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✧.* asemi's love stories to satoru (oneshots)
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✧.* asemi's sinful sonnets to satoru (a little bit of a smut)
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fiance! naoya x paediatrician! fem reader x single uncle! satoru
summary: Your days had long turned into an endless grey stream of monotony, brightened only by children's smiles at the hospital. Soon, your life would be subjected to loneliness in the golden cage of the Zenin Estate as you agreed to be Naoya's wife; the weight of his love had already burdened you to the point you no longer believed there was any left.
And then you met Satoru Gojo.
Your biggest curse. And your greatest remedy.
tags: AU, medical setting, heavy angst, toxic relationships, messy feelings, emotional abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, misogyny (Naoya is a prick), reader struggles with her self-image, slow healing, falling in love, yearning. eventual smut and happy ending, i promise! we just have to get here. some specific tags will be included in the parts, if any.
word count: 14.5k
gojo's art by @/maronjapan9a. all dividers are mine.
playlist
masterlist
part 1
Satoru Gojo slowly started threading himself into the canvas of your life, and when you looked back, startled and stunned, to see the turning point — when the warmth slowly sipped into your polite, careful smiles and when the anxiety slowly loosened its knot as Gojo's laugh washed over you — you slowly realised that you couldn't name one.
Was it the boyish grin? The Union Jack lighter? The first compliment? The first shared conversation in the walls of the cafeteria? Nothing criminal, but every time your eyes met — his, impossibly blue, crinkling at the corners with mirth and something you were afraid to name — they caused the tender petals of affection in your chest to bloom.
Only if they weren't destined to wither the moment your future husband set his eyes on you.
Maybe he noticed that you returned from the hospital happier than usual. Your softened voice grated on his nerves, and your dreamy gaze only sharpened his. Honed his tongue to the way it left more and more wounds.
As if you weren't berating yourself for even thinking about another man. As if you didn't force your gaze to tear apart from Gojo at first. To keep your mouth shut. To gather your bearings and lock your heart with the key thrown away to the ocean depths. To shut Nitta's and Miwa's whispers with sharp glances. To stand your ground as the endless blue threatened to swallow you whole.
Either way, you were torn between your actual feelings and things you were supposed to feel.
That day wasn't particularly sunshine and rainbows: from a kid with an asthma attack to very vigilant parents, insisting on vaccine shots conspiracy. Your smile turned more strained with every word, and your left eye almost twitched at "how much are you paid per shot?"
And that was only the morning.
"Kao, stop squirming! What will the doctor think of you?"
The boy, a 5-year-old Kao-kun, who was supposed to have his hearing examined, fell on deaf ears to his mother's pleading words (not literally, as you hoped, standing with an otoscope beside the kid).
"I am so sorry, Doc, I don't know what's gotten into him," Kao-kun's mother, Nakata-san, offered you an apologetic, forced smile, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy towards her.
"It's completely fine, Nakata-san. Kids don't usually like these sorts of things," smiling warmly back at the lady, you briefly patted her arm in support. Nakata-san only pressed her lips into a thin line and opened her purse to fish a handkerchief to dab on her forehead.
The sudden April heatwave enveloped Japan in its suffocating embrace. Heat clung to skin in rivulets of sweat, and people fought for every sliver of shade, not to mention the usual humidity — the feeling of your blouse sticking to your back set your overstimulated brain on fire even more, but you didn't have the right to complain.
Poor Nakata-san, meanwhile, murmured in despair and sighed, shaking her head, "He's usually such a nice, smart boy. We started to teach him Hiragana a couple of weeks ago, just like in that handout you gave us, Doc. Oh, I have it, wait a minute, —"
The woman started to browse through her endless purse again, but you interrupted her softly, glancing briefly at the clock. Ten minutes were left before the next appointment, and Kao-kun seemed way more interested in the poster of the giant green cactus Sabo-san, a chair named Kosshi and…Inai Inai Baa.
The corners of your mouth twitched with a bright grin.
Of course.
"Hey, Kao-kun," drawling playfully, you waved at the poster. "Do you like Inai Inai Baa?"
The boy's voice rose to a high-pitched tone as he nodded enthusiastically, "Yes!"
You clapped happily, hoping to match Kao-kun and beamed at the kid, "You want to play Peekaboo?"
The boy practically jumped out of his seat, and Nakata-san hurried to shush him, only for you to gently stop her with a knowing look. She stopped in her tracks, blinking a couple of times; as the realisation dawned on her, the woman sent you a conspiring wink.
"Kao-kun, I am gonna look for Inai Inai Baa in your ears," as you finally had the kid's attention, he looked up and hung on your every word, "Will you help me — "
You barely finished the sentence as the boy shouted happily, his toothy grin on full display:
"Yes, yes, yes!"
The sight dispersed the gloomy clouds in your mind like the brightest sunray.
Kao-kun helped you to spot the dog, Wanwan, every time he barked into the boy's ear, and you discreetly wiped your forehead as you finished the examination and put the data into the kid's medical record.
"Doc, you're the best!" Nakata-san pressed her palm to her chest, thanking you sincerely. Kao-kun eyed the bowl of lollipops on your table as his mother kept talking about the school they were about to choose. Stiffling a warm chuckle, you nodded at the bowl.
"Help yourself, Kao-kun, don't be shy."
The boy beamed and hurriedly thanked you, urged by his mother on the way out of your office. He was already too fascinated with the sweet and colourful cartoon sticker inside, but dutifully listened to his mom. You waved back with a laugh.
"Take care!"
When you finally had two minutes for yourself, you fished a small handy fan. As it always happened in the most inconvenient times, the climate control in your office decided it certainly had enough and retired after a long period of duty. The facility manager grumbled that the equipment hadn't been modernised in a long time, glaring at you as if you were the sole reason for that decision. You highly suspected your beloved fiancé (to be precise, his family) of being in charge of it. Yet, somehow, the one on the receiving blade of occasional pointed glances and hushed whispers was usually you. No wonder: Naoya had a knack for charming everyone under his spell.
And you were just…you. Your presence, so tethered to his, didn't help the situation either. Mostly, that didn't bother you: little patients adored you, while parents paid their respects — after all, that mattered the most.
One of the nurses kindly informed you that the next appointment had been cancelled. That rare occasion had you raise your brows in a mild surprise, which later turned into a fleeting moment of joy: since it was the last appointment before the day hospital's checks, you could go there earlier and later hurry to the little cafe near the hospital. The cold kiwi lemonade had been quietly haunting your mind since the moment you stepped into your office.
"How are you feeling today, Rika-chan?"
"Better now!"
The little girl with two pigtails stilled as you checked her throat and discreetly let out a sigh of relief as you turned to her mother with good news.
"I think Rika-chan is going to be discharged soon," muttering under your breath as you flipped the papers, you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of happy Okami-san. "Cephalexin 20 mg…yeah, that's right. I'll see you tomorrow at the final examination, Rika-chan!"
The girl eagerly nodded, hugging her Kuromi plushie, and your chuckle morphed into a warm laugh.
Walking out of room 626, you hurried to the last patient of the day. Knocking softly at the door, you couldn't help the low roaring of your pulse in your head. Your grip on the chart tightened, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.
Gojo was engrossed in his phone, thumbs flying over the screen, and cast occasional glances at Megumi, who was quietly drawing in the corner. The black crayon wandered over the paper; judging by Megumi's brows, knitted in concentration, and the peeked out tongue, he was more than focused. Your gift, a little plushie dog, alongside a giant toad, guarded Megumi's peace like loyal knights.
Another warm sunray crept through the clouds.
Too absorbed in his own little world, the kid didn't notice you. Contrary to his uncle, whose ears immediately perked up at the sound of the doors creaking. A bright grin spread on Gojo's handsome face at the sight of your slightly hesitant form — you had to blink a couple of times just to reassure yourself that you weren't dreaming — before he sent you a conspiratorial wink with his finger on his mouth and pointed at the boy.
Pressing your lips into a thin line so as not to burst with laughter, you closed the door as quietly as you could. What was a paediatrician without a little whimsy?
"Hey, Megumi-chan," Gojo drawled in an overly obnoxious manner, earning Megumi's unimpressed look. Gojo's grin turned even brighter. "What are you drawing out there?"
Megumi's grip on the crayon tightened, and he mumbled back, finally sneaking a glance at you, "I am not finished yet."
Gojo wasn't quite satisfied with his nephew's answer and leaned over to peek at the table, only for Megumi to snatch the drawing from his uncle's nosy gaze.
"Come on, Gumibear —"
The boy's ears went pink at the humiliation that Gojo was bestowing upon him with a mere nickname, and the glare he sent his uncle was nothing but murderous. "I told you not to call me that!"
"Careful, Megs, your anger level is wa-a-ay above your daily norm, ouch!"
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, but a few chuckles left your lips nonetheless.
Gojo slumped back in his chair with a theatrical groan, resting his palm on his forehead like a damsel in distress; his biceps flexed with each movement in a white t-shirt.
Well, it was really hot.
You allowed yourself a second of gawking before eventually stepping to Megumi's side.
"Can I have a look, Megumi-kun?"
Megumi's eyes briefly flicked between you and the drawing he clutched close to his chest before he shrugged, "I still have to finish it."
Peeking at Gojo, you saw the amusement dancing in his bright blue gaze. So, it was a yes.
"Had a rough day?"
Your hands on the pulse oximeter stilled for a moment. Megumi's eyelashes fluttered with a tiny fractured breath. Gojo's casual words sent your heart stammeting against your ribs like a trapped bird; however, you forced yourself to focus and didn't tear your gaze away until you saw the result.
"Saturation is still not good."
Gojo, who hovered over you, knitted his brows in concern and opened his mouth to ask you something when Megumi's exhausted voice tugged on your heartstrings.
"You put a mask on me, right?"
The movement of your throat was sharp as you swallowed and exchanged glances with Gojo. He pressed his lips in a thin line and gave you a silent nod, urging you to continue.
"It's nothing bad, Megumi-kun." Your hand, warm and pleasant, rested on the boy's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. A deep frown crossed over his features as Megumi murmured in a barely audible voice.
"You are always saying that."
After another worried glance shared with Gojo, you kneeled before the boy's bed and put your mask down, so he could see you better.
"I promise you it won't hurt you. Besides, your uncle and I will be with you all the time." Even turned away from Gojo, you could feel the light grin already tugging on the corner of his mouth. The boy's eyes flicked between you and Gojo, and after seconds of inner debating, his posture relaxed just a tad, and he grumbled.
"I suppose it's okay then."
Your chest suspiciously tightened as you watched Megumi's small fingers twitch in Gojo's hold. His shades were gone, offering you an unobstructed look at the blue of his eyes, simmering with concern, framed by the snow of his lashes.
Casting your gaze back down at the boy, you concentrated on the task.
"He's slowly getting better," a soft, reassuring murmur left your lips as your gaze lingered on Megumi, who dozed off, exhausted after all the procedures. Then it landed on Gojo, driven by some unknown force. His hand hovered over the boy's shoulders — strangely unsure for a man like him — and finally drifted down to tuck Megumi's blanket in clumsily.
"I hope so."
His hesitant whisper stirred something deeply buried. Before the ever-present tentativeness could consume you, your hand settled on Gojo's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The contact made your fingers twitch with an unexpected urge to dig them deeper into the muscled skin. The heat immediately coloured your cheeks; a fleeting thought of yanking your hand away crossed your mind, but it was too late and impolite.
Gojo stilled beneath your touch and slowly turned around. The blue of his eyes held you captive in their waves, but his small, gentle smile gave you a much-needed breath of fresh air.
Only to take it back with a casual brush of the long fingers, subtly grazing your hand. A fragile, aching in its delicateness, flower bloomed quietly between you.
Soon, Gojo's ringtone dispelled the strange air. You discreetly shook your head in a skimpy attempt to get rid of the image of the man beside you, now talking quietly to someone on the phone. His lips widened into a smile so bright and unadulterated, it transformed his face into something…angelic.
Naoya's disdainful scowl from the morning emersed in your exhausted mind, no matter how hard you tried to drown it.
Gojo shot you a sidelong glance — seemingly relentless to decipher a look of somberness on your face — on your way to the elevator.
He couldn't quite put a finger on the sudden feeling the bags under your eyes evoked in him.
Your fingers came to fiddle with your chain as you worried your bottom lip. Then your hand limply fell at the absence.
Yeah. Right.
Gojo's eyes followed your gesture, but you seemed so hollowed out, as the life had been suddenly sucked out of you, that he didn't think of anything better than to blurt out, "Wanna have a coffee?"
Eyes widening, you stilled completely. That man, Gojo, who looked like a secret the morning tentatively shared, a kiss of the rosy sunset on your skin, and a whisper of a mystical night, had asked you out?
Or were you imagining things? Was he just bored? Polite?
At first, a usual thought of waving a man who somehow had his mind hazy enough to look at you immediately crossed your mind. A hot wave of panic flooded you like a strong ocean. The need to flee somewhere, just not to stay under Gojo's piercing blue gaze, ordered a retreat already. You almost opened your mouth to offer a moot excuse, with Naoya's presence looming over you even miles away, and…
Abruptly closed it.
The sparkle of rebellious flame surged high and slowly devoured the gnawing hesitance.
Your silence gave Gojo quite an unambiguous sign. His smile wavered for a moment, taking a bitter edge, and he stepped back, raising his arms in surrender.
"Oh, I am sorry, you might think I want to hit on you or whatever, but it's just so hot —"
You cut him off with a shrug too quick and a grin too sharp. "Sure. Why not?"
Surprised, Gojo blinked before tilting his head as the boyish grin slowly made its way back on his handsome face.
"Lead the way, Doc."
For a moment, you weighed all the options on the inner scales: the hospital cafeteria was immediately off the limits — even the walls had ears there, as well as a popular cafe just around the corner. The possibility of someone grassing you up to Naoya rose tenfold.
Yet, you had something on mind.
"Meet me in ten minutes near the entrance."
A content hum and a theatrical salute were your answers.
ੈ✩‧₊˚
Mentally thanking yourself for filling out daycare forms in advance, and the raging flu that knocked Yaga out, which saved you from the lunch meetings, you set the world record for changing out of the scrubs and hurried to the elevator.
The hospital still buzzed with worried patients and exhausted doctors. You craned your neck to see a familiar spark of frosty hair outside, and your pulse roared in your head at the sight of the tall man, leaning on the wall with a casual air of confidence.
Smoothing down your sundress — for some unknown reason — you hurried out.
"Hi!"
Gojo was looking somewhere past the crowd, a melancholic smile playing on his lips, and your words made him abruptly turn to you with a messy white fringe falling over his forehead. His smile dipped into something warm as he took you in.
"You're not in scrubs, it's the first!" An airy chuckle left Gojo as you led the way to the small cafe, nestled between towers of the enormous business centre, and a flower shop. To your surprise, Gojo immediately fell into step with you; Naoya never bothered to wait for you. You had always been expected to catch up to him, no matter what. "Nice dress."
Warm spring air caressed you both with delicate touches. The pink sundress you wore — Naoya raised his brow in the morning and mused whether you were dressed for work or a playground — licked the soft skin of your thighs with every step. Gojo sincerely tried not to gawk at the legs of his nephew's doctor (wait, was it a breach of ethics? He sincerely hoped no), but it became increasingly difficult.
Luckily, you stopped near the small, cosy coffee shop just before his feigned nonchalance would've morphed into something more scorching.
"Here we are!"
The scents of cinnamon and peppermint immediately hit his senses, mixed with the drumming sounds of an espresso machine and the faint hum of the climate control. The sudden temperature difference caused you to blow a lone strand of hair that escaped your ponytail off your face, and a whiff of your fresh perfume (albeit with a strong sense of antiseptic clinging to you like a second skin — once a doctor, always a doctor) sent his pulse drumming quietly.
Just when Gojo wondered if you felt at least something too, your shoulder lightly brushed against his. He didn't know what to do, because even the touch like that was enough for something to stir in his chest. So he just stilled, and let his gaze unabashedly drift over the delicate line of your neck as you studied something through the display.
Perfect.
"Recommendations are accepted," clearing his throat, Gojo waved at the arrays of pastries and rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn. Might as well order everything."
The look of pure confusion and something suspiciously similar to awe on his face earned a quiet laugh from you.
"Uhm, I usually like those chocolate-filled croissants," you murmured, hesitantly pointing at the pastry that looked like it had just descended from the famous French boulangeries. "Sometimes I take a tiramisu or a panacotta. Their strawberry-filled mochis are absolutely to die for!"
Beside you, Gojo went completely rigid. You felt the usual fear that you might've fucked something up — nothing new, but something inside you wished Gojo would be kind enough to let it slide — but then he turned around.
"I love mochis!" He breathed out not even with enthusiasm — a playful reverence coloured his tone. His eyes sparkled even brighter.
You briefly discussed other desserts displayed, and you complimented the ones shaped like fruits ("Actually, very close to Cédric Grolet's!"), before you attempted to grab your wallet from the purse and… met a disappointed nothingness. You sulked a bit and stepped back in the line before the barista would glare daggers at you, giving Gojo an apologetic shrug.
"I forgot my wallet, so this time I am just gonna —" You glanced around the cafe. "Wander around, I guess."
Gojo blinked and shook his head with an airy chuckle, pulling his wallet out, "You're so funny."
Your smile briefly faltered. Nevertheless, you forced it to stay plastered.
"I know, yeah."
A light frown flickered across Gojo's face, but before he could even form a question, the barista, a young, lively girl, greeted him with a joyous chirp.
"Good afternoon, what can I get you today?"
Flashing a charming grin, Gojo slightly leaned over and pointed at the pastry with a low purr, "Hello. I would like to have a caramel latte and that whole set of fruit desserts. A box of strawberry mochi and two — no, wait, three chocolate croissants for takeaway."
"Noted," the girl nodded as the light pink tinged her cheeks at the sight of Gojo. Well, no wonder. "Anything else?"
"Make the latte really sweet. And whatever this lady wants, of course." With that, Gojo finally leaned back and waved at the pastries as if he had baked them all by himself, "My treat, Doc."
Completely stunned, you just huffed an unsure laugh, "No, Gojo, it's okay, I am just —"
"Please," Gojo's voice lost all the cockiness just for a second, offering you a peek of the man beneath the facade. "Do me a favour. You showed me this place, after all."
A strange kind of fog clogged your mind as you watched Gojo casually take out his black card. You murmured something about a kiwi lemonade.
He ended up buying another yearly supply of sweets for you as well.
Gojo flipped his wallet, and a photo tucked inside — him hugging a couple of kids — immediately caught your attention. Judging by a grumpy scowl on one of the children's faces, you successfully deduced the boy to be Megumi. And the girl with a shy grin, showing a peace sign, should've been his sister, Tsumiki.
A flicker of warmth sparkled in your chest as your lips twitched in a smile.
Shifting your gaze just a tad, you noticed Gojo's business card peeking out from the photo. Your best attempt at squinting at it wasn't successful, but the sight of his surname in a bold business font awoke something in your mind.
You certainly heard it. Maybe Naoya once happened to drop it during dinner? Or some hushed pieces of gossip finally reached you at the numerous Zenins' gatherings?
The image of Naoya stubbornly kept surfacing in your mind, no matter how hard you tried to bury it under the pretence of nonchalance towards a certain white-haired man. The mere thought of your future husband finding out about your little detour sent a fresh wave of fear through you.
God. What the hell were you doing?!
Swallowing, you briefly mused about fleeing, but the force that seemed to be stronger than the gravity itself — attraction, blending with recklessness — chained you to the chair right in front of Gojo.
Damn him. You felt like a butterfly pinned to a board by the sharpness of his gaze.
"What's bothering you?"
Forcefully blinking yourself back into reality, you sent Gojo a confused, apologetic smile, "Nothing much."
"Come on, Doc," he prompted, resting his chin on the palm. Almost half of the caramel latte in front of him was gone, as well as a peach-shaped dessert. Yours still rested untouched on the plate. "You've been hypnotising that poor peach for a solid five minutes."
You nervously twirled a straw between your fingers. Shit. You didn't even notice it. And with Gojo staring at you, his brow lazily arched, you decided to opt for a half-truth.
"Your surname. Where could I hear it?"
Gojo's grin withered a little before taking a strained edge. Just a fleeting second for everyone else, but if sharing a roof with Naoya had taught you anything, it was attunement to other people's senses. So, you just waved your hands in surrender.
"I didn't mean to intrude, sorry. Forget it."
The sincerity of your gaze softened the sudden harshness of Gojo's features and the rigidness in his shoulders. You indeed were just… curious.
He shook his head with a light chuckle, "No worries. My family is quite well-known. Limitless, maybe you heard it?"
Eyed widening, you almost spluttered the poor kiwi lemonade.
"Limitless? You mean that big company in advanced robotics and technology?"
Well, that surely explained why he spent so much time with Megumi at the hospital. Nepo babies weren't used to working a lot, judging by Naoya.
Gojo gave you a lazy nod and took a bite of another pastry, looking somewhere past you at the bustling Tokyo streets, and dropped off-handedly.
"Yeah. But I am not a big fan of boring meetings, reports and presentations."
Something in his tone suggested that it wasn't a single reason.
You just prompted gently, "What are you doing then?"
Gojo's smile turned relaxed.
"I am a restaurant owner."
Stunned, you paused with a spoon halfway through, "What? That's so cool!"
Laughing warmly, he confirmed again, "Yep. Three in Tokyo, one in Kyoto, and…," he leaned over with a suspicious look and whispered loudly, sending you a wink, "planning to open in Yokohama as well. But that's a secret just for you."
A light chuckle left you as your face heated up from the sudden proximity. You quickly cast your gaze down on the plate, cutting through a delicious treat.
"So, where are they? Maybe we, sorry, I —," you corrected yourself immediately, earning a slow, curious tilt of Gojo's head, "visited them?"
He only dropped one name, but the mere mention of that restaurant had you staring at him in shock, eyes sparkling with excitement. A dollop of soft cream was smudged over your chin, but in your contagious joy, you never really noticed. The blue of Gojo's gaze softened into a warm breeze, embracing you in a tender gale.
"Really? Is that one in Ginza, a rooftop bar? God, I've been dying to visit it! That grilled red squid with herbs? Damn," gesturing animatedly, you quickly explained at Gojo's curious glance, "I had a bit at a family gathering. And let me tell you," now it was your turn to lean in with a conspirational whisper, "it was the best thing in that evening."
Despite Gojo's attempts to compose himself, his grin widened even more as he asked, "So, why haven't you visited it yet? I mean, you look pretty happy talking about it."
Your own smile slowly faded at Gojo's ask, and the unsure curl of your shoulder that followed immediately didn't go unnoticed.
Naoya's dismissive words sparkled brightly in your mind again, and you waved them as best as you could. Hugging the empty cup with your lemonade, you attempted to joke weakly, "Didn't have enough time. You know, hospital, shifts, meetings."
Gojo's lazy drumming slowed a little before coming to a complete halt. A warm feeling cracked in his chest at the memory of you attending Megumi.
"Ah, of course. Sorry for that. You are the busiest that I will ever be."
You weren't used to it. To someone listening to you with a genuine expression. To someone casually complimenting you. To someone including you in a conversation. As if you were worthy of someone's attention.
And that someone being Gojo caused a warm sun to rise in your hollowed soul.
So you resorted to the only thing familiar to you.
"Ah, it's nothing. I am just a paediatrician," offering a usual downplayed explanation, you didn't even notice the muscle in Gojo's jaw jump. Why were you doing it? "I mean, there are surgeons and — "
"You are joking, right? You are literally a doctor."
Gojo's incredulous tone caught you off guard. Shoulders dropping, your smile curled into a nervous, unsure scowl, while he went on.
"You're doing such a great job. I mean, all of that stuff, checking saturation, temperature, carrying all these charts, and, on top of that, working with kids! This is so cool."
A weird, scorching feeling coloured your cheeks. What was actually the last time you heard someone talking about you like that? All sincere, kind, and…warm?
The lump in your throat started to feel suspicious, and you took a shuddering breath in an attempt to accept Gojo's words with no usual overthinking, "I guess so. Kids are really cool."
Popping a spoonful of panna cotta in his mouth, Gojo hummed in acknowledgement.
"You're cooler. Do you like working with kids?"
For the second time, you were sharing a conversation, your smile widened, tone dipping into an affectionate tenderness, "Of course! I like seeing them smile as they finally get better. I love helping them to navigate through the world, especially knowing I can do that and make a difference! I want to make the start of their life easy and smooth. The rest of it may be shitty, but the childhood…"
Quiet steel crept into your voice, honing your tone.
"…the childhood is sacred."
Your eyes suddenly bore remembrance to black holes — swallowing Gojo in vast expanses of them. He stared, unblinking, and recalled that version of you on the lone evening. Smoking, laughing. Teasing.
Where was the line between that version of you and the shy doctor sitting in front of him, shrinking, lessening herself to fit some image Gojo hadn't deciphered yet? Who were you?
The truth might've hid amongst smiles, sincere, and too stretched to be genuine; glances, soft, and too pointed to offer truth; gestures, secretive, and too deep-seated to bear some meaning.
Gojo recalled your laugh as you talked about the damned grilled red squid. Maybe that version of you, that crept in the cracks of all the conversations you shared, was the real one?
He didn't know yet. But hell, he was determined to solve the mystery that his nephew's doctor was. With those sweet smiles. That sharp tongue. And that contagious laugh.
"Gojo? Are you listening?"
Okay. Perhaps he went into recalling a little bit too much.
He let his gaze wander over your features freely. "Yeah. You mentioned that kids usually don't like their ears checked. But honestly, what kid likes hospitals?"
Your shoulders shook with mirth as you shot him a quick, shy grin. Gojo felt his lips curling into a warm smile as well.
"Do you like working at that hospital?"
Twirling a straw, you stilled at his question. Then a deliberately calm shrug came as you glanced through the window.
"I like working with kids."
"That's not what I asked." Despite the warmth in his tone, you managed to notice an unusual heaviness lurking behind it. Nothing in Gojo, from the curious tilt of his head to the calmness in his blue gaze, revealed his true intentions.
Still. An assessing gleam that flashed in Gojo's eyes told you much more than he probably thought.
His fingers drummed against the table with barely concealed impatience. You mirrored his tilt and drawled hesitantly, "Could've been better, honestly. The department's director is constantly on our ears about financing and modernising the equipment. But, you know. Paediatrics isn't on the priority list."
Gojo hummed — a low, throaty sound that had you casting your gaze immediately down on your plate — and leaned in. His brows furrowed in frustration.
"Really?"
You mumbled something unintelligible as your shoulders curled inwards.
"But that doesn't make any sense," a murmur full of disbelief left him soon, addressing no one in particular, but rather musing aloud. "You're doing such an important thing, taking care of kids. I saw you running around like a Duracel rabbit, and this constant chaos. Yet you're doing such a great job! Especially with Megs. He likes you, you know? And he doesn't like doctors."
You leaned a bit with your chin cradled in your palm, looking out of the windows: some lady hurried to the cafe, barely catching up to her doggie, an adorable Pomeranian. The doorbell soon announced their entrance, followed by a cheerful bark.
"No wonder. He has a long story with them. I am afraid he just has to like me because I am a lady with masks and all that stuff."
"I am serious, Doc. Believe me," a small laugh followed his grin — you would've been damned if you didn't spot bitterness buried in it.
"I know when Megs feels…," Gojo pondered for a moment, looking for the right word. "Acceptable towards someone."
Now it was your turn to smile.
"He's not an easy kid," you murmured to Gojo after some time as you both watched the lady attending to her adorable, lively puppy. Gojo's grin widened for a second before settling back with heaviness too unfitting for the mask he usually wore.
"You can say so. They both went through…a lot."
You could only press your lips in sympathy. No matter how many tragedies you witnessed, each of them had left scars on you. Especially when you found out the reason Gojo adopted Megumi and Tsumiki.
Gojo didn't like to talk about it, but you gathered enough from the bits of conversations, information from Megumi's chart and heavy pauses between the words. Didn't press: one time, you saw Gojo examining the handout on how to help a kid process the grief, and noticed Gojo's gaze hardening into an iceberg.
So, you kept all assumptions safely catalogued in your head.
A heavy silence settled between you, interrupted only by excited yips of the Pomeranian, distant melodies of some indie song coming from the speakers, and the whirring of the cash register.
Hand drifting mindlessly to scratch an old scar, your fingers twitched with an indescribable urge to soothe Gojo's wounds as well. In the end, he lost his sister, too. And as shocked as he might've been, he had two distraught kids to bring up.
Did he have a chance to mourn her at all? Or just poured himself into the life that suddenly felt too enormous to fit into?
Judging by the distant waves of his gaze and the melancholy flickering over his face, too beautiful for all the sorrows, he didn't.
As much as you wanted to console him, to tell him that you hid scars like that as well, you couldn't bring yourself to do this. The lock on your heart was still impenetrable.
A bitter realisation, melting into a sour resentment that you didn't remember the last time you felt like that towards your fiancé, had your chest constricted with the weight of ache.
Instead, you tried not to dwell on it. Lifting your hand, your slightly trembling fingers grazed Gojo's hand across the table. A thick whisper followed.
"I am sorry."
Gojo's head immediately snapped up at the sound of your soft words. His eyes met yours in a moment of shared grief and quiet understanding — something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time.
A silent yearning to be seen hid in the desperate twitch of his fingers as they squeezed your palm in response.
He quickly masked that momentary weakness behind a frantic clearing of throat and a casual, too casual ask.
"You lost your chain?"
Frowning a bit, you shifted your gaze to the dip of your cleavage; a sudden, shaking breath followed as you gently pulled your hand back to touch the bare skin.
Naoya's words, full of malice and icy wrath, flashed behind your closed eyelids just as if he had been throwing them at you now. He was seething with ire that morning.
You just sat there: a silent witness to irritation consuming Naoya more and more. Mentally went through every place you visited, every corner rounded, and every room attended. Still, it had no sense at all.
The ring was gone.
"Yeah."
"It must've been important."
You gritted your teeth until the muscles in your jaws twitched. Slowly, you lifted your gaze and couldn't believe the next words that left your lips, "It's okay. Something that was meant to be mine would make its way back, right?"
Gojo's eyes widened a bit at the sudden declaration. A boyish grin curled on his lips as he just shrugged in response, "I guess so."
Just in time. An alarm on your phone not so kindly informed you that your lunch was over. Oh, how you wished that it could last a small eternity longer.
Did Gojo feel that as well?
Watching his tall figure retreat to a shop nearby, you thought about the warm sea that spilt in his irises, when you reminded him that you would meet again tomorrow.
And then, as the sudden gust of wind threw your hair back into your face, you realised when you heard Gojo's surname. The sound of it had become a frequent guest of all the Zenins' outraged discussions.
