment.
Even the way he walked felt different now.
Geto noticed it one afternoon while sitting alone near the back of one of the larger cafeterias on campus, half-listening to the noise around him while scrolling mindlessly through his phone.
Gojo crossed the entrance a few minutes later.
And for a moment, Geto almost didnāt recognize him.
Not physically. Gojo still looked like Gojoātall, broad-shouldered, attention-grabbing without trying. People still glanced at him when he entered rooms. Some things didnāt disappear that easily.
But there was something disturbingly hollow about the way he carried himself now.
No looseness. No arrogance. No restless energy spilling out of him in every direction.
Just movement.
Straight line. Steady pace. Eyes forward.
Like he was conserving himself.
A few people called his name as he passed. Gojo lifted a hand without looking at them properly, the gesture automatic enough to feel rehearsed. Someone from one of his classes tried joking with him near the drinks station. Geto watched Gojo smile politelyā which felt wrong in itselfābefore answering with something short that ended the conversation almost immediately.
Then he collected a black coffee he probably didnāt even want and left less than three minutes after entering.
That was the other thing.
Gojo never stayed anywhere anymore.
Not unless he had to.
Geto leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes lingering on the now-empty entrance long after Gojo had disappeared from sight.
Things between them had been strange for a while now. Not hostile. Not completely broken. Justā¦ uneven.
After the fallout with you, something in their entire circle had shifted off-axis.
You were gone. Completely.
Gojo had become harder to reach even before Mina left him.
And Geto, despite everything, still didnāt quite know what to do with either of those things.
Because he understood distance. Understood pride. Understood people needing space when they were hurting.
But this?
This felt different.
It wasnāt just heartbreak. Or stress. Or exhaustion from hockey finals looming over everyoneās heads.
Gojo looked like someone slowly withdrawing from his own life in pieces.
And somehow, that bothered Geto more than the breakup ever did.
Because breakups were familiar territory.
People mourned. They spiraled a little. They drank too much, skipped classes, made regrettable decisions, and eventually crawled their way back into themselves again. Geto had seen it happen enough times to recognize the pattern.
This, though? It didnāt feel like a pattern.
It felt like erosion.
Slow. Quiet. Difficult to notice if you werenāt paying attention.
And maybe that was why, a few days later, when Geto spotted Gojo exiting the hockey building after evening training, sweat still clinging to the collar of his shirt and gym bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, he found himself stopping before he could think too hard about it.
The campus pathways were quieter at this hour, the air cooler now that the sun had dipped low enough for the streetlamps to flicker on one by one.
Gojo looked tired.
Not physicallyāthough there was probably some of that tooābut the kind of tiredness that settled somewhere behind the eyes.
Geto shoved his hands into his pockets as Gojo approached.
āYou busy?ā he asked casually.
Gojo slowed slightly, looking at him.
āFor you?ā he replied. āAlways.ā
The joke landed flat. Too automatic.
Geto ignored the uncomfortable twist that came with realizing he could tell.
āThereās a bar a few blocks from here,ā he said after a beat. āThought maybe we could get a drink.ā
Honestly, he expected an excuse.
Practice tomorrow. Too exhausted. Maybe another time.
Instead, Gojo adjusted the strap of his bag and shrugged.
āSure.ā
That surprised him more than it should have.
The walk there was quiet in a way that didnāt feel natural between them.
Not tense exactly. Just unfamiliar.
Usually, silence with Gojo never lasted long. He always filled space eventuallyācomplaints about practice, some exaggerated story, random observations that made no sense until somehow they did.
But tonight, he only walked beside Geto with his hands shoved into his pockets, gaze fixed somewhere ahead.
Cars rolled past them in streaks of white and red light. A group of students stumbled out of a convenience store laughing too loudly at something neither of them caught. Somewhere down the block, music drifted faintly from another bar further down the street.
Gojo barely reacted to any of it.
By the time they reached the place, Geto already knew this conversation was going to be harder than he thought.
The bar itself was dimly lit and half-full, buzzing softly with overlapping conversations and the low hum of old music from the speakers overhead. They took seats near the back, away from most people.
Gojo ordered whiskey.
Geto stuck with beer.
For a while, neither of them said much beyond passing comments about classes and campus gossip. The conversation moved awkwardly around anything meaningful, like both of them knew where it would eventually end up but were reluctant to be the first to drag it there.
In the end, Geto did it himself.
āI heard Mina hasnāt been back to class yet.ā
Gojoās expression didnāt change. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass once before taking a sip.
āHm.ā
Geto studied him carefully.
āBreakups suck,ā he said finally, leaning back slightly in his chair. āEspecially long ones.ā
Still nothing.
āI know it probably feels like shit right now,ā Geto continued, quieter this time. āBut youāll move on eventually.ā
āYeah,ā Gojo responded, but it wasnāt really a response in the way Geto expected one to feel.
It came out flat, almost absentminded, like he was answering from somewhere a little removed from the conversation itself. The words technically fit, technically made sense, but they didnāt quite land where they were supposed to.
Geto noticed it immediately.
The space between them felt heavier than it shouldāve been, like the air itself had slowed down.
Geto exhaled softly through his nose and decided not to push the topic further. Not yet. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, letting the moment settle before shifting the conversation away from anything too sharp.
āHowās hockey been treating you?ā he asked, tone deliberately lighter. āFinals are next week, right?ā
That earned a small shift in Gojoās posture. Barely noticeable to anyone else, but enough for Geto to register it instantly.
āYeah,ā Gojo said after a beat. āNext Friday.ā
He lifted his glass and took a sip before continuing, like the movement helped him organize his thoughts.
āIāve already got a couple of offers lined up after this season,ā he added, voice smoother now, slipping back into something more familiar. āSo itās not just about winning anymore.ā
There was a pause, brief but weighted.
āItās my future.ā
Geto studied him carefully as he said it.
There was something different in the way Gojo spoke about it now. Not the usual spark of confidence or careless arrogance, and not quite excitement either. It felt more like something being held too tightly in place, every word carefully measured before it was allowed out.
āIāve always wanted to go pro,ā Gojo went on, eyes fixed somewhere past the table rather than on anything in front of him. āThis match is basicallyā¦ deciding everything.ā
On paper, it shouldāve sounded like ambition. The kind of statement that carried drive, direction, certainty.
Instead, it landed with a strange weight to it. Like obligation dressed up as focus.
Geto didnāt respond immediately. He just let the words sit there for a moment, watching the way Gojoās expression stayed controlled even as something underneath it felt slightly off balance.
After a while, he shifted again, trying to ease the atmosphere without forcing it.
āWell,ā he said, idly swirling what was left of his drink, āonce itās over, we should go somewhere. Just the three of us. Me, you, Shoko.ā
He spoke casually, like it was an easy thought, something simple to look forward to.
