My fear is to die without achieving my dreams but sometimes Iām thinking that maybe my dreams are meant to be just dreams and that Iām meant for a short life. Iām in a slump, it seems hard to get out.
ą Ė. įµįµ academic rivalry with rich boy gojo, but you genuinely donāt like him and he doesnāt understand it until itās too late.
gojo doesnāt know you hate him.
in fact, if anyone asked, heād probably say you like him. maybe even admire him, the way people tend to admire the sun when it catches their face in an accidental beam of warmth. heās so sure of this that heās never once considered the possibility that your tight smile isnāt playful, that your clipped tone isnāt just a quirk, that you might actuallyāgod forbidādespise him.
he thinks youāre playing.
and why wouldnāt he? to him, everything is a game. heās been winning since he was bornāmoney, intelligence, height, beauty, charm, every stacked advantage you could imagine. the universe has been dealing him aces since day one, so when you come along and youāreā¦ sharpārazor-sharp, not in the way that flatters but in the way that bitesāhe sees it as a worthy challenge.
you donāt just compete with him, you match him. quiz scores, debates, grades, presentationsāyouāre always right there, nipping at his heels or, occasionally, yanking the rug out from under him entirely. most people try to keep up with gojo. you try to trip him. and god, he thinks itās fun.
heās convinced the tension between you is mutual amusement. to him, every scathing remark you throw is just another volley in your private match, another brick in the strange little castle youāve been building together for years.
and he likes it. likes you.
he makes a game of finding you in every room. you could be hidden in the corner of a crowded lecture hall, pretending to be engrossed in your notes, and heāll still spot you in a heartbeat, striding over with that easy, infuriating smile. he talks to you like heās letting you in on some secret, even when itās just to point out that your pen ran out of ink and offer you one of his obnoxiously expensive ones.
he saves seats for you without asking.
he slips you answers when he thinks youāre stuck (you never are).
he says things like, āyouād miss me if i disappearedā with such unshakable confidence it makes your skin crawl.
the worst part? everyone else sees it too. to them, youāre just another in a long list of people charmedābegrudgingly or otherwiseāby gojo satoru. your professors tease you about your āhealthy academic rivalry.ā
your classmates watch the two of you trade barbs like itās some sort of will-they-wonāt-they sitcom subplot.
nobody realises that while heās busy grinning at you over the rim of his coffee cup, youāre thinking about how nice it would be to knock it out of his hands. to him, your relationship is the most exciting part of his academic life.
to you, itās the most exhausting.
because you hated gojo satoru before you even met him.
not personallyāback then, you didnāt even know his name. but you knew the type. loud, untouchably confident, born with more than they could ever deserve. the kind of boy who makes an entire room feel like theyāre living in his orbit whether they want to or not.
and then you sat down for your first lecture of the semester, cracked open your notebook, and heard his voice behind youāsmooth, careless, as if he were narrating life for an audience that existed solely to adore him.
of course.
but disliking him in theory was easy. hating him in practice took time.
the first time you realised you truly couldnāt stand him was during that stupid pop quiz. the professor was walking around, collecting answer sheets, and yours was barely dry from the last thing you scribbled down when a hand reached over your shoulder and took it. gojo. grinning, waving it in front of you like heād just snatched candy from a child.
ādonāt worry, iāll hand it in for you.ā
he didnāt wait for a thank youājust sauntered off, humming under his breath. when the grades came back, you noticed the coffee stain on the bottom corner of your paper.
you told yourself it was petty to care.
but then it happened again, in different ways.
the time he āaccidentallyā spilled water near your laptop but somehow turned it into a joke about you overreacting.
the way he always managed to just barely beat you in class rankings, like he was toying with the margin on purpose.
how heād answer a question you were raising your hand for, looking over his shoulder to wink at you while the professor praised him.
the worst part was how untouchable he was. no matter what he did, everyone liked him. the professors adored his wit. classmates leaned toward him in conversation like plants toward sunlight. even the people he embarrassed seemed to forgive him instantly.
and you? you played along.
because to break the illusion would mean explainingā to people who wouldnāt understandāthat he wasnāt your rival in the fun, cinematic way they thought. he wasnāt a foil or a muse. he was justā¦ exhausting.