But…
What did that mean to you?
ੈ✩‧₊˚
"Darling?"
Your voice sounded hesitant in the car on the way to your parents' house.
Tearing his gaze from the streets of the Denenchofu neighbourhood, adorned with lush greenery, and the rows of houses, draped in elegance and serenity, Naoya quirked his brow at you in a silent question.
With a hasty breath, you twiddled with your bag. The damn binder kept evading you like on a cue. A quiet curse left your lips as you felt Naoya's patience wearing thinner and thinner with each flimsy attempt of yours. You heard the irritated click of his tongue just as you fished the folder. Handed it to your fiancé and watched boredom on his face morphing into vague surprise and… mild interest.
"What is it?"
"It's my — uhm, you know, it's something I am doodling while not busy and —"
Nayoa interrupted you with a sharp glance, "Quit babbling."
"Right. Sorry," forcing an apologetic grin, you folded your hands on your lap. "It's my sort of portfolio. Best of my works. I just — would like to know your opinion about that."
"And why do you want me to do this?"
"One of my patients' parents is an art dealer. He noticed some pictures in my office, and we exchanged a couple of words." Naoya's eyes narrowed at your revelation; you quickly corrected yourself, "That's it, I swear!"
"Quicker," he cut you off with a wave as if you were stealing minutes of his precious time.
Your gaze briefly flicked between your hands and the binder in his hands.
There it was. Something shaping as an opportunity to share with the rest of the world what your soul ached for and your eyes saw.
With a sharp exhale, you concluded, "Anyway, his gallery is searching for some new artists for the opening of a new exhibition. I thought — I thought I might give it a try." Your voice cracked at the last words.
A low, almost indifferent hum was all you got in response.
Breath bated, you intently watched Naoya slowly opening the folder and going through the pictures with deliberate scrupulousness. Head tilted, his gaze wandered over each line and stroke. You examined every minuscule twitch in his expression just to notice the fleeting movement of his eyebrows. Something resembling bewilderment flicked across his face.
A flash of excitement faintly sparkled within you.
Only for Naoya's bewilderment contorting into disbelief, masked by cold indifference.
"You drew it?"
A glance at his face didn't stir anything suspicious in you, so you slowly nodded, lips curling into a nervous smile.
His gaze darted to your makeshift portfolio once again. And then a smirk — a quick twitch of his lips — followed. As cruel as his love for you was.
"Don't you have something more important to do than simply wasting your time?"
The splendour of excitement faded within you into a dim flare. Your smile wavered as you breathed out, "I don't under— understand."
Your distress only fed Nayoa's ego even more. He carelessly tossed the portfolio back on your lap and drawled in mock sympathy, leaning closer.
"Aw, my poor dove. You are not born yesterday, aren't you? Still so innocent and full of naive dreams. You should've known better already."
Your grip on the poor binder tightened. The wrinkled, beaming face of your little patient caught your attention; but despite the usual reluctant acceptance of his words, you felt another match put to a growing flame inside.
Raising your chin a little, you noticed with a grim satisfaction that Naoya was slightly taken aback.
"Should know better what exactly?"
His smirk sharpened into a ruthless blade.
"That the world doesn't care about the wishes of innocent little doves like you, my darling." For all your desperate attempts to stand your ground, your heart sank to your stomach. Disappointment and your own failure buzzed in your tired mind, bearing Naoya's taunting voice.
"You think that guy really wanted these drawings of yours? Oh, darling, please. He probably was just polite. After all, you are the one who can write a slightly wrong prescription for his kid out of spite and —"
Cheeks flaring at the entendre in his voice, you blinked in shock, "What? I would never in my life do that!"
Naoya peacefully hold his hands out.
"Just saying, dove. I only want the best for you." Naoya's hand came to pinch your chin as he let his gaze roam over your face. Then a fake concern flashed on his face — you lifted a heavy gaze on your fiancé. "Saving you from an inevitable disappointment. No need to worry that pretty little head of yours about anything."
And then his tone deceived you into pretending sweetness, "You said you were bored?"
You answered it with an unblinking stare, which Naoya interpreted in his own way. As usual.
"Maybe it's high time for you to step into the wedding preparations. All I hear is endless chirping about napkins and lilies and the size of your obi sash. Why don't you join it? And while musing, maybe at least try to look for your engagement ring."
With that derisive scowl, your future husband leaned over to order something for your driver. And like that, the conversation ended.
Just like your pitiful attempts to become something that you weren't. A sandcastle that you carefully built crumbled in your hands, putting all your dillusions to an end.
Naive, little dove.
That was who you were, right?
Ache travelled down your cheeks in briny tears. They hit the pieces of your heart in lines and sketches, smudging them with sadness.
As the car finally stopped in front of a big house, screaming about quiet luxury, you quickly wiped all the signs of your life quietly falling apart. And when you stepped out of the car with your hand resting leisurely in the crook of Naoya's elbow, your smile only painted the image of a happy fiancée and a nice daughter.
The portfolio in the depths of your bag told another story.
For all the heavy air and weight of disappointment following your every step like an ominous shadow, you still preferred home walls to the bars of the Zenins' cage.
At least, you were in your territory.
Naoya had never been particularly interested in stepping into that place — perhaps he regarded it as settling to your level — but much to your surprise, he always accompanied you.
Deep down, you were well aware of the true reason; it was neither his affection nor understanding. Oh, no. Quite the opposite.
Your home greeted you with polite indifference.
If it had a face, you were sure it would wear the same expressionless look you often witnessed on your parents. A deep-buried bitterness surged inside at the sight of framed photos, depicting your family. The main guest was always their most beloved child — their business, its numerous triumphs and accomplishments. Its presence had always gnawed on you at the dinner table and hovered over, akin to a skilful executioner, with the axe of their expectations behind the back.
It was a competition you could never win.
As wounding as that realisation was, you swallowed it and every sharp remark to come.
After all, those crumbs were better than facing the silence.
Your mother joyously trilled something to Naoya, who listened to her with a mild interest. You were well aware that was the closest to politeness he was able to muster. As a lot of men tended to be, your future husband had never been keen on participating in "women's useless prattle".
But not as your father studied him with a scrutiny too unfitting for someone so blazenly indifferent.
At least, that was what you believed him to be.
Because lately, every time you stole a glance at your father as he talked to Naoya, you couldn't help but notice a mocking sparkle in his eyes. As if Naoya entertained him by the mere fact of his existence. You silently wondered if he was able to sense it, because your fiancé's attempts to earn his future father-in-law's approval were met with a quick grin and a curt nod more and more.
Of course, it wounded Naoya's pride and ego. Everyone had to be enamoured with your fiancé; a few tailored compliments and seemingly soft glances were usually enough. Naoya never bothered himself trying too much, though, just because he initially treated people like someone to use and discard later.
The only exception was you at the start of your relationships. He woven himself into your life with late-night strolls, dinners at the expensive restaurants, attentive gestures, and charming smiles. Until he made sure you were on the hook of his affection and in a constant state of craving more. Playing with you, testing the limits of your obedience and his own vanity, gave him a cruel sense of satisfaction.
Either way, some flattery and asking for business advice didn't fascinate your father into actually accepting Naoya. Sometimes your fiancé's disappointment and anger burst into spiteful remarks directed at you, although they quickly morphed into distant rambles as he understood how pathetic he might've looked. Trying to earn respect from the man who was supposed to give it to him on a silver platter.
If there was one thing you were certain about Naoya, that was his absolute despise to being looked down on.
You didn't know what game your father was playing — it might be just another mind game or whatever it was called in terms of business — but you enjoyed it inwardly nonetheless.
The clink of silvery cutlery followed soon after the usual exchanges among the whispers of pristine tablecloth and rivers of elite alcohol. Nayoa's shoulder brushed against yours every time he reached for whiskey. The gradual rise of his pitch matched the growing annoyance within you. You politely waved the maid every time she walked to your side with a glass.
"Ah, darling," your mother's cheeks were already painted red from numerous portions of Roku gin. Otherwise, she wouldn't be as kind as now. "Why don't you try this Roku gin? Torii-sama sent us the premium Sakura Bloom Edition, might as well try one!"
Your mother paused to pop a cherry in her mouth. Then her eyes comically widened as she shared a few curious glances with your aunties, earning tipsy giggles. Naoya's jaw tightened. "Your fiancé might not like your drinking! Silly me."
Your plastered smile twitched for a moment before you let a fake saccharine chuckle and nodded wordlessly. You knew better after the last gathering in the Zenins' estate.
Unknown to you, not only did Naoya watch you like a master, seeing his doll take the stage for the first time, but so did your father. His calm expression wavered for a moment before a usual mask slotted back into place.
"Darling." All the voices quietened as your father spoke up. Your grip on the fork tightened as you braced yourself and slowly dragged your eyes to meet his gaze, spine involuntarily straightening under its weight.
"Father?"
"Tell us about your…work," the last word left your father rather hesitantly as he absent-mindedly twirled a lavish whiskey glass between his fingers. Saying that surprised you would be an understatement: your work, the path you chose, instead of becoming another cog in their enormous corporate machine, had long been a touchy subject in your family. Your becoming a doctor was acceptable. But a paediatrician? It evoked a couple of arguments, but that was the most you could have ever received. From that moment, your profession hid between the pauses in conversations and was swept under the rug like a useless mention.
The voices around the table came to a complete halt, and even the lone clink of your cousin's spoon against the plate sounded shocked.
Trying to ignore the bewildered glances and especially the pointed glare of your fiancé at the lack of attention to his superb persona, you smiled corteously, "Thank you for asking, father. Everything is going nicely, and the kids are as healthy as they can be. Well, you know them. You don't keep an eye on them, and the next thing you do is blow on their scraped knees."
The table remained ominously silent after your attempted little joke. You cleared your throat and carried on, feeling Naoya piercing daggers into you.
"And, uhm, our department's well-financed, surprisingly! I suppose it's Naoya's achievement. He's on the board of the shareholders, if someone doesn't know," you hastily added. The paediatrics department was buzzing with a new juicy piece of gossip, exchanging knowing looks and conspirational whispers. Just like that, your fiancé once again bathed in the glory and adoration.
Meanwhile, you weren't even completely sure he actually showed up to those meetings.
Naoya straightened a little in his seat, sending a sleazy smirk to one of your distant relatives. Her cheeks went red immediately as she cast her gaze down on the plate.
"Yeah, dove is right." Naoya's speech had long already been slurred from the alcohol, straining his breath. Your jaw twitched with effort not to grimace as it fanned over your cheek. "No wonder they had such a big problem with money. I mean, they are looking after kids. Not even real doctors, if you catch my drift."
You were so shocked and astounded that you couldn't utter a single word.
"What?" Naoya shrugged indifferently as his gaze swept across the table to notice that some people were stunned as well. He quirked a brow at you. "You said it yourself, honey. That you felt so stupid talking to surgeons sometimes."
The humiliation snaked immediately in your chest and sank its teeth into your heart, until you bled quietly on the pristine white in front of you. The silver of the fine clutter caught light, showing you a reflection of smirking Naoya, even more distorted. Your grip on it tightened, but you still played your role, sending your father a jarred grin.
However, he looked past you. His brows knitted together in confusion and something suspiciously looking like seething anger. Shivers ran down your spine as your father finally muttered.
"And who do you consider a real doctor, Naoya?"
Naoya's smirk slowly wavered before vanishing completely; his cheeks went from painfully pale to slightly pink in a span of seconds, and for a death cup like him, it equated to a crimson bloom.
Clearing his throat, your future husband threw pointed glances at you.
You remained indifferent to his silent pleas.
The sight of your fiancé, trying to make his way out of a frying pan, brought a strange kind of contentment. You hid your smirk behind the glass.
He parted his lips to answer, only to be interrupted by the maid. She bowed in an apology, saying someone was calling you,
"That must be some parent. Excuse me," you quickly stood up and hurried to another room. Ah. You wished you could see Naoya humiliating himself in front of your family a bit longer. However, you still managed to mouth "thank you" to your father, who answered you with a quick nod.
Parents' calling you all the time wasn't anything sort of an usual, but seeing Gojo appearing on your screen sent your heart stammering against your ribs. Was something wrong with Megumi? Did he feel bad again? You were just about to discharge him and —
Before the wave of overthinking consumed you, you accepted the call, thumb hesitating over the button for a few seconds longer than needed.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Doc. I am so sorry to interrupt you, really. You must be busy," Gojo chuckled nervously. You noticed with a frown that his low voice had lost its usual smoothness: he sounded genuinely… worried. You had to cut off his words before they would turn into rambling.
"Don't worry. What happened? Is Megumi alright?"
"Megs is fine, it's —," a loud bark interrupted your conversation, earning a distressed groan from Gojo. "Shiro, for the love of God! Stop that!"
The dog's barks — as you presumed, Shiro's — grew even louder, and in a couple of seconds, playful yips followed as well.
"Kuro, no, I can't play with you right now!"
As much as you would've enjoyed that chaos in every other situation, your voice took on an urgent edge, calling for Gojo's attention back.
"Gojo, I need you to focus. What's wrong?"
The sounds of the crisis on the other side of the call quietened a little, and you could finally feel Gojo's voice, coming in a nervous breath, "It's Tsumiki."
"Okay. Is she nauseous? Has a temperature? Diarrhoea? Pale, blotchy skin?"
"She threw up a couple of times. We've been at the new place near their school, and then went to an amusement park. Yeah, wrong move, I know. No diarrhoea, no. A little bit pale, though." Gojo huffed nervously. You briefly imagined him carding fingers through his hair — you picked that habit of his during Megumi's admission.
Shaking your head, you interrupted Gojo again.
"What did she eat? Did you give her some meds?"
"She had a poke bowl with tuna. Pepsi. Sugar-free, if that's important. Cotton candy. I think it's cotton candy. It should be cotton candy, 'cause we all had those damn poke bowls. Honestly, it was too sweet, even for me."
Gojo's voice turned too distant all of a sudden. You figured he was checking on Tsumiki, given the worried edge in his tone. "We went home, and I gave her Pedialyte."
"Oh, that's great. You did right, actually. She should drink a lot and have plenty of rest."
"Dunno, Doc. She's not looking very good, and I —" A deep, sharp exhale that followed twisted something in your heart.
Swallowing nervously, you tightened your grip on the phone. "I'll check on her. Just send your address. I'll be there as soon as possible."
Gojo kept silent for some time, until you heard his quiet, strangely hesitant voice. "You sure? I don't want to interrupt whatever you might have, it's a Friday evening, after all. I can call an ambulance every time."
Already putting on your light coat, you gently murmured, "No, it's okay. Don't worry about it."
"I'll send my assistant after you."
You were already familiar with Gojo's assistant, a driver, and a planner — Ijichi. The poor guy looked perpetually stressed; you genuinely didn't want to cause him even more trouble.
"I'll get a taxi."
"But —"
"By the time he gets to me, I could've already been at yours."
Gojo reluctantly agreed, not capable of fighting your logic, and dropped his address. Your brows raised in a slight surprise.
With a quiet hum, you finally called a taxi, already grimacing at Naoya's possible reaction, as you hastily texted him an apology. His face, contorted in fury, especially after a confrontation with your father, sent shivers down your spine. A thought of backing down briefly crossed your mind, but you quickly shook it away. Not only because you were always keen on keeping your promises and the poor girl involved, but…
Watching the streets of Seijo pass you in quiet green parks, tennis courts, university campuses and elite buildings, you finally admitted to yourself.
That you longed to see Gojo.
His house met you with a daunting gateway and a robotic voice, calmly telling you to proceed further. A quick, examining look around the beautiful, well-tended yard made you wonder how many people worked there, but the sight of water guns scattered over the grass, as well as the picnic blanket on the grass, gave you a much better understanding of the family living there.
After hesitating a couple of seconds, you knocked.
You fully expected Gojo to greet you right that second. Instead, you heard a couple of barks, some intelligible mumbling, and the sound of something being knocked over, until the door finally opened, revealing Gojo and a white Labrador puppy, enthusiastically chewing on the man's trouser leg.
Hardly had you opened your mouth, when another puppy — that time a black one, albeit also a Labrador — jumped on you with a joyous yip. The puppy wiggled its tail with such speed that you sincerely worried about the poor doggie launching itself into space.
A joyful chuckle left you as you petted the puppy, cooing at him, "Hello to you, too!"
Gojo finally managed to get the white one off his leg and craddled it against his chest with a loud sigh. A couple of white strands were plastered to his forehead, and he quickly wiped it with his forearm.
"Hello, Doc. Kuro, come here. Don't jump on ladies like that," he mock scolded the black one, Kuro, and flashed you a tired grin. Kuro trotted back to Gojo. "We're gonna talk about it later, I swear. With you as well, right, little guy?" Gojo murmured to the white puppy, scratching him behind the ears and nodded towards you. "Meet Shiro!"
You beamed back in response and quickly looked around. "Where's Tsumiki?"
Gojo's expression changed in an instant, a frown crossing over his handsome face. "She's upstairs. You can use the bathroom there. Wait a minute, okay?"
Nodding nervously, you found your seat near the cream sofa. A white, fluffy carpet easily swallowed the sound of your footsteps. You sank into the comfort of the armchair nearby and let your gaze drift over the dog toys on the carpet, neatly folded colouring pages on the coffee table, a half-opened pack of coloured crayons, some book about dog breeds, and… wait, was it a pastry book? Nonetheless, Cédric Grolet's? Squinting, you only got convinced more about it: the sight of familiar lemons immediately caught your eye.
Nothing strange. He was a restaurant owner, after all. Broadening a worldview was useful for everyone.
Unless…
He picked it up after you mentioned it at the cafe.
Weird warmth blossomed in your chest, spreading through your veins like sunshine, mellow and bright.
Until a sudden thought of Naoya burnt you.
"Megs, why don't you have the puppies and play with them at the yard? I'll go check on Tsumiki." Gojo's loud voice startled you out of your hazy mind. Blinking, you returned to reality and watched the grumpy kid dragging his feet to Gojo. "Oh, and say hi to Doctor-sensei. She'll look at her too."
His words had Megumi stop mid-rubbing his eyes and stare at you with mild disbelief. Waving at him, you forced a smile. You couldn't let yourself dwell on your future husband and bathe in your misery in front of a kid.
"Hi, Megumi-kun! You feeling better?"
The boy blinked as well and shrugged in response. "I guess."
As driven by the force of gravity, your eyes immediately drifted to Gojo to find him already staring at you with a curious expression. Warmth curled on his lips, but his eyes remained sharp and focused. Your cheeks heated up.
Stuffy. It was stuffy.
One of the puppies barked.
Megumi briefly glanced at the dog, and for the first time, you saw a sincere smile spreading on his face. Then, he dragged his eyes back to you with a pensive, hesitant expression and asked quietly.
"Will Tsumiki be alright?"
Your chest tightened with emotions as you kneeled before the kid. He watched you carefully, but didn't speak up.
"She is alright, from what your uncle told me. Don't worry. He takes care of her." Letting yourself look at Gojo again, you noticed something indescribable flicker over his features before he smiled back, albeit strained. A weird feeling stirred within as you added, "Both of you, actually."
Something twitched behind the stone mask that Megumi's face was. A light pink coloured his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze.
"Alrighty, Megs," Gojo held the door open, and Kuro already jumped happily outside, followed by Shiro, wiggling his tail. "But not too long! You gotta be in bed till ten, and we are going to brush teeth together this time. You're not going to fool me anymore, little punk."
Megumi rolled his eyes, but the sparkle of mischief in them was a dead giveaway. "More like you are not going to fool me like the last time you ditched the irrigator —"
You watched the puppies immediately clinging to Megumi with cheerful yips as he stepped out — and looked at Gojo. Nothing in him, save only for the tension in his broad shoulders, revealed the quiet storm brewing inside.
Swallowing, you hurried to catch up to him.
"Tsumi-chan, how are you now?" Gojo's voice dropped to the gentle warmth you had yet to hear. He quietly closed the doors behind you both and walked to the girl. A little grin tugged at the corner of your lips at the sight of the barrage of meds on the bedside table.
"I feel better now, really. Thank you, Satoru-san. You don't have to worry about me so much."
"Oh, I absolutely do," huffing loudly, Gojo walked over and cleared his throat, telling Tsumiki your name. "Doctor-sensei treats Megumi."
Tsumiki murmured something to greet you, but her last words caught you off guard.
"Nice to meet you, sensei! Satoru-san told us about you."
Eyes widened, you shifted your gaze to Gojo, who was already checking Tsumiki's bunnies. "Really? Did he?"
"Oh, yeah! I know you're really good," she chuckled warmly, but then added hastily, "I don't think there's any need to check on me, I am completely fine!"
But after this, she grimaced quickly and gave up under Gojo's hardened gaze.
Tsumiki got a certain paleness to her skin as you examined her, but nothing unusual for the food poisoning, as you indeed figured it out.
"I think it was cotton candy," the girl murmured, sinking back into the bed. A quiet sigh left her lips. "It's a shame. I liked it."
"Oh, yeah," Gojo grumbled indistinctly from his place. "I'll never let you eat that stuff again, I swear."
The girl's eyes widened as she shared a startled look with you. "But you ate five portions all by yourself! It's not fair!"
Gojo shot her a quick look, though a teasing grin danced on his lips.
"It's not the same. I am an adult, and you are just a teeny tiny girl," he joked lightly, watching a white bunny devouring an applewood stick. "You're such a fatty, fella, I swear."
"Snow is not a fatty!" Tsumiki already jumped in to protect her precious pet. "Just…furry."
"Tsumi-chan, calm down a little. You'd better relax and have a rest," you murmured, while writing down recommendations for Gojo. "Your bunny's name is Snow?"
She nodded carefully, following your words, and twiddled with her fingers.
"Yes. Snow and Ball. The owners wanted to give Snow away, because, you know," she whispered and sniffled quietly. "He was not like other bunnies."
"Albino," Gojo interjected immediately. Almost absent-mindedly: his eyes were focused on the large constellation map on the wall, but you were sure he was listening more than attentively.
"So we took Snow in, and Satoru-san later brought us Ball! He lived on a Bunny Island, but now he's with us."
Your smile wavered, sinking into fragile softness as your hand squeezed Tsumiki's. Then your gaze found Gojo again, who was trying to use Tsumiki's telescope. The sight was quite funny, given Gojo's height and the telescope's design for kids.
Not looking away, you whispered, "Satoru-san is good to you."
"He is," the girl beamed at you, but then grew shy again. Clearing her throat, she asked whether you had some pets.
The bitterness instantly rose in your chest, flooding all the warmth.
Naoya didn't understand the concept of pets and anything that could steal your attention away.
That was your first big fight.
You were just a year together.
With gaze cast down, you shrugged, not aware that Gojo was watching you all the time. "Uhm, no, unfortunately, no. With my work…not quite possible."
"Oh. It's a shame," she sighed again. "But if you want to, you can come and play with my bunnies. And I am sure Megumi won't be against you playing with Kuro and Shiro. Right, Satoru-san?"
"Yeah." He answered without missing a beat. Your heart did a treacherous flip, slamming against your ribcage, and you breathed out with a weak grin.
"Thank you, Tsumi-chan. Get better soon, okay?"
"Make sure she's well-rested. I think she should feel better before Monday. A lot of drinks," you nodded at the paper in Gojo's hand. "Watch the vomit too, and basically just keep an eye on her. If there's a sudden tummy ache, call an ambulance. And call me just in case."
"Sure will do," Gojo murmured tiredly, carefully folding your note and tucking it into his notebook. A sharp pang of something you weren't ready to name yet shot through your heart. Quietly watching Gojo's brows furrow in thought as he turned the pages of his planner — probably filled with dozens of meetings, visits and even dates — you muttered your goodbyes with a full intention to slip quietly out of that lovely home.
Only to be stopped by a warm hand on your elbow.
"Where are you going to? It's late. Ijichi will drive you home."
Your phone was already buzzing with dozens of irritated texts from Naoya, and the thought of him seeing you leave another man's car made your insides churn.
Waving, you huffed a chuckle, "Ah, it's nothing, I'll take a taxi, and it's late!"
"He will be there in five minutes." Gojo casually shrugged your words off, already on its way to hold a door for you. "Come on, I'll walk you out."
The gusts of wind under the veil of tranquil twilight didn't bite you as usual; perhaps, it was Gojo's warmth shielding you from its coldness. Standing right beside him as you waited outside, you couldn't help but reminisce that evening with the British lighter.
An airy chuckle cut through the serenity between you. Gojo tore his gaze away from the star-spilt sky above, and his gentle murmur caressed the expanse of your skin. Even though he was standing a foot apart.
"What are you thinking about?"
Your smile deepened, but you shook your head in response. "Nothing much."
"Hey. Don't go shy on me, Doctor-sensei."
Despite the coldness of the evening, your cheeks flared up. "Telling about me to your kids?"
A soft smile spread on his face as he chuckled.
"Couldn't help. You're really a nice doctor."
"Well, thank you then."
He basked in a response you gave him — a widened gaze, a pink tint to your cheeks, and a little smile — until you went silent again.
Gojo tilted his head in a silent question — the harsh wind threw his white bangs all over his forehead. He didn't make any effort to brush them away; instead, he kept looking at you as if you were the only star gracing the heavens above. Beautiful. Observing.
Mysterious.
"I don't have the lighter on me now."
Startled, you abruptly burned and blinked, your huff dissolving into a light laugh. "And I don't have any cigs."
Gojo's smile deepened almost imperceptibly. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his warmth enveloping you tighter in its embrace. Nervously, you tucked the lone hair strand behind your ear. Glanced at the sky above, glimmering indifferently.
"Tsumiki likes stars, doesn't she? A whole map and a telescope in her room?" You murmured absent-mindedly, eyes lazily wandering from one celestial body to another.
Naoya didn't like stargazing.
"Ah, yes. A little scientist. She dreams about space and visiting some planets." At the mention of his niece, Gojo's gaze turned melancholic, albeit full of tenderness. "She's a nice girl. Kind and gentle."
At the sudden pensiveness, colouring his voice, you turned around. The wind threw your hair into your face, but you chose not to see anything but Gojo. Your voice came surprisingly steady.
"And you are a nice uncle. When I said to Megumi that you took good care of them, I didn't joke."
Your words clearly stunned Gojo; his eyes widened, and the dark blue of them shone so brightly under the lamplight that you let yourself drown in them all over again.
"You think so, Doc?"
Despite the lightness in his tone, you picked up the strained edge, the hesitance, and something weirdly resembling hope.
His hand twitched a little as you stepped closer and let your fingers tentatively brush against his. Gojo went still, and your quiet yet sure words nearly undid him.
"I know, Gojo."
His chest expanded with a sharp exhale. There was no way he could contain the overwhelming fullness in his chest that came with your presence. And as the honk of Ijichi's car erupted through the silence, he finally managed to find his words again.
"Thank you for coming. I… really appreciate that."
You just shook your head with a warm smile you wore so often. A strange gleam flashed in your gaze.
"No worries. I am glad to help."
For some reason, he couldn't tear his gaze away, and just watched the lonebeam caressing your features in a way he longed to.
The black car finally stopped in front of you. Gojo stepped to open the door for you and murmured.
"Good night. See you soon, right?"
"Right. Bye, Gojo."
And seeing the car slowly disappearing into the dark, Gojo let out a breath, carding his fingers through the hair as the realisation that had been hovering over him like a sword of Damocles finally hit him.
He was so fucked.
ੈ✩‧₊˚
The clock in your office almost struck two, marking your possible fifteen minutes for a break, but you were focused on a baby on the examination table. Softly pressing on the belly, you checked for any enlarged organs, only to give the parents an assuring nod.
"No signs of a hernia as well."
Your light tickles earned soft gurgles from the kid, and you couldn't help but lean down and coo, "Aw, you're such a little talker tonight, aren't you? Looking so happy out here."
The baby babbled something again, flailing their pudgy arms, and gave you a little grin. Your hands softly brushed over the kid's legs to move them over.
"No problems with hip joints! Your baby is completely healthy." A relaxed smile made its way on your face as well, seeing the little girl's parents breathe out in relief.
"Doctor-sensei, we were thinking about introducing Kiki-chan to solid foods," Kiki-chan's mother squirmed in her seat, while her father attempted to put a pacifier in her mouth. The baby protested with a huff.
Humming under your breath, you went through the baby's medical record. "Honestly, it's better you wait a little. I will give you proper recommendations when the time comes. It's usually around 6 months. Meanwhile, remember to have the vitamin D supplement I was talking about."
"Ah, yes. I wanted to ask if 400 IU daily is alright?" Ito-san's voice sounded a bit strained, as Kiki-chan curiously attempted to tug on her mom's hair.
"Totally fine."
Shortly after answering a couple of questions more and reminding the parents to call you in case something suspicious arises, you bid your goodbyes to the family.
Exhausted, you massaged your temples and decided to take a quick nap before a meeting, only to be interrupted by the knock. No urgency, though. No hesitation.
Frowning, you called out to come in, already straightening in your seat. Might've been another emergency, since you didn't have anything more scheduled before the endless Yaga's droning.
The door opened, revealing the emergency himself. The emergency bore a smile, able to disperse any signs of an impending grimness; his hair flashed bright white under the light, and the blue of his gaze pulled you into its ripples just like the day that emergency walked into your life.
Your heart slammed against your ribs, pulse roared in your temples with deafening force, as you stared back at Gojo. Megumi had been charged some time ago, but the lie would've tasted sour if you said Gojo didn't cross your mind. Maybe something happened to Tsumiki?
Sometimes, when the evenings pinned you down with their weight of loneliness, as you stared at Naoya's back blanky, the memories flushed in your mind. You kept every smile, every glance, every bruf of fingers and every word close to your heart, akin to the precious gems.
Then, as Naoya's lips would press a claim on your skin and his fingertips would burn another into your soul, you pulled them out with the utmost care.
Somehow managing to compose yourself, you forced a grin that Gojo would find a pleasant one, at least, "Hi! What are you doing here? Oh, have a seat, would you?"
Gojo's grin deepened, and he sank into the chair in front of you.
"Long time no see, Doc. No-no, everything is okay with kids, don't worry," he hastily added, seeing concern immediately taking over your face.
"Oh." You blinked in surprise. Cleared your throat. Tried not to look as nosy as you felt. Twiddled with a kitten figurine on your table. Finally breathed out.
"Not to be rude or anything, but…what are you doing here then?"
His white brows knitted together as he managed to huff a chuckle. It slowly died under your inquiring gaze.
"You don't know?"
Briefly closing your eyes at the sense of migraine slowly crawling back to make your life even more miserable, you murmured, "Know what?"
The bright grin on Gojo's face wavered, but his voice came out surprisingly soft. As if he were trying to soothe you by the mere tone alone.