āA short trip. A week maybe. Get away from campus for a bit. Celebrate your winā
Gojo finally looked at him properly then.
There was a pause where Geto couldnāt quite read himāsomething between consideration and distance, like the idea passed through without fully anchoring itself.
āYeah,ā Gojo said eventually. āSounds good.ā
No question. No follow-up. No shift in energy beyond the agreement itself.Ā
Just acceptance, clean and hollow.
Geto held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary before looking away, the silence between them returning again, but this time feeling different. Not empty, exactly. More like something unspoken had settled into it and refused to move.
Eventually, Geto set his glass down and leaned back slightly with a sigh.
āI justā¦ā he started, then stopped, choosing his words with more care now.
āI hope you feel better soon,ā he said eventually, his voice softening in a way that made it sound less like advice and more like something he didnāt know how else to say. āAndā¦ I hope you come back to yourself properly after all this.ā
He hesitated briefly before adding, āShoko and I are always around. You know that, right?ā
For a moment, Gojo didnāt respond.
He just stared down at his glass, turning it slightly between his fingers as if the motion gave him something to do with the space between Getoās words and whatever came next. The noise of the bar carried on around themālaughter somewhere behind them, the dull clink of glasses, music too low to properly followābut their table felt cut off from it, suspended in something quieter.
Then Gojo exhaled.
āIām really fine.ā
The words came out easy. Too easy.
Geto frowned slightly, watching him.
āMy life was never really ruined,ā Gojo continued, still not looking up. āI still have hockey, Iām doing fine in school, and I have you guys, andā¦ a future.ā
A faint pause followed, just long enough to feel deliberate.
āUnlike her.ā
That made Geto blink.
For a second, he assumed he knew what Gojo meant. The breakup had been everywhere lately, impossible to avoid, impossible not to hear fragments of. Minaās absence had become its own kind of noise on campus.
So Geto leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose.
āI donāt mean to burst your bubble,ā he said, tone gentler now, ābut Iām sure Mina will get over the breakup soon too.ā
It was meant to be reassuring. Grounding, even. But something in Gojoās expression shifted immediately.
Not anger. Not correction.
Just stillness.
He finally lifted his gazeānot fully, just enough to glance at Geto for a second before looking away again. And that was when Geto felt it.
A subtle wrongness in the timing. In the silence that followed.
āā¦Weāre talking about Mina, right?ā Geto added slowly, testing it now.
Gojo didnāt answer right away.
He held his stare for a moment longer than necessary, unreadable in a way that didnāt feel like avoidance anymore. It felt like recognitionālike something had finally been named correctly after being avoided for too long.
And in that small, suspended pause, Geto understood.
Oh.
Heās not.
Heās talking about you.
āI didnāt thinkā¦ youād still be stuck on that,ā Geto said quietly, more to himself than anything, as if the conclusion had only just now formed in his mind.
Gojo let out a short laugh at thatānothing warm about it, nothing amused either. Just a sound that barely made it out before dissolving into the space between them.
āI mustāve been a really shitty best friend of hers if you think Iād move on that quickly from fucking up her life, huh?ā He said it lightly, almost joking. Like he was trying to soften something that didnāt actually feel soft at all.
But Geto didnāt respond.
Not because he didnāt have anything to sayābut because whatever he thought wasnāt simple enough to be spoken cleanly.
On one hand, he understood it. Understood guilt that settled in and refused to move. Understood the way Gojo tended to carry things until they became part of him instead of something he could set down.
But on the other hand, there was also the quieter truth he couldnāt ignore.
Gojo hadnāt just been a friend who made mistakes.
He had been the reason something had cracked.
And Geto knew well enough to know that your absence was a void Gojo was trying to fill with silence, as if being hollow could somehow make up for being wrongĀ
So he said nothing.
The silence stretched, not uncomfortable exactly, but dense in a way that made everything else feel further away.
Gojo didnāt seem to mind it.
In fact, he seemed to sink into it.
āI havenāt heard from her in a month,ā he said after a while, voice quieter now, like he wasnāt entirely aware he was speaking out loud. āI donāt know if sheās doing okay, or if sheās holed up in her apartment, or if sheās even alive.ā
Geto straightened slightly at that.
āDonātā¦ā he started, then stopped, shaking his head faintly. āDonāt say that.ā
But Gojo wasnāt really reacting to him anymore.His gaze had drifted somewhere past the table, unfocused.
āI saw one of the band guys putting up posters for a new guitarist,ā he added, a faint, humorless exhale slipping out with the words. āGuess they moved on pretty fast.āĀ
He gave a small, almost sarcastic chuckle, but it didnāt carry any real weight. Then he looked down, rubbing a hand slowly over his face like he was trying to wipe something off that wasnāt there.
āI ruined everything for her,ā he said, quieter this time. Not dramatic. Just certain.
That made Geto pause.Ā
Because the way Gojo said it wasnāt performative. It wasnāt self-pity dressed up as reflection.
It was acceptance.
And that was worse.
Geto ran a hand through his hair, watching him for a moment before speaking again, more carefully now. āHave you ever thought about reaching out first?ā he asked.
Gojo didnāt answer immediately.
He just stared at the glass in front of him like the question had to pass through layers of something before it could be processed properly.
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. āI know Iām the last person she wants to see.ā
Geto didnāt answer right away.
For a moment, he just looked at Gojo, really looked at himānot the version sitting across the table now, but the version he remembered. The one that used to take up space without trying. The one that didnāt sound like every sentence had been weighed before being allowed out.
And something about the difference between those two versions sat wrong in his chest.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his glass as if grounding himself in something physical before speaking.
āSoā¦ā he said at last, voice steady, but no longer as gentle as before. āYou think being a shell of a person will fix whatās been broken?ā
A pauseājust enough space to feel the shift.
āLiving your life going through the motions, soulless, not talking to your friends, losing that passion in your eyeāyou think thatās what amends what you did to her?ā
Gojoās fingers tightened slightly around his glass.
āWhat else am I supposed to do?ā he asked, and for the first time that night there was something less controlled in his voiceāsomething edged, almost raw around the edges. Not anger exactly. More like exhaustion finally slipping through the cracks.
Geto didnāt answer immediately.
Because the truth was simple in a way that didnāt help either of them: he didnāt know.
Not really.
There wasnāt a clean solution for this kind of thing. No sentence that could undo damage, no perfect action that could rewind people back to before everything fractured.
So he exhaled slowly, leaning back into his seat as if trying to physically settle the weight of everything being said.
āI donāt know,ā he admitted at last.
A pause.
āBut sitting here mourning her like she died isnāt helping either of you.ā
Gojo didnāt respond, but his gaze stayed fixed on the table now, unmoving.
Getoās expression shifted slightly thenānot softer, exactly, but less sharp at the edges. Like something in him had stopped trying to push and started trying to reach instead.