so you kept your voice dry and your smile tight when you spoke to him. you let him think it was banter. you let everyone else think so, too. because it was easier to let the world believe you were some clever pair locked in an endless, flirtatious duel than admit the truth: you wanted him out of your life.
and yet, despite all thatāhe was everywhere.
every class. every study group. every event you didnāt even know heād be attending until you heard his laugh from across the room. and each time, heād make a beeline for you, all effortless energy, as if you were a fixed point in his compass.
you hated how good he was at finding you. you hated even more that youād started noticing when he wasnāt there.
still, the things he did to piss you off(or just things he did, the way he existed) were too irritating, you absolutely despised him sometimes.
like that time you were deep into exam prep, surrounded by a fortress of books, when a hand slid a cup of coffee across the table toward you. you didnāt look up, because of course it was him, but you did say, flatly,
āif this has spit in it, iām reporting you.ā
gojo dropped into the chair across from you like heād been invited. āspit? no way. thatās an artisanal oat latte. i had to wait in line for seven minutes for that.ā
you stared at him. āi didnāt ask you to.ā
āoh, i know.ā he leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. ābut if you burn out before the exam, who will i crush?ā
you meant to roll your eyes and go back to your notes. instead, what came out was, āyouāre not half as smart as you think you are.ā
he grinned. āsure i am. you just think youāre smarter.ā
you bit down on the urge to tell him you didnāt thinkāyou knew.
or when youād somehow gotten paired with him for a group project. halfway through a work session, he started idly tapping his pen against your notebook.
you looked up. ācan you not?ā
āwhat, this?ā he kept tapping.
āyes, that.ā your voice sharpened, the way it did when you were one irritation away from snapping. āyouāre distracting.ā
his eyes lit up like youād complimented him. āoh? then itās working.ā
you were so stunned by the sheer audacity of that answer that you just stared at him, giving him exactly the amused eye contact he thought you meant in the first place.
or the afternoon youād just gotten a test backāsecond place again, him barely aheadāand you found him leaning against the wall outside, already waiting.
ācongrats,ā you said dryly, shoving the paper into your bag. āanother half-point victory for the golden boy.ā
he raised a brow. āyou sound jealous.ā
āi sound annoyed.ā
āsame thing, in my experience.ā he fell into step beside you as you walked away, his voice easy and bright. ādonāt worry. one day youāll beat me again, and iāll act all shocked, and weāll laugh about it. thatās our thing.ā
you stopped mid-step. āour thing?ā
he smiled like it was obvious. āyeah. the whole āyou chasing me, me pretending youāre catching upā thing. itās cute.ā
you almost told him you werenāt chasing him at all. instead, you kept walking, because you knew it wouldnāt matterāheād just think you were raising the stakes.
one late afternoon, after a seminar, you finally let the irritation slip.
ādo you ever stop?ā you asked as you both left the building.
he tilted his head. āstop what?ā
ābeingāā you gestured vaguely at his whole existence āāyou.ā
ānot really,ā he said cheerfully. āi mean, would you want me to?ā
you opened your mouth to say yes, but he was already smirking, like heād caught you in some elaborate romantic setup. āyeah, didnāt think so.ā
you hated him.
and worseāyou hated that he was right about one thing: youād never really get rid of him.
because of that, for a while, it was easier to hate him.
hatred is simpleāitās sharp and clean, like the edge of a paper you didnāt see coming. but somewhere between the constant barbs and the inevitable groupings and the countless āaccidentalā encounters, you startedā¦ not minding him as much.
it was never a sudden switch. it was little things.
like the time your umbrella broke in a sudden downpour and he wordlessly held his over you the whole walk to the stationānot teasing, not smug, just humming something under his breath and keeping you both dry. you didnāt thank him, but you also didnāt tell him to get lost.
or how, during one particularly brutal presentation day, he passed you a pack of gum under the table before yours started. you didnāt notice until after youād nailed it, when he leaned over and said, ātold you itās magic,ā and you realised heād given you his last piece.