"I am on the board of shareholders now. I thought you might've known by now. But it's even better! I am telling you myself."
Brows flying to your hairline in surprise, you breathed out a quiet, shocked chuckle. The gentle sun — as bright as Gojo's radiant grin — warmed your soul in hesitant rays of fondness.
"Really? That's so great! I didn't even hear —"
Naoya didn't bother to mention it to you.
Your smile slowly vanished as the clouds of despair slowly fogged that very sun.
Gojo, who had already helped himself to a candy, suddenly looked up. "Didn't even hear…?"
If you were a lot more braver, you wouldn't let hesitance shake you to the very core. Expose you for who you truly were.
A dove. A naive, frightened dove.
The knife of Naoya's disdainful whisper slowly twisted between your ribs once again, leaving the droplets of something that used to be your affection spilling in crimson paths of sorrow and ache.
"Doc? You good?"
You would've told Gojo everything.
Instead, you gave him a jarred grin.
"Doesn't matter. So, what's the thing for you here?"
His gaze narrowed suspiciously, but he decided not to press further.
"I thought it was a good opportunity. Non-profit management, something like that. You took good care of Megumi, and I was already thinking about," his gaze swept across your room, pausing at the sweets, the examination table, the posters on the walls and the box with toys. The very same you fished Megumi's plushie from. "Contributing to society, all that jazz."
Something in his deliberately light tone told you that you weren't the one to have secrets. With a curious hum, you leaned over, tapping on your chin in mock thoughtfulness.
"Weren't you the one saying that you didn't like meetings and everything?"
Gojo paused, his eyes briefly flicking to your face to gauge your reaction; he saw none, besides an intrigue, dancing in your gaze.
Oh. That was how you wanted to play, huh?
He slowly mirrored your grin, lazily tilting his head. "I am okay if that's for the good."
"It's for the good, then?"
His smile widened, giving you a good look at his dimples.
Giving Gojo the last suspicious glance, you leaned back.
He cleared his throat.
"So, if you have something to say or ask for... you can tell me. Within reasonable limits, of course."
"I'll keep it in mind."
Your pager beeped loudly again, putting your conversation to a halt. With a heavy sigh, you hid it and rose from your seat.
"Did something happen?" Gojo inquired with the same curious, albeit soft gaze that had been silently caressing you the entire conversation.
Stifling a sigh and your urge to ditch the whole thing, you admitted begrudgingly, "No, not at all. Just the department's meeting."
"Oh," he hummed incredulously, but his gaze was still firmly set on you. You decided to get through your notes just not to feel its weight. It never failed to send shivers down your spine.
"You've already met Yaga-san, the department's director, I suppose?"
An attempt to briefly switch the topic and the nervous tone didn't go unnoticed by Gojo.
As well as the slightest twitch of your fingers, when you meticulously tucked all the notes into one neat pile.
"Yeah. He's...an interesting guy. I would say more like a businessman type. Talks about the financing and the sponsor's attraction."
Gojo's words earned an airy chuckle from you.
"Oh, he can talk about it day and night, I swear."
"That he can," he agreed, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Still, I think he cares about all of you. The finances topic is surely one of the hottest on the board meeting."
"That's why I am not really sure why you decided to join it — ah, shit!"
One clumsy turn and a misguided step — god, sometimes Naoya was right: you really felt like having two left feet — and the carefully arranged notes went scattered on your floor like birds trying to escape.
"Damn, I am so clumsy." Kneeling immediately, you murmured under your breath and stilled, feeling Gojo's finger brush gingerly against yours as he handed you one of the vaccination reports. The time completely paused around you: the thick, heavy substance enveloping both of you.
The world closed in on the blue in his eyes. Spilt heavens, simmering waves of an ocean, June sky, when the world's radiance blinded with its brightness, merged into the tint that dulled every other colour for you. Took you to another world, even just for a fleeting moment.
"Oh, look at that. Is that...wait, is that yours?"
Your head immediately snapped towards Gojo, and you saw him holding that small, pathetic makeshift portfolio — the one you probably pulled out just to throw away, but the thought slipped away from your tired mind just like usual.
The heat of humiliation, mixed with embarrassment, exploded within you in a painful red. Helplessly blinking, you forced a pathetic chuckle.
"Oh, that? No, it's — "
And then why did you carry that binder around, huh? Think, think, think!
Your mind desperately scrambled for a plausible explanation, but after some debating, you surrendered to his gaze.
"Yes. These are mine. It's nothing special, though. Some lazy, stupid doodles."
Gojo frowned instantly at the belittlement curling in your voice like a berated animal. He slowly rose to his height and murmured in bewilderment.
"You're joking, right?"
You blinked. Blinked again. Didn't think of anything better than to stare at Gojo as you had seen him for the first time. Stare at him carefully going through the binder. Stare at the light wrinkle between his brows, knitted in concentration. Stare at his lips until they parted and uttered the words that knocked all the air from your lungs.
"These are wonderful!"
The pager beeped again to remind you about the upcoming meeting, but all your being shrinked to the little folder in Gojo's hands.
Naoya's words about wasting your time immediately flared up, and you straightened as well to make a grab for the photos.
"It's nothing special. Really. Just a bunch of stuff."
Gojo dragged his shocked gaze from the portfolio back to you and let you have the damn binder. You would throw it away the first thing after the meeting.
To which, in fact, you should've hurried long ago.
"I have to go."
Gojo watched your figure moving around with the newly acquired urgency. As if you had been trying to shake any remnants of the intimacy that had just unfolded around you.
His eyes searched your face with a quiet, almost aching attention, until he finally muttered.
"Did I say something wrong?"
No.
No.
Don't say that.
Don't do that to me.
A cruel beast crawled up your veins to clutch your insides in a freezing grip, while fear and regret trapped your lone heartbeat.
Gojo didn't say anything, instead letting his eyes talk, but you were too occupied with your own thoughts to hear him.
Eventually, he stepped back with a quiet sigh, and the thinly veiled frustration in his voice caused your heart to sink.
"I am sorry. I didn't mean to go overboard in any way. I'll leave you alone."
The sight of Gojo's broad shoulders slumped in the slightest bitterness cracked something in your chest.
The pager went off again with a loud beep.
"I really have to go."
Gojo only gave you a curt nod, and all the time you were closing your office, you felt the weight of his gaze pinning you down.
A hundred words rested just on the tip of your tongue. Instead, you settled on a quiet, hesitant apology, gently grazing his elbow.
"I am sorry. It's not this. You haven't done anything wrong."
He turned almost immediately at your words, but as much as he wanted to ask more — so, so much more than you were ready to offer — he stilled. And prompted gently.
"Then what is it?"
You sucked in a sharp exhale, just to —
"Dove? There you are!"
For the reason to appear himself.
The look of pure panic on your face the second the voice reached you made Gojo frown. Then your frightened gaze flicked to him.
The crowd around you parted slightly, revealing a man. Gojo caught a couple of fond gazes shared between the nurses, but that couldn't bother him less.
The immediate self-conscious curve of your shoulders, paired with the stiffness of your moves, when the guy pulled you closer without any words, concerned Gojo way more.
"Dove. What did I say about answering my calls? I don't want to look around for you all over the hospital. I am way too busy for this."
The arrogant, disdainful voice of that prick immediately grated on Gojo's nerves. The tone was not suitable even for berating a pet, let alone talking to a human being. Someone supposedly beloved.
Gojo's jaw tightened. He was about to step in when you swiftly interjected with a grin too wide to be sincere. Your hand on the man's arm didn't promise any good.
The guy turned to Gojo's side and stilled for a moment, quirking a brow.
"Darling," your tone sounded so weird, Gojo barely recognised it — something like the plea to an executioner to give you the last glimpses of freedom. "This is Gojo Satoru. He's on the board of the shareholders as well."
The prick slowly tilted his head, dragging his gaze over Gojo in silent yet sharp examination. Then a weird gleam flushed in his eyes as they slightly widened in recognition.
That scowl and barely masked derision on his face had stirred something distant in Gojo's memory, but the whole image remained blurry. Until you introduced him as well, piercing all the pieces.
"This is Zenin Naoya. My..."
Naoya didn't appreciate your pause and flashed an arrogant smirk.
"Her fiancé."
Zenin.
Right. Of course.
The surname that was such a frequent guest at all the gatherings Gojo used to attend. He felt an immediate wave of repulsion towards that prick, but managed to mask it with a slightly narrowed gaze, simply out of respect for you.
Gojo heard a lot about the Zenins back then, when his piece carried some value in his parents' game. Even now, some rumours still managed to reach him, despite all the efforts.
If any of them were true about the young Zenin heir…
Fiancé.
Gods. He put all the details — your empty stares, self-deprecating jokes, occasional flinches, even the earlier reaction to his compliment to your drawing — with terrifying clarity.
Puzzles finally slotted into the frame that your fiancé forced you into. Everything made sense now.
Quickly closing his eyes to compose himself, Gojo immediately opened them, forced by the hesitance in your tone.
"You should've met at the board's meeting, I suppose," your gaze flickered nervously between Gojo and Naoya in an attempt to quickly assess the surroundings. The air was growing thicker with each passing second: the whispers around rose in frequency, while Gojo's gaze narrowed even more deadly, and Naoya's smirk turned maliciously sharper.
The muscle in Gojo's jaw tightened.
"It's always a great opportunity to meet another member of the respected clan," Naoya tilted his head just a tad, but the harsh look in his eyes didn't melt even for a second. "Even though he somehow busied my little dove so much, she forgot to check her phone, huh?"
The scene he would certainly cause you later flashed before your eyes. You managed to offer some apologetic murmur before Naoya cut you off with a single word.
"Quiet."
Wordlessly, you dropped your gaze. One word shaped you into a person so meek that you barely resembled the woman Gojo slowly came to know.
His blood boiled at the sight, but the look he gave Naoya was enough to freeze hell.
"Can't say the same, Zenin."
Naoya stilled. His smirk slowly wavered, but then a low, amused chuckle left him, followed by the words dipped in poison.
"Oh? I suppose other respected clans didn't care about teaching their heirs proper manners, did they, Satoru-kun?"
The crowd around went completely silent, as if someone stole their voices. Even the sounds of pagers and rhythmic taps on the keyboard quietened. A few glares landed on you, and you could already hear your colleagues clicking their tongues in annoyance.
Again, never directed at Naoya.
Nothing changed in Gojo's face as he simply raised his chin and drawled with an infuriating smirk, "Have you learnt any before talking to your future wife, huh?"
Your head snapped immediately at the sound of his voice. Your lips parted to force some excuse.
You had none.
As well as Naoya.
His cheeks paled in an instant, but the tips of his ears blushed pink. No wonder — another humiliation from a man, let alone a man, defending you.
That act of disgrace Naoya couldn't bear.
Seething inside, he surprisingly gently tugged you closer and whispered, "We'll talk about it later, sweetheart."
As Gojo watched your figures retreat, he caught the wide-eyed gaze you sent him over your shoulder, full of so much remorse, that it twisted something violently in his chest.
i've been busy with my job lately and new assignments. and to be frank, it's very hard for me to find motivation to continue my mini series, so the progress is kinda slow, haha.
nevertheless, i am planning to finish my part of @/madamechrissy crossover event and post it on 20th if July, as well as finishing the 3rd chapter this month.
if everyone's interested, stay tuned!
upd: the event is gonna be delayed now, obviously, given chrissy's situation :(
synopsis. satoru is a bonafide genius. he’s got the perfect transcript and ten-year plan to prove it. he knows how to keep his head down and avoid the chaos his twin thrives in. so when the unofficial frat princess sets her sights on him, he knows there’s a catch. he just doesn’t figure out what it is until he’s already fallen for her
pairing. nerd! satoru gojo x popular! fem! reader. ✶ contents. sfw! college + gojo twins au ⇢ fratjo’s called souta. shoko, suguru + utahime cameo. banter + a few threats. a little bit of fluff, they’re kinda cute. enjoy it while it lasts el oh el ˖ ࣪ . ࿐
anybody who walks into your room at present will think you’re getting ready for a date. which, to be fair, wouldn’t be an unreasonable conclusion to come to. to say your room is a mess would be an understatement. clothes are cascading from your open closet like a waterfall, strewn across every available surface – your desk chair, the floor, your nightstand – and you know putting them away is going to be as fun as wearing wet socks all day.
you’ve thrown on a pair of grey sweatpants that hang perfectly on your hips, soft and worn in all the right places. but you can’t decide on a shirt. partly because you have too many options to choose from, and partly because it feels like you have none at all. your closet holds an abundance of clothes, yet every shirt you pull out seems wrong for one reason or another. too casual. too fitted. too oversized. too much effort. not enough effort.
it’s a fake study session for a class you don’t even take, for heaven’s sake. you shouldn’t be thinking this hard about choosing a shirt. and yet there’s a growing pile dangerously close to suguru’s head on your bed.
( the truth is that the shirt isn’t the problem. the problem is that in approximately sixteen minutes, you’re supposed to be sitting beside satoru again, pretending your sole purpose of being there is to get your physics grade up. which is honestly ridiculous considering the fact that you don’t major or minor in physics. not that he knows that. to him you’re just one of gakuganji’s struggling students )
“i can’t decide” you sigh, holding up two nearly identical tank tops – one black, the other grey – against your chest, “which one should i wear ?”
“they’re both tank tops. who cares ?” suguru murmurs. his arm is thrown over his eyes, dramatically, as if the very act of existing in your vicinity is too much to bear, “and they look the same”
“i care,” you retort, glaring at him. “he has to think i’m actually there to learn. but i also need him to realize that i’m attractive and he should consider falling in love with me. so i obviously need to look good. but not too good”
shoko’s perched at her desk, her posture rigid as she color-codes her notes, not really paying attention to you while utahime is sitting cross-legged on the floor, peering up at you with a mixture of disbelief and disgust, “have some shame, genuinely”
“i wish she would” shoko mutters, not even bothering to look up from her notebook. “she’s supposed to be making him fall in love, not lust but i don’t expect her to know the difference”
( she’s been in a foul mood since you told her about ijichi’s crush on her. which is unfair. because it’s not like you were the one who developed feelings for her. you’re merely the messenger. historically speaking, messengers are not supposed to get shot. )
“are you still mad about the ijichi thing ?” you ask cautiously as you hold the black tank up to your chest again. “because i feel like you’re still mad about the ijichi thing and can i just say that i think it’s really cute that he likes you even though—”
“sleep with one eye open tonight” shoko slowly looks up, her expression sour enough to curdle milk. “or don’t even sleep at all because i think i might actually kill you.”
( you know she’s joking. probably. but there’s an edge to her voice that makes you wonder. shoko’s always been protective of her heart, wrapping it in layers of indifference and sarcasm. maybe ijichi’s crush hit closer to home than you thought. or maybe she’s just tired of being tangled up in your schemes. )
you gulp, instinctively taking a step back.
“what’s the ijichi thing ?” utahime asks, brown eyes blazing with morbid curiosity
“well,” you say, deciding on the black tank and tossing the grey one onto the mountain of clothes on your sheets. ”satoru’s roommate, ijichi, has this massive crush on shoko and he asked me to introduce them if he agreed to tutor me. it’s not even that deep i don’t know why she’s so mad at me”
“i’m mad at you because i’m not a fan of getting people’s hopes up or hurting their feelings” shoko grumbles. she finally tears her attention away from her notes long enough to level you with a withering look.
“you don’t even know if he’s gonna ask you out,” you point out.
“and i'd like to keep it that way.” she takes a long sip of her coffee. “i don’t have time for this. yaga’s on my ass about choosing a topic for my thesis”
“i know” you sigh, “you’re acting like i sold your hand in marriage and your wedding’s tomorrow. satoru never gave me a deadline, so you can talk to ijichi next year for all i care”
“when you die i call dibs on your brain,” shoko mumbles, her brows knitting together as she tries to wrap her head around what you’ve just said. “i need to study it in detail because the way your thought process jumps from point a to point q is genuinely unlike anything i’ve ever seen”
“thank you but. . .” you glance at her over your shoulder and pout, “i’m not sure i’m donating my brain to science . . . sorry !”
“you know damn well that wasn’t a compliment.” she’s practically glaring at you now.
( if you had a dollar for every time you successfully rage baited shoko, you’d be a millionaire )
“i have free will” you quip, “ i’m choosing to receive it as one anyway.”
“see ?” shoko points at you with the end of her highlighter. “that. that’s exactly what i’m talking about.”
you stick your tongue out at her before padding towards the bathroom, black tank top dangling from your fingertips. you slip into the tank top and smooth over the slightly wrinkled fabric. fluorescent lights hum overhead as you catch your reflection in the mirror. it looks good. casual. effortless.
which is ironic considering you’ve spent the better part of twenty minutes trying to look effortless. you tilt your head, adjust a strap, tilt your head the other way. the tank top looks almost identical to the grey one. suguru was right about that. you hate when suguru is right. it unfortunately happens more often than you’d like.
you fish a tube of lip gloss out of your pocket and swipe it across your lips before giving yourself one final once-over. good enough. if you spend any more time staring at yourself, you’ll be late. and showing up late definitely won’t score you any brownie points with satoru.
you leave the bathroom and immediately have to sidestep the pile of clothes you'd abandoned outside the door. future you can deal with that. present you has more important things to worry about. namely the fact that you’re supposed to be at the library in– you check your phone – ten minutes. shit.
“be honest. how do i look ?” you ask, spreading your arms slightly. your phone remains clutched in your hand, the blinking numbers on the lockscreen reminding you that you’re rapidly running out of time.
utahime glances up first. her gaze travels over your outfit before she gives a small shrug and returns her attention to the document on her screen. “good,” she hums. “you always look good.”
finally. somebody in this room is being nice to you “thank you.” your attention shifts towards shoko next. she’s still hunched over her notebook, one hand wrapped around a highlighter while the other cups a mug of coffee. she doesn’t seem remotely interested in participating in this conversation. which means you’re obviously going to drag her into it anyway.
“shoko ?” you prompt hopefully.
“you have clothes on,” she replies , reluctantly looking up from her notes, her voice flat enough to make it clear that this is the extent of the feedback she’s willing to provide. your jaw falls slack in disbelief. “you asked,”
“yeah but i was hoping for a better answer”
“that’s the only one you’re getting.” rude. so rude. with shoko proving herself entirely useless, your gaze finally lands on suguru. the second your eyes meet, the corner of his mouth twitches.
“you can still back down y’know,” he pipes up, finally sitting up and running a hand through his messy hair. “save yourself the stress and embarrassment and we can grab some ice cream. my treat. i’ll let you be passenger princess and everything”
you snicker, grabbing your tote bag from where it’s slung over your desk chair. “nice try emo. i’ll have satoru eating out of my palm by the weekend. he’ll be writing my name in his little physics notebook surrounded by tiny hearts. and then you can be passenger princess”
“over my dead body” suguru scoffs, “have you spoken to your therapist about you and toji breaking up yet ? if you haven’t i think you should.”
“you must be in love with nitta because you bring her up more than i do,” you snap, shoving a pack of nerds gummy clusters – no pun intended – into your bag. you follow it with a cascade of jolly ranchers and warheads.
suguru raises a brow, and it’s somehow more infuriating than him making a witty comeback. “i’ll be gone for an hour and a half at most,” you say, turning to shoko. “do you want me to grab you some coffee from the cafe on my way back ? i know we’re running low on coffee grounds” it’s a peace offering. an olive branch. a desperate attempt to ensure she doesn’t murder you in your sleep. if there’s one thing she loves just as much as alcohol and cigarettes, it’s coffee.
“you can’t bribe me. . .” shoko narrows her eyes. “but i’ll need energy to kill you so get me an americano from the cafe. three extra shots.”
“consider it done,” you grin. with that settled, you weave through the obstacle course of clothes littering your floor and head for the door before anybody can find another reason to delay you. you’re already cutting it close. eight minutes isn’t a lot of time when the engineering library is practically on the other side of campus.
the walk to the engineering library isn’t too long. a six-minute trudge through the heart of campus that gives you just enough time to mentally prepare yourself for round two with satoru gojo. .
the engineering library is quiet as always when you arrive. the air thick with the scent of old books and academic despair. you spot him almost immediately, he’s wearing a grey hoodie today, the hood pushed back to reveal his snowy hair that seems to glow in the dim light, tucked away in his usual corner behind the stacks, already hunching over his laptop. his fingers moving across the keyboard with a speed that’s almost inhuman, his entire being completely focused on the glowing screen in front of him.
( you shouldn’t find it attractive. you really shouldn’t. it should be boring. it should be intimidating. but there’s something about it, something about the way he’s always completely lost in his own world, that’s oddly compelling. )
you hover for a moment, your hand hovering over his shoulder. you can hear the faint, tinny sound of classical music leaking from his headphones. you clear your throat. nothing. you tap on his shoulder and he jumps slightly before glancing over his shoulder. “oh. you again” he murmurs, his cadence flat. he sighs, a sound of profound irritation, and slowly, as if every movement costs him a precious second of his life, he pulls his headphones down to rest around his neck.
“oh don’t sound so excited to see me,” you say sarcastically, sliding into the chair beside him and dropping your heavy tote bag on the polished floor with a thud that earns you a dirty look from the students at the next table over “i might start to think you enjoy my company.”
“i’m indifferent,” he murmurs, pushing his glasses up his nose. “let’s just get this over with, i’m hoping to move on to quantum physics today”
“eager aren’t we ?” you lean forward, propping your chin in your palm, “can’t wait to spend some quality time with me ? i’m flattered, truly”
he doesn’t even dignify that with a response. without wasting any time, he pulls out a brand new notebook – jet black with a rainbow digimon spiral – and begins to write. his handwriting is infuriatingly, perfect. a clean, blocky print that looks like it was typed up on a computer. he’s written out ‘quantum physics for dummies’ at the top of the page and looks up at you. glasses sliding down his nose ever so slightly, “we’re going to start with wave particle duality and superposition ? how proficient are you with differential equations ?”
“proficient ?” you echo, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “i barely passed the test”
he just stares at you, his expression unchanging. “so, not proficient at all.”
“not even a little bit,” you confirm cheerfully. “you’re going to have to explain this to me like i’ve never taken a physics lecture before” you haven’t obviously. but he doesn’t know that.
a muscle in his jaw twitches, he looks like he wants to scream at you but he just nods, turning back to his notebook. “right. okay. wave-particle duality. think of it like this. light, and matter in general, can behave like a wave, or it can behave like a particle. it’s not one or the other. it’s both, depending on how you look at it. ”
he draws a simple diagram, a wave and a small ball, side by side. “superposition is the idea that a quantum system can exist in multiple states at once. until you measure it. and then it collapses into a single, definitive state. this is represented mathematically by a wave function that encodes the probability of finding a particle in a specific state. the wave function is the solution to the schrödinger equation”
you just stare at him, the words washing over you. “so you’re telling me. . . that something can be two completely different things at once, and the only reason it’s not one or the other is because we’re not looking at it ? i fear that doesn’t make any sense”
“it’s the fundamental principle of quantum mechanics. it doesn’t have to ‘make any sense’” he mutters, his voice tight with frustration, “quantum physics, doesn’t make sense to human intuition because it’s theoretical and centered on the subatomic world. i’m well aware that it sounds absurd because it defies our day-to-day macroscopic experiences but thanks to mathematics we can make extremely accurate predictions regarding the behavior of atoms and light”
you blink, trying to process the mini-lecture. “so, what you’re saying is, it’s a ‘because i said so’ situation . . ?”
he lets out a sound that's half-sigh, half-groan, dropping his head into his hands for a moment. “no. it’s not a ‘because i said so’ situation. it’s a ‘this is how reality works at its most fundamental level, whether you like it or not’ situation. the math isn’t just an explanation, it’s the proof.”
“right. the differential equations,” you say, nodding slowly. “so, if i can’t do the math, then i can’t understand it. is that what you’re saying ?”
he lifts his head from his hands, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief. he looks at you for a long moment, before murmuring, “not quite, you can understand the concepts, the ideas, without being able to solve the equations. but if you want to pass then you need to be able to do both.” he flips to a fresh page in his notebook, “let’s start with something simple. forget the math for a second.” he pushes the glasses up his nose, a gesture you’re starting to find annoyingly endearing. “we’ll start from the beginning. . okay ? quantum physics is the study of how things behave at the tiniest scales, like atoms and subatomic particles. it’s a strange world where the usual rules of physics don’t always apply.”
you nod, trying to look attentive before he grows tired of tutoring you. “first, quantization,” he says, tapping his pen on the desk. “in our world, energy seems continuous, but in the quantum world, it comes in discrete packets, or ‘quanta.’ think of it like a staircase versus a ramp. on a ramp, you can be at any height, but on a staircase, you can only be on one step or the next, never in between. at the quantum level, energy, works like that staircase.”
“okay, so energy at the quantum isn’t smooth and straightforward ,” you murmur, trying to wrap your head around the concept. you’re starting to wish you’d picked shiu as your target instead. it would’ve made your life so much easier.
“exactly,” he nods, a flicker of approval sparking in his sapphire eyes. “so back to wave-particle duality. it’s where things get confusing. tiny particles like electrons can act as both solid particles, like a tiny ball, and spread-out waves at the same time. whether you see a particle or a wave depends on how you look at it. it’s like those ambiguous images where you can either see a duck or a rabbit depending on your perspective”
“that actually makes sense” you huff out a sigh of relief
“good” he says, a genuine smile breaking through his usual serious expression. making his blue eyes seem even brighter. “now, superposition. before you measure a quantum particle, it can exist in multiple states at once. a famous example is schrödinger’s cat, a thought experiment where a cat in a box is theoretically both alive and dead simultaneously until you open the box to check. quantum particles are like that unobserved cat – they exist in all their possible states at once until you observe them.”
“so it’s only one thing when we look at it,” you say, trying to follow along. your brain is really starting to hurt “but before that it can be anything ?”
“precisely,” he grins “another important thing to know is the observer effect. it encompasses everything we’ve talked about so far. the act of measuring or observing a quantum system forces it to ‘choose’ a state. when you look at an electron in its superposition of multiple places, it instantly ‘collapses’ into one definite location. the very act of looking changes the outcome.”
“the next concept is quantum entanglement. this is what einstein called ‘spooky action at a distance.’ two particles can become linked in such a way that the state of one is instantly connected to the other, no matter how far apart they are. if you measure one and find it’s spinning ‘up,’ you know immediately that the other is spinning ‘down,’ even if it’s on the other side of the universe. and the final principle is quantum tunneling. particles can sometimes pass through barriers they shouldn’t be able to. imagine you throw a tennis ball at a wall and it just appears on the other side without breaking the wall. i know it’s a lot to take in and most of it doesn’t align with the the rules we’re used to but that’s the foundation of quantum mechanics”
“who’s the asshole that came up with all of this ?” you splutter, dropping your head into your hands. your brain feels like it’s been scrambled. it’s no wonder why stem students often look so tortured.
he actually laughs at that, which makes you peek through your fingers. it’s a nice sound. “it wasn’t just one person. it was a collection of some of the most brilliant, and probably most confused, minds of the twentieth century. planck started it with the whole quantization idea, then einstein with the photoelectric effect, bohr with his atomic model, schrödinger with his . . . well, his cat, and heisenberg with his uncertainty principle. they were all basically arguing with each other and stumbled across the truth. they saw things that didn’t make sense, made up concepts and built a new kind of math to explain them. it’s why i said it doesn’t have to ‘make sense’ in the way we’re used to.”
you nod slowly, letting that sink in. it’s a lot. it’s too much. “okay,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “i think my brain just short-circuited. i need a break.”
“that’s fair,” he says, his expression softening. “why don’t you read the textbook and make notes on what you understand ? it’ll help you process it. take your time.”
“like right now ?” you ask, your eyes widening.
“yes, right now,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “i need to work on my models. but i’ll check your notes when you’re done.” with that, he turns back to his laptop, effectively dismissing you. you pull the heavy textbook out of your bag, opening it to the chapter on quantum mechanics. you try to read, but your eyes keep drifting over to his screen, where he’s working on a complex three-dimensional model of what looks like some kind of medical device. curiosity gets the better of you. “what’s that ?”
he pauses, his fingers hovering over the keys. “it’s a prototype. for an internship i’m applying for. biomedical engineering. it’s a low-cost prosthetic with sensory feedback.” he talks about actuators and neural interfaces and the potential to restore a sense of touch.he talks about synapses and signals, about creating a bridge between machine and mind, and you’re captivated, hanging on his every word. he talks for a solid six minutes before trailing off, suddenly aware of your rapt attention. most people’s eyes glaze over after thirty seconds. most people just nod and smile. but you seem genuinely interested. it’s . . . unnerving. and strangely . . . nice.
“wow,” you sound genuinely impressed. and surprised by how much you enjoyed listening to him “that’s amazing.”
“it’s still a work in progress,” he says, but you can tell he’s proud of it. “i need to perfect it before the final interview. biomedical engineering is a competitive field.”
“i bet you’ll get it,” you say, and you mean it. “you’re really smart.”
he seems taken aback by your sincerity, his cheeks flushing slightly. “thanks,” he mumbles, turning back to his screen. he clears his throat. “anyway . . . back to your notes.”
“right. . . my notes.” you open your textbook, the dense, intimidating text staring back at you. you take a deep breath and start to read, your pen hovering over a fresh page in your own notebook. you’re not sure how you’re going to do this – make decent notes on quantum physics when you barely understand the basics – but you’re determined to try. for him. for you. for the sake of this bet
you spend the next hour reading and writing, your hand cramping up from time to time. you try to translate the complex scientific jargon into your own words, simplifying the concepts as much as you can. it’s slow going, but you’re making progress. you think . . .
after what feels like eternity, you finally close your textbook, a sense of accomplishment washing over you. “i’m done," you say, holding your notebook out to him.
satoru looks up from his laptop, his eyes scanning your notes. he’s quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “you’re writing down too much filler” he says, pointing at a paragraph you’d spent at least ten minutes on. “focus on the core principles. most of the information in the textbook is pretty insignificant.”
“filler ?” you gasp, snatching the notebook back. “i spent ten minutes writing that ‘filler’. “maybe you should write these notes yourself if you think mine suck so bad,” it comes out a little more harshly than you intended.
( you’re not sure why it bothers you so much. it’s just criticism. it’s just him being. . . him. for some reason it feels like he’s not just criticizing your notes, it feels like he’s criticizing you. and you hate it. you hate how much his opinion suddenly matters to you. )
he looks up, surprised by your sudden irritation. “i’m just trying to help.”
“sorry,” you say quickly, a wave of guilt washing over you and quelling the heat coursing through your veins “my brain hurts. all this quantum stuff is . . .a lot.”