āYou know whatās really hard to watch?ā he continued quietly. āItās not that youāre hurting. Itās that you disappeared too.ā
That made Gojoās jaw tighten.
Geto didnāt stop this time.
āYou losing yourself does not undo hurting her,ā he said, voice steadier now. āYou think becoming miserable is accountability? You think punishing yourself fixes what happened?ā
Silence followed.
A longer one this time.
Gojo looked like he might say something, then didnāt. His eyes dropped slightly, then lifted again, but not quite meeting anything properly.
āI donāt even know if sheās okay,ā he said finally.
The shift in tone was subtle, but it changed something in the air againāless defensive now, more uncertain.
Geto softened immediately, the sharpness from before fading as quickly as it had come.
āI think about her too, you know,ā he said after a moment. āMore than I probably should.ā
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, gaze dropping briefly to the table as if the words were easier to say without eye contact.
āAnd every day I debate whether I should go knock on her door. Whether I should force her to answer my calls. Whether I should drag her out of whatever hole sheās locked herself into.ā
A pause.
āBut I donāt.ā
He looked back up then, more grounded now.
āBecause I know her.ā
Another breath, quieter.
āAnd every time I think about doing it, I remember how much she hates being seen when sheās breaking apart.ā
Gojoās expression flickered at thatāsmall, almost imperceptible.
āAnd because if thereās one thing I know about her,ā Geto added, āitās that she always comes back to herself eventually.ā
The silence that followed felt different now. Less defensive. More listening.
āYouāre acting like you destroyed her beyond repair,ā Geto continued, not unkind, but firmer now that heād already crossed the line into honesty. āYou hurt her. Badly. But sheās still her, Satoru.ā
He paused, letting that settle properly before continuing.
āThe thing is, I donāt think sheād want this version of you either. You stopped showing up for yourself the same way you stopped showing up for her.ā
Gojo didnāt respond immediately.
His gaze had dropped somewhere to the table again, but it wasnāt really focused on it. There was a stillness to him that felt less like emptiness now and more like pressure being held in place. Like something had shifted, but hadnāt found an exit yet.
āYou canāt keep living like your life ended the same day she walked out of it.ā
That landed differently.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just fully.
Gojo didnāt respond straight away.
For a moment, he stayed still, gaze lowered to the table as if something in the grain of it had become unexpectedly important. His thumb moved once against the edge of his glass, then stopped, like even that small habit had been interrupted mid-thought.
Geto didnāt speak again. He didnāt need to.
The silence between them had already shifted into something heavier than either of them was trying to name.
Eventually, Gojo exhaled.
Quiet. Controlled. Not relief, not frustrationāsomething in between that didnāt settle cleanly into either.
He leaned back slightly, as if putting a little distance between himself and the conversation without fully leaving it behind.
For a second, it looked like he might say something. Something dismissive, or sarcastic, or even honest in a way that would crack the moment open again.
But nothing came.
Instead, he reached for his bag.
It took him a moment longer than usual to sling it over his shoulder.
When he stood, the chair shifted softly against the floor.
Gojo looked at Geto brieflyājust long enough for it to register as acknowledgment rather than avoidanceāthen let his gaze drop again.
āā¦Iām gonna head out,ā he said finally.
No edge to it. No distance forced into the words. Just something that sounded like heād already left mentally a few seconds earlier.
Then he turned and walked out. Not fast, not slow. Just steady, like movement was easier than staying.
Geto stayed where he was, watching until the door closed behind him, the noise of the bar swallowing the space Gojo had left behind.
And for a moment, it didnāt feel like the conversation had ended cleanly.
hi everyone! just a quick update that the next chapters will be pushed back to next Sunday as I'll be out of town this week. thank you for your patience, and I'll see you all next weekend for chapter 17! ā¤ļø
reading the one that got away and im on chap 11 BRO BEST THING I EVER READ WTH love that chapter bro the way u describe everyone on the series makes them so human like i genuinely get why they are the way they are yk? like everything make sense to me
thank you so muchh it makes me so happy to hear this MUAHHHH
i hope you enjoy the rest of the chapters! we're in the last stretch before the end of the series huhu >< its so sad that its coming to an end so soon but i hope you and many others will be satisfied with the ending i have in mind <3
I'm really enjoying the TOTGA series. I can't wait for the next part.
So like would reader make a comeback with the band or noo cuz like she has the talent but it's if shes willing to prioritise the band over gojo?? And also let's ditch Gojo cuz at the moment I don't like him. Like he claims he's her bsf but he doesn't show up on time for her like what?
BUT OVERALL LOVING THE SERIES ITS SOOOOOOO GOODDDD
(also you don't have to answer just here for curiosity)
oh em gee idk how i overlooked this im sorry for replying lateee but im soooooo glad ure enjoying it!! i think after my most recent chapter, it kind of answers ur question that reader miiiiiight have a comeback w the band hehe, its just a matter of how the band actually reacts to that!
but honestly, just to add on, i didnt know where this series was going when i first started it but im so happy that a lot of u guys are enjoying it and it always makes me so happy to receive dms and messages in my inbox!!
SynopsisąŖāā“ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojoās aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotionsāunsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojoās side, or if itās time to move on.
tagsąŖāā“ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, complicated relationships, emotional dependency, mutual pining, right person wrong time, bittersweet ending, realistic relationship dynamics, gojo needs to get his shit together
NOTESąŖāā“ wrote this while my brain was fried and im gna warn yall that its so meh
ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT | NINE | TEN | ELEVEN | TWELVE | THIRTHEEN | FOURTEEN | FIFTEEN | SIXTEEN | SEVENTEEN | EIGHTEEN | NINETEEN | FINALE
The lecture hall was a drone of white noiseāthe hum of the air conditioning, the rhythmic tapping of keys, and the professorās distant, clinical voice. You sat in the very back row, the hood of your sweatshirt pulled low, staring at the blurred edges of your notebook.
You were certain everyone was staring. You could feel it in the way the person two seats over shifted in their chair, or how a group in the front row leaned together to whisper. In your head, they were dissecting the performance, replaying the exact moment the string snapped and the music died. Logically, you knew that in a faculty this large, most of them probably didn't even know your name. They were worrying about their own grades, their own lives.
But it didnāt matter. To you, the failure felt like it was written in neon across your forehead.
The moment the bell rang, you didn't linger. You weren't there to socialize or ask questions. You were there for the attendance mark, and the second it was secured, you were moving. You slung your bag over your shoulder and navigated the crowded hallways with your head down, weaving through the sea of students like a ghost trying to avoid being touched.
You had become an expert at finding the universityās blind spots. The empty mezzanine in the old library, the stone bench behind the archives where the shadows were longest. Places where no one would ask you how the band was doing.
You ended up at the edge of the quad, leaning against a tree as you pulled out your phone. It was a reflex nowāchecking for a connection you had intentionally severed.