and there was that week you got sick. you didnāt tell anyone, but you came into class looking pale and ready to collapse. he noticed instantlyāslid his notebook across so you could copy without asking, didnāt make a single joke about it. that was weird for him. unsettling. you didnāt copy anything, instead giving him an exhausted, weirded out look.
yet you started to thinkā¦ maybe he wasnāt completely insufferable.
you still didnāt like himāgod noābut there were moments where the energy between you didnāt feel like a battle. sometimes it was justā¦ something. it felt like calm before storm.
and then came the internship.
youād both applied for itācompetitive, prestigious, the kind of thing that could shove open doors for the rest of your career. you wanted it so badly youād cut your free time to nothing, prepping and polishing every piece of your application until it was practically a reflection of your soul.
when the results came in, you didnāt even have to check the email. you saw him in the hallwayāleaning against the wall, phone in hand, that unstoppable grin stretched across his face.
āguess whoās officially off to the big leagues,ā gojo announced toā¦ well, everyone. he was holding his phone up like a trophy, scrolling through something with one hand while he waved the other in a lazy half-gesture. a couple of classmates offered congratulations, and he soaked it up like sunlight.
you felt the floor tilt under you.
youād been waiting for that email all morning. checking your inbox every ten minutes, refreshing so much your phone battery had dipped into the red. youād prepped for this internship like your life depended on itācutting back on sleep, skipping out on weekends, combing through every requirement until you knew them better than your own name.
and heād gotten it.
of course he had.
when he spotted you, his grin widened. āohhh, thereās my runner-up. cāmon, donāt keep me in suspenseādid you get it too?ā
āno,ā you said, too fast.
he blinked. āreally? huh. weird. you were working your ass off.ā
you donāt know if it was the casual way he said it, or the fact that he meant it like some kind of backhanded compliment, or just the sheer unfairness of it allābut something in you cracked.
āyeah, well, some of us have to,ā you said, and it came out sharper than you intended.
he tilted his head. āwhatās that supposed to mean?ā
āit means you breeze through everything without trying, and then you stand there acting like itās all just some fun little game.ā you stepped forward before you could stop yourself, voice rising. āi killed myself over that application. i did everything right. and youāā
you broke off, because your hands were shaking.
gojo straightened slightly, the first flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. āhey, itās not like i didnāt work for itāā
āyou didnāt work for this. not like i did. not like anyone else did. you justā¦ exist. and things happen for you. they always have. you can waltz into any room and get whatever you want, because youāre gojo satoru, and people fall over themselves to give it to you.ā
he opened his mouth, but you didnāt let him, hand flying up to shut him.
āand you know what? i donāt think this rivalry thing you keep talking about is cute. i donāt think youāre clever, or charming, or any of that crap you clearly believe about yourself. i donāt like you, gojo. i fucking hate you. i have from the start.ā
the hallway felt suddenly, horribly quiet. someone down the way ducked into a classroom.
gojo just stared at you.
for the first time since youād met him, he didnāt look like he had a quick comeback ready. he didnāt even look like he knew where to start.
āokay,ā he said finally, and it wasnāt his usual playful toneāit was quieter. ādidnāt realise you felt that way.ā
you almost laughed, because how could he not have realised? but you didnāt. you just shouldered past him and walked away, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your teeth.
ā
he didnāt move for a long time after you walked away.
he just stood there, phone still in his hand, screen dimming to black while the echo of your voice replayed in his head.
i donāt like you. i hate you. i have from the start.
gojo satoru wasnāt used to people telling him they hated him.
sure, heād heard worse in debates, maybe in a couple of online comment sections, but those were strangers. disposable opinions. and when people didnāt like him in real life, they usually hid it. smiled through their teeth. tolerated him because it was easier than being on his bad sideāor, more often, because they didnāt want to miss out on the good side.
you?
he thought you were in on it. the banter, the jabs, the constant back-and-forthāhe thought that was your thing. your thing. heād built the whole framework of whatever the hell your relationship was on that assumption.
and youād just ripped it apart in a handful of sentences.
he tried to replay your expression, but all he could see was the way your hands had been shaking. not in fear but in that kind of restrained fury that felt personal. not academic, not playful. personal.