“mental fatigue is normal after intensive studying. take a break and let your brain recover.” he says, his tone softening.
“if you say so,” you murmur, diving into your tote bag. your fingers close around the familiar shape of a jolly rancher. you pull it out – green-apple – and unwrap it with a crinkle that sounds obscenely loud in the quiet library. you pop the hard candy into your mouth, tucking the wrapper in your pocket like a secret.
he raises a brow. “do you have a whole candy store in there ?”
“maybe,” you say, holding up the bag. “ want one ?”
“if you insist,” he says, and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a way that makes your stomach do a weird little flip-flop. “but anything but green-apple or grape.”
“how can you not like green-apple,” you scoff. “what do you like then . .? blue raspberry ? of course you like the most popular flavor like every other basic person on the planet”
“technically speaking,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “the hershey company’s market research indicates that watermelon is the most popular flavor. it’s a solid choice, but blue raspberry has a superior tang-to-sweet ratio.”
“rank the classic flavors. right now.” you tilt your head ever so slightly
“blue raspberry, cherry, watermelon, green apple, and grape,” he says without missing a beat.
“green-apple being that low is actually criminal ,” you grimace, you deserve to be tried for that opinion.”
“we can at least agree that grape is the worst, right ?” he says, and he’s actually smiling now, a real, genuine smile that transforms his whole face. “but how can you possibly put cherry that low ?”
“i have amazing tastebuds and i’m right about everything,” you say, popping another green apple jolly rancher in your mouth.
“technically, food opinions are subjective.” he counters, leaning back in his chair.
“they shouldn’t be.” you shake your head.
“yeah, because we have people like you walking around saying watermelon is better than cherry.
“you’re walking around saying cherry’s better than green apple, that’s blasphemy,” you retort
he can only shake his head and laugh. “i’m scared what’s next. you put milk before cereal?” you look away and he gasps. “there’s no way. there’s actually no way.” he sits up straighter, looking genuinely horrified. “cereal goes first. it has to. the entire bowl is built around the cereal. you pour the cereal, assess the volume, and then add the appropriate amount of milk. if you pour the milk first, you don’t know how much cereal you need, so you end up trapped in an endless cycle of adding cereal, then milk, then cereal again. and don’t even get me started on texture. with cereal first, every piece gets an equal chance to absorb milk. with milk first, some pieces get soggy immediately while others stay dry. society functions because we agree on a few basic rules, and cereal before milk is one of them.”
“in my defense i only use powdered milk” you sigh, “and cereal’s better without milk anyway”
“you know . . . i can’t argue with that” he says after a moment, leaning back in his chair as if the fight has been drained out of him. “but you’re not off the hook yet. . which do you think is better . . . dc or marvel?”
“woah, woah, why am i being interrogated ?” you ask, laughter spilling from your lips
“i’m gauging our compatibility,” he deadpans. “if you give the wrong answer, i might have to drop you as a student.”
( satoru having a sense of humor is. . . unexpected. you were so sure he wasn’t programmed with one because he always seems so strictly academic, like the kind of person who probably spends his free time reading research papers for fun. the version of him you've built in your head doesn’t quite match the guy arguing with you over jolly rancher flavors and threatening to revoke your tutoring sessions over cereal and media preferences. every time you think you’ve got him figured out, he throws you off completely )
“if i say that i love the marvel franchise, especially spider-man and black panther, but i also genuinely enjoy dc movies and series, are you going to revoke my tutoring privileges ?”
“nope,” he says, nodding. “that’s the correct answer. they both have their merits. pretending otherwise is just childish. i’ll keep tutoring you, but i’m watching you. very closely.”
( is he actually suspicious of you ? the thought sends a jolt of panic through your chest. rationally, you know he’s joking, but that doesn’t stop the guilt from creeping in. it’s ridiculous – there’s no way he could know about the bet – but the longer you spend around him, the more you wonder what he’d think if he knew the real reason you were here. )
the rest of the session passes in a blur of equations and easy conversation. you take notes, your handwriting still a mess but more focused this time. you pass him a blue raspberry jolly rancher, and he takes it without comment, his eyes never leaving his work. he explains the concept of schrödinger’s cat and you actually manage to follow along. he’s satisfied.
“okay,” he hums, closing his laptop with a soft click. “let’s call it a day before your brain melts”
“it’s already melted,” you murmur, leaning back in your chair and stretching. “but i appreciate your concern”
“can i have your notebook ?” he holds out his hand. you raise a brow but hand it over anyway.
“how long are you gonna be here for ?” you query. he sighs, already opening your notebook to a fresh page, “until the librarian kicks me out . . . i’ve got a couple hours until that happens”
“well have fun with your . . . models and stuff,” you say, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder. you turn to leave, but a wide, uncontrollable smile spreads across your face before you even take a step. it’s a stupid, giddy smile, the kind you can’t wipe off, and you’re glad he can’t see it as you walk away.
he watches you retreat through the stacks, shaking his head slightly before turning back to the open notebook. he hadn’t expected this. hadn’t expected to actually enjoy talking to you. he’s so used to being on his own, to being in his own head, that he’d forgotten what it was like to just talk to someone. to share a joke. to argue about something as trivial as cereal. he’s enjoying your company too much and that’s a problem. because he’s not supposed to be enjoying this. he’s supposed to be tutoring you. that’s all. he’s not supposed to get used to being around you. yet, he finds himself looking forward to your next session despite his brain telling him he shouldn’t.
with a quiet sigh, he pushes the thought aside and picks up his pen, focusing on the clean, empty page. he’s rewriting his physics notes for you so you can use them to study. he doesn’t typically do this for people, not even when they beg him to. but he’s determined to see you succeed even if it means you’ll walk away and no longer need him sooner rather than later.
masterlist day two ⇆ day three ⇆ day four
── ✦ mimi’s notes: green-apple jolly ranchers are superior argue with a wall. also please rmbr the importance of fandom etiquette. i appreciate all the love but rushing me for updates won’t make them come any sooner i’m just a girl 😓
fiance! naoya x paediatrician! fem reader x single uncle! satoru
summary: Your days had long turned into an endless grey stream of monotony, brightened only by children's smiles at the hospital. Soon, your life would be subjected to loneliness in the golden cage of the Zenin Estate as you agreed to be Naoya's wife; the weight of his love had already burdened you to the point you no longer believed there was any left.
And then you met Satoru Gojo.
Your biggest curse. And your greatest remedy.
tags: AU, medical setting, heavy angst, toxic relationships, messy feelings, emotional abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, misogyny (Naoya is a prick), reader struggles with her self-image, slow healing, falling in love, yearning. eventual smut and happy ending, i promise! we just have to get here. some specific tags will be included in the parts, if any.
word count: 14.5k
gojo's art by @/maronjapan9a. all dividers are mine.
playlist
masterlist
part 1
Satoru Gojo slowly started threading himself into the canvas of your life, and when you looked back, startled and stunned, to see the turning point — when the warmth slowly sipped into your polite, careful smiles and when the anxiety slowly loosened its knot as Gojo's laugh washed over you — you slowly realised that you couldn't name one.
Was it the boyish grin? The Union Jack lighter? The first compliment? The first shared conversation in the walls of the cafeteria? Nothing criminal, but every time your eyes met — his, impossibly blue, crinkling at the corners with mirth and something you were afraid to name — they caused the tender petals of affection in your chest to bloom.
Only if they weren't destined to wither the moment your future husband set his eyes on you.
Maybe he noticed that you returned from the hospital happier than usual. Your softened voice grated on his nerves, and your dreamy gaze only sharpened his. Honed his tongue to the way it left more and more wounds.
As if you weren't berating yourself for even thinking about another man. As if you didn't force your gaze to tear apart from Gojo at first. To keep your mouth shut. To gather your bearings and lock your heart with the key thrown away to the ocean depths. To shut Nitta's and Miwa's whispers with sharp glances. To stand your ground as the endless blue threatened to swallow you whole.
Either way, you were torn between your actual feelings and things you were supposed to feel.
That day wasn't particularly sunshine and rainbows: from a kid with an asthma attack to very vigilant parents, insisting on vaccine shots conspiracy. Your smile turned more strained with every word, and your left eye almost twitched at "how much are you paid per shot?"
And that was only the morning.
"Kao, stop squirming! What will the doctor think of you?"
The boy, a 5-year-old Kao-kun, who was supposed to have his hearing examined, fell on deaf ears to his mother's pleading words (not literally, as you hoped, standing with an otoscope beside the kid).
"I am so sorry, Doc, I don't know what's gotten into him," Kao-kun's mother, Nakata-san, offered you an apologetic, forced smile, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy towards her.
"It's completely fine, Nakata-san. Kids don't usually like these sorts of things," smiling warmly back at the lady, you briefly patted her arm in support. Nakata-san only pressed her lips into a thin line and opened her purse to fish a handkerchief to dab on her forehead.
The sudden April heatwave enveloped Japan in its suffocating embrace. Heat clung to skin in rivulets of sweat, and people fought for every sliver of shade, not to mention the usual humidity — the feeling of your blouse sticking to your back set your overstimulated brain on fire even more, but you didn't have the right to complain.
Poor Nakata-san, meanwhile, murmured in despair and sighed, shaking her head, "He's usually such a nice, smart boy. We started to teach him Hiragana a couple of weeks ago, just like in that handout you gave us, Doc. Oh, I have it, wait a minute, —"
The woman started to browse through her endless purse again, but you interrupted her softly, glancing briefly at the clock. Ten minutes were left before the next appointment, and Kao-kun seemed way more interested in the poster of the giant green cactus Sabo-san, a chair named Kosshi and…Inai Inai Baa.
The corners of your mouth twitched with a bright grin.
Of course.
"Hey, Kao-kun," drawling playfully, you waved at the poster. "Do you like Inai Inai Baa?"
The boy's voice rose to a high-pitched tone as he nodded enthusiastically, "Yes!"
You clapped happily, hoping to match Kao-kun and beamed at the kid, "You want to play Peekaboo?"
The boy practically jumped out of his seat, and Nakata-san hurried to shush him, only for you to gently stop her with a knowing look. She stopped in her tracks, blinking a couple of times; as the realisation dawned on her, the woman sent you a conspiring wink.
"Kao-kun, I am gonna look for Inai Inai Baa in your ears," as you finally had the kid's attention, he looked up and hung on your every word, "Will you help me — "
You barely finished the sentence as the boy shouted happily, his toothy grin on full display:
"Yes, yes, yes!"
The sight dispersed the gloomy clouds in your mind like the brightest sunray.
Kao-kun helped you to spot the dog, Wanwan, every time he barked into the boy's ear, and you discreetly wiped your forehead as you finished the examination and put the data into the kid's medical record.
"Doc, you're the best!" Nakata-san pressed her palm to her chest, thanking you sincerely. Kao-kun eyed the bowl of lollipops on your table as his mother kept talking about the school they were about to choose. Stiffling a warm chuckle, you nodded at the bowl.
"Help yourself, Kao-kun, don't be shy."
The boy beamed and hurriedly thanked you, urged by his mother on the way out of your office. He was already too fascinated with the sweet and colourful cartoon sticker inside, but dutifully listened to his mom. You waved back with a laugh.
"Take care!"
When you finally had two minutes for yourself, you fished a small handy fan. As it always happened in the most inconvenient times, the climate control in your office decided it certainly had enough and retired after a long period of duty. The facility manager grumbled that the equipment hadn't been modernised in a long time, glaring at you as if you were the sole reason for that decision. You highly suspected your beloved fiancé (to be precise, his family) of being in charge of it. Yet, somehow, the one on the receiving blade of occasional pointed glances and hushed whispers was usually you. No wonder: Naoya had a knack for charming everyone under his spell.
And you were just…you. Your presence, so tethered to his, didn't help the situation either. Mostly, that didn't bother you: little patients adored you, while parents paid their respects — after all, that mattered the most.
One of the nurses kindly informed you that the next appointment had been cancelled. That rare occasion had you raise your brows in a mild surprise, which later turned into a fleeting moment of joy: since it was the last appointment before the day hospital's checks, you could go there earlier and later hurry to the little cafe near the hospital. The cold kiwi lemonade had been quietly haunting your mind since the moment you stepped into your office.
"How are you feeling today, Rika-chan?"
"Better now!"
The little girl with two pigtails stilled as you checked her throat and discreetly let out a sigh of relief as you turned to her mother with good news.
"I think Rika-chan is going to be discharged soon," muttering under your breath as you flipped the papers, you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of happy Okami-san. "Cephalexin 20 mg…yeah, that's right. I'll see you tomorrow at the final examination, Rika-chan!"
The girl eagerly nodded, hugging her Kuromi plushie, and your chuckle morphed into a warm laugh.
Walking out of room 626, you hurried to the last patient of the day. Knocking softly at the door, you couldn't help the low roaring of your pulse in your head. Your grip on the chart tightened, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.
Gojo was engrossed in his phone, thumbs flying over the screen, and cast occasional glances at Megumi, who was quietly drawing in the corner. The black crayon wandered over the paper; judging by Megumi's brows, knitted in concentration, and the peeked out tongue, he was more than focused. Your gift, a little plushie dog, alongside a giant toad, guarded Megumi's peace like loyal knights.
Another warm sunray crept through the clouds.
Too absorbed in his own little world, the kid didn't notice you. Contrary to his uncle, whose ears immediately perked up at the sound of the doors creaking. A bright grin spread on Gojo's handsome face at the sight of your slightly hesitant form — you had to blink a couple of times just to reassure yourself that you weren't dreaming — before he sent you a conspiratorial wink with his finger on his mouth and pointed at the boy.
Pressing your lips into a thin line so as not to burst with laughter, you closed the door as quietly as you could. What was a paediatrician without a little whimsy?
"Hey, Megumi-chan," Gojo drawled in an overly obnoxious manner, earning Megumi's unimpressed look. Gojo's grin turned even brighter. "What are you drawing out there?"
Megumi's grip on the crayon tightened, and he mumbled back, finally sneaking a glance at you, "I am not finished yet."
Gojo wasn't quite satisfied with his nephew's answer and leaned over to peek at the table, only for Megumi to snatch the drawing from his uncle's nosy gaze.
"Come on, Gumibear —"
The boy's ears went pink at the humiliation that Gojo was bestowing upon him with a mere nickname, and the glare he sent his uncle was nothing but murderous. "I told you not to call me that!"
"Careful, Megs, your anger level is wa-a-ay above your daily norm, ouch!"
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, but a few chuckles left your lips nonetheless.
Gojo slumped back in his chair with a theatrical groan, resting his palm on his forehead like a damsel in distress; his biceps flexed with each movement in a white t-shirt.
Well, it was really hot.
You allowed yourself a second of gawking before eventually stepping to Megumi's side.
"Can I have a look, Megumi-kun?"
Megumi's eyes briefly flicked between you and the drawing he clutched close to his chest before he shrugged, "I still have to finish it."
Peeking at Gojo, you saw the amusement dancing in his bright blue gaze. So, it was a yes.
"Had a rough day?"
Your hands on the pulse oximeter stilled for a moment. Megumi's eyelashes fluttered with a tiny fractured breath. Gojo's casual words sent your heart stammeting against your ribs like a trapped bird; however, you forced yourself to focus and didn't tear your gaze away until you saw the result.
"Saturation is still not good."
Gojo, who hovered over you, knitted his brows in concern and opened his mouth to ask you something when Megumi's exhausted voice tugged on your heartstrings.
"You put a mask on me, right?"
The movement of your throat was sharp as you swallowed and exchanged glances with Gojo. He pressed his lips in a thin line and gave you a silent nod, urging you to continue.
"It's nothing bad, Megumi-kun." Your hand, warm and pleasant, rested on the boy's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. A deep frown crossed over his features as Megumi murmured in a barely audible voice.
"You are always saying that."
After another worried glance shared with Gojo, you kneeled before the boy's bed and put your mask down, so he could see you better.
"I promise you it won't hurt you. Besides, your uncle and I will be with you all the time." Even turned away from Gojo, you could feel the light grin already tugging on the corner of his mouth. The boy's eyes flicked between you and Gojo, and after seconds of inner debating, his posture relaxed just a tad, and he grumbled.
"I suppose it's okay then."
Your chest suspiciously tightened as you watched Megumi's small fingers twitch in Gojo's hold. His shades were gone, offering you an unobstructed look at the blue of his eyes, simmering with concern, framed by the snow of his lashes.
Casting your gaze back down at the boy, you concentrated on the task.
"He's slowly getting better," a soft, reassuring murmur left your lips as your gaze lingered on Megumi, who dozed off, exhausted after all the procedures. Then it landed on Gojo, driven by some unknown force. His hand hovered over the boy's shoulders — strangely unsure for a man like him — and finally drifted down to tuck Megumi's blanket in clumsily.
"I hope so."
His hesitant whisper stirred something deeply buried. Before the ever-present tentativeness could consume you, your hand settled on Gojo's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The contact made your fingers twitch with an unexpected urge to dig them deeper into the muscled skin. The heat immediately coloured your cheeks; a fleeting thought of yanking your hand away crossed your mind, but it was too late and impolite.
Gojo stilled beneath your touch and slowly turned around. The blue of his eyes held you captive in their waves, but his small, gentle smile gave you a much-needed breath of fresh air.
Only to take it back with a casual brush of the long fingers, subtly grazing your hand. A fragile, aching in its delicateness, flower bloomed quietly between you.
Soon, Gojo's ringtone dispelled the strange air. You discreetly shook your head in a skimpy attempt to get rid of the image of the man beside you, now talking quietly to someone on the phone. His lips widened into a smile so bright and unadulterated, it transformed his face into something…angelic.
Naoya's disdainful scowl from the morning emersed in your exhausted mind, no matter how hard you tried to drown it.
Gojo shot you a sidelong glance — seemingly relentless to decipher a look of somberness on your face — on your way to the elevator.
He couldn't quite put a finger on the sudden feeling the bags under your eyes evoked in him.
Your fingers came to fiddle with your chain as you worried your bottom lip. Then your hand limply fell at the absence.
Yeah. Right.
Gojo's eyes followed your gesture, but you seemed so hollowed out, as the life had been suddenly sucked out of you, that he didn't think of anything better than to blurt out, "Wanna have a coffee?"
Eyes widening, you stilled completely. That man, Gojo, who looked like a secret the morning tentatively shared, a kiss of the rosy sunset on your skin, and a whisper of a mystical night, had asked you out?
Or were you imagining things? Was he just bored? Polite?
At first, a usual thought of waving a man who somehow had his mind hazy enough to look at you immediately crossed your mind. A hot wave of panic flooded you like a strong ocean. The need to flee somewhere, just not to stay under Gojo's piercing blue gaze, ordered a retreat already. You almost opened your mouth to offer a moot excuse, with Naoya's presence looming over you even miles away, and…
Abruptly closed it.
The sparkle of rebellious flame surged high and slowly devoured the gnawing hesitance.
Your silence gave Gojo quite an unambiguous sign. His smile wavered for a moment, taking a bitter edge, and he stepped back, raising his arms in surrender.
"Oh, I am sorry, you might think I want to hit on you or whatever, but it's just so hot —"
You cut him off with a shrug too quick and a grin too sharp. "Sure. Why not?"
Surprised, Gojo blinked before tilting his head as the boyish grin slowly made its way back on his handsome face.
"Lead the way, Doc."
For a moment, you weighed all the options on the inner scales: the hospital cafeteria was immediately off the limits — even the walls had ears there, as well as a popular cafe just around the corner. The possibility of someone grassing you up to Naoya rose tenfold.
Yet, you had something on mind.
"Meet me in ten minutes near the entrance."
A content hum and a theatrical salute were your answers.
ੈ✩‧₊˚
Mentally thanking yourself for filling out daycare forms in advance, and the raging flu that knocked Yaga out, which saved you from the lunch meetings, you set the world record for changing out of the scrubs and hurried to the elevator.
The hospital still buzzed with worried patients and exhausted doctors. You craned your neck to see a familiar spark of frosty hair outside, and your pulse roared in your head at the sight of the tall man, leaning on the wall with a casual air of confidence.
Smoothing down your sundress — for some unknown reason — you hurried out.
"Hi!"
Gojo was looking somewhere past the crowd, a melancholic smile playing on his lips, and your words made him abruptly turn to you with a messy white fringe falling over his forehead. His smile dipped into something warm as he took you in.
"You're not in scrubs, it's the first!" An airy chuckle left Gojo as you led the way to the small cafe, nestled between towers of the enormous business centre, and a flower shop. To your surprise, Gojo immediately fell into step with you; Naoya never bothered to wait for you. You had always been expected to catch up to him, no matter what. "Nice dress."
Warm spring air caressed you both with delicate touches. The pink sundress you wore — Naoya raised his brow in the morning and mused whether you were dressed for work or a playground — licked the soft skin of your thighs with every step. Gojo sincerely tried not to gawk at the legs of his nephew's doctor (wait, was it a breach of ethics? He sincerely hoped no), but it became increasingly difficult.
Luckily, you stopped near the small, cosy coffee shop just before his feigned nonchalance would've morphed into something more scorching.
"Here we are!"
The scents of cinnamon and peppermint immediately hit his senses, mixed with the drumming sounds of an espresso machine and the faint hum of the climate control. The sudden temperature difference caused you to blow a lone strand of hair that escaped your ponytail off your face, and a whiff of your fresh perfume (albeit with a strong sense of antiseptic clinging to you like a second skin — once a doctor, always a doctor) sent his pulse drumming quietly.
Just when Gojo wondered if you felt at least something too, your shoulder lightly brushed against his. He didn't know what to do, because even the touch like that was enough for something to stir in his chest. So he just stilled, and let his gaze unabashedly drift over the delicate line of your neck as you studied something through the display.
Perfect.
"Recommendations are accepted," clearing his throat, Gojo waved at the arrays of pastries and rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn. Might as well order everything."
The look of pure confusion and something suspiciously similar to awe on his face earned a quiet laugh from you.
"Uhm, I usually like those chocolate-filled croissants," you murmured, hesitantly pointing at the pastry that looked like it had just descended from the famous French boulangeries. "Sometimes I take a tiramisu or a panacotta. Their strawberry-filled mochis are absolutely to die for!"
Beside you, Gojo went completely rigid. You felt the usual fear that you might've fucked something up — nothing new, but something inside you wished Gojo would be kind enough to let it slide — but then he turned around.
"I love mochis!" He breathed out not even with enthusiasm — a playful reverence coloured his tone. His eyes sparkled even brighter.
You briefly discussed other desserts displayed, and you complimented the ones shaped like fruits ("Actually, very close to Cédric Grolet's!"), before you attempted to grab your wallet from the purse and… met a disappointed nothingness. You sulked a bit and stepped back in the line before the barista would glare daggers at you, giving Gojo an apologetic shrug.
"I forgot my wallet, so this time I am just gonna —" You glanced around the cafe. "Wander around, I guess."
Gojo blinked and shook his head with an airy chuckle, pulling his wallet out, "You're so funny."
Your smile briefly faltered. Nevertheless, you forced it to stay plastered.
"I know, yeah."
A light frown flickered across Gojo's face, but before he could even form a question, the barista, a young, lively girl, greeted him with a joyous chirp.
"Good afternoon, what can I get you today?"
Flashing a charming grin, Gojo slightly leaned over and pointed at the pastry with a low purr, "Hello. I would like to have a caramel latte and that whole set of fruit desserts. A box of strawberry mochi and two — no, wait, three chocolate croissants for takeaway."
"Noted," the girl nodded as the light pink tinged her cheeks at the sight of Gojo. Well, no wonder. "Anything else?"
"Make the latte really sweet. And whatever this lady wants, of course." With that, Gojo finally leaned back and waved at the pastries as if he had baked them all by himself, "My treat, Doc."
Completely stunned, you just huffed an unsure laugh, "No, Gojo, it's okay, I am just —"
"Please," Gojo's voice lost all the cockiness just for a second, offering you a peek of the man beneath the facade. "Do me a favour. You showed me this place, after all."
A strange kind of fog clogged your mind as you watched Gojo casually take out his black card. You murmured something about a kiwi lemonade.
He ended up buying another yearly supply of sweets for you as well.
Gojo flipped his wallet, and a photo tucked inside — him hugging a couple of kids — immediately caught your attention. Judging by a grumpy scowl on one of the children's faces, you successfully deduced the boy to be Megumi. And the girl with a shy grin, showing a peace sign, should've been his sister, Tsumiki.
A flicker of warmth sparkled in your chest as your lips twitched in a smile.
Shifting your gaze just a tad, you noticed Gojo's business card peeking out from the photo. Your best attempt at squinting at it wasn't successful, but the sight of his surname in a bold business font awoke something in your mind.
You certainly heard it. Maybe Naoya once happened to drop it during dinner? Or some hushed pieces of gossip finally reached you at the numerous Zenins' gatherings?
The image of Naoya stubbornly kept surfacing in your mind, no matter how hard you tried to bury it under the pretence of nonchalance towards a certain white-haired man. The mere thought of your future husband finding out about your little detour sent a fresh wave of fear through you.
God. What the hell were you doing?!
Swallowing, you briefly mused about fleeing, but the force that seemed to be stronger than the gravity itself — attraction, blending with recklessness — chained you to the chair right in front of Gojo.
Damn him. You felt like a butterfly pinned to a board by the sharpness of his gaze.
"What's bothering you?"
Forcefully blinking yourself back into reality, you sent Gojo a confused, apologetic smile, "Nothing much."
"Come on, Doc," he prompted, resting his chin on the palm. Almost half of the caramel latte in front of him was gone, as well as a peach-shaped dessert. Yours still rested untouched on the plate. "You've been hypnotising that poor peach for a solid five minutes."
You nervously twirled a straw between your fingers. Shit. You didn't even notice it. And with Gojo staring at you, his brow lazily arched, you decided to opt for a half-truth.
"Your surname. Where could I hear it?"
Gojo's grin withered a little before taking a strained edge. Just a fleeting second for everyone else, but if sharing a roof with Naoya had taught you anything, it was attunement to other people's senses. So, you just waved your hands in surrender.
"I didn't mean to intrude, sorry. Forget it."
The sincerity of your gaze softened the sudden harshness of Gojo's features and the rigidness in his shoulders. You indeed were just… curious.
He shook his head with a light chuckle, "No worries. My family is quite well-known. Limitless, maybe you heard it?"
Eyed widening, you almost spluttered the poor kiwi lemonade.
"Limitless? You mean that big company in advanced robotics and technology?"
Well, that surely explained why he spent so much time with Megumi at the hospital. Nepo babies weren't used to working a lot, judging by Naoya.
Gojo gave you a lazy nod and took a bite of another pastry, looking somewhere past you at the bustling Tokyo streets, and dropped off-handedly.
"Yeah. But I am not a big fan of boring meetings, reports and presentations."
Something in his tone suggested that it wasn't a single reason.
You just prompted gently, "What are you doing then?"
Gojo's smile turned relaxed.
"I am a restaurant owner."
Stunned, you paused with a spoon halfway through, "What? That's so cool!"
Laughing warmly, he confirmed again, "Yep. Three in Tokyo, one in Kyoto, and…," he leaned over with a suspicious look and whispered loudly, sending you a wink, "planning to open in Yokohama as well. But that's a secret just for you."
A light chuckle left you as your face heated up from the sudden proximity. You quickly cast your gaze down on the plate, cutting through a delicious treat.
"So, where are they? Maybe we, sorry, I —," you corrected yourself immediately, earning a slow, curious tilt of Gojo's head, "visited them?"
He only dropped one name, but the mere mention of that restaurant had you staring at him in shock, eyes sparkling with excitement. A dollop of soft cream was smudged over your chin, but in your contagious joy, you never really noticed. The blue of Gojo's gaze softened into a warm breeze, embracing you in a tender gale.
"Really? Is that one in Ginza, a rooftop bar? God, I've been dying to visit it! That grilled red squid with herbs? Damn," gesturing animatedly, you quickly explained at Gojo's curious glance, "I had a bit at a family gathering. And let me tell you," now it was your turn to lean in with a conspirational whisper, "it was the best thing in that evening."
Despite Gojo's attempts to compose himself, his grin widened even more as he asked, "So, why haven't you visited it yet? I mean, you look pretty happy talking about it."
Your own smile slowly faded at Gojo's ask, and the unsure curl of your shoulder that followed immediately didn't go unnoticed.
Naoya's dismissive words sparkled brightly in your mind again, and you waved them as best as you could. Hugging the empty cup with your lemonade, you attempted to joke weakly, "Didn't have enough time. You know, hospital, shifts, meetings."
Gojo's lazy drumming slowed a little before coming to a complete halt. A warm feeling cracked in his chest at the memory of you attending Megumi.
"Ah, of course. Sorry for that. You are the busiest that I will ever be."
You weren't used to it. To someone listening to you with a genuine expression. To someone casually complimenting you. To someone including you in a conversation. As if you were worthy of someone's attention.
And that someone being Gojo caused a warm sun to rise in your hollowed soul.
So you resorted to the only thing familiar to you.
"Ah, it's nothing. I am just a paediatrician," offering a usual downplayed explanation, you didn't even notice the muscle in Gojo's jaw jump. Why were you doing it? "I mean, there are surgeons and — "
"You are joking, right? You are literally a doctor."
Gojo's incredulous tone caught you off guard. Shoulders dropping, your smile curled into a nervous, unsure scowl, while he went on.
"You're doing such a great job. I mean, all of that stuff, checking saturation, temperature, carrying all these charts, and, on top of that, working with kids! This is so cool."
A weird, scorching feeling coloured your cheeks. What was actually the last time you heard someone talking about you like that? All sincere, kind, and…warm?
The lump in your throat started to feel suspicious, and you took a shuddering breath in an attempt to accept Gojo's words with no usual overthinking, "I guess so. Kids are really cool."
Popping a spoonful of panna cotta in his mouth, Gojo hummed in acknowledgement.
"You're cooler. Do you like working with kids?"
For the second time, you were sharing a conversation, your smile widened, tone dipping into an affectionate tenderness, "Of course! I like seeing them smile as they finally get better. I love helping them to navigate through the world, especially knowing I can do that and make a difference! I want to make the start of their life easy and smooth. The rest of it may be shitty, but the childhood…"
Quiet steel crept into your voice, honing your tone.
"…the childhood is sacred."
Your eyes suddenly bore remembrance to black holes — swallowing Gojo in vast expanses of them. He stared, unblinking, and recalled that version of you on the lone evening. Smoking, laughing. Teasing.
Where was the line between that version of you and the shy doctor sitting in front of him, shrinking, lessening herself to fit some image Gojo hadn't deciphered yet? Who were you?
The truth might've hid amongst smiles, sincere, and too stretched to be genuine; glances, soft, and too pointed to offer truth; gestures, secretive, and too deep-seated to bear some meaning.