The home screen was hauntingly clean.
A week ago, you had gone through your phone and systematically scrubbed it clean. One by one, you tapped the icons until they trembled, then hit the 'delete' button and watched them vanish. Every single one. You didn't just mute the groups or turn off notificationsāyou wiped the portals to the outside world entirely.
The gray spaces left behind on your home screen were a relief. You didn't have to see the red bubbles counting up the messages you couldn't bring yourself to answer. You didn't have to see Geto or Shokoās names popping up on your lock screen with "Are you okay?" or "Check your phone." You didn't have to see the frantic pings from classmates about the group project youād abandoned mid-semester.
Most importantly, you didn't have to see the moving on. No stories of people at the campus bar, no posts about late-night jam sessions, no photos of the world continuing to spin while you were still standing in the wreckage of that performance.
If people were messaging you, you didn't know. If they were looking for you, you didn't see.
You stared at the blank glass of your phone. In the quiet of your self-imposed exile, the world couldn't reach you. You were safe in the vacuum youād built, even if that silence was starting to feel heavy enough to crush you.
You leaned your head back against the cold brick wall and closed your eyes. For the first time in your life, you weren't a musician, or a teammate, or a friend. You were just a ghost waiting for the next bell to ring.
The following Tuesday, the university felt even smaller. Every "quiet spot" you usually frequented was occupiedāa group of freshmen occupied the library basement, and a couple was arguing near the stone bench behind the archives. The campus was closing in on you, the air thick with the smell of cut grass and the suffocating proximity of people.
Driven by a restless, twitchy energy, you left.
You didn't take the bus; you walked, heading toward the heart of town where the noise of the city was loud enough to drown out the noise in your head. You moved through the midday crowds like a shadow, your hands shoved deep into your pockets, looking for a park or a quiet cafe where you could simply exist without being perceived.
But the city had other plans.
Two blocks down from the main square, you smelled it firstāthe scent of fresh sawdust, lemon oil, and expensive electronics. And then, you heard it.
The sound of an electric guitar sliced through the dull roar of traffic. It wasn't just any sound; it was the clean, crystalline chime of a high-end amp, the kind of tone that made your fingers ache with phantom muscle memory.
You tried to keep walking. You tightened your grip on your backpack straps and stared at the pavement, telling yourself that you were done with this. But the performerāa guy sitting on a stool in front of a brand-new storefrontāstruck a chord that vibrated right in the center of your chest.
It was a classic. A slow, soulful blues-rock anthem youād practiced a thousand times in your bedroom before youād ever even met the band.
Your feet slowed of their own accord. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you found yourself standing at the edge of a decent crowd that had gathered on the sidewalk. Above the door, a sleek, minimalist sign read: VINTAGE & VINE MUSIC.
The bad memories hit you in a cold wave. The snap of the string. The heat of the stage lights. The feeling of being hollowed out in front of a crowd. You felt a momentary urge to turn and bolt, to go back to the safety of your dark corners on campus.
But the music wouldn't let go.
The performer wasn't just playing; he was tasting the notes, bending the strings with a fluid, effortless grace that reminded you why you had picked up a guitar in the first place. It was the sound you loved more than anythingāthe growl of the lower strings, the singing sustain of the highs.
You stayed. You stood at the back, hidden behind a tall man in an overcoat, and let the music wash over you. For a few minutes, the shame and the isolation didn't matter. There was only the rhythm, the tone, and the familiar, heartbreaking beauty of an electric guitar being played exactly the way it was meant to be.Ā
The performer finished with a final, ringing chord that echoed against the glass of the storefront. The crowd broke into a warm round of applause, and as people began to disperse, the guy gave a humble nod and started adjusting his tuners. The spell was broken, but the vibration was still humming in your bones.
Instead of turning back toward the university, you found yourself stepping toward the door. It wasn't a conscious choice; it was as if the music had opened a door in your chest that you hadn't quite managed to lock.
The interior of Vintage & Vine was a sanctuary of polished wood and chrome. It was quiet, the air conditioned to a perfect, crisp coolness that carried the intoxicating scent of rosewood and nitrocellulose.
You walked the aisles slowly, your eyes tracing the curves of the instruments hanging like art pieces on the walls. Seeing themāwhole, perfect, and tunedābrought a sharp, stinging memory of your own guitar. You could still feel the jarring vibration in your palms from the moment it had shattered, the sound of the wood splintering against the floor after that final, disastrous set. You hadn't just broken a tool; youād broken your voice.
"Beautiful, aren't they?"
You jumped slightly, pulling your gaze away from a sleek, offset body. An older man in a charcoal apron was watching you with a kind, observant smile.
"Just browsing," you said quickly, pulling your sleeves over your hands. "I don't need any help, thanks. Just... looking."
"No worries at all. Take your time," he said, but he stayed nearby, straightening a row of picks. He glanced at your handsāat the faint, hardened callouses on your fingertips that hadn't quite faded yet. "You know your way around a fretboard?"
The question felt like a trap. "Yeah," you muttered, looking at your shoes. "Just a bit. I haven't played in a while."
"Well, it's like riding a bike, isn't it?" He reached up and unhooked a vintage-white electric guitar from the wall, the hardware gleaming under the track lights. "This one just came in. The neck is like butter. Why don't you give it a whirl? See how it feels."
"Oh, no, I really shouldn'tā" You stepped back, your heart hammering. The thought of holding a guitar, let alone plugging one in where people could hear, made your stomach flip.
"Come on," he encouraged, already moving toward a small testing station with a high-end amp. He wasn't being pushy, just casually expectant, the way people are when they assume you have nothing to hide. "I need to make sure the setup is right anyway. Youād be doing me a favor."
The pressure of his kindness was harder to fight than an insult. You stood there for a beat, trapped between the urge to bolt and the sudden, desperate craving to feel the weight of a strap on your shoulder again.
Slowly, tentatively, you reached out and took the guitar.
The weight of it was grounding. The man helped you plug in, dialed the volume to a modest level, and stepped back to give you space. At first, your fingers felt like lead. You plucked a few hesitant notes, checking the tuning, your heart racing every time the amp hummed.
But then, you stopped thinking.
You closed your eyes, and your left hand found a chordāone of the complex, moody transitions from the song youād choked on during the performance. This time, there was no crowd, no bandmates to disappoint, and no snapping strings. There was just the tone.
You started to play. Truly play. The "sloppiness" that had plagued you for weeks vanished, replaced by a raw, aching precision. You lost yourself in the swell of the notes, the sorrow youād been carrying since the failed gig finally finding a way out through the speakers.
You didn't notice the bell at the door chiming. You didn't notice the few customers in the back of the store drifting closer, or the way the shop girl behind the counter stopped counting the till to listen.
When you finally struck the last note and let it sustain until it faded into silence, the room was still. And then, a small, genuine burst of applause broke out from the half-dozen people standing near the displays.