ādude, congrats on the internship,ā someone said, passing by.
gojo smiled automatically, a thin, mechanical curl of his mouth. āyeah. thanks.ā
his body moved through the rest of the day on autopilot. meetings, classes, congratulations. he kept hearing bits of your voice threaded through the noise.
you just exist. and things happen for you. they always have.
it wasnāt like heād never heard that beforeāhe had. but from you, it landed differently.
by the time he got home, the words had settled somewhere heavy in his chest. he told himself it was just surprise. he told himself youād cool down, that youād come back in a week with some sarcastic remark and theyād pick up where they left off.
but there was something else gnawing at himāa suspicion that maybe you hadnāt just been angry about the internship. maybe youād been angry this whole time, and heād been too wrapped up in his own little game to see it.
and for the first time since heād met you, he wasnāt entirely sure how to win.
I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you that I had problems weighing me down. I wanted to tell you that I was on the verge of drowning. I wanted to tell you that I am a danger to myself.
sometimes I see pictures from when I was younger and it makes me wonder why I spent so much time hating myself. sweet little baby me. I was still growing. I was still learning. I was still getting used to my own skin. I didnāt deserve that
I am alive but barely. You know when you have a person who youāre willing to give everything to? Who you would risk all your beliefs and principles for? Who you would allow to use you in any way possible? I AM HAVING A MAJOR BRAIN ROT OVER A MAN WHO IS YEARS OLDER, I AM ILL!!! And it doesnāt help that heās kind and genuine and smart and funny AND HIS VOICE??? THAT HEIGHT??? SIRā
I hope that at least he remembers my face or by some miracleā¦ my name. I hope he remembers. Because I am marked by him and he doesnāt even fucking know ITāS UNFAIR IāM DOWN BAD AND I DONāT WANT TO PART FROM HIM I WANT TO BE WITH HIM EVEN IF I ONLY SEE GLANCES OR SNEAK IN A GREETINGā¦ I WANT TO BE IN THAT LIFE OF HIS GOD PLEASE
I think one of the greatest heartbreaks in life is accepting that youāre never going to be together. No matter how many universes you try to make with your imagination, the reality will crush those thoughts one by one. I stood there with him during an OR today for 8 hours. We talked, we laughed, all that sappy shit. I am thankful and happy but I am devastated all the same because even when we were breathing the same air and centimeters apart, we couldnāt be more distant from each other. He was as far and bright as the stars in the sky and I forgot that I was on Earth, only meant to watch. I forgot that no matter how much I try extend my desperate arms, I can never reach him, even get to touch a sliver of his soul. I am but a fleeting moment in his mind, waiting to be forgotten. Or maybe he already has.
I have imprinted him in my heart. He will always reside there, I guess. They say youāll lose interest in someone once you get to know them. Well, that is bullshit in this case because I fell even more down the rabbit hole and I can already imagine the crash Iām about to go through. I will once again be the only one picking up the pieces of my broken heart. I know I should get used to this as someone who is never chosen. But it hurts each and every time. Even worse than the previous ones.
I told myself to guard my heart with all my might because god, it has been shattered so many times and is fragile af. But I let myself like him and be infatuated and now, Iām dead on the inside. Only he can light me up and bring me back alive. Fuck cheesy shit but it hurts okay?
He is kind of the prototype that I want in a man. Heās kind to a fault, intelligent, funny, protective, smart and like the street-smart kind of smart??? That is overly attractive to me okay?!? Heās tall, firm, has a GREAT VOICE FUCK. His eyes were sharp FUCK I DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO DO EVERYTIME HE LOOKED AT ME I WOULD PANIC THE FUCK OUT AND CRINGE AT MYSELF HELP. We liked the same songs and movies and we had the same beliefs on things like wtf?!?!!
Anyway, as I said his personality was what I wanted in a man. I was surprised to have met such a man who is so in line with my type? He is a pure gem that I agonizingly couldnāt have. FUUUUCK I BIBLICALLY NEED HIM
If you have reached this part, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have been in my headspace for a while. I hope this is met with support. I canāt disclose this with any of my friends and family because they think Iām over reacting and weird. Everytime, I gush about my feelings, they are met by disgust and judgment. But any who, no matter. I just am happy to write my thoughts and calm down.