Gojo recalled your laugh as you talked about the damned grilled red squid. Maybe that version of you, that crept in the cracks of all the conversations you shared, was the real one?
He didn't know yet. But hell, he was determined to solve the mystery that his nephew's doctor was. With those sweet smiles. That sharp tongue. And that contagious laugh.
"Gojo? Are you listening?"
Okay. Perhaps he went into recalling a little bit too much.
He let his gaze wander over your features freely. "Yeah. You mentioned that kids usually don't like their ears checked. But honestly, what kid likes hospitals?"
Your shoulders shook with mirth as you shot him a quick, shy grin. Gojo felt his lips curling into a warm smile as well.
"Do you like working at that hospital?"
Twirling a straw, you stilled at his question. Then a deliberately calm shrug came as you glanced through the window.
"I like working with kids."
"That's not what I asked." Despite the warmth in his tone, you managed to notice an unusual heaviness lurking behind it. Nothing in Gojo, from the curious tilt of his head to the calmness in his blue gaze, revealed his true intentions.
Still. An assessing gleam that flashed in Gojo's eyes told you much more than he probably thought.
His fingers drummed against the table with barely concealed impatience. You mirrored his tilt and drawled hesitantly, "Could've been better, honestly. The department's director is constantly on our ears about financing and modernising the equipment. But, you know. Paediatrics isn't on the priority list."
Gojo hummed — a low, throaty sound that had you casting your gaze immediately down on your plate — and leaned in. His brows furrowed in frustration.
"Really?"
You mumbled something unintelligible as your shoulders curled inwards.
"But that doesn't make any sense," a murmur full of disbelief left him soon, addressing no one in particular, but rather musing aloud. "You're doing such an important thing, taking care of kids. I saw you running around like a Duracel rabbit, and this constant chaos. Yet you're doing such a great job! Especially with Megs. He likes you, you know? And he doesn't like doctors."
You leaned a bit with your chin cradled in your palm, looking out of the windows: some lady hurried to the cafe, barely catching up to her doggie, an adorable Pomeranian. The doorbell soon announced their entrance, followed by a cheerful bark.
"No wonder. He has a long story with them. I am afraid he just has to like me because I am a lady with masks and all that stuff."
"I am serious, Doc. Believe me," a small laugh followed his grin — you would've been damned if you didn't spot bitterness buried in it.
"I know when Megs feels…," Gojo pondered for a moment, looking for the right word. "Acceptable towards someone."
Now it was your turn to smile.
"He's not an easy kid," you murmured to Gojo after some time as you both watched the lady attending to her adorable, lively puppy. Gojo's grin widened for a second before settling back with heaviness too unfitting for the mask he usually wore.
"You can say so. They both went through…a lot."
You could only press your lips in sympathy. No matter how many tragedies you witnessed, each of them had left scars on you. Especially when you found out the reason Gojo adopted Megumi and Tsumiki.
Gojo didn't like to talk about it, but you gathered enough from the bits of conversations, information from Megumi's chart and heavy pauses between the words. Didn't press: one time, you saw Gojo examining the handout on how to help a kid process the grief, and noticed Gojo's gaze hardening into an iceberg.
So, you kept all assumptions safely catalogued in your head.
A heavy silence settled between you, interrupted only by excited yips of the Pomeranian, distant melodies of some indie song coming from the speakers, and the whirring of the cash register.
Hand drifting mindlessly to scratch an old scar, your fingers twitched with an indescribable urge to soothe Gojo's wounds as well. In the end, he lost his sister, too. And as shocked as he might've been, he had two distraught kids to bring up.
Did he have a chance to mourn her at all? Or just poured himself into the life that suddenly felt too enormous to fit into?
Judging by the distant waves of his gaze and the melancholy flickering over his face, too beautiful for all the sorrows, he didn't.
As much as you wanted to console him, to tell him that you hid scars like that as well, you couldn't bring yourself to do this. The lock on your heart was still impenetrable.
A bitter realisation, melting into a sour resentment that you didn't remember the last time you felt like that towards your fiancé, had your chest constricted with the weight of ache.
Instead, you tried not to dwell on it. Lifting your hand, your slightly trembling fingers grazed Gojo's hand across the table. A thick whisper followed.
"I am sorry."
Gojo's head immediately snapped up at the sound of your soft words. His eyes met yours in a moment of shared grief and quiet understanding — something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time.
A silent yearning to be seen hid in the desperate twitch of his fingers as they squeezed your palm in response.
He quickly masked that momentary weakness behind a frantic clearing of throat and a casual, too casual ask.
"You lost your chain?"
Frowning a bit, you shifted your gaze to the dip of your cleavage; a sudden, shaking breath followed as you gently pulled your hand back to touch the bare skin.
Naoya's words, full of malice and icy wrath, flashed behind your closed eyelids just as if he had been throwing them at you now. He was seething with ire that morning.
You just sat there: a silent witness to irritation consuming Naoya more and more. Mentally went through every place you visited, every corner rounded, and every room attended. Still, it had no sense at all.
The ring was gone.
"Yeah."
"It must've been important."
You gritted your teeth until the muscles in your jaws twitched. Slowly, you lifted your gaze and couldn't believe the next words that left your lips, "It's okay. Something that was meant to be mine would make its way back, right?"
Gojo's eyes widened a bit at the sudden declaration. A boyish grin curled on his lips as he just shrugged in response, "I guess so."
Just in time. An alarm on your phone not so kindly informed you that your lunch was over. Oh, how you wished that it could last a small eternity longer.
Did Gojo feel that as well?
Watching his tall figure retreat to a shop nearby, you thought about the warm sea that spilt in his irises, when you reminded him that you would meet again tomorrow.
And then, as the sudden gust of wind threw your hair back into your face, you realised when you heard Gojo's surname. The sound of it had become a frequent guest of all the Zenins' outraged discussions.
But…
What did that mean to you?
ੈ✩‧₊˚
"Darling?"
Your voice sounded hesitant in the car on the way to your parents' house.
Tearing his gaze from the streets of the Denenchofu neighbourhood, adorned with lush greenery, and the rows of houses, draped in elegance and serenity, Naoya quirked his brow at you in a silent question.
With a hasty breath, you twiddled with your bag. The damn binder kept evading you like on a cue. A quiet curse left your lips as you felt Naoya's patience wearing thinner and thinner with each flimsy attempt of yours. You heard the irritated click of his tongue just as you fished the folder. Handed it to your fiancé and watched boredom on his face morphing into vague surprise and… mild interest.
"What is it?"
"It's my — uhm, you know, it's something I am doodling while not busy and —"
Nayoa interrupted you with a sharp glance, "Quit babbling."
"Right. Sorry," forcing an apologetic grin, you folded your hands on your lap. "It's my sort of portfolio. Best of my works. I just — would like to know your opinion about that."
"And why do you want me to do this?"
"One of my patients' parents is an art dealer. He noticed some pictures in my office, and we exchanged a couple of words." Naoya's eyes narrowed at your revelation; you quickly corrected yourself, "That's it, I swear!"
"Quicker," he cut you off with a wave as if you were stealing minutes of his precious time.
Your gaze briefly flicked between your hands and the binder in his hands.
There it was. Something shaping as an opportunity to share with the rest of the world what your soul ached for and your eyes saw.
With a sharp exhale, you concluded, "Anyway, his gallery is searching for some new artists for the opening of a new exhibition. I thought — I thought I might give it a try." Your voice cracked at the last words.
A low, almost indifferent hum was all you got in response.
Breath bated, you intently watched Naoya slowly opening the folder and going through the pictures with deliberate scrupulousness. Head tilted, his gaze wandered over each line and stroke. You examined every minuscule twitch in his expression just to notice the fleeting movement of his eyebrows. Something resembling bewilderment flicked across his face.
A flash of excitement faintly sparkled within you.
Only for Naoya's bewilderment contorting into disbelief, masked by cold indifference.
"You drew it?"
A glance at his face didn't stir anything suspicious in you, so you slowly nodded, lips curling into a nervous smile.
His gaze darted to your makeshift portfolio once again. And then a smirk — a quick twitch of his lips — followed. As cruel as his love for you was.
"Don't you have something more important to do than simply wasting your time?"
The splendour of excitement faded within you into a dim flare. Your smile wavered as you breathed out, "I don't under— understand."
Your distress only fed Nayoa's ego even more. He carelessly tossed the portfolio back on your lap and drawled in mock sympathy, leaning closer.
"Aw, my poor dove. You are not born yesterday, aren't you? Still so innocent and full of naive dreams. You should've known better already."
Your grip on the poor binder tightened. The wrinkled, beaming face of your little patient caught your attention; but despite the usual reluctant acceptance of his words, you felt another match put to a growing flame inside.
Raising your chin a little, you noticed with a grim satisfaction that Naoya was slightly taken aback.
"Should know better what exactly?"
His smirk sharpened into a ruthless blade.
"That the world doesn't care about the wishes of innocent little doves like you, my darling." For all your desperate attempts to stand your ground, your heart sank to your stomach. Disappointment and your own failure buzzed in your tired mind, bearing Naoya's taunting voice.
"You think that guy really wanted these drawings of yours? Oh, darling, please. He probably was just polite. After all, you are the one who can write a slightly wrong prescription for his kid out of spite and —"
Cheeks flaring at the entendre in his voice, you blinked in shock, "What? I would never in my life do that!"
Naoya peacefully hold his hands out.
"Just saying, dove. I only want the best for you." Naoya's hand came to pinch your chin as he let his gaze roam over your face. Then a fake concern flashed on his face — you lifted a heavy gaze on your fiancé. "Saving you from an inevitable disappointment. No need to worry that pretty little head of yours about anything."
And then his tone deceived you into pretending sweetness, "You said you were bored?"
You answered it with an unblinking stare, which Naoya interpreted in his own way. As usual.
"Maybe it's high time for you to step into the wedding preparations. All I hear is endless chirping about napkins and lilies and the size of your obi sash. Why don't you join it? And while musing, maybe at least try to look for your engagement ring."
With that derisive scowl, your future husband leaned over to order something for your driver. And like that, the conversation ended.
Just like your pitiful attempts to become something that you weren't. A sandcastle that you carefully built crumbled in your hands, putting all your dillusions to an end.
Naive, little dove.
That was who you were, right?
Ache travelled down your cheeks in briny tears. They hit the pieces of your heart in lines and sketches, smudging them with sadness.
As the car finally stopped in front of a big house, screaming about quiet luxury, you quickly wiped all the signs of your life quietly falling apart. And when you stepped out of the car with your hand resting leisurely in the crook of Naoya's elbow, your smile only painted the image of a happy fiancée and a nice daughter.
The portfolio in the depths of your bag told another story.
For all the heavy air and weight of disappointment following your every step like an ominous shadow, you still preferred home walls to the bars of the Zenins' cage.
At least, you were in your territory.
Naoya had never been particularly interested in stepping into that place — perhaps he regarded it as settling to your level — but much to your surprise, he always accompanied you.
Deep down, you were well aware of the true reason; it was neither his affection nor understanding. Oh, no. Quite the opposite.
Your home greeted you with polite indifference.
If it had a face, you were sure it would wear the same expressionless look you often witnessed on your parents. A deep-buried bitterness surged inside at the sight of framed photos, depicting your family. The main guest was always their most beloved child — their business, its numerous triumphs and accomplishments. Its presence had always gnawed on you at the dinner table and hovered over, akin to a skilful executioner, with the axe of their expectations behind the back.
It was a competition you could never win.
As wounding as that realisation was, you swallowed it and every sharp remark to come.
After all, those crumbs were better than facing the silence.
Your mother joyously trilled something to Naoya, who listened to her with a mild interest. You were well aware that was the closest to politeness he was able to muster. As a lot of men tended to be, your future husband had never been keen on participating in "women's useless prattle".
But not as your father studied him with a scrutiny too unfitting for someone so blazenly indifferent.
At least, that was what you believed him to be.
Because lately, every time you stole a glance at your father as he talked to Naoya, you couldn't help but notice a mocking sparkle in his eyes. As if Naoya entertained him by the mere fact of his existence. You silently wondered if he was able to sense it, because your fiancé's attempts to earn his future father-in-law's approval were met with a quick grin and a curt nod more and more.
Of course, it wounded Naoya's pride and ego. Everyone had to be enamoured with your fiancé; a few tailored compliments and seemingly soft glances were usually enough. Naoya never bothered himself trying too much, though, just because he initially treated people like someone to use and discard later.
The only exception was you at the start of your relationships. He woven himself into your life with late-night strolls, dinners at the expensive restaurants, attentive gestures, and charming smiles. Until he made sure you were on the hook of his affection and in a constant state of craving more. Playing with you, testing the limits of your obedience and his own vanity, gave him a cruel sense of satisfaction.
Either way, some flattery and asking for business advice didn't fascinate your father into actually accepting Naoya. Sometimes your fiancé's disappointment and anger burst into spiteful remarks directed at you, although they quickly morphed into distant rambles as he understood how pathetic he might've looked. Trying to earn respect from the man who was supposed to give it to him on a silver platter.
If there was one thing you were certain about Naoya, that was his absolute despise to being looked down on.
You didn't know what game your father was playing — it might be just another mind game or whatever it was called in terms of business — but you enjoyed it inwardly nonetheless.
The clink of silvery cutlery followed soon after the usual exchanges among the whispers of pristine tablecloth and rivers of elite alcohol. Nayoa's shoulder brushed against yours every time he reached for whiskey. The gradual rise of his pitch matched the growing annoyance within you. You politely waved the maid every time she walked to your side with a glass.
"Ah, darling," your mother's cheeks were already painted red from numerous portions of Roku gin. Otherwise, she wouldn't be as kind as now. "Why don't you try this Roku gin? Torii-sama sent us the premium Sakura Bloom Edition, might as well try one!"
Your mother paused to pop a cherry in her mouth. Then her eyes comically widened as she shared a few curious glances with your aunties, earning tipsy giggles. Naoya's jaw tightened. "Your fiancé might not like your drinking! Silly me."
Your plastered smile twitched for a moment before you let a fake saccharine chuckle and nodded wordlessly. You knew better after the last gathering in the Zenins' estate.
Unknown to you, not only did Naoya watch you like a master, seeing his doll take the stage for the first time, but so did your father. His calm expression wavered for a moment before a usual mask slotted back into place.
"Darling." All the voices quietened as your father spoke up. Your grip on the fork tightened as you braced yourself and slowly dragged your eyes to meet his gaze, spine involuntarily straightening under its weight.
"Father?"
"Tell us about your…work," the last word left your father rather hesitantly as he absent-mindedly twirled a lavish whiskey glass between his fingers. Saying that surprised you would be an understatement: your work, the path you chose, instead of becoming another cog in their enormous corporate machine, had long been a touchy subject in your family. Your becoming a doctor was acceptable. But a paediatrician? It evoked a couple of arguments, but that was the most you could have ever received. From that moment, your profession hid between the pauses in conversations and was swept under the rug like a useless mention.
The voices around the table came to a complete halt, and even the lone clink of your cousin's spoon against the plate sounded shocked.
Trying to ignore the bewildered glances and especially the pointed glare of your fiancé at the lack of attention to his superb persona, you smiled corteously, "Thank you for asking, father. Everything is going nicely, and the kids are as healthy as they can be. Well, you know them. You don't keep an eye on them, and the next thing you do is blow on their scraped knees."
The table remained ominously silent after your attempted little joke. You cleared your throat and carried on, feeling Naoya piercing daggers into you.
"And, uhm, our department's well-financed, surprisingly! I suppose it's Naoya's achievement. He's on the board of the shareholders, if someone doesn't know," you hastily added. The paediatrics department was buzzing with a new juicy piece of gossip, exchanging knowing looks and conspirational whispers. Just like that, your fiancé once again bathed in the glory and adoration.
Meanwhile, you weren't even completely sure he actually showed up to those meetings.
Naoya straightened a little in his seat, sending a sleazy smirk to one of your distant relatives. Her cheeks went red immediately as she cast her gaze down on the plate.
"Yeah, dove is right." Naoya's speech had long already been slurred from the alcohol, straining his breath. Your jaw twitched with effort not to grimace as it fanned over your cheek. "No wonder they had such a big problem with money. I mean, they are looking after kids. Not even real doctors, if you catch my drift."
You were so shocked and astounded that you couldn't utter a single word.
"What?" Naoya shrugged indifferently as his gaze swept across the table to notice that some people were stunned as well. He quirked a brow at you. "You said it yourself, honey. That you felt so stupid talking to surgeons sometimes."
The humiliation snaked immediately in your chest and sank its teeth into your heart, until you bled quietly on the pristine white in front of you. The silver of the fine clutter caught light, showing you a reflection of smirking Naoya, even more distorted. Your grip on it tightened, but you still played your role, sending your father a jarred grin.
However, he looked past you. His brows knitted together in confusion and something suspiciously looking like seething anger. Shivers ran down your spine as your father finally muttered.
"And who do you consider a real doctor, Naoya?"
Naoya's smirk slowly wavered before vanishing completely; his cheeks went from painfully pale to slightly pink in a span of seconds, and for a death cup like him, it equated to a crimson bloom.
Clearing his throat, your future husband threw pointed glances at you.
You remained indifferent to his silent pleas.
The sight of your fiancé, trying to make his way out of a frying pan, brought a strange kind of contentment. You hid your smirk behind the glass.
He parted his lips to answer, only to be interrupted by the maid. She bowed in an apology, saying someone was calling you,
"That must be some parent. Excuse me," you quickly stood up and hurried to another room. Ah. You wished you could see Naoya humiliating himself in front of your family a bit longer. However, you still managed to mouth "thank you" to your father, who answered you with a quick nod.
Parents' calling you all the time wasn't anything sort of an usual, but seeing Gojo appearing on your screen sent your heart stammering against your ribs. Was something wrong with Megumi? Did he feel bad again? You were just about to discharge him and —
Before the wave of overthinking consumed you, you accepted the call, thumb hesitating over the button for a few seconds longer than needed.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Doc. I am so sorry to interrupt you, really. You must be busy," Gojo chuckled nervously. You noticed with a frown that his low voice had lost its usual smoothness: he sounded genuinely… worried. You had to cut off his words before they would turn into rambling.
"Don't worry. What happened? Is Megumi alright?"
"Megs is fine, it's —," a loud bark interrupted your conversation, earning a distressed groan from Gojo. "Shiro, for the love of God! Stop that!"
The dog's barks — as you presumed, Shiro's — grew even louder, and in a couple of seconds, playful yips followed as well.
"Kuro, no, I can't play with you right now!"
As much as you would've enjoyed that chaos in every other situation, your voice took on an urgent edge, calling for Gojo's attention back.
"Gojo, I need you to focus. What's wrong?"
The sounds of the crisis on the other side of the call quietened a little, and you could finally feel Gojo's voice, coming in a nervous breath, "It's Tsumiki."
"Okay. Is she nauseous? Has a temperature? Diarrhoea? Pale, blotchy skin?"
"She threw up a couple of times. We've been at the new place near their school, and then went to an amusement park. Yeah, wrong move, I know. No diarrhoea, no. A little bit pale, though." Gojo huffed nervously. You briefly imagined him carding fingers through his hair — you picked that habit of his during Megumi's admission.
Shaking your head, you interrupted Gojo again.
"What did she eat? Did you give her some meds?"
"She had a poke bowl with tuna. Pepsi. Sugar-free, if that's important. Cotton candy. I think it's cotton candy. It should be cotton candy, 'cause we all had those damn poke bowls. Honestly, it was too sweet, even for me."
Gojo's voice turned too distant all of a sudden. You figured he was checking on Tsumiki, given the worried edge in his tone. "We went home, and I gave her Pedialyte."
"Oh, that's great. You did right, actually. She should drink a lot and have plenty of rest."
"Dunno, Doc. She's not looking very good, and I —" A deep, sharp exhale that followed twisted something in your heart.
Swallowing nervously, you tightened your grip on the phone. "I'll check on her. Just send your address. I'll be there as soon as possible."
Gojo kept silent for some time, until you heard his quiet, strangely hesitant voice. "You sure? I don't want to interrupt whatever you might have, it's a Friday evening, after all. I can call an ambulance every time."
Already putting on your light coat, you gently murmured, "No, it's okay. Don't worry about it."
"I'll send my assistant after you."
You were already familiar with Gojo's assistant, a driver, and a planner — Ijichi. The poor guy looked perpetually stressed; you genuinely didn't want to cause him even more trouble.
"I'll get a taxi."
"But —"
"By the time he gets to me, I could've already been at yours."
Gojo reluctantly agreed, not capable of fighting your logic, and dropped his address. Your brows raised in a slight surprise.
With a quiet hum, you finally called a taxi, already grimacing at Naoya's possible reaction, as you hastily texted him an apology. His face, contorted in fury, especially after a confrontation with your father, sent shivers down your spine. A thought of backing down briefly crossed your mind, but you quickly shook it away. Not only because you were always keen on keeping your promises and the poor girl involved, but…
Watching the streets of Seijo pass you in quiet green parks, tennis courts, university campuses and elite buildings, you finally admitted to yourself.
That you longed to see Gojo.
His house met you with a daunting gateway and a robotic voice, calmly telling you to proceed further. A quick, examining look around the beautiful, well-tended yard made you wonder how many people worked there, but the sight of water guns scattered over the grass, as well as the picnic blanket on the grass, gave you a much better understanding of the family living there.
After hesitating a couple of seconds, you knocked.
You fully expected Gojo to greet you right that second. Instead, you heard a couple of barks, some intelligible mumbling, and the sound of something being knocked over, until the door finally opened, revealing Gojo and a white Labrador puppy, enthusiastically chewing on the man's trouser leg.
Hardly had you opened your mouth, when another puppy — that time a black one, albeit also a Labrador — jumped on you with a joyous yip. The puppy wiggled its tail with such speed that you sincerely worried about the poor doggie launching itself into space.
A joyful chuckle left you as you petted the puppy, cooing at him, "Hello to you, too!"
Gojo finally managed to get the white one off his leg and craddled it against his chest with a loud sigh. A couple of white strands were plastered to his forehead, and he quickly wiped it with his forearm.
"Hello, Doc. Kuro, come here. Don't jump on ladies like that," he mock scolded the black one, Kuro, and flashed you a tired grin. Kuro trotted back to Gojo. "We're gonna talk about it later, I swear. With you as well, right, little guy?" Gojo murmured to the white puppy, scratching him behind the ears and nodded towards you. "Meet Shiro!"
You beamed back in response and quickly looked around. "Where's Tsumiki?"
Gojo's expression changed in an instant, a frown crossing over his handsome face. "She's upstairs. You can use the bathroom there. Wait a minute, okay?"
Nodding nervously, you found your seat near the cream sofa. A white, fluffy carpet easily swallowed the sound of your footsteps. You sank into the comfort of the armchair nearby and let your gaze drift over the dog toys on the carpet, neatly folded colouring pages on the coffee table, a half-opened pack of coloured crayons, some book about dog breeds, and… wait, was it a pastry book? Nonetheless, Cédric Grolet's? Squinting, you only got convinced more about it: the sight of familiar lemons immediately caught your eye.
Nothing strange. He was a restaurant owner, after all. Broadening a worldview was useful for everyone.
Unless…
He picked it up after you mentioned it at the cafe.
Weird warmth blossomed in your chest, spreading through your veins like sunshine, mellow and bright.
Until a sudden thought of Naoya burnt you.
"Megs, why don't you have the puppies and play with them at the yard? I'll go check on Tsumiki." Gojo's loud voice startled you out of your hazy mind. Blinking, you returned to reality and watched the grumpy kid dragging his feet to Gojo. "Oh, and say hi to Doctor-sensei. She'll look at her too."
His words had Megumi stop mid-rubbing his eyes and stare at you with mild disbelief. Waving at him, you forced a smile. You couldn't let yourself dwell on your future husband and bathe in your misery in front of a kid.
"Hi, Megumi-kun! You feeling better?"
The boy blinked as well and shrugged in response. "I guess."
As driven by the force of gravity, your eyes immediately drifted to Gojo to find him already staring at you with a curious expression. Warmth curled on his lips, but his eyes remained sharp and focused. Your cheeks heated up.
Stuffy. It was stuffy.
One of the puppies barked.
Megumi briefly glanced at the dog, and for the first time, you saw a sincere smile spreading on his face. Then, he dragged his eyes back to you with a pensive, hesitant expression and asked quietly.
"Will Tsumiki be alright?"
Your chest tightened with emotions as you kneeled before the kid. He watched you carefully, but didn't speak up.
"She is alright, from what your uncle told me. Don't worry. He takes care of her." Letting yourself look at Gojo again, you noticed something indescribable flicker over his features before he smiled back, albeit strained. A weird feeling stirred within as you added, "Both of you, actually."
Something twitched behind the stone mask that Megumi's face was. A light pink coloured his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze.
"Alrighty, Megs," Gojo held the door open, and Kuro already jumped happily outside, followed by Shiro, wiggling his tail. "But not too long! You gotta be in bed till ten, and we are going to brush teeth together this time. You're not going to fool me anymore, little punk."
Megumi rolled his eyes, but the sparkle of mischief in them was a dead giveaway. "More like you are not going to fool me like the last time you ditched the irrigator —"
You watched the puppies immediately clinging to Megumi with cheerful yips as he stepped out — and looked at Gojo. Nothing in him, save only for the tension in his broad shoulders, revealed the quiet storm brewing inside.
Swallowing, you hurried to catch up to him.
"Tsumi-chan, how are you now?" Gojo's voice dropped to the gentle warmth you had yet to hear. He quietly closed the doors behind you both and walked to the girl. A little grin tugged at the corner of your lips at the sight of the barrage of meds on the bedside table.
"I feel better now, really. Thank you, Satoru-san. You don't have to worry about me so much."
"Oh, I absolutely do," huffing loudly, Gojo walked over and cleared his throat, telling Tsumiki your name. "Doctor-sensei treats Megumi."
Tsumiki murmured something to greet you, but her last words caught you off guard.
"Nice to meet you, sensei! Satoru-san told us about you."
Eyes widened, you shifted your gaze to Gojo, who was already checking Tsumiki's bunnies. "Really? Did he?"
"Oh, yeah! I know you're really good," she chuckled warmly, but then added hastily, "I don't think there's any need to check on me, I am completely fine!"
But after this, she grimaced quickly and gave up under Gojo's hardened gaze.
Tsumiki got a certain paleness to her skin as you examined her, but nothing unusual for the food poisoning, as you indeed figured it out.
"I think it was cotton candy," the girl murmured, sinking back into the bed. A quiet sigh left her lips. "It's a shame. I liked it."
"Oh, yeah," Gojo grumbled indistinctly from his place. "I'll never let you eat that stuff again, I swear."
The girl's eyes widened as she shared a startled look with you. "But you ate five portions all by yourself! It's not fair!"
Gojo shot her a quick look, though a teasing grin danced on his lips.
"It's not the same. I am an adult, and you are just a teeny tiny girl," he joked lightly, watching a white bunny devouring an applewood stick. "You're such a fatty, fella, I swear."
"Snow is not a fatty!" Tsumiki already jumped in to protect her precious pet. "Just…furry."
"Tsumi-chan, calm down a little. You'd better relax and have a rest," you murmured, while writing down recommendations for Gojo. "Your bunny's name is Snow?"
She nodded carefully, following your words, and twiddled with her fingers.
"Yes. Snow and Ball. The owners wanted to give Snow away, because, you know," she whispered and sniffled quietly. "He was not like other bunnies."
"Albino," Gojo interjected immediately. Almost absent-mindedly: his eyes were focused on the large constellation map on the wall, but you were sure he was listening more than attentively.
"So we took Snow in, and Satoru-san later brought us Ball! He lived on a Bunny Island, but now he's with us."
Your smile wavered, sinking into fragile softness as your hand squeezed Tsumiki's. Then your gaze found Gojo again, who was trying to use Tsumiki's telescope. The sight was quite funny, given Gojo's height and the telescope's design for kids.
Not looking away, you whispered, "Satoru-san is good to you."
"He is," the girl beamed at you, but then grew shy again. Clearing her throat, she asked whether you had some pets.
The bitterness instantly rose in your chest, flooding all the warmth.
Naoya didn't understand the concept of pets and anything that could steal your attention away.
That was your first big fight.
You were just a year together.
With gaze cast down, you shrugged, not aware that Gojo was watching you all the time. "Uhm, no, unfortunately, no. With my work…not quite possible."
"Oh. It's a shame," she sighed again. "But if you want to, you can come and play with my bunnies. And I am sure Megumi won't be against you playing with Kuro and Shiro. Right, Satoru-san?"
"Yeah." He answered without missing a beat. Your heart did a treacherous flip, slamming against your ribcage, and you breathed out with a weak grin.
"Thank you, Tsumi-chan. Get better soon, okay?"
"Make sure she's well-rested. I think she should feel better before Monday. A lot of drinks," you nodded at the paper in Gojo's hand. "Watch the vomit too, and basically just keep an eye on her. If there's a sudden tummy ache, call an ambulance. And call me just in case."
"Sure will do," Gojo murmured tiredly, carefully folding your note and tucking it into his notebook. A sharp pang of something you weren't ready to name yet shot through your heart. Quietly watching Gojo's brows furrow in thought as he turned the pages of his planner — probably filled with dozens of meetings, visits and even dates — you muttered your goodbyes with a full intention to slip quietly out of that lovely home.
Only to be stopped by a warm hand on your elbow.
"Where are you going to? It's late. Ijichi will drive you home."
Your phone was already buzzing with dozens of irritated texts from Naoya, and the thought of him seeing you leave another man's car made your insides churn.
Waving, you huffed a chuckle, "Ah, it's nothing, I'll take a taxi, and it's late!"
"He will be there in five minutes." Gojo casually shrugged your words off, already on its way to hold a door for you. "Come on, I'll walk you out."
The gusts of wind under the veil of tranquil twilight didn't bite you as usual; perhaps, it was Gojo's warmth shielding you from its coldness. Standing right beside him as you waited outside, you couldn't help but reminisce that evening with the British lighter.
An airy chuckle cut through the serenity between you. Gojo tore his gaze away from the star-spilt sky above, and his gentle murmur caressed the expanse of your skin. Even though he was standing a foot apart.
"What are you thinking about?"
Your smile deepened, but you shook your head in response. "Nothing much."
"Hey. Don't go shy on me, Doctor-sensei."
Despite the coldness of the evening, your cheeks flared up. "Telling about me to your kids?"
A soft smile spread on his face as he chuckled.
"Couldn't help. You're really a nice doctor."
"Well, thank you then."
He basked in a response you gave him — a widened gaze, a pink tint to your cheeks, and a little smile — until you went silent again.