You blinked, snapping back to reality, your face heating up. But for the first time in weeks, you didn't feel like hiding. You looked at the guitar in your hands and actually smiledāa small, real one that reached your eyes.
"Kid," the store guy said, leaning against the counter with an impressed whistle. "Youāve got a hell of a touch. You do this for a living? Because if you don't, you're wasting a lot of talent."
The compliment stung and soothed all at once. You looked away, your heart still racing from the high of the music. "No," you whispered, the smile lingering just a second longer. "I... I'm just a student."
The shop guy reached for a price tag, probably about to offer a "student discount," but you gently placed the guitar back on its stand. The metal of the stand felt cold compared to the warmth the wood had just given your palms.
"I... I can't," you said softly, your voice still a little thick from the adrenaline. "Not today."
"No pressure," he said, holding up his hands. "But seriously. Think about what I said. Don't let that go to waste."
You gave him a final, appreciative nod and stepped back out into the humid afternoon air. The street noise hit you instantlyāthe honking of cars, the chatter of the lunch crowdābut it didn't feel as deafening as it had an hour ago. You looked down at your fingertips; they were red, pulsing with a faint, familiar thrum.
But the clock on your phone was a cold reminder of reality. If you missed the next lecture, youād hit the limit for unexcused absences, and the department was already looking for a reason to put your scholarship under review.
With a heavy sigh, you turned back toward the university.
The lecture hall for your next class was the same as always, but for the first time in weeks, you weren't focused on the stares or the silence.
You sat in your usual spot, your hands hidden under the desk, tracing the fresh, deep indentations the strings had left on your fingertips. The throbbing in your hands was a physical reminder of those twenty minutes in the shop.
That was all you could think about.
The weight of the guitar against your ribs, the way the notes finally felt like they were flowing through you instead of getting stuck in your throat. For the first time in a long time, the music didn't sound like a mistake. It sounded nice. It sounded right. You closed your eyes for a split second, replaying the sound of that small audience clappingāthe way that tiny, genuine burst of applause had made you feel light, even just for a moment.
But then, the memory of the band hit you like a cold draft.
You thought of the failed performance, the snapped string, and the heavy silence that had followed. A wave of guilt washed over you, souring the warmth in your chest. How could you sit here and feel happy about playing for a few strangers in a shop when you had let your team down so completely?
The smile youād felt earlier started to feel like a betrayal. Every time you remembered the applause in the shop, a wave of guilt followed, souring the warmth in your chest. You felt like you shouldn't even be considering the possibility of enjoying music againānot after the way youād left things. You didnāt deserve that "nice" sound, not when the last thing youād given your team was a shattered performance and a week of radio silence.
The lecture finally ended, but the resonance of the strings didn't fade with the professorās closing remarks. It stayed with you, humming in your nerves as you packed your bag. You tried to force your feet toward the library, to sink back into the safety of the stacks and the anonymity youād worked so hard to build.
But your body had other plans.
Subconsciously, you found yourself navigating the familiar streets away from the campus gates. You weren't thinking about the route; you were just following the pull in your fingertips. By the time you reached the street corner opposite the rehearsal building, the humid air was heavy in your lungs, and your heart was already racing.
You didn't cross the road. You stayed on the opposite sidewalk, tucked behind the flow of pedestrians, staring at the brick facade of the studio. It looked exactly the same, yet entirely different.
Then you saw them.
Taped to the glass door were several bright, white sheets of paper. Even from this distance, the bold black ink felt like a physical blow to the chest: GUITARIST AUDITIONS.
The sight was a cold, sharp reality check. Seeing the vacancy announced so publicly made the guilt from earlier turn into a hollow ache. You weren't just a ghost anymore; you were a position that needed to be filled.
"It's a strange place to stand and stare."
The voice was steady, cutting through the noise of a passing bus. You stiffened, turning slowly to find Nanami standing a few feet away. He was dressed in his usual sharp attire, looking as composed and unreadable as ever. He wasn't looking at the building; he was looking at you.
He acknowledged you with a brief, clinical nod, but he didn't move to close the distance. He looked like he was about to keep walking toward the studio entrance, treating you with the polite, distant coldness of a stranger.
Nanami started to step past you, crossing the street toward the studio entrance. You watched him reach the other side, his hand already reaching for the heavy door handle.
"Wait," you called out.
Nanami paused. He didn't open the door. He simply stopped, his back to the glass, and looked back over his shoulder at you. He stayed like that, silent and expectant, waiting for whatever was coming next.
The silence stretched. You stood frozen on the opposite sidewalk, the noise of the city rushing past you like a blur. A wave of nausea hit you so hard you felt dizzy. You wanted to speak, but your throat felt like it had been seared shut. You just stood there, rooted to the pavement, looking at him while your heart hammered against your ribs. You were terrified, your mind screaming at you to just turn around and run, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.
Finally, you mustered every bit of courage you had left.
"I know... I know I really disappointed the band," you said, your voice shaking but audible across the street. You took a step closer to the curb, your knuckles white as you gripped your bag straps. "But could I... can I just play?"
Nanami didn't answer.
He didn't move his hand from the door handle. He just stood there, his shadow long against the glass, watching you. The silence between you wasn't just quiet; it was heavy with the weight of the last week. A car splashed through a puddle nearby, and a group of students walked past you, laughing, but you didn't look away from him.
You felt nauseous, your heart thudding so hard in your ears it felt like a rhythm you couldn't escape. You wanted to take the words back, to apologize and run, but you forced yourself to stand your ground. You needed him to see that you weren't hiding anymore.
Nanamiās gaze moved from your eyes down to your handsāthe ones he knew were capable of brilliant things, but had failed when it mattered most. He adjusted his glasses, the light reflecting off the lenses so you couldn't see his eyes for a second.
"The others aren't here," he said, his voice terrifyingly neutral. "They aren't expecting anyone. Especially not you."
"I know," you whispered.
He let out a short, nearly silent breath. It wasn't quite a sigh, but it was the first crack in his stoic armor. He looked at the "Auditions" sign on the door, then back at you, weighing the risk of letting you back into that room.
Finally, he pulled the door open and stepped to the side, holding it for you.
"Come inside."
Walking past him felt like walking through a freezer. You followed him down the narrow hallway, the sound of your own sneakers squeaking against the linoleum feeling loud and intrusive. Neither of you spoke. The air was thick with everything you hadn't said in the group chat, and the closer you got to Studio 4, the more you felt like you were trespassing in your own life.
When he opened the studio door, the room was cold. The equipment was all covered or pushed to the sides, making the space feel hollow.
"Go ahead," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the corner where you used to stand.
He didn't sit down. He didn't check his phone. He just leaned against the soundproofing foam on the back wall, his arms crossed, watching you with an analytical stillness that made your hands shake as you reached for the spare studio guitar.