I am alive but barely. You know when you have a person who youāre willing to give everything to? Who you would risk all your beliefs and principles for? Who you would allow to use you in any way possible? I AM HAVING A MAJOR BRAIN ROT OVER A MAN WHO IS YEARS OLDER, I AM ILL!!! And it doesnāt help that heās kind and genuine and smart and funny AND HIS VOICE??? THAT HEIGHT??? SIRā
I hope that at least he remembers my face or by some miracleā¦ my name. I hope he remembers. Because I am marked by him and he doesnāt even fucking know ITāS UNFAIR IāM DOWN BAD AND I DONāT WANT TO PART FROM HIM I WANT TO BE WITH HIM EVEN IF I ONLY SEE GLANCES OR SNEAK IN A GREETINGā¦ I WANT TO BE IN THAT LIFE OF HIS GOD PLEASE
You swore to yourself that Kageyama Tobio was the bad boy in town. I mean with that sleek, black hair, tall stature, painfully handsome features, and the permanent scowl on his face? Heās the definition of heartbreak.
So when he talked to you for the first time, a stuttering mess and a reddening tomato, you canāt help but wonder if your (and everyoneās) assumptions about him were true.
And as you both walked hand in hand through the aisles of the grocery store, you have never been so sure about your mistake. After years of knowing him and being in a relationship with him, he turned out to be an angel with too much sass and a temper.
āWhat are you smiling about?ā He suddenly asked, leaning on the trolley to level with your height.
āYou.ā Your lips curved into a mocking sneer.
A scowl appeared on his face but his eyes glimmered in amusement. āWhat about me?ā
āNothing.ā
āTch.ā He rolled his eyes and straightened his posture. āFine! Keep them to yourself then.ā
āI canāt believe I ever thought you were a fuck boy to begin with! Youāre such a baby!ā You laughed and threw your weight on his side. There was no one in sight so you were free to be all touchy- feely with your man.
His arms automatically wrapped around your waist, securing their grip to keep you both steady. You felt his lips press against your forehead as he laughed, a blush already creeping up his cheeks. āFuck boy, my ass. I couldnāt even talk to you the first time.ā
āYeah, I remember.ā You said wistfully as you continued your way around the store, ticking off the items on your list.
āTobio, Iāll just go to the womenās section.ā You poked his side to get his attention from the milk cartons displayed on the fridge.
āAh, the womanās section.ā He nodded. āOkay, letās go.ā
āItās okay. Iāll go by myself. You can go fetch the other items on our list.ā You suggested.
To your surprise, he shook his head. Suddenly, big hands engulfed yours as he led you to the rack full of sanitary pads.
āNow, tell me about them.ā He cleared his throat while pointing at all the selections.
āExcuse me?ā You blinked and looked up at him questioningly. You expected him to be making a joke, which was quite rare, but his once lazy eyes were now hyper focused on the names and brands that were in front of him.
āI want to know about them since you use them. I tried asking my sister but she slammed the door on me.ā He chuckled. āThere was this one time when you were on your period and you looked like youāre in so much pain. You kept complaining to me that you didnāt have one of these left so you forced yourself up in agony to go to the convenience store. I want to know what you use so that Iāll get them for you next time. I want to know how to take care of you too every monthly visit.ā He mumbled nonchalantly.
Fine, long fingers grabbed one package and waved it in front of your face. āI just donāt get it, though? They say the same things but there are so many colors and brands that I get confused. This one also says āwingsā. The hell does that even do?ā
āOh Tobio.ā You canāt help but laugh at his seriousness about the matter but your heart melts just the same.
āItās going to be a long discussion about my period andāā
āIām all ears.ā He leaned in and gave you a peck on the lips. āLet me learn about you.ā
Safe to say that he became an expert on the matter and knew exactly what to do on your monthly visits. He wasnāt at all jittery like he was before. Itās now even at a point where he tracked your cycles better than you ever did (yes, he downloaded an app) and made sure to look after you during those cramp- filled episodes and everything in between.
Kageyamaās just so soft for you and heād do everything to make you feel safe, relieved, and happy. He can admit that he's a goody-two- shoes only for you.