Gojo tilted his head in a silent question — the harsh wind threw his white bangs all over his forehead. He didn't make any effort to brush them away; instead, he kept looking at you as if you were the only star gracing the heavens above. Beautiful. Observing.
Mysterious.
"I don't have the lighter on me now."
Startled, you abruptly burned and blinked, your huff dissolving into a light laugh. "And I don't have any cigs."
Gojo's smile deepened almost imperceptibly. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his warmth enveloping you tighter in its embrace. Nervously, you tucked the lone hair strand behind your ear. Glanced at the sky above, glimmering indifferently.
"Tsumiki likes stars, doesn't she? A whole map and a telescope in her room?" You murmured absent-mindedly, eyes lazily wandering from one celestial body to another.
Naoya didn't like stargazing.
"Ah, yes. A little scientist. She dreams about space and visiting some planets." At the mention of his niece, Gojo's gaze turned melancholic, albeit full of tenderness. "She's a nice girl. Kind and gentle."
At the sudden pensiveness, colouring his voice, you turned around. The wind threw your hair into your face, but you chose not to see anything but Gojo. Your voice came surprisingly steady.
"And you are a nice uncle. When I said to Megumi that you took good care of them, I didn't joke."
Your words clearly stunned Gojo; his eyes widened, and the dark blue of them shone so brightly under the lamplight that you let yourself drown in them all over again.
"You think so, Doc?"
Despite the lightness in his tone, you picked up the strained edge, the hesitance, and something weirdly resembling hope.
His hand twitched a little as you stepped closer and let your fingers tentatively brush against his. Gojo went still, and your quiet yet sure words nearly undid him.
"I know, Gojo."
His chest expanded with a sharp exhale. There was no way he could contain the overwhelming fullness in his chest that came with your presence. And as the honk of Ijichi's car erupted through the silence, he finally managed to find his words again.
"Thank you for coming. I… really appreciate that."
You just shook your head with a warm smile you wore so often. A strange gleam flashed in your gaze.
"No worries. I am glad to help."
For some reason, he couldn't tear his gaze away, and just watched the lonebeam caressing your features in a way he longed to.
The black car finally stopped in front of you. Gojo stepped to open the door for you and murmured.
"Good night. See you soon, right?"
"Right. Bye, Gojo."
And seeing the car slowly disappearing into the dark, Gojo let out a breath, carding his fingers through the hair as the realisation that had been hovering over him like a sword of Damocles finally hit him.
He was so fucked.
ੈ✩‧₊˚
The clock in your office almost struck two, marking your possible fifteen minutes for a break, but you were focused on a baby on the examination table. Softly pressing on the belly, you checked for any enlarged organs, only to give the parents an assuring nod.
"No signs of a hernia as well."
Your light tickles earned soft gurgles from the kid, and you couldn't help but lean down and coo, "Aw, you're such a little talker tonight, aren't you? Looking so happy out here."
The baby babbled something again, flailing their pudgy arms, and gave you a little grin. Your hands softly brushed over the kid's legs to move them over.
"No problems with hip joints! Your baby is completely healthy." A relaxed smile made its way on your face as well, seeing the little girl's parents breathe out in relief.
"Doctor-sensei, we were thinking about introducing Kiki-chan to solid foods," Kiki-chan's mother squirmed in her seat, while her father attempted to put a pacifier in her mouth. The baby protested with a huff.
Humming under your breath, you went through the baby's medical record. "Honestly, it's better you wait a little. I will give you proper recommendations when the time comes. It's usually around 6 months. Meanwhile, remember to have the vitamin D supplement I was talking about."
"Ah, yes. I wanted to ask if 400 IU daily is alright?" Ito-san's voice sounded a bit strained, as Kiki-chan curiously attempted to tug on her mom's hair.
"Totally fine."
Shortly after answering a couple of questions more and reminding the parents to call you in case something suspicious arises, you bid your goodbyes to the family.
Exhausted, you massaged your temples and decided to take a quick nap before a meeting, only to be interrupted by the knock. No urgency, though. No hesitation.
Frowning, you called out to come in, already straightening in your seat. Might've been another emergency, since you didn't have anything more scheduled before the endless Yaga's droning.
The door opened, revealing the emergency himself. The emergency bore a smile, able to disperse any signs of an impending grimness; his hair flashed bright white under the light, and the blue of his gaze pulled you into its ripples just like the day that emergency walked into your life.
Your heart slammed against your ribs, pulse roared in your temples with deafening force, as you stared back at Gojo. Megumi had been charged some time ago, but the lie would've tasted sour if you said Gojo didn't cross your mind. Maybe something happened to Tsumiki?
Sometimes, when the evenings pinned you down with their weight of loneliness, as you stared at Naoya's back blanky, the memories flushed in your mind. You kept every smile, every glance, every bruf of fingers and every word close to your heart, akin to the precious gems.
Then, as Naoya's lips would press a claim on your skin and his fingertips would burn another into your soul, you pulled them out with the utmost care.
Somehow managing to compose yourself, you forced a grin that Gojo would find a pleasant one, at least, "Hi! What are you doing here? Oh, have a seat, would you?"
Gojo's grin deepened, and he sank into the chair in front of you.
"Long time no see, Doc. No-no, everything is okay with kids, don't worry," he hastily added, seeing concern immediately taking over your face.
"Oh." You blinked in surprise. Cleared your throat. Tried not to look as nosy as you felt. Twiddled with a kitten figurine on your table. Finally breathed out.
"Not to be rude or anything, but…what are you doing here then?"
His white brows knitted together as he managed to huff a chuckle. It slowly died under your inquiring gaze.
"You don't know?"
Briefly closing your eyes at the sense of migraine slowly crawling back to make your life even more miserable, you murmured, "Know what?"
The bright grin on Gojo's face wavered, but his voice came out surprisingly soft. As if he were trying to soothe you by the mere tone alone.
"I am on the board of shareholders now. I thought you might've known by now. But it's even better! I am telling you myself."
Brows flying to your hairline in surprise, you breathed out a quiet, shocked chuckle. The gentle sun — as bright as Gojo's radiant grin — warmed your soul in hesitant rays of fondness.
"Really? That's so great! I didn't even hear —"
Naoya didn't bother to mention it to you.
Your smile slowly vanished as the clouds of despair slowly fogged that very sun.
Gojo, who had already helped himself to a candy, suddenly looked up. "Didn't even hear…?"
If you were a lot more braver, you wouldn't let hesitance shake you to the very core. Expose you for who you truly were.
A dove. A naive, frightened dove.
The knife of Naoya's disdainful whisper slowly twisted between your ribs once again, leaving the droplets of something that used to be your affection spilling in crimson paths of sorrow and ache.
"Doc? You good?"
You would've told Gojo everything.
Instead, you gave him a jarred grin.
"Doesn't matter. So, what's the thing for you here?"
His gaze narrowed suspiciously, but he decided not to press further.
"I thought it was a good opportunity. Non-profit management, something like that. You took good care of Megumi, and I was already thinking about," his gaze swept across your room, pausing at the sweets, the examination table, the posters on the walls and the box with toys. The very same you fished Megumi's plushie from. "Contributing to society, all that jazz."
Something in his deliberately light tone told you that you weren't the one to have secrets. With a curious hum, you leaned over, tapping on your chin in mock thoughtfulness.
"Weren't you the one saying that you didn't like meetings and everything?"
Gojo paused, his eyes briefly flicking to your face to gauge your reaction; he saw none, besides an intrigue, dancing in your gaze.
Oh. That was how you wanted to play, huh?
He slowly mirrored your grin, lazily tilting his head. "I am okay if that's for the good."
"It's for the good, then?"
His smile widened, giving you a good look at his dimples.
Giving Gojo the last suspicious glance, you leaned back.
He cleared his throat.
"So, if you have something to say or ask for... you can tell me. Within reasonable limits, of course."
"I'll keep it in mind."
Your pager beeped loudly again, putting your conversation to a halt. With a heavy sigh, you hid it and rose from your seat.
"Did something happen?" Gojo inquired with the same curious, albeit soft gaze that had been silently caressing you the entire conversation.
Stifling a sigh and your urge to ditch the whole thing, you admitted begrudgingly, "No, not at all. Just the department's meeting."
"Oh," he hummed incredulously, but his gaze was still firmly set on you. You decided to get through your notes just not to feel its weight. It never failed to send shivers down your spine.
"You've already met Yaga-san, the department's director, I suppose?"
An attempt to briefly switch the topic and the nervous tone didn't go unnoticed by Gojo.
As well as the slightest twitch of your fingers, when you meticulously tucked all the notes into one neat pile.
"Yeah. He's...an interesting guy. I would say more like a businessman type. Talks about the financing and the sponsor's attraction."
Gojo's words earned an airy chuckle from you.
"Oh, he can talk about it day and night, I swear."
"That he can," he agreed, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Still, I think he cares about all of you. The finances topic is surely one of the hottest on the board meeting."
"That's why I am not really sure why you decided to join it — ah, shit!"
One clumsy turn and a misguided step — god, sometimes Naoya was right: you really felt like having two left feet — and the carefully arranged notes went scattered on your floor like birds trying to escape.
"Damn, I am so clumsy." Kneeling immediately, you murmured under your breath and stilled, feeling Gojo's finger brush gingerly against yours as he handed you one of the vaccination reports. The time completely paused around you: the thick, heavy substance enveloping both of you.
The world closed in on the blue in his eyes. Spilt heavens, simmering waves of an ocean, June sky, when the world's radiance blinded with its brightness, merged into the tint that dulled every other colour for you. Took you to another world, even just for a fleeting moment.
"Oh, look at that. Is that...wait, is that yours?"
Your head immediately snapped towards Gojo, and you saw him holding that small, pathetic makeshift portfolio — the one you probably pulled out just to throw away, but the thought slipped away from your tired mind just like usual.
The heat of humiliation, mixed with embarrassment, exploded within you in a painful red. Helplessly blinking, you forced a pathetic chuckle.
"Oh, that? No, it's — "
And then why did you carry that binder around, huh? Think, think, think!
Your mind desperately scrambled for a plausible explanation, but after some debating, you surrendered to his gaze.
"Yes. These are mine. It's nothing special, though. Some lazy, stupid doodles."
Gojo frowned instantly at the belittlement curling in your voice like a berated animal. He slowly rose to his height and murmured in bewilderment.
"You're joking, right?"
You blinked. Blinked again. Didn't think of anything better than to stare at Gojo as you had seen him for the first time. Stare at him carefully going through the binder. Stare at the light wrinkle between his brows, knitted in concentration. Stare at his lips until they parted and uttered the words that knocked all the air from your lungs.
"These are wonderful!"
The pager beeped again to remind you about the upcoming meeting, but all your being shrinked to the little folder in Gojo's hands.
Naoya's words about wasting your time immediately flared up, and you straightened as well to make a grab for the photos.
"It's nothing special. Really. Just a bunch of stuff."
Gojo dragged his shocked gaze from the portfolio back to you and let you have the damn binder. You would throw it away the first thing after the meeting.
To which, in fact, you should've hurried long ago.
"I have to go."
Gojo watched your figure moving around with the newly acquired urgency. As if you had been trying to shake any remnants of the intimacy that had just unfolded around you.
His eyes searched your face with a quiet, almost aching attention, until he finally muttered.
"Did I say something wrong?"
No.
No.
Don't say that.
Don't do that to me.
A cruel beast crawled up your veins to clutch your insides in a freezing grip, while fear and regret trapped your lone heartbeat.
Gojo didn't say anything, instead letting his eyes talk, but you were too occupied with your own thoughts to hear him.
Eventually, he stepped back with a quiet sigh, and the thinly veiled frustration in his voice caused your heart to sink.
"I am sorry. I didn't mean to go overboard in any way. I'll leave you alone."
The sight of Gojo's broad shoulders slumped in the slightest bitterness cracked something in your chest.
The pager went off again with a loud beep.
"I really have to go."
Gojo only gave you a curt nod, and all the time you were closing your office, you felt the weight of his gaze pinning you down.
A hundred words rested just on the tip of your tongue. Instead, you settled on a quiet, hesitant apology, gently grazing his elbow.
"I am sorry. It's not this. You haven't done anything wrong."
He turned almost immediately at your words, but as much as he wanted to ask more — so, so much more than you were ready to offer — he stilled. And prompted gently.
"Then what is it?"
You sucked in a sharp exhale, just to —
"Dove? There you are!"
For the reason to appear himself.
The look of pure panic on your face the second the voice reached you made Gojo frown. Then your frightened gaze flicked to him.
The crowd around you parted slightly, revealing a man. Gojo caught a couple of fond gazes shared between the nurses, but that couldn't bother him less.
The immediate self-conscious curve of your shoulders, paired with the stiffness of your moves, when the guy pulled you closer without any words, concerned Gojo way more.
"Dove. What did I say about answering my calls? I don't want to look around for you all over the hospital. I am way too busy for this."
The arrogant, disdainful voice of that prick immediately grated on Gojo's nerves. The tone was not suitable even for berating a pet, let alone talking to a human being. Someone supposedly beloved.
Gojo's jaw tightened. He was about to step in when you swiftly interjected with a grin too wide to be sincere. Your hand on the man's arm didn't promise any good.
The guy turned to Gojo's side and stilled for a moment, quirking a brow.
"Darling," your tone sounded so weird, Gojo barely recognised it — something like the plea to an executioner to give you the last glimpses of freedom. "This is Gojo Satoru. He's on the board of the shareholders as well."
The prick slowly tilted his head, dragging his gaze over Gojo in silent yet sharp examination. Then a weird gleam flushed in his eyes as they slightly widened in recognition.
That scowl and barely masked derision on his face had stirred something distant in Gojo's memory, but the whole image remained blurry. Until you introduced him as well, piercing all the pieces.
"This is Zenin Naoya. My..."
Naoya didn't appreciate your pause and flashed an arrogant smirk.
"Her fiancé."
Zenin.
Right. Of course.
The surname that was such a frequent guest at all the gatherings Gojo used to attend. He felt an immediate wave of repulsion towards that prick, but managed to mask it with a slightly narrowed gaze, simply out of respect for you.
Gojo heard a lot about the Zenins back then, when his piece carried some value in his parents' game. Even now, some rumours still managed to reach him, despite all the efforts.
If any of them were true about the young Zenin heir…
Fiancé.
Gods. He put all the details — your empty stares, self-deprecating jokes, occasional flinches, even the earlier reaction to his compliment to your drawing — with terrifying clarity.
Puzzles finally slotted into the frame that your fiancé forced you into. Everything made sense now.
Quickly closing his eyes to compose himself, Gojo immediately opened them, forced by the hesitance in your tone.
"You should've met at the board's meeting, I suppose," your gaze flickered nervously between Gojo and Naoya in an attempt to quickly assess the surroundings. The air was growing thicker with each passing second: the whispers around rose in frequency, while Gojo's gaze narrowed even more deadly, and Naoya's smirk turned maliciously sharper.
The muscle in Gojo's jaw tightened.
"It's always a great opportunity to meet another member of the respected clan," Naoya tilted his head just a tad, but the harsh look in his eyes didn't melt even for a second. "Even though he somehow busied my little dove so much, she forgot to check her phone, huh?"
The scene he would certainly cause you later flashed before your eyes. You managed to offer some apologetic murmur before Naoya cut you off with a single word.
"Quiet."
Wordlessly, you dropped your gaze. One word shaped you into a person so meek that you barely resembled the woman Gojo slowly came to know.
His blood boiled at the sight, but the look he gave Naoya was enough to freeze hell.
"Can't say the same, Zenin."
Naoya stilled. His smirk slowly wavered, but then a low, amused chuckle left him, followed by the words dipped in poison.
"Oh? I suppose other respected clans didn't care about teaching their heirs proper manners, did they, Satoru-kun?"
The crowd around went completely silent, as if someone stole their voices. Even the sounds of pagers and rhythmic taps on the keyboard quietened. A few glares landed on you, and you could already hear your colleagues clicking their tongues in annoyance.
Again, never directed at Naoya.
Nothing changed in Gojo's face as he simply raised his chin and drawled with an infuriating smirk, "Have you learnt any before talking to your future wife, huh?"
Your head snapped immediately at the sound of his voice. Your lips parted to force some excuse.
You had none.
As well as Naoya.
His cheeks paled in an instant, but the tips of his ears blushed pink. No wonder — another humiliation from a man, let alone a man, defending you.
That act of disgrace Naoya couldn't bear.
Seething inside, he surprisingly gently tugged you closer and whispered, "We'll talk about it later, sweetheart."
As Gojo watched your figures retreat, he caught the wide-eyed gaze you sent him over your shoulder, full of so much remorse, that it twisted something violently in his chest.
fiance! naoya x paediatrician! fem reader x single uncle! satoru
summary: Your days had long turned into an endless grey stream of monotony, brightened only by children's smiles at the hospital. Soon, your life would be subjected to loneliness in the golden cage of the Zenin Estate as you agreed to be Naoya's wife; the weight of his love had already burdened you to the point you no longer believed there was any left.
And then you met Satoru Gojo.
Your biggest curse. And your greatest remedy.
tags: AU, medical setting, heavy angst, toxic relationships, messy feelings, emotional abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, misogyny (Naoya is a prick), reader struggles with her self-image, slow healing, falling in love, yearning. eventual smut and happy ending, i promise! we just have to get here. some specific tags will be included in the parts, if any.
word count: 14.5k
gojo's art by @/maronjapan9a. all dividers are mine.
playlist
masterlist
part 1
Satoru Gojo slowly started threading himself into the canvas of your life, and when you looked back, startled and stunned, to see the turning point — when the warmth slowly sipped into your polite, careful smiles and when the anxiety slowly loosened its knot as Gojo's laugh washed over you — you slowly realised that you couldn't name one.
Was it the boyish grin? The Union Jack lighter? The first compliment? The first shared conversation in the walls of the cafeteria? Nothing criminal, but every time your eyes met — his, impossibly blue, crinkling at the corners with mirth and something you were afraid to name — they caused the tender petals of affection in your chest to bloom.
Only if they weren't destined to wither the moment your future husband set his eyes on you.
Maybe he noticed that you returned from the hospital happier than usual. Your softened voice grated on his nerves, and your dreamy gaze only sharpened his. Honed his tongue to the way it left more and more wounds.
As if you weren't berating yourself for even thinking about another man. As if you didn't force your gaze to tear apart from Gojo at first. To keep your mouth shut. To gather your bearings and lock your heart with the key thrown away to the ocean depths. To shut Nitta's and Miwa's whispers with sharp glances. To stand your ground as the endless blue threatened to swallow you whole.
Either way, you were torn between your actual feelings and things you were supposed to feel.
That day wasn't particularly sunshine and rainbows: from a kid with an asthma attack to very vigilant parents, insisting on vaccine shots conspiracy. Your smile turned more strained with every word, and your left eye almost twitched at "how much are you paid per shot?"
And that was only the morning.
"Kao, stop squirming! What will the doctor think of you?"
The boy, a 5-year-old Kao-kun, who was supposed to have his hearing examined, fell on deaf ears to his mother's pleading words (not literally, as you hoped, standing with an otoscope beside the kid).
"I am so sorry, Doc, I don't know what's gotten into him," Kao-kun's mother, Nakata-san, offered you an apologetic, forced smile, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy towards her.
"It's completely fine, Nakata-san. Kids don't usually like these sorts of things," smiling warmly back at the lady, you briefly patted her arm in support. Nakata-san only pressed her lips into a thin line and opened her purse to fish a handkerchief to dab on her forehead.
The sudden April heatwave enveloped Japan in its suffocating embrace. Heat clung to skin in rivulets of sweat, and people fought for every sliver of shade, not to mention the usual humidity — the feeling of your blouse sticking to your back set your overstimulated brain on fire even more, but you didn't have the right to complain.
Poor Nakata-san, meanwhile, murmured in despair and sighed, shaking her head, "He's usually such a nice, smart boy. We started to teach him Hiragana a couple of weeks ago, just like in that handout you gave us, Doc. Oh, I have it, wait a minute, —"
The woman started to browse through her endless purse again, but you interrupted her softly, glancing briefly at the clock. Ten minutes were left before the next appointment, and Kao-kun seemed way more interested in the poster of the giant green cactus Sabo-san, a chair named Kosshi and…Inai Inai Baa.
The corners of your mouth twitched with a bright grin.
Of course.
"Hey, Kao-kun," drawling playfully, you waved at the poster. "Do you like Inai Inai Baa?"
The boy's voice rose to a high-pitched tone as he nodded enthusiastically, "Yes!"
You clapped happily, hoping to match Kao-kun and beamed at the kid, "You want to play Peekaboo?"
The boy practically jumped out of his seat, and Nakata-san hurried to shush him, only for you to gently stop her with a knowing look. She stopped in her tracks, blinking a couple of times; as the realisation dawned on her, the woman sent you a conspiring wink.
"Kao-kun, I am gonna look for Inai Inai Baa in your ears," as you finally had the kid's attention, he looked up and hung on your every word, "Will you help me — "
You barely finished the sentence as the boy shouted happily, his toothy grin on full display:
"Yes, yes, yes!"
The sight dispersed the gloomy clouds in your mind like the brightest sunray.
Kao-kun helped you to spot the dog, Wanwan, every time he barked into the boy's ear, and you discreetly wiped your forehead as you finished the examination and put the data into the kid's medical record.
"Doc, you're the best!" Nakata-san pressed her palm to her chest, thanking you sincerely. Kao-kun eyed the bowl of lollipops on your table as his mother kept talking about the school they were about to choose. Stiffling a warm chuckle, you nodded at the bowl.
"Help yourself, Kao-kun, don't be shy."
The boy beamed and hurriedly thanked you, urged by his mother on the way out of your office. He was already too fascinated with the sweet and colourful cartoon sticker inside, but dutifully listened to his mom. You waved back with a laugh.
"Take care!"
When you finally had two minutes for yourself, you fished a small handy fan. As it always happened in the most inconvenient times, the climate control in your office decided it certainly had enough and retired after a long period of duty. The facility manager grumbled that the equipment hadn't been modernised in a long time, glaring at you as if you were the sole reason for that decision. You highly suspected your beloved fiancé (to be precise, his family) of being in charge of it. Yet, somehow, the one on the receiving blade of occasional pointed glances and hushed whispers was usually you. No wonder: Naoya had a knack for charming everyone under his spell.
And you were just…you. Your presence, so tethered to his, didn't help the situation either. Mostly, that didn't bother you: little patients adored you, while parents paid their respects — after all, that mattered the most.
One of the nurses kindly informed you that the next appointment had been cancelled. That rare occasion had you raise your brows in a mild surprise, which later turned into a fleeting moment of joy: since it was the last appointment before the day hospital's checks, you could go there earlier and later hurry to the little cafe near the hospital. The cold kiwi lemonade had been quietly haunting your mind since the moment you stepped into your office.
"How are you feeling today, Rika-chan?"
"Better now!"
The little girl with two pigtails stilled as you checked her throat and discreetly let out a sigh of relief as you turned to her mother with good news.
"I think Rika-chan is going to be discharged soon," muttering under your breath as you flipped the papers, you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of happy Okami-san. "Cephalexin 20 mg…yeah, that's right. I'll see you tomorrow at the final examination, Rika-chan!"
The girl eagerly nodded, hugging her Kuromi plushie, and your chuckle morphed into a warm laugh.
Walking out of room 626, you hurried to the last patient of the day. Knocking softly at the door, you couldn't help the low roaring of your pulse in your head. Your grip on the chart tightened, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.
Gojo was engrossed in his phone, thumbs flying over the screen, and cast occasional glances at Megumi, who was quietly drawing in the corner. The black crayon wandered over the paper; judging by Megumi's brows, knitted in concentration, and the peeked out tongue, he was more than focused. Your gift, a little plushie dog, alongside a giant toad, guarded Megumi's peace like loyal knights.
Another warm sunray crept through the clouds.
Too absorbed in his own little world, the kid didn't notice you. Contrary to his uncle, whose ears immediately perked up at the sound of the doors creaking. A bright grin spread on Gojo's handsome face at the sight of your slightly hesitant form — you had to blink a couple of times just to reassure yourself that you weren't dreaming — before he sent you a conspiratorial wink with his finger on his mouth and pointed at the boy.
Pressing your lips into a thin line so as not to burst with laughter, you closed the door as quietly as you could. What was a paediatrician without a little whimsy?
"Hey, Megumi-chan," Gojo drawled in an overly obnoxious manner, earning Megumi's unimpressed look. Gojo's grin turned even brighter. "What are you drawing out there?"
Megumi's grip on the crayon tightened, and he mumbled back, finally sneaking a glance at you, "I am not finished yet."
Gojo wasn't quite satisfied with his nephew's answer and leaned over to peek at the table, only for Megumi to snatch the drawing from his uncle's nosy gaze.
"Come on, Gumibear —"
The boy's ears went pink at the humiliation that Gojo was bestowing upon him with a mere nickname, and the glare he sent his uncle was nothing but murderous. "I told you not to call me that!"
"Careful, Megs, your anger level is wa-a-ay above your daily norm, ouch!"
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, but a few chuckles left your lips nonetheless.
Gojo slumped back in his chair with a theatrical groan, resting his palm on his forehead like a damsel in distress; his biceps flexed with each movement in a white t-shirt.
Well, it was really hot.
You allowed yourself a second of gawking before eventually stepping to Megumi's side.
"Can I have a look, Megumi-kun?"
Megumi's eyes briefly flicked between you and the drawing he clutched close to his chest before he shrugged, "I still have to finish it."
Peeking at Gojo, you saw the amusement dancing in his bright blue gaze. So, it was a yes.
"Had a rough day?"
Your hands on the pulse oximeter stilled for a moment. Megumi's eyelashes fluttered with a tiny fractured breath. Gojo's casual words sent your heart stammeting against your ribs like a trapped bird; however, you forced yourself to focus and didn't tear your gaze away until you saw the result.
"Saturation is still not good."
Gojo, who hovered over you, knitted his brows in concern and opened his mouth to ask you something when Megumi's exhausted voice tugged on your heartstrings.
"You put a mask on me, right?"
The movement of your throat was sharp as you swallowed and exchanged glances with Gojo. He pressed his lips in a thin line and gave you a silent nod, urging you to continue.
"It's nothing bad, Megumi-kun." Your hand, warm and pleasant, rested on the boy's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. A deep frown crossed over his features as Megumi murmured in a barely audible voice.
"You are always saying that."
After another worried glance shared with Gojo, you kneeled before the boy's bed and put your mask down, so he could see you better.
"I promise you it won't hurt you. Besides, your uncle and I will be with you all the time." Even turned away from Gojo, you could feel the light grin already tugging on the corner of his mouth. The boy's eyes flicked between you and Gojo, and after seconds of inner debating, his posture relaxed just a tad, and he grumbled.
"I suppose it's okay then."
Your chest suspiciously tightened as you watched Megumi's small fingers twitch in Gojo's hold. His shades were gone, offering you an unobstructed look at the blue of his eyes, simmering with concern, framed by the snow of his lashes.
Casting your gaze back down at the boy, you concentrated on the task.
"He's slowly getting better," a soft, reassuring murmur left your lips as your gaze lingered on Megumi, who dozed off, exhausted after all the procedures. Then it landed on Gojo, driven by some unknown force. His hand hovered over the boy's shoulders — strangely unsure for a man like him — and finally drifted down to tuck Megumi's blanket in clumsily.
"I hope so."
His hesitant whisper stirred something deeply buried. Before the ever-present tentativeness could consume you, your hand settled on Gojo's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The contact made your fingers twitch with an unexpected urge to dig them deeper into the muscled skin. The heat immediately coloured your cheeks; a fleeting thought of yanking your hand away crossed your mind, but it was too late and impolite.
Gojo stilled beneath your touch and slowly turned around. The blue of his eyes held you captive in their waves, but his small, gentle smile gave you a much-needed breath of fresh air.
Only to take it back with a casual brush of the long fingers, subtly grazing your hand. A fragile, aching in its delicateness, flower bloomed quietly between you.
Soon, Gojo's ringtone dispelled the strange air. You discreetly shook your head in a skimpy attempt to get rid of the image of the man beside you, now talking quietly to someone on the phone. His lips widened into a smile so bright and unadulterated, it transformed his face into something…angelic.
Naoya's disdainful scowl from the morning emersed in your exhausted mind, no matter how hard you tried to drown it.
Gojo shot you a sidelong glance — seemingly relentless to decipher a look of somberness on your face — on your way to the elevator.
He couldn't quite put a finger on the sudden feeling the bags under your eyes evoked in him.
Your fingers came to fiddle with your chain as you worried your bottom lip. Then your hand limply fell at the absence.
Yeah. Right.
Gojo's eyes followed your gesture, but you seemed so hollowed out, as the life had been suddenly sucked out of you, that he didn't think of anything better than to blurt out, "Wanna have a coffee?"
Eyes widening, you stilled completely. That man, Gojo, who looked like a secret the morning tentatively shared, a kiss of the rosy sunset on your skin, and a whisper of a mystical night, had asked you out?
Or were you imagining things? Was he just bored? Polite?
At first, a usual thought of waving a man who somehow had his mind hazy enough to look at you immediately crossed your mind. A hot wave of panic flooded you like a strong ocean. The need to flee somewhere, just not to stay under Gojo's piercing blue gaze, ordered a retreat already. You almost opened your mouth to offer a moot excuse, with Naoya's presence looming over you even miles away, and…
Abruptly closed it.
The sparkle of rebellious flame surged high and slowly devoured the gnawing hesitance.
Your silence gave Gojo quite an unambiguous sign. His smile wavered for a moment, taking a bitter edge, and he stepped back, raising his arms in surrender.
"Oh, I am sorry, you might think I want to hit on you or whatever, but it's just so hot —"
You cut him off with a shrug too quick and a grin too sharp. "Sure. Why not?"
Surprised, Gojo blinked before tilting his head as the boyish grin slowly made its way back on his handsome face.
"Lead the way, Doc."
For a moment, you weighed all the options on the inner scales: the hospital cafeteria was immediately off the limits — even the walls had ears there, as well as a popular cafe just around the corner. The possibility of someone grassing you up to Naoya rose tenfold.
Yet, you had something on mind.
"Meet me in ten minutes near the entrance."
A content hum and a theatrical salute were your answers.
ੈ✩‧₊˚
Mentally thanking yourself for filling out daycare forms in advance, and the raging flu that knocked Yaga out, which saved you from the lunch meetings, you set the world record for changing out of the scrubs and hurried to the elevator.
The hospital still buzzed with worried patients and exhausted doctors. You craned your neck to see a familiar spark of frosty hair outside, and your pulse roared in your head at the sight of the tall man, leaning on the wall with a casual air of confidence.