The awkwardness was physical. Every sound you madeāthe metallic clack of the instrument being picked up, the thump of the cable hitting the floor, the heavy click of the amp turning onāfelt like a mistake. You fumbled with the jack, missing the port twice because your palms were sweating. You could feel Nanamiās eyes on you the entire time, but when you glanced at him, his face was a mask of professional patience. He wasn't helping you, but he wasn't stopping you either.
You cleared your throat, the sound dry and small in the soundproofed room. "I... I'll just play the bridge."
Nanami didn't even nod. He just waited.
You struck the first note. It was loudātoo loudāand the sudden feedback made you flinch. You quickly dialed the volume back, your face burning with embarrassment. You took a breath, closed your eyes, and tried to find the headspace youād had in the music store.
Then, you played.
You went straight into the jagged, complex section where your fingers had frozen on stage. This time, there was no hesitation. The notes were sharp and perfectly timed. You poured every bit of the week's frustration and the guilt of seeing those posters into the strings. For those few minutes, the awkwardness vanished, replaced by the raw intensity of the music.
When you finished, the final note sustained until the room was completely silent again. The discomfort rushed back in instantly, filling the space where the music had been. You stood there, slightly out of breath, your heart still racing as you looked at anything but himāthe dust on the floor, the frayed edge of a cable, the empty drum stool.
Nanami didn't say a word.
He stayed exactly where he was, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He didn't offer a nod of approval or a polite comment. Instead, he seemed to sink into deep thought, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere past your shoulder. The silence went on for so long it felt like a weight, making you wonder if you should just pack up and leave without another word.
Finally, he shifted, adjusting his glasses with a slow, deliberate movement.
"I have to be honest with you. I don't think the others will be open to this. Especially not you-know-who. They might never be ready to accept you back."Ā
"I know..." you started, your voice small and cracking. "I mean, I didn't... I didn't play so you'd be forced to accept me back. I just... I wanted to show at least you that I... I fixed it. The part I messed up."
You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "I know it doesnāt change anything, but..."
You trailed off, the words disappearing into the empty space between you. You didn't have a "but." There was no excuse that could fix anything you did, and you knew it.
Nanami didn't respond immediately. He remained leaning against the wall, his gaze fixed on you with a piercing, analytical intensity. He stayed like that for a long timeālong enough for you to start feeling the familiar urge to run.
"The band has a showcase at The Underground next month," Nanami said suddenly. His voice was flat. "There will be scouts. People who don't care about our personal dramaāthey only care if the set is tight."
He adjusted his glasses, finally moving away from the wall.
"The truth is, the auditions have been a disaster. We haven't recruited anyone because nobody else can hit the technical cues you wrote. If we show up with a mediocre replacement, we look like amateurs. If we cancel, we lose the slotāand we lose the interest of the only people who can actually move this band forward."
He walked over to the soundboard, his back to you. "If I can convince the others... I might suggest bringing you in as a session player. Officially, youād be a hired hand. A contractor brought in specifically to handle the technical requirements of this set."
He turned back to look at you, his expression stern. "Itās the only way the scouts won't see a 'broken' band. We tell them our permanent guitarist is unavailable, and weāve brought in a specialist. It keeps the sound consistent without forcing anyone to... move past what happened."
He stepped toward the door, his ego and pragmatism clashing in his tone.
"I'm not promising you a seat back in the van. And I'm certainly not promising you that anyone won't walk out the moment they see you. Iām doing this because I refuse to let this band fail because of one bad night."
He paused with his hand on the door handle, his back to you.Ā
"Iāll send you the rehearsal schedule. Don't be late.ā
i discovered your fic yesterday and wow i couldnāt stop reading, you managed to make me feel all sort of emotions (mostly frustration at everyone lol) and ugh i still want Satoru to suffer more but i donāt really want him and reader to end on bad terms because they used to be so important to each other, although im still so mad about him not showing up on her important day in time, and i still want him to pay the consequences of his actions š your writing is soooo goood!! im excited to keep reading more š
AHHH thank you so much!! šā¤ļø I'm so happy you're enjoying the story!
And honestly, your feelings about Satoru are so valid LOL. I completely understand wanting him to suffer more while also not wanting him and Reader to end on terrible terms because of how much they meant to each other. The frustration is very understandable, especially after that day š
Thank you for reading and for taking the time to leave such a sweet comment!! It genuinely means a lot to me. I hope you'll continue to enjoy the rest of the story (and survive all the frustration the characters put you through šš«¶) ā¤ļø
SynopsisąŖāā“ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojoās aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotionsāunsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojoās side, or if itās time to move on.
tagsąŖāā“ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, complicated relationships, emotional dependency, mutual pining, right person wrong time, bittersweet ending, realistic relationship dynamics, gojo needs to get his shit together
NOTESąŖāā“ i went through an existential crisis all of last week and ive been back and forth on my new fic ideas and my brain is honestly so drained from life lmao but hope you guys enjoy this new chapter! i hope u dont hate either of them too much ><
ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT | NINE | TEN | ELEVEN | TWELVE | THIRTHEEN | FOURTEEN | FIFTEEN | SIXTEEN | SEVENTEEN | EIGHTEEN | NINETEEN | FINALE
The lunch hall was a roar of clattering trays and overlapping conversations, but for Mina, the world had narrowed down to a single glowing rectangle.
She wasn't eating. Her salad sat untouched, the greens wilting under the harsh fluorescent lights, while her thumbs moved with a frantic, practiced speed. Her eyebrows were pulled into a sharp, tight line, a deep furrow of frustration etched between them as she scrolled.
Gojo. Last active: 4 hours ago.
Four days. It had been four days since the party, four days since sheād thrown that ultimatum at his back, and four days of absolute, deafening silence. She swiped out of their messages and opened Instagram, her pulse spiking as she tapped on his profile. No new posts. No stories. He hadn't even viewed hers, despite the fact that sheād posted three "looking my best" selfies specifically as bait.
She went back to their chat, her jaw tightening.
Are you actually serious right now? [Sent 12:02 PM] Pick up your phone Satoru. [Sent 12:05 PM] Don't act like a child. We need to finish that conversation. [Sent 12:10 PM]
She began typing again, her fingernails tapping sharply against the screen like a ticking clock. Iām coming to your class if you don't answer me in the next five minutesā
"Mina? Earth to Mina."
The voice broke through her tunnel vision like a splash of cold water. Mina didn't look up immediately, her thumb hovering over the 'send' button as she forced her expression to smooth out, though the tension remained in her shoulders.
"Mina, seriously," Yuki said, leaning across the table and waving a hand in her line of sight. "Iāve asked you three times if you want to go to the mall after the game on Friday. Youāve been staring at that screen so hard Iām surprised it hasn't caught fire. Is everything okay?"