Smoothing down your sundress — for some unknown reason — you hurried out.
"Hi!"
Gojo was looking somewhere past the crowd, a melancholic smile playing on his lips, and your words made him abruptly turn to you with a messy white fringe falling over his forehead. His smile dipped into something warm as he took you in.
"You're not in scrubs, it's the first!" An airy chuckle left Gojo as you led the way to the small cafe, nestled between towers of the enormous business centre, and a flower shop. To your surprise, Gojo immediately fell into step with you; Naoya never bothered to wait for you. You had always been expected to catch up to him, no matter what. "Nice dress."
Warm spring air caressed you both with delicate touches. The pink sundress you wore — Naoya raised his brow in the morning and mused whether you were dressed for work or a playground — licked the soft skin of your thighs with every step. Gojo sincerely tried not to gawk at the legs of his nephew's doctor (wait, was it a breach of ethics? He sincerely hoped no), but it became increasingly difficult.
Luckily, you stopped near the small, cosy coffee shop just before his feigned nonchalance would've morphed into something more scorching.
"Here we are!"
The scents of cinnamon and peppermint immediately hit his senses, mixed with the drumming sounds of an espresso machine and the faint hum of the climate control. The sudden temperature difference caused you to blow a lone strand of hair that escaped your ponytail off your face, and a whiff of your fresh perfume (albeit with a strong sense of antiseptic clinging to you like a second skin — once a doctor, always a doctor) sent his pulse drumming quietly.
Just when Gojo wondered if you felt at least something too, your shoulder lightly brushed against his. He didn't know what to do, because even the touch like that was enough for something to stir in his chest. So he just stilled, and let his gaze unabashedly drift over the delicate line of your neck as you studied something through the display.
Perfect.
"Recommendations are accepted," clearing his throat, Gojo waved at the arrays of pastries and rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn. Might as well order everything."
The look of pure confusion and something suspiciously similar to awe on his face earned a quiet laugh from you.
"Uhm, I usually like those chocolate-filled croissants," you murmured, hesitantly pointing at the pastry that looked like it had just descended from the famous French boulangeries. "Sometimes I take a tiramisu or a panacotta. Their strawberry-filled mochis are absolutely to die for!"
Beside you, Gojo went completely rigid. You felt the usual fear that you might've fucked something up — nothing new, but something inside you wished Gojo would be kind enough to let it slide — but then he turned around.
"I love mochis!" He breathed out not even with enthusiasm — a playful reverence coloured his tone. His eyes sparkled even brighter.
You briefly discussed other desserts displayed, and you complimented the ones shaped like fruits ("Actually, very close to Cédric Grolet's!"), before you attempted to grab your wallet from the purse and… met a disappointed nothingness. You sulked a bit and stepped back in the line before the barista would glare daggers at you, giving Gojo an apologetic shrug.
"I forgot my wallet, so this time I am just gonna —" You glanced around the cafe. "Wander around, I guess."
Gojo blinked and shook his head with an airy chuckle, pulling his wallet out, "You're so funny."
Your smile briefly faltered. Nevertheless, you forced it to stay plastered.
"I know, yeah."
A light frown flickered across Gojo's face, but before he could even form a question, the barista, a young, lively girl, greeted him with a joyous chirp.
"Good afternoon, what can I get you today?"
Flashing a charming grin, Gojo slightly leaned over and pointed at the pastry with a low purr, "Hello. I would like to have a caramel latte and that whole set of fruit desserts. A box of strawberry mochi and two — no, wait, three chocolate croissants for takeaway."
"Noted," the girl nodded as the light pink tinged her cheeks at the sight of Gojo. Well, no wonder. "Anything else?"
"Make the latte really sweet. And whatever this lady wants, of course." With that, Gojo finally leaned back and waved at the pastries as if he had baked them all by himself, "My treat, Doc."
Completely stunned, you just huffed an unsure laugh, "No, Gojo, it's okay, I am just —"
"Please," Gojo's voice lost all the cockiness just for a second, offering you a peek of the man beneath the facade. "Do me a favour. You showed me this place, after all."
A strange kind of fog clogged your mind as you watched Gojo casually take out his black card. You murmured something about a kiwi lemonade.
He ended up buying another yearly supply of sweets for you as well.
Gojo flipped his wallet, and a photo tucked inside — him hugging a couple of kids — immediately caught your attention. Judging by a grumpy scowl on one of the children's faces, you successfully deduced the boy to be Megumi. And the girl with a shy grin, showing a peace sign, should've been his sister, Tsumiki.
A flicker of warmth sparkled in your chest as your lips twitched in a smile.
Shifting your gaze just a tad, you noticed Gojo's business card peeking out from the photo. Your best attempt at squinting at it wasn't successful, but the sight of his surname in a bold business font awoke something in your mind.
You certainly heard it. Maybe Naoya once happened to drop it during dinner? Or some hushed pieces of gossip finally reached you at the numerous Zenins' gatherings?
The image of Naoya stubbornly kept surfacing in your mind, no matter how hard you tried to bury it under the pretence of nonchalance towards a certain white-haired man. The mere thought of your future husband finding out about your little detour sent a fresh wave of fear through you.
God. What the hell were you doing?!
Swallowing, you briefly mused about fleeing, but the force that seemed to be stronger than the gravity itself — attraction, blending with recklessness — chained you to the chair right in front of Gojo.
Damn him. You felt like a butterfly pinned to a board by the sharpness of his gaze.
"What's bothering you?"
Forcefully blinking yourself back into reality, you sent Gojo a confused, apologetic smile, "Nothing much."
"Come on, Doc," he prompted, resting his chin on the palm. Almost half of the caramel latte in front of him was gone, as well as a peach-shaped dessert. Yours still rested untouched on the plate. "You've been hypnotising that poor peach for a solid five minutes."
You nervously twirled a straw between your fingers. Shit. You didn't even notice it. And with Gojo staring at you, his brow lazily arched, you decided to opt for a half-truth.
"Your surname. Where could I hear it?"
Gojo's grin withered a little before taking a strained edge. Just a fleeting second for everyone else, but if sharing a roof with Naoya had taught you anything, it was attunement to other people's senses. So, you just waved your hands in surrender.
"I didn't mean to intrude, sorry. Forget it."
The sincerity of your gaze softened the sudden harshness of Gojo's features and the rigidness in his shoulders. You indeed were just… curious.
He shook his head with a light chuckle, "No worries. My family is quite well-known. Limitless, maybe you heard it?"
Eyed widening, you almost spluttered the poor kiwi lemonade.
"Limitless? You mean that big company in advanced robotics and technology?"
Well, that surely explained why he spent so much time with Megumi at the hospital. Nepo babies weren't used to working a lot, judging by Naoya.
Gojo gave you a lazy nod and took a bite of another pastry, looking somewhere past you at the bustling Tokyo streets, and dropped off-handedly.
"Yeah. But I am not a big fan of boring meetings, reports and presentations."
Something in his tone suggested that it wasn't a single reason.
You just prompted gently, "What are you doing then?"
Gojo's smile turned relaxed.
"I am a restaurant owner."
Stunned, you paused with a spoon halfway through, "What? That's so cool!"
Laughing warmly, he confirmed again, "Yep. Three in Tokyo, one in Kyoto, and…," he leaned over with a suspicious look and whispered loudly, sending you a wink, "planning to open in Yokohama as well. But that's a secret just for you."
A light chuckle left you as your face heated up from the sudden proximity. You quickly cast your gaze down on the plate, cutting through a delicious treat.
"So, where are they? Maybe we, sorry, I —," you corrected yourself immediately, earning a slow, curious tilt of Gojo's head, "visited them?"
He only dropped one name, but the mere mention of that restaurant had you staring at him in shock, eyes sparkling with excitement. A dollop of soft cream was smudged over your chin, but in your contagious joy, you never really noticed. The blue of Gojo's gaze softened into a warm breeze, embracing you in a tender gale.
"Really? Is that one in Ginza, a rooftop bar? God, I've been dying to visit it! That grilled red squid with herbs? Damn," gesturing animatedly, you quickly explained at Gojo's curious glance, "I had a bit at a family gathering. And let me tell you," now it was your turn to lean in with a conspirational whisper, "it was the best thing in that evening."
Despite Gojo's attempts to compose himself, his grin widened even more as he asked, "So, why haven't you visited it yet? I mean, you look pretty happy talking about it."
Your own smile slowly faded at Gojo's ask, and the unsure curl of your shoulder that followed immediately didn't go unnoticed.
Naoya's dismissive words sparkled brightly in your mind again, and you waved them as best as you could. Hugging the empty cup with your lemonade, you attempted to joke weakly, "Didn't have enough time. You know, hospital, shifts, meetings."
Gojo's lazy drumming slowed a little before coming to a complete halt. A warm feeling cracked in his chest at the memory of you attending Megumi.
"Ah, of course. Sorry for that. You are the busiest that I will ever be."
You weren't used to it. To someone listening to you with a genuine expression. To someone casually complimenting you. To someone including you in a conversation. As if you were worthy of someone's attention.
And that someone being Gojo caused a warm sun to rise in your hollowed soul.
So you resorted to the only thing familiar to you.
"Ah, it's nothing. I am just a paediatrician," offering a usual downplayed explanation, you didn't even notice the muscle in Gojo's jaw jump. Why were you doing it? "I mean, there are surgeons and — "
"You are joking, right? You are literally a doctor."
Gojo's incredulous tone caught you off guard. Shoulders dropping, your smile curled into a nervous, unsure scowl, while he went on.
"You're doing such a great job. I mean, all of that stuff, checking saturation, temperature, carrying all these charts, and, on top of that, working with kids! This is so cool."
A weird, scorching feeling coloured your cheeks. What was actually the last time you heard someone talking about you like that? All sincere, kind, and…warm?
The lump in your throat started to feel suspicious, and you took a shuddering breath in an attempt to accept Gojo's words with no usual overthinking, "I guess so. Kids are really cool."
Popping a spoonful of panna cotta in his mouth, Gojo hummed in acknowledgement.
"You're cooler. Do you like working with kids?"
For the second time, you were sharing a conversation, your smile widened, tone dipping into an affectionate tenderness, "Of course! I like seeing them smile as they finally get better. I love helping them to navigate through the world, especially knowing I can do that and make a difference! I want to make the start of their life easy and smooth. The rest of it may be shitty, but the childhood…"
Quiet steel crept into your voice, honing your tone.
"…the childhood is sacred."
Your eyes suddenly bore remembrance to black holes — swallowing Gojo in vast expanses of them. He stared, unblinking, and recalled that version of you on the lone evening. Smoking, laughing. Teasing.
Where was the line between that version of you and the shy doctor sitting in front of him, shrinking, lessening herself to fit some image Gojo hadn't deciphered yet? Who were you?
The truth might've hid amongst smiles, sincere, and too stretched to be genuine; glances, soft, and too pointed to offer truth; gestures, secretive, and too deep-seated to bear some meaning.
Gojo recalled your laugh as you talked about the damned grilled red squid. Maybe that version of you, that crept in the cracks of all the conversations you shared, was the real one?
He didn't know yet. But hell, he was determined to solve the mystery that his nephew's doctor was. With those sweet smiles. That sharp tongue. And that contagious laugh.
"Gojo? Are you listening?"
Okay. Perhaps he went into recalling a little bit too much.
He let his gaze wander over your features freely. "Yeah. You mentioned that kids usually don't like their ears checked. But honestly, what kid likes hospitals?"
Your shoulders shook with mirth as you shot him a quick, shy grin. Gojo felt his lips curling into a warm smile as well.
"Do you like working at that hospital?"
Twirling a straw, you stilled at his question. Then a deliberately calm shrug came as you glanced through the window.
"I like working with kids."
"That's not what I asked." Despite the warmth in his tone, you managed to notice an unusual heaviness lurking behind it. Nothing in Gojo, from the curious tilt of his head to the calmness in his blue gaze, revealed his true intentions.
Still. An assessing gleam that flashed in Gojo's eyes told you much more than he probably thought.
His fingers drummed against the table with barely concealed impatience. You mirrored his tilt and drawled hesitantly, "Could've been better, honestly. The department's director is constantly on our ears about financing and modernising the equipment. But, you know. Paediatrics isn't on the priority list."
Gojo hummed — a low, throaty sound that had you casting your gaze immediately down on your plate — and leaned in. His brows furrowed in frustration.
"Really?"
You mumbled something unintelligible as your shoulders curled inwards.
"But that doesn't make any sense," a murmur full of disbelief left him soon, addressing no one in particular, but rather musing aloud. "You're doing such an important thing, taking care of kids. I saw you running around like a Duracel rabbit, and this constant chaos. Yet you're doing such a great job! Especially with Megs. He likes you, you know? And he doesn't like doctors."
You leaned a bit with your chin cradled in your palm, looking out of the windows: some lady hurried to the cafe, barely catching up to her doggie, an adorable Pomeranian. The doorbell soon announced their entrance, followed by a cheerful bark.
"No wonder. He has a long story with them. I am afraid he just has to like me because I am a lady with masks and all that stuff."
"I am serious, Doc. Believe me," a small laugh followed his grin — you would've been damned if you didn't spot bitterness buried in it.
"I know when Megs feels…," Gojo pondered for a moment, looking for the right word. "Acceptable towards someone."
Now it was your turn to smile.
"He's not an easy kid," you murmured to Gojo after some time as you both watched the lady attending to her adorable, lively puppy. Gojo's grin widened for a second before settling back with heaviness too unfitting for the mask he usually wore.
"You can say so. They both went through…a lot."
You could only press your lips in sympathy. No matter how many tragedies you witnessed, each of them had left scars on you. Especially when you found out the reason Gojo adopted Megumi and Tsumiki.
Gojo didn't like to talk about it, but you gathered enough from the bits of conversations, information from Megumi's chart and heavy pauses between the words. Didn't press: one time, you saw Gojo examining the handout on how to help a kid process the grief, and noticed Gojo's gaze hardening into an iceberg.
So, you kept all assumptions safely catalogued in your head.
A heavy silence settled between you, interrupted only by excited yips of the Pomeranian, distant melodies of some indie song coming from the speakers, and the whirring of the cash register.
Hand drifting mindlessly to scratch an old scar, your fingers twitched with an indescribable urge to soothe Gojo's wounds as well. In the end, he lost his sister, too. And as shocked as he might've been, he had two distraught kids to bring up.
Did he have a chance to mourn her at all? Or just poured himself into the life that suddenly felt too enormous to fit into?
Judging by the distant waves of his gaze and the melancholy flickering over his face, too beautiful for all the sorrows, he didn't.
As much as you wanted to console him, to tell him that you hid scars like that as well, you couldn't bring yourself to do this. The lock on your heart was still impenetrable.
A bitter realisation, melting into a sour resentment that you didn't remember the last time you felt like that towards your fiancé, had your chest constricted with the weight of ache.
Instead, you tried not to dwell on it. Lifting your hand, your slightly trembling fingers grazed Gojo's hand across the table. A thick whisper followed.
"I am sorry."
Gojo's head immediately snapped up at the sound of your soft words. His eyes met yours in a moment of shared grief and quiet understanding — something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time.
A silent yearning to be seen hid in the desperate twitch of his fingers as they squeezed your palm in response.
He quickly masked that momentary weakness behind a frantic clearing of throat and a casual, too casual ask.
"You lost your chain?"
Frowning a bit, you shifted your gaze to the dip of your cleavage; a sudden, shaking breath followed as you gently pulled your hand back to touch the bare skin.
Naoya's words, full of malice and icy wrath, flashed behind your closed eyelids just as if he had been throwing them at you now. He was seething with ire that morning.
You just sat there: a silent witness to irritation consuming Naoya more and more. Mentally went through every place you visited, every corner rounded, and every room attended. Still, it had no sense at all.
The ring was gone.
"Yeah."
"It must've been important."
You gritted your teeth until the muscles in your jaws twitched. Slowly, you lifted your gaze and couldn't believe the next words that left your lips, "It's okay. Something that was meant to be mine would make its way back, right?"
Gojo's eyes widened a bit at the sudden declaration. A boyish grin curled on his lips as he just shrugged in response, "I guess so."
Just in time. An alarm on your phone not so kindly informed you that your lunch was over. Oh, how you wished that it could last a small eternity longer.
Did Gojo feel that as well?
Watching his tall figure retreat to a shop nearby, you thought about the warm sea that spilt in his irises, when you reminded him that you would meet again tomorrow.
And then, as the sudden gust of wind threw your hair back into your face, you realised when you heard Gojo's surname. The sound of it had become a frequent guest of all the Zenins' outraged discussions.
But…
What did that mean to you?
ੈ✩‧₊˚
"Darling?"
Your voice sounded hesitant in the car on the way to your parents' house.
Tearing his gaze from the streets of the Denenchofu neighbourhood, adorned with lush greenery, and the rows of houses, draped in elegance and serenity, Naoya quirked his brow at you in a silent question.
With a hasty breath, you twiddled with your bag. The damn binder kept evading you like on a cue. A quiet curse left your lips as you felt Naoya's patience wearing thinner and thinner with each flimsy attempt of yours. You heard the irritated click of his tongue just as you fished the folder. Handed it to your fiancé and watched boredom on his face morphing into vague surprise and… mild interest.
"What is it?"
"It's my — uhm, you know, it's something I am doodling while not busy and —"
Nayoa interrupted you with a sharp glance, "Quit babbling."
"Right. Sorry," forcing an apologetic grin, you folded your hands on your lap. "It's my sort of portfolio. Best of my works. I just — would like to know your opinion about that."
"And why do you want me to do this?"
"One of my patients' parents is an art dealer. He noticed some pictures in my office, and we exchanged a couple of words." Naoya's eyes narrowed at your revelation; you quickly corrected yourself, "That's it, I swear!"
"Quicker," he cut you off with a wave as if you were stealing minutes of his precious time.
Your gaze briefly flicked between your hands and the binder in his hands.
There it was. Something shaping as an opportunity to share with the rest of the world what your soul ached for and your eyes saw.
With a sharp exhale, you concluded, "Anyway, his gallery is searching for some new artists for the opening of a new exhibition. I thought — I thought I might give it a try." Your voice cracked at the last words.
A low, almost indifferent hum was all you got in response.
Breath bated, you intently watched Naoya slowly opening the folder and going through the pictures with deliberate scrupulousness. Head tilted, his gaze wandered over each line and stroke. You examined every minuscule twitch in his expression just to notice the fleeting movement of his eyebrows. Something resembling bewilderment flicked across his face.
A flash of excitement faintly sparkled within you.
Only for Naoya's bewilderment contorting into disbelief, masked by cold indifference.
"You drew it?"
A glance at his face didn't stir anything suspicious in you, so you slowly nodded, lips curling into a nervous smile.
His gaze darted to your makeshift portfolio once again. And then a smirk — a quick twitch of his lips — followed. As cruel as his love for you was.
"Don't you have something more important to do than simply wasting your time?"
The splendour of excitement faded within you into a dim flare. Your smile wavered as you breathed out, "I don't under— understand."
Your distress only fed Nayoa's ego even more. He carelessly tossed the portfolio back on your lap and drawled in mock sympathy, leaning closer.
"Aw, my poor dove. You are not born yesterday, aren't you? Still so innocent and full of naive dreams. You should've known better already."
Your grip on the poor binder tightened. The wrinkled, beaming face of your little patient caught your attention; but despite the usual reluctant acceptance of his words, you felt another match put to a growing flame inside.
Raising your chin a little, you noticed with a grim satisfaction that Naoya was slightly taken aback.
"Should know better what exactly?"
His smirk sharpened into a ruthless blade.
"That the world doesn't care about the wishes of innocent little doves like you, my darling." For all your desperate attempts to stand your ground, your heart sank to your stomach. Disappointment and your own failure buzzed in your tired mind, bearing Naoya's taunting voice.
"You think that guy really wanted these drawings of yours? Oh, darling, please. He probably was just polite. After all, you are the one who can write a slightly wrong prescription for his kid out of spite and —"
Cheeks flaring at the entendre in his voice, you blinked in shock, "What? I would never in my life do that!"
Naoya peacefully hold his hands out.
"Just saying, dove. I only want the best for you." Naoya's hand came to pinch your chin as he let his gaze roam over your face. Then a fake concern flashed on his face — you lifted a heavy gaze on your fiancé. "Saving you from an inevitable disappointment. No need to worry that pretty little head of yours about anything."
And then his tone deceived you into pretending sweetness, "You said you were bored?"
You answered it with an unblinking stare, which Naoya interpreted in his own way. As usual.
"Maybe it's high time for you to step into the wedding preparations. All I hear is endless chirping about napkins and lilies and the size of your obi sash. Why don't you join it? And while musing, maybe at least try to look for your engagement ring."
With that derisive scowl, your future husband leaned over to order something for your driver. And like that, the conversation ended.
Just like your pitiful attempts to become something that you weren't. A sandcastle that you carefully built crumbled in your hands, putting all your dillusions to an end.
Naive, little dove.
That was who you were, right?
Ache travelled down your cheeks in briny tears. They hit the pieces of your heart in lines and sketches, smudging them with sadness.
As the car finally stopped in front of a big house, screaming about quiet luxury, you quickly wiped all the signs of your life quietly falling apart. And when you stepped out of the car with your hand resting leisurely in the crook of Naoya's elbow, your smile only painted the image of a happy fiancée and a nice daughter.
The portfolio in the depths of your bag told another story.
For all the heavy air and weight of disappointment following your every step like an ominous shadow, you still preferred home walls to the bars of the Zenins' cage.
At least, you were in your territory.
Naoya had never been particularly interested in stepping into that place — perhaps he regarded it as settling to your level — but much to your surprise, he always accompanied you.
Deep down, you were well aware of the true reason; it was neither his affection nor understanding. Oh, no. Quite the opposite.
Your home greeted you with polite indifference.
If it had a face, you were sure it would wear the same expressionless look you often witnessed on your parents. A deep-buried bitterness surged inside at the sight of framed photos, depicting your family. The main guest was always their most beloved child — their business, its numerous triumphs and accomplishments. Its presence had always gnawed on you at the dinner table and hovered over, akin to a skilful executioner, with the axe of their expectations behind the back.
It was a competition you could never win.
As wounding as that realisation was, you swallowed it and every sharp remark to come.
After all, those crumbs were better than facing the silence.
Your mother joyously trilled something to Naoya, who listened to her with a mild interest. You were well aware that was the closest to politeness he was able to muster. As a lot of men tended to be, your future husband had never been keen on participating in "women's useless prattle".
But not as your father studied him with a scrutiny too unfitting for someone so blazenly indifferent.
At least, that was what you believed him to be.
Because lately, every time you stole a glance at your father as he talked to Naoya, you couldn't help but notice a mocking sparkle in his eyes. As if Naoya entertained him by the mere fact of his existence. You silently wondered if he was able to sense it, because your fiancé's attempts to earn his future father-in-law's approval were met with a quick grin and a curt nod more and more.
Of course, it wounded Naoya's pride and ego. Everyone had to be enamoured with your fiancé; a few tailored compliments and seemingly soft glances were usually enough. Naoya never bothered himself trying too much, though, just because he initially treated people like someone to use and discard later.
The only exception was you at the start of your relationships. He woven himself into your life with late-night strolls, dinners at the expensive restaurants, attentive gestures, and charming smiles. Until he made sure you were on the hook of his affection and in a constant state of craving more. Playing with you, testing the limits of your obedience and his own vanity, gave him a cruel sense of satisfaction.
Either way, some flattery and asking for business advice didn't fascinate your father into actually accepting Naoya. Sometimes your fiancé's disappointment and anger burst into spiteful remarks directed at you, although they quickly morphed into distant rambles as he understood how pathetic he might've looked. Trying to earn respect from the man who was supposed to give it to him on a silver platter.
If there was one thing you were certain about Naoya, that was his absolute despise to being looked down on.
You didn't know what game your father was playing — it might be just another mind game or whatever it was called in terms of business — but you enjoyed it inwardly nonetheless.
The clink of silvery cutlery followed soon after the usual exchanges among the whispers of pristine tablecloth and rivers of elite alcohol. Nayoa's shoulder brushed against yours every time he reached for whiskey. The gradual rise of his pitch matched the growing annoyance within you. You politely waved the maid every time she walked to your side with a glass.
"Ah, darling," your mother's cheeks were already painted red from numerous portions of Roku gin. Otherwise, she wouldn't be as kind as now. "Why don't you try this Roku gin? Torii-sama sent us the premium Sakura Bloom Edition, might as well try one!"
Your mother paused to pop a cherry in her mouth. Then her eyes comically widened as she shared a few curious glances with your aunties, earning tipsy giggles. Naoya's jaw tightened. "Your fiancé might not like your drinking! Silly me."
Your plastered smile twitched for a moment before you let a fake saccharine chuckle and nodded wordlessly. You knew better after the last gathering in the Zenins' estate.
Unknown to you, not only did Naoya watch you like a master, seeing his doll take the stage for the first time, but so did your father. His calm expression wavered for a moment before a usual mask slotted back into place.
"Darling." All the voices quietened as your father spoke up. Your grip on the fork tightened as you braced yourself and slowly dragged your eyes to meet his gaze, spine involuntarily straightening under its weight.
"Father?"
"Tell us about your…work," the last word left your father rather hesitantly as he absent-mindedly twirled a lavish whiskey glass between his fingers. Saying that surprised you would be an understatement: your work, the path you chose, instead of becoming another cog in their enormous corporate machine, had long been a touchy subject in your family. Your becoming a doctor was acceptable. But a paediatrician? It evoked a couple of arguments, but that was the most you could have ever received. From that moment, your profession hid between the pauses in conversations and was swept under the rug like a useless mention.
The voices around the table came to a complete halt, and even the lone clink of your cousin's spoon against the plate sounded shocked.
Trying to ignore the bewildered glances and especially the pointed glare of your fiancé at the lack of attention to his superb persona, you smiled corteously, "Thank you for asking, father. Everything is going nicely, and the kids are as healthy as they can be. Well, you know them. You don't keep an eye on them, and the next thing you do is blow on their scraped knees."
The table remained ominously silent after your attempted little joke. You cleared your throat and carried on, feeling Naoya piercing daggers into you.
"And, uhm, our department's well-financed, surprisingly! I suppose it's Naoya's achievement. He's on the board of the shareholders, if someone doesn't know," you hastily added. The paediatrics department was buzzing with a new juicy piece of gossip, exchanging knowing looks and conspirational whispers. Just like that, your fiancé once again bathed in the glory and adoration.
Meanwhile, you weren't even completely sure he actually showed up to those meetings.
Naoya straightened a little in his seat, sending a sleazy smirk to one of your distant relatives. Her cheeks went red immediately as she cast her gaze down on the plate.
"Yeah, dove is right." Naoya's speech had long already been slurred from the alcohol, straining his breath. Your jaw twitched with effort not to grimace as it fanned over your cheek. "No wonder they had such a big problem with money. I mean, they are looking after kids. Not even real doctors, if you catch my drift."
You were so shocked and astounded that you couldn't utter a single word.
"What?" Naoya shrugged indifferently as his gaze swept across the table to notice that some people were stunned as well. He quirked a brow at you. "You said it yourself, honey. That you felt so stupid talking to surgeons sometimes."
The humiliation snaked immediately in your chest and sank its teeth into your heart, until you bled quietly on the pristine white in front of you. The silver of the fine clutter caught light, showing you a reflection of smirking Naoya, even more distorted. Your grip on it tightened, but you still played your role, sending your father a jarred grin.
However, he looked past you. His brows knitted together in confusion and something suspiciously looking like seething anger. Shivers ran down your spine as your father finally muttered.
"And who do you consider a real doctor, Naoya?"
Naoya's smirk slowly wavered before vanishing completely; his cheeks went from painfully pale to slightly pink in a span of seconds, and for a death cup like him, it equated to a crimson bloom.
Clearing his throat, your future husband threw pointed glances at you.
You remained indifferent to his silent pleas.
The sight of your fiancé, trying to make his way out of a frying pan, brought a strange kind of contentment. You hid your smirk behind the glass.
He parted his lips to answer, only to be interrupted by the maid. She bowed in an apology, saying someone was calling you,
"That must be some parent. Excuse me," you quickly stood up and hurried to another room. Ah. You wished you could see Naoya humiliating himself in front of your family a bit longer. However, you still managed to mouth "thank you" to your father, who answered you with a quick nod.
Parents' calling you all the time wasn't anything sort of an usual, but seeing Gojo appearing on your screen sent your heart stammering against your ribs. Was something wrong with Megumi? Did he feel bad again? You were just about to discharge him and —
Before the wave of overthinking consumed you, you accepted the call, thumb hesitating over the button for a few seconds longer than needed.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Doc. I am so sorry to interrupt you, really. You must be busy," Gojo chuckled nervously. You noticed with a frown that his low voice had lost its usual smoothness: he sounded genuinely… worried. You had to cut off his words before they would turn into rambling.
"Don't worry. What happened? Is Megumi alright?"
"Megs is fine, it's —," a loud bark interrupted your conversation, earning a distressed groan from Gojo. "Shiro, for the love of God! Stop that!"
The dog's barks — as you presumed, Shiro's — grew even louder, and in a couple of seconds, playful yips followed as well.
"Kuro, no, I can't play with you right now!"
As much as you would've enjoyed that chaos in every other situation, your voice took on an urgent edge, calling for Gojo's attention back.
"Gojo, I need you to focus. What's wrong?"
The sounds of the crisis on the other side of the call quietened a little, and you could finally feel Gojo's voice, coming in a nervous breath, "It's Tsumiki."
"Okay. Is she nauseous? Has a temperature? Diarrhoea? Pale, blotchy skin?"
"She threw up a couple of times. We've been at the new place near their school, and then went to an amusement park. Yeah, wrong move, I know. No diarrhoea, no. A little bit pale, though." Gojo huffed nervously. You briefly imagined him carding fingers through his hair — you picked that habit of his during Megumi's admission.
Shaking your head, you interrupted Gojo again.
"What did she eat? Did you give her some meds?"
"She had a poke bowl with tuna. Pepsi. Sugar-free, if that's important. Cotton candy. I think it's cotton candy. It should be cotton candy, 'cause we all had those damn poke bowls. Honestly, it was too sweet, even for me."
Gojo's voice turned too distant all of a sudden. You figured he was checking on Tsumiki, given the worried edge in his tone. "We went home, and I gave her Pedialyte."
"Oh, that's great. You did right, actually. She should drink a lot and have plenty of rest."
"Dunno, Doc. She's not looking very good, and I —" A deep, sharp exhale that followed twisted something in your heart.
Swallowing nervously, you tightened your grip on the phone. "I'll check on her. Just send your address. I'll be there as soon as possible."