The rest of the girls at the table went quiet, their eyes turning toward her with a mix of curiosity and that shallow, performative concern that Mina usually mastered.
Mina finally looked up, tossing her phone face down on the table with a loud thud. She forced a sharp, brittle smile, the kind that didn't reach her eyes.
"Iām fine," she said, her voice clipped and airy, though her fingers twitched with the urge to grab the phone back. "Just dealing with some annoying group project drama. Satoru is beingā¦ difficult. You know how he gets during the season. Heās probably just sulking."
"Four days of sulking?" Yuki raised an eyebrow, trading a quick, knowing look with the girl next to her. "Thatās a long time, even for him. Did something happen at the party?"
Mina felt a hot prickle of annoyance. She hated the way they looked at herālike they were waiting for a crack in the "perfect couple" facade so they could gossip about it later.
"Nothing happened," Mina snapped, perhaps a little too quickly. She reached for her water, taking a sip just to give her mouth something to do besides lie. "Heās just being dramatic. Heāll come around by tonight. He always does."
But as the girls drifted back into their gossip, Minaās eyes slid back to the dark screen of her phone. For the first time since they started dating, the "He always does" felt less like a fact and more like a prayer.
Mina spent the rest of lunch performing. She laughed at Yukiās jokes, critiqued someoneās outfit, and slipped easily into the familiar rhythm of conversation. She couldn't let them see the cracks. If people started noticing something was wrong between her and Gojo, the questions would start. The concerned looks. The awkward sympathy she didn't want.Ā
Gojo was going to come around.Ā
He had to.Ā
This was just a longer-than-usual tantrum.
But as the day dragged on, the performance became exhausting. Every vibration of her phone in her pocket sent a jolt of adrenaline through her, followed by a sickening wave of disappointment when it was just a promotional email or a group chat notification.
By her 3:00 PM lecture, the air in the room felt thin, like she was being slowly choked. Her mind kept drifting back to the partyāthe coldness in his eyes, the way he hadn't even looked back when he walked out the door. Where did he go?
She bit down on her thumb, the edge of her nail digging into the skināa nervous habit she usually only indulged in private. Was he even in school? Did he go to you? Was he sitting in that cramped apartment right now, complaining about her? The thought made her stomach turn.
She couldn't help it. She opened the chat one more time, just to see the timestamp of her last ignored text.
When she did, it felt like time slowed down, the roar of the lecture hall fading into a dull, underwater hum. Her heart didn't just drop; it plummeted, leaving a cold, hollow ache in her chest.
There they were. Two tiny, blue checkmarks.
He had seen them. Heād read every single lineāthe demands, the excuses, the frantic "where are you?" texts sheād sent at 2:00 AM. He had seen it all, and he hadn't even bothered to give her a "k" or a "busy." Heād looked at her heart laid bare on the screen and simply closed the app.
A hot, prickly heat climbed up her neck. It was the realization that while she had been spiraling, he had been perfectly capable of looking at his phone, reading her words, and choosingādeliberatelyāto stay silent.
Mina shoved the phone into her bag, the plastic clattering against her notebooks. She didn't hear a word of the professor's lecture for the rest of the hour. All she could see were those two blue lines, mocking her. By the time the bell rang, the panic had hardened into something sharper, something more desperate.
If he was going to ignore her digital self, fine. Letās see him try to ignore her when she was standing right in his way.
The thirty minutes sheād spent leaning against the hallwayās cinderblock wall felt like hours. Every time the heavy door to the lecture hall creaked, her heart skipped, only to settle into a bitter rhythm when it was just a stray student slipping out early. She had checked her reflection in her phone screen a dozen times, smoothing her hair and adjusting her expression into something that looked more "wronged" than "desperate."
Finally, the low drone of the professorās voice stopped, replaced by the chaotic symphony of chairs scraping and zippers sliding shut.
The doors swung open. A pack of guys she recognized from the hockey team spilled out first, loud and smelling like sweat and expensive cologne.
"Oh, hey, Mina!" one of themāRin, one of the defensemenācalled out with a casual wave.
Gojo was right behind him, his tall frame cutting through the crowd effortlessly. He followed Rinās gaze, his blue eyes finally landing on her. There was no flicker of surprise. No guilt. He just stood there with a stoic, unreadable expression that made Mina feel like she was looking at a statue instead of her boyfriend.
Mina didn't even acknowledge Rin. She stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply on the linoleum, and closed the distance. She reached out and grabbed Gojoās handāhis skin was warm, but he didn't squeeze back.
"We need to talk. Now," she hissed.
Without a word, she turned on her heel and began pulling him toward the stairwell, away from the prying eyes of his teammates. She expected him to pull away, to ask what she was doing, or to at least sigh in annoyance.
But Gojo just let her.
He followed her silently, his footsteps heavy and rhythmic behind hers. The lack of resistance was sickening. It felt like she was dragging a ghost through the hallway, someone who was only moving because she was tugging on the sleeve of a life he didn't want to inhabit anymore.
The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the hallway and leaving them in a sudden, ringing silence. Mina spun around, her chest heaving as she let go of his hand.
"So?" she demanded, her voice sharp against the concrete walls. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Gojo didn't move. He stood on the landing, looking at her with a terrifyingly blank expression. "Youāre the one who dragged me in here, Mina. I assumed you were the one with something to say."
Mina clicked her tongue, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Oh, don't give me that. Iāve been saying things for four days! I know you saw my messages, Satoru. I saw the read receipts. Youāre seriously going to ignore me for half a week over a stupid argument? Don't you think youāre being a little too dramatic? It was just a photo. I was stressed, it was a big night, and you were being difficult. Itās not like I asked for the moon."
She paced the small square of the landing, her heels clicking a frantic rhythm. She was waiting for the familiar push-backāthe sigh, the apology, the something. But Gojo just stood there, his hands in his pockets, watching her with the detached curiosity of someone watching a movie theyād already seen.
His silence was a vacuum, and Mina felt herself rushing to fill it with more venom.
"And what? You just disappear? You leave me at the party and then vanish?" Her voice pitched higher, becoming more jagged. "Where did you even go? Did you run straight back to her? Is that why you aren't answering? Youāre too busy playing house in her cramped little apartment, complaining about how 'mean' I am?"
She stopped in front of him, her face flushed, waiting for the explosion. She wanted him to get defensive. She wanted him to yell so she could feel like they were still in this.
But Gojo didn't explode. He finally spoke, and the calmness in his voice was more devastating than any shout could have been.
"I didn't go to her place, Mina," he said. He soundedā¦ unbothered. Almost light. "I went back to mine. Iāve been going to practice. Iāve been eating, sleeping, and going to class. Iāve had a pretty quiet four days, honestly."
"Quiet?" she echoed, a hollow feeling starting to spread in her gut. "I was losing my mind, and you were having a quiet week?"
"I wasn't ignoring you to be dramatic," he continued, taking a half-step toward her, his gaze steady and cool. "I was ignoring you because I thought we were done. You told me that nightāif I walked out the door, we were over. So, I walked out. I was just following your lead."
Mina let out a short, breathless laughāa scoff of pure disbelief. She shook her head, looking at the ceiling as if asking the universe to witness how ridiculous he was being.
"Youāre serious?" she asked, her voice hitching. "Youāre really playing that card? Satoru, everyone says things they donāt mean when theyāre frustrated. It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. You don't just take an ultimatum literally and vanish for four days. Thatās not how dating works."
"Weāve been together for months. Weāve had a great time. Youāre really going to throw all of that away because of one bad night at a party? Because I wanted a photo? Youāre being petty. You're trying to punish me, and fineāmessage received. Iām here. Iām talking to you. Can we just stop the drama now?"
She looked up at him, waiting for that familiar softening in his gaze, the one that usually meant he was about to give in.
"Mina," Gojo said, his voice dropping to a weary, level tone. "If you really think this is just about you asking for a photo, then you completely missed the point of everything I said that night."
Minaās jaw tightened. "Then what is it, Satoru? Tell me! Is it the band you feel guilty about? Is it her?"
"Itās because Iām tired," he said, and the simple honesty of it seemed to vibrate in the small space. "Iām tired of feeling like I have to shrink myself just so you don't blow up. Iām tired of watching what I say so I donāt set you off. I can't keep living like that."
He let out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping. "And listenāyou said it yourself. You told me if I walked out that door, we were through. And I did. I was just following the terms you laid out for me, Mina. I didn't text you back because I didn't think there was anything left to say that hadn't already been decided in that corridor."
"I didn't mean it!" Mina shouted, her voice cracking as it echoed off the concrete, but the words sounding thin and hollow even to her own ears. She stepped into his space, her eyes wild with frustration. "I was angry! You were supposed to know I didn't mean it! You were supposed to come back for me!"
Gojo didn't shout back. He just let out a short, bitter laughāthe kind that held no humor, only the realization of how exhausted he really was. He didn't say a word, and his silence was louder than her screaming.
"Satoru, please," Mina whispered, her voice trembling as the anger finally collapsed into a desperate bargain. She stepped into his space and reached out, her fingers lacing through his. When he didn't immediately pull away, a spark of hopeāsharp and painfulāignited in her chest.
"We can still fix this," she said, her voice small and cracking. She reached up with her other hand, her palm flat against his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "Iām sorry. I'm so sorry if I made you feel like you had to... that you had to shrink yourself. I didn't mean to. I just get so caught up in everything, but I can change. I can."
She searched his eyes, looking for even a flicker of the boy who used to adore her. She paused, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone in a frantic, familiar rhythm.
"We can still make this better, okay? Just... letās just start over. Please."
She didn't wait for him to answer. She couldn't. She leaned in, her eyes fluttering shut as she tilted her head, her breath warm against his skin as she moved to find the familiar spark of a kissāa desperate attempt to fix with her body what she had broken with her words.
But the spark never came. Before her lips could touch his, Gojoās head tilted back, just an inchāenough to let her know he wasn't going to meet her halfway. Then, he gently but firmly took hold of her wrists and pulled her hands away from his face.
The silence that followed was deafening. Minaās eyes snapped open, and for a heartbeat, she just stood there, her hands still suspended in the air where he had dropped them. The cool air of the stairwell rushed into the space between their bodies, feeling like ice against her skin.
She had never felt smaller. She had offered him everythingāher pride, an apology, a promise to changeāand he had looked at it all and simply stepped back.
The dejection hit first, a heavy, sinking weight in her stomach. But right behind it came a wave of searing, red-hot humiliation. She could feel the heat climbing up her neck, staining her cheeks. She looked at his faceāstill calm, still so horribly peacefulāand something inside her snapped.
"I hate you!" she sobbed, the words tearing out of her throat like a jagged scream. The tears finally broke through, hot and blinding, ruining the makeup sheād spent an hour perfecting. "I hate you so much, Satoru!"
She lunged forward, her fists balled up. She began to strike his chestāmessy, weak blows that lacked any real power to hurt him, but carried the full weight of her heartbreak.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Gojo didn't move. He didn't raise his arms to block her, and he didn't try to catch her hands again. He just stood there like a statue, his gaze fixed on the concrete wall somewhere above her head. He didn't even flinch when her knuckles caught the bone of his sternum. He just let her.
He knew heād been the one to pull her into this orbit in the first place. Heād truly believed in them at the startāhad wanted her to be the oneābut heād stayed long after that belief had vanished, and he felt he owed her the target now.Ā
Finally, her strength gave out. Her strikes slowed until her hands were just trembling weights resting against the fabric of his jacket, her forehead leaning against his chest as she sobbed. The stairwell was silent, the only sound the ragged, uneven rhythm of her breath.
Gojo didn't pull away. He waited until the worst of the tremors had passed before he reached down, his touch light as he gently caught her wrists.
"Mina," he said softly. He didn't let go until she finally looked up, her vision blurred by tears and her eyeliner smudging into dark tracks down her cheeks.
"I really appreciate that thereās a girl like you who wants so much with me," he told her. There was no edge to his voice, no lingering angerājust a heavy, honest clarity. "I mean that. But I can't be that guy for you anymore. I don't have anything left to give you, and itās not fair to keep trying when I'm empty."
He looked down at her, a flicker of genuine regret crossing his face. "Iām sorry that I kept finding ways to make you upset. I really am. I hope you find someone who doesn't make you feel like you have to fight for them. Someone who just... makes you happy."
Mina shook her head frantically, a stray sob escaping her lips. She tried to tighten her grip on his sleeves, as if she could physically hold the relationship together. "I don't want someone else," she choked out, her voice raw. "I want you. We can justāwe can try again."
Gojo didn't reply. He couldn't offer her a "maybe" when he was already miles away. He simply reached down and, one by one, uncurled her fingers from his jacket. It was a slow, deliberate movement that felt more permanent than any shout.
"I have to go," he said, his voice gentle but wrapped in a finality that made her heart sink.
He let go, his hands falling back into his pockets as he took a long, slow step backward. The distance between them felt like an unbridgeable canyon.
He stood there for a heartbeat, the silence stretching until it felt like it might snap. He looked like he wanted to say something moreāan apology, a consolationābut he clearly realized that any more words would just be a lie.
"Take care of yourself, Mina," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't wait for her to respond. He turned and pushed through the heavy stairwell door, the sudden roar of students and lockers slamming in the hallway rushing in for a split second before the door clicked shut behind him.
Mina stood alone in the shadows, her hands still halfway raised in the air. The silence of the stairwell returned, colder than before, and for the first time in their relationship, she realized he wasn't coming back to say he was sorry.