Gojo kept silent for some time, until you heard his quiet, strangely hesitant voice. "You sure? I don't want to interrupt whatever you might have, it's a Friday evening, after all. I can call an ambulance every time."
Already putting on your light coat, you gently murmured, "No, it's okay. Don't worry about it."
"I'll send my assistant after you."
You were already familiar with Gojo's assistant, a driver, and a planner — Ijichi. The poor guy looked perpetually stressed; you genuinely didn't want to cause him even more trouble.
"I'll get a taxi."
"But —"
"By the time he gets to me, I could've already been at yours."
Gojo reluctantly agreed, not capable of fighting your logic, and dropped his address. Your brows raised in a slight surprise.
With a quiet hum, you finally called a taxi, already grimacing at Naoya's possible reaction, as you hastily texted him an apology. His face, contorted in fury, especially after a confrontation with your father, sent shivers down your spine. A thought of backing down briefly crossed your mind, but you quickly shook it away. Not only because you were always keen on keeping your promises and the poor girl involved, but…
Watching the streets of Seijo pass you in quiet green parks, tennis courts, university campuses and elite buildings, you finally admitted to yourself.
That you longed to see Gojo.
His house met you with a daunting gateway and a robotic voice, calmly telling you to proceed further. A quick, examining look around the beautiful, well-tended yard made you wonder how many people worked there, but the sight of water guns scattered over the grass, as well as the picnic blanket on the grass, gave you a much better understanding of the family living there.
After hesitating a couple of seconds, you knocked.
You fully expected Gojo to greet you right that second. Instead, you heard a couple of barks, some intelligible mumbling, and the sound of something being knocked over, until the door finally opened, revealing Gojo and a white Labrador puppy, enthusiastically chewing on the man's trouser leg.
Hardly had you opened your mouth, when another puppy — that time a black one, albeit also a Labrador — jumped on you with a joyous yip. The puppy wiggled its tail with such speed that you sincerely worried about the poor doggie launching itself into space.
A joyful chuckle left you as you petted the puppy, cooing at him, "Hello to you, too!"
Gojo finally managed to get the white one off his leg and craddled it against his chest with a loud sigh. A couple of white strands were plastered to his forehead, and he quickly wiped it with his forearm.
"Hello, Doc. Kuro, come here. Don't jump on ladies like that," he mock scolded the black one, Kuro, and flashed you a tired grin. Kuro trotted back to Gojo. "We're gonna talk about it later, I swear. With you as well, right, little guy?" Gojo murmured to the white puppy, scratching him behind the ears and nodded towards you. "Meet Shiro!"
You beamed back in response and quickly looked around. "Where's Tsumiki?"
Gojo's expression changed in an instant, a frown crossing over his handsome face. "She's upstairs. You can use the bathroom there. Wait a minute, okay?"
Nodding nervously, you found your seat near the cream sofa. A white, fluffy carpet easily swallowed the sound of your footsteps. You sank into the comfort of the armchair nearby and let your gaze drift over the dog toys on the carpet, neatly folded colouring pages on the coffee table, a half-opened pack of coloured crayons, some book about dog breeds, and… wait, was it a pastry book? Nonetheless, Cédric Grolet's? Squinting, you only got convinced more about it: the sight of familiar lemons immediately caught your eye.
Nothing strange. He was a restaurant owner, after all. Broadening a worldview was useful for everyone.
Unless…
He picked it up after you mentioned it at the cafe.
Weird warmth blossomed in your chest, spreading through your veins like sunshine, mellow and bright.
Until a sudden thought of Naoya burnt you.
"Megs, why don't you have the puppies and play with them at the yard? I'll go check on Tsumiki." Gojo's loud voice startled you out of your hazy mind. Blinking, you returned to reality and watched the grumpy kid dragging his feet to Gojo. "Oh, and say hi to Doctor-sensei. She'll look at her too."
His words had Megumi stop mid-rubbing his eyes and stare at you with mild disbelief. Waving at him, you forced a smile. You couldn't let yourself dwell on your future husband and bathe in your misery in front of a kid.
"Hi, Megumi-kun! You feeling better?"
The boy blinked as well and shrugged in response. "I guess."
As driven by the force of gravity, your eyes immediately drifted to Gojo to find him already staring at you with a curious expression. Warmth curled on his lips, but his eyes remained sharp and focused. Your cheeks heated up.
Stuffy. It was stuffy.
One of the puppies barked.
Megumi briefly glanced at the dog, and for the first time, you saw a sincere smile spreading on his face. Then, he dragged his eyes back to you with a pensive, hesitant expression and asked quietly.
"Will Tsumiki be alright?"
Your chest tightened with emotions as you kneeled before the kid. He watched you carefully, but didn't speak up.
"She is alright, from what your uncle told me. Don't worry. He takes care of her." Letting yourself look at Gojo again, you noticed something indescribable flicker over his features before he smiled back, albeit strained. A weird feeling stirred within as you added, "Both of you, actually."
Something twitched behind the stone mask that Megumi's face was. A light pink coloured his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze.
"Alrighty, Megs," Gojo held the door open, and Kuro already jumped happily outside, followed by Shiro, wiggling his tail. "But not too long! You gotta be in bed till ten, and we are going to brush teeth together this time. You're not going to fool me anymore, little punk."
Megumi rolled his eyes, but the sparkle of mischief in them was a dead giveaway. "More like you are not going to fool me like the last time you ditched the irrigator —"
You watched the puppies immediately clinging to Megumi with cheerful yips as he stepped out — and looked at Gojo. Nothing in him, save only for the tension in his broad shoulders, revealed the quiet storm brewing inside.
Swallowing, you hurried to catch up to him.
"Tsumi-chan, how are you now?" Gojo's voice dropped to the gentle warmth you had yet to hear. He quietly closed the doors behind you both and walked to the girl. A little grin tugged at the corner of your lips at the sight of the barrage of meds on the bedside table.
"I feel better now, really. Thank you, Satoru-san. You don't have to worry about me so much."
"Oh, I absolutely do," huffing loudly, Gojo walked over and cleared his throat, telling Tsumiki your name. "Doctor-sensei treats Megumi."
Tsumiki murmured something to greet you, but her last words caught you off guard.
"Nice to meet you, sensei! Satoru-san told us about you."
Eyes widened, you shifted your gaze to Gojo, who was already checking Tsumiki's bunnies. "Really? Did he?"
"Oh, yeah! I know you're really good," she chuckled warmly, but then added hastily, "I don't think there's any need to check on me, I am completely fine!"
But after this, she grimaced quickly and gave up under Gojo's hardened gaze.
Tsumiki got a certain paleness to her skin as you examined her, but nothing unusual for the food poisoning, as you indeed figured it out.
"I think it was cotton candy," the girl murmured, sinking back into the bed. A quiet sigh left her lips. "It's a shame. I liked it."
"Oh, yeah," Gojo grumbled indistinctly from his place. "I'll never let you eat that stuff again, I swear."
The girl's eyes widened as she shared a startled look with you. "But you ate five portions all by yourself! It's not fair!"
Gojo shot her a quick look, though a teasing grin danced on his lips.
"It's not the same. I am an adult, and you are just a teeny tiny girl," he joked lightly, watching a white bunny devouring an applewood stick. "You're such a fatty, fella, I swear."
"Snow is not a fatty!" Tsumiki already jumped in to protect her precious pet. "Just…furry."
"Tsumi-chan, calm down a little. You'd better relax and have a rest," you murmured, while writing down recommendations for Gojo. "Your bunny's name is Snow?"
She nodded carefully, following your words, and twiddled with her fingers.
"Yes. Snow and Ball. The owners wanted to give Snow away, because, you know," she whispered and sniffled quietly. "He was not like other bunnies."
"Albino," Gojo interjected immediately. Almost absent-mindedly: his eyes were focused on the large constellation map on the wall, but you were sure he was listening more than attentively.
"So we took Snow in, and Satoru-san later brought us Ball! He lived on a Bunny Island, but now he's with us."
Your smile wavered, sinking into fragile softness as your hand squeezed Tsumiki's. Then your gaze found Gojo again, who was trying to use Tsumiki's telescope. The sight was quite funny, given Gojo's height and the telescope's design for kids.
Not looking away, you whispered, "Satoru-san is good to you."
"He is," the girl beamed at you, but then grew shy again. Clearing her throat, she asked whether you had some pets.
The bitterness instantly rose in your chest, flooding all the warmth.
Naoya didn't understand the concept of pets and anything that could steal your attention away.
That was your first big fight.
You were just a year together.
With gaze cast down, you shrugged, not aware that Gojo was watching you all the time. "Uhm, no, unfortunately, no. With my work…not quite possible."
"Oh. It's a shame," she sighed again. "But if you want to, you can come and play with my bunnies. And I am sure Megumi won't be against you playing with Kuro and Shiro. Right, Satoru-san?"
"Yeah." He answered without missing a beat. Your heart did a treacherous flip, slamming against your ribcage, and you breathed out with a weak grin.
"Thank you, Tsumi-chan. Get better soon, okay?"
"Make sure she's well-rested. I think she should feel better before Monday. A lot of drinks," you nodded at the paper in Gojo's hand. "Watch the vomit too, and basically just keep an eye on her. If there's a sudden tummy ache, call an ambulance. And call me just in case."
"Sure will do," Gojo murmured tiredly, carefully folding your note and tucking it into his notebook. A sharp pang of something you weren't ready to name yet shot through your heart. Quietly watching Gojo's brows furrow in thought as he turned the pages of his planner — probably filled with dozens of meetings, visits and even dates — you muttered your goodbyes with a full intention to slip quietly out of that lovely home.
Only to be stopped by a warm hand on your elbow.
"Where are you going to? It's late. Ijichi will drive you home."
Your phone was already buzzing with dozens of irritated texts from Naoya, and the thought of him seeing you leave another man's car made your insides churn.
Waving, you huffed a chuckle, "Ah, it's nothing, I'll take a taxi, and it's late!"
"He will be there in five minutes." Gojo casually shrugged your words off, already on its way to hold a door for you. "Come on, I'll walk you out."
The gusts of wind under the veil of tranquil twilight didn't bite you as usual; perhaps, it was Gojo's warmth shielding you from its coldness. Standing right beside him as you waited outside, you couldn't help but reminisce that evening with the British lighter.
An airy chuckle cut through the serenity between you. Gojo tore his gaze away from the star-spilt sky above, and his gentle murmur caressed the expanse of your skin. Even though he was standing a foot apart.
"What are you thinking about?"
Your smile deepened, but you shook your head in response. "Nothing much."
"Hey. Don't go shy on me, Doctor-sensei."
Despite the coldness of the evening, your cheeks flared up. "Telling about me to your kids?"
A soft smile spread on his face as he chuckled.
"Couldn't help. You're really a nice doctor."
"Well, thank you then."
He basked in a response you gave him — a widened gaze, a pink tint to your cheeks, and a little smile — until you went silent again.
Gojo tilted his head in a silent question — the harsh wind threw his white bangs all over his forehead. He didn't make any effort to brush them away; instead, he kept looking at you as if you were the only star gracing the heavens above. Beautiful. Observing.
Mysterious.
"I don't have the lighter on me now."
Startled, you abruptly burned and blinked, your huff dissolving into a light laugh. "And I don't have any cigs."
Gojo's smile deepened almost imperceptibly. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his warmth enveloping you tighter in its embrace. Nervously, you tucked the lone hair strand behind your ear. Glanced at the sky above, glimmering indifferently.
"Tsumiki likes stars, doesn't she? A whole map and a telescope in her room?" You murmured absent-mindedly, eyes lazily wandering from one celestial body to another.
Naoya didn't like stargazing.
"Ah, yes. A little scientist. She dreams about space and visiting some planets." At the mention of his niece, Gojo's gaze turned melancholic, albeit full of tenderness. "She's a nice girl. Kind and gentle."
At the sudden pensiveness, colouring his voice, you turned around. The wind threw your hair into your face, but you chose not to see anything but Gojo. Your voice came surprisingly steady.
"And you are a nice uncle. When I said to Megumi that you took good care of them, I didn't joke."
Your words clearly stunned Gojo; his eyes widened, and the dark blue of them shone so brightly under the lamplight that you let yourself drown in them all over again.
"You think so, Doc?"
Despite the lightness in his tone, you picked up the strained edge, the hesitance, and something weirdly resembling hope.
His hand twitched a little as you stepped closer and let your fingers tentatively brush against his. Gojo went still, and your quiet yet sure words nearly undid him.
"I know, Gojo."
His chest expanded with a sharp exhale. There was no way he could contain the overwhelming fullness in his chest that came with your presence. And as the honk of Ijichi's car erupted through the silence, he finally managed to find his words again.
"Thank you for coming. I… really appreciate that."
You just shook your head with a warm smile you wore so often. A strange gleam flashed in your gaze.
"No worries. I am glad to help."
For some reason, he couldn't tear his gaze away, and just watched the lonebeam caressing your features in a way he longed to.
The black car finally stopped in front of you. Gojo stepped to open the door for you and murmured.
"Good night. See you soon, right?"
"Right. Bye, Gojo."
And seeing the car slowly disappearing into the dark, Gojo let out a breath, carding his fingers through the hair as the realisation that had been hovering over him like a sword of Damocles finally hit him.
He was so fucked.
ੈ✩‧₊˚
The clock in your office almost struck two, marking your possible fifteen minutes for a break, but you were focused on a baby on the examination table. Softly pressing on the belly, you checked for any enlarged organs, only to give the parents an assuring nod.
"No signs of a hernia as well."
Your light tickles earned soft gurgles from the kid, and you couldn't help but lean down and coo, "Aw, you're such a little talker tonight, aren't you? Looking so happy out here."
The baby babbled something again, flailing their pudgy arms, and gave you a little grin. Your hands softly brushed over the kid's legs to move them over.
"No problems with hip joints! Your baby is completely healthy." A relaxed smile made its way on your face as well, seeing the little girl's parents breathe out in relief.
"Doctor-sensei, we were thinking about introducing Kiki-chan to solid foods," Kiki-chan's mother squirmed in her seat, while her father attempted to put a pacifier in her mouth. The baby protested with a huff.
Humming under your breath, you went through the baby's medical record. "Honestly, it's better you wait a little. I will give you proper recommendations when the time comes. It's usually around 6 months. Meanwhile, remember to have the vitamin D supplement I was talking about."
"Ah, yes. I wanted to ask if 400 IU daily is alright?" Ito-san's voice sounded a bit strained, as Kiki-chan curiously attempted to tug on her mom's hair.
"Totally fine."
Shortly after answering a couple of questions more and reminding the parents to call you in case something suspicious arises, you bid your goodbyes to the family.
Exhausted, you massaged your temples and decided to take a quick nap before a meeting, only to be interrupted by the knock. No urgency, though. No hesitation.
Frowning, you called out to come in, already straightening in your seat. Might've been another emergency, since you didn't have anything more scheduled before the endless Yaga's droning.
The door opened, revealing the emergency himself. The emergency bore a smile, able to disperse any signs of an impending grimness; his hair flashed bright white under the light, and the blue of his gaze pulled you into its ripples just like the day that emergency walked into your life.
Your heart slammed against your ribs, pulse roared in your temples with deafening force, as you stared back at Gojo. Megumi had been charged some time ago, but the lie would've tasted sour if you said Gojo didn't cross your mind. Maybe something happened to Tsumiki?
Sometimes, when the evenings pinned you down with their weight of loneliness, as you stared at Naoya's back blanky, the memories flushed in your mind. You kept every smile, every glance, every bruf of fingers and every word close to your heart, akin to the precious gems.
Then, as Naoya's lips would press a claim on your skin and his fingertips would burn another into your soul, you pulled them out with the utmost care.
Somehow managing to compose yourself, you forced a grin that Gojo would find a pleasant one, at least, "Hi! What are you doing here? Oh, have a seat, would you?"
Gojo's grin deepened, and he sank into the chair in front of you.
"Long time no see, Doc. No-no, everything is okay with kids, don't worry," he hastily added, seeing concern immediately taking over your face.
"Oh." You blinked in surprise. Cleared your throat. Tried not to look as nosy as you felt. Twiddled with a kitten figurine on your table. Finally breathed out.
"Not to be rude or anything, but…what are you doing here then?"
His white brows knitted together as he managed to huff a chuckle. It slowly died under your inquiring gaze.
"You don't know?"
Briefly closing your eyes at the sense of migraine slowly crawling back to make your life even more miserable, you murmured, "Know what?"
The bright grin on Gojo's face wavered, but his voice came out surprisingly soft. As if he were trying to soothe you by the mere tone alone.
"I am on the board of shareholders now. I thought you might've known by now. But it's even better! I am telling you myself."
Brows flying to your hairline in surprise, you breathed out a quiet, shocked chuckle. The gentle sun — as bright as Gojo's radiant grin — warmed your soul in hesitant rays of fondness.
"Really? That's so great! I didn't even hear —"
Naoya didn't bother to mention it to you.
Your smile slowly vanished as the clouds of despair slowly fogged that very sun.
Gojo, who had already helped himself to a candy, suddenly looked up. "Didn't even hear…?"
If you were a lot more braver, you wouldn't let hesitance shake you to the very core. Expose you for who you truly were.
A dove. A naive, frightened dove.
The knife of Naoya's disdainful whisper slowly twisted between your ribs once again, leaving the droplets of something that used to be your affection spilling in crimson paths of sorrow and ache.
"Doc? You good?"
You would've told Gojo everything.
Instead, you gave him a jarred grin.
"Doesn't matter. So, what's the thing for you here?"
His gaze narrowed suspiciously, but he decided not to press further.
"I thought it was a good opportunity. Non-profit management, something like that. You took good care of Megumi, and I was already thinking about," his gaze swept across your room, pausing at the sweets, the examination table, the posters on the walls and the box with toys. The very same you fished Megumi's plushie from. "Contributing to society, all that jazz."
Something in his deliberately light tone told you that you weren't the one to have secrets. With a curious hum, you leaned over, tapping on your chin in mock thoughtfulness.
"Weren't you the one saying that you didn't like meetings and everything?"
Gojo paused, his eyes briefly flicking to your face to gauge your reaction; he saw none, besides an intrigue, dancing in your gaze.
Oh. That was how you wanted to play, huh?
He slowly mirrored your grin, lazily tilting his head. "I am okay if that's for the good."
"It's for the good, then?"
His smile widened, giving you a good look at his dimples.
Giving Gojo the last suspicious glance, you leaned back.
He cleared his throat.
"So, if you have something to say or ask for... you can tell me. Within reasonable limits, of course."
"I'll keep it in mind."
Your pager beeped loudly again, putting your conversation to a halt. With a heavy sigh, you hid it and rose from your seat.
"Did something happen?" Gojo inquired with the same curious, albeit soft gaze that had been silently caressing you the entire conversation.
Stifling a sigh and your urge to ditch the whole thing, you admitted begrudgingly, "No, not at all. Just the department's meeting."
"Oh," he hummed incredulously, but his gaze was still firmly set on you. You decided to get through your notes just not to feel its weight. It never failed to send shivers down your spine.
"You've already met Yaga-san, the department's director, I suppose?"
An attempt to briefly switch the topic and the nervous tone didn't go unnoticed by Gojo.
As well as the slightest twitch of your fingers, when you meticulously tucked all the notes into one neat pile.
"Yeah. He's...an interesting guy. I would say more like a businessman type. Talks about the financing and the sponsor's attraction."
Gojo's words earned an airy chuckle from you.
"Oh, he can talk about it day and night, I swear."
"That he can," he agreed, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Still, I think he cares about all of you. The finances topic is surely one of the hottest on the board meeting."
"That's why I am not really sure why you decided to join it — ah, shit!"
One clumsy turn and a misguided step — god, sometimes Naoya was right: you really felt like having two left feet — and the carefully arranged notes went scattered on your floor like birds trying to escape.
"Damn, I am so clumsy." Kneeling immediately, you murmured under your breath and stilled, feeling Gojo's finger brush gingerly against yours as he handed you one of the vaccination reports. The time completely paused around you: the thick, heavy substance enveloping both of you.
The world closed in on the blue in his eyes. Spilt heavens, simmering waves of an ocean, June sky, when the world's radiance blinded with its brightness, merged into the tint that dulled every other colour for you. Took you to another world, even just for a fleeting moment.
"Oh, look at that. Is that...wait, is that yours?"
Your head immediately snapped towards Gojo, and you saw him holding that small, pathetic makeshift portfolio — the one you probably pulled out just to throw away, but the thought slipped away from your tired mind just like usual.
The heat of humiliation, mixed with embarrassment, exploded within you in a painful red. Helplessly blinking, you forced a pathetic chuckle.
"Oh, that? No, it's — "
And then why did you carry that binder around, huh? Think, think, think!
Your mind desperately scrambled for a plausible explanation, but after some debating, you surrendered to his gaze.
"Yes. These are mine. It's nothing special, though. Some lazy, stupid doodles."
Gojo frowned instantly at the belittlement curling in your voice like a berated animal. He slowly rose to his height and murmured in bewilderment.
"You're joking, right?"
You blinked. Blinked again. Didn't think of anything better than to stare at Gojo as you had seen him for the first time. Stare at him carefully going through the binder. Stare at the light wrinkle between his brows, knitted in concentration. Stare at his lips until they parted and uttered the words that knocked all the air from your lungs.
"These are wonderful!"
The pager beeped again to remind you about the upcoming meeting, but all your being shrinked to the little folder in Gojo's hands.
Naoya's words about wasting your time immediately flared up, and you straightened as well to make a grab for the photos.
"It's nothing special. Really. Just a bunch of stuff."
Gojo dragged his shocked gaze from the portfolio back to you and let you have the damn binder. You would throw it away the first thing after the meeting.
To which, in fact, you should've hurried long ago.
"I have to go."
Gojo watched your figure moving around with the newly acquired urgency. As if you had been trying to shake any remnants of the intimacy that had just unfolded around you.
His eyes searched your face with a quiet, almost aching attention, until he finally muttered.
"Did I say something wrong?"
No.
No.
Don't say that.
Don't do that to me.
A cruel beast crawled up your veins to clutch your insides in a freezing grip, while fear and regret trapped your lone heartbeat.
Gojo didn't say anything, instead letting his eyes talk, but you were too occupied with your own thoughts to hear him.
Eventually, he stepped back with a quiet sigh, and the thinly veiled frustration in his voice caused your heart to sink.
"I am sorry. I didn't mean to go overboard in any way. I'll leave you alone."
The sight of Gojo's broad shoulders slumped in the slightest bitterness cracked something in your chest.
The pager went off again with a loud beep.
"I really have to go."
Gojo only gave you a curt nod, and all the time you were closing your office, you felt the weight of his gaze pinning you down.
A hundred words rested just on the tip of your tongue. Instead, you settled on a quiet, hesitant apology, gently grazing his elbow.
"I am sorry. It's not this. You haven't done anything wrong."
He turned almost immediately at your words, but as much as he wanted to ask more — so, so much more than you were ready to offer — he stilled. And prompted gently.
"Then what is it?"
You sucked in a sharp exhale, just to —
"Dove? There you are!"
For the reason to appear himself.
The look of pure panic on your face the second the voice reached you made Gojo frown. Then your frightened gaze flicked to him.
The crowd around you parted slightly, revealing a man. Gojo caught a couple of fond gazes shared between the nurses, but that couldn't bother him less.
The immediate self-conscious curve of your shoulders, paired with the stiffness of your moves, when the guy pulled you closer without any words, concerned Gojo way more.
"Dove. What did I say about answering my calls? I don't want to look around for you all over the hospital. I am way too busy for this."
The arrogant, disdainful voice of that prick immediately grated on Gojo's nerves. The tone was not suitable even for berating a pet, let alone talking to a human being. Someone supposedly beloved.
Gojo's jaw tightened. He was about to step in when you swiftly interjected with a grin too wide to be sincere. Your hand on the man's arm didn't promise any good.
The guy turned to Gojo's side and stilled for a moment, quirking a brow.
"Darling," your tone sounded so weird, Gojo barely recognised it — something like the plea to an executioner to give you the last glimpses of freedom. "This is Gojo Satoru. He's on the board of the shareholders as well."
The prick slowly tilted his head, dragging his gaze over Gojo in silent yet sharp examination. Then a weird gleam flushed in his eyes as they slightly widened in recognition.
That scowl and barely masked derision on his face had stirred something distant in Gojo's memory, but the whole image remained blurry. Until you introduced him as well, piercing all the pieces.
"This is Zenin Naoya. My..."
Naoya didn't appreciate your pause and flashed an arrogant smirk.
"Her fiancé."
Zenin.
Right. Of course.
The surname that was such a frequent guest at all the gatherings Gojo used to attend. He felt an immediate wave of repulsion towards that prick, but managed to mask it with a slightly narrowed gaze, simply out of respect for you.
Gojo heard a lot about the Zenins back then, when his piece carried some value in his parents' game. Even now, some rumours still managed to reach him, despite all the efforts.
If any of them were true about the young Zenin heir…
Fiancé.
Gods. He put all the details — your empty stares, self-deprecating jokes, occasional flinches, even the earlier reaction to his compliment to your drawing — with terrifying clarity.
Puzzles finally slotted into the frame that your fiancé forced you into. Everything made sense now.
Quickly closing his eyes to compose himself, Gojo immediately opened them, forced by the hesitance in your tone.
"You should've met at the board's meeting, I suppose," your gaze flickered nervously between Gojo and Naoya in an attempt to quickly assess the surroundings. The air was growing thicker with each passing second: the whispers around rose in frequency, while Gojo's gaze narrowed even more deadly, and Naoya's smirk turned maliciously sharper.
The muscle in Gojo's jaw tightened.
"It's always a great opportunity to meet another member of the respected clan," Naoya tilted his head just a tad, but the harsh look in his eyes didn't melt even for a second. "Even though he somehow busied my little dove so much, she forgot to check her phone, huh?"
The scene he would certainly cause you later flashed before your eyes. You managed to offer some apologetic murmur before Naoya cut you off with a single word.
"Quiet."
Wordlessly, you dropped your gaze. One word shaped you into a person so meek that you barely resembled the woman Gojo slowly came to know.
His blood boiled at the sight, but the look he gave Naoya was enough to freeze hell.
"Can't say the same, Zenin."
Naoya stilled. His smirk slowly wavered, but then a low, amused chuckle left him, followed by the words dipped in poison.
"Oh? I suppose other respected clans didn't care about teaching their heirs proper manners, did they, Satoru-kun?"
The crowd around went completely silent, as if someone stole their voices. Even the sounds of pagers and rhythmic taps on the keyboard quietened. A few glares landed on you, and you could already hear your colleagues clicking their tongues in annoyance.
Again, never directed at Naoya.
Nothing changed in Gojo's face as he simply raised his chin and drawled with an infuriating smirk, "Have you learnt any before talking to your future wife, huh?"
Your head snapped immediately at the sound of his voice. Your lips parted to force some excuse.
You had none.
As well as Naoya.
His cheeks paled in an instant, but the tips of his ears blushed pink. No wonder — another humiliation from a man, let alone a man, defending you.
That act of disgrace Naoya couldn't bear.
Seething inside, he surprisingly gently tugged you closer and whispered, "We'll talk about it later, sweetheart."
As Gojo watched your figures retreat, he caught the wide-eyed gaze you sent him over your shoulder, full of so much remorse, that it twisted something violently in his chest.
The best thing about having a wealthy friend isn't the endless flights to foreign countries or yacht trips the moment someone mentions "weekend." No, it's easy access to the expansive pool that sits in their backyard.
A private oasis that doesn't come with screaming children doing cannonballs, splashing constantly in your face, or worse, a subscription service.
On hot days like these, when the heat clinging to your skin, you can feel the irritation bubbling at the surface at any minor inconvenience.
The chill of a pool sends all your worries away. The water is always the perfect temperature, the expensive system keeping it neither too cold nor too warm.
Your apartment pool could never.
Thankfully, Satoru was willing to lounge around on floaties with you, his presence comforting despite his tendency to be annoying about fifty percent of the time. The other fifty percent makes it worth it, and today, that fifty percent is in full effect.
The sun beams down towards you, warming your backside as you lie flat on the clear inflatable that Satoru insists is "the superior floatie" because it lets you see the water beneath you.
Not that there's much to see besides the occasional leaf or the faint shimmer of the pool's blue iridescent tiles, but he seems to take great pride in his floatie collection.
Occasionally, Satoru will push your floatie towards the waterfalls that cascade into the pool, claiming he's just "helping you cool off" before splashing your hair to get it wet.
He tricked you once, claiming he was improving the angle so you could tan better, his voice full of faux sincerity—which you naively believed— only for cold, hard water to be dumped on your face from the waterfall.
You should have seen it coming from a mile away. His laugh echoed across the pool, and you craved revenge, but the free pool was too good to give up, so you let it slide. For now.
Anything for the free pool.
You could hear the water splashing as Satoru swam, his movements creating gentle ripples that disturbed your peaceful float.
Your floatie shifted, your body being pulled away from your perfect tanning spot, catching the optimal amount of rays without frying you to a crisp.
"Satoru, swear to god, if I feel a single drop of water, you're dead," you warned, lifting your head and pulling the sunglasses over your eyes so you weren't blinded by the sun.
"You're so scary," he laughed, elbows resting on the edge of your inflatable, his chin propped up on his arms. "You want a bomb pop?" he asked lightly. His tongue was already dyed purple, a telltale sign he seemed to have indulged himself in one already while you were busy sunbathing.
You were craving something sweet, your mouth watering at the thought of that icy, sugary goodness, so this was perfect timing.
His hair was tousled and wet with water, the white strands darkened to a soft silver where they were soaked through, and his skin was even a little tanned from the sun, a rare sight that made him look like a surfer from California.
The contrast was pretty on his white hair and cerulean eyes. You hummed, nodding your head, "Pull me back."
Obliging, Satoru pulled you with him to the pool's edge, his hands gripping the sides of your floatie with surprising care. Your floatie had traveled quite the distance across his expansive pool, and as you moved, you took in the sheer scale of his pool deck.
His home was beautiful; your own family's wealth wasn't anything to laugh at, but Gojo's was on a different planet entirely. He even had his own golf course named after him back home, a fact he brought up too casually.
You would jokingly call his family the Crazy Rich Gojo's when you found out how wealthy he was.
Your pool at home was nice, sure, but Satoru's was pretty damn close—if not better. The carefully curated landscaping that surrounded it, the infinity edge that made it look like the water went on forever. It was picturesque, residing in someone's dream home pinterest board.
Rolling over, you let the coolness of the floaty cool the warm skin on your back, the plastic slightly sticky from the heat but still refreshing. It felt nice, relaxing you further onto the floatie as you surrendered to the heat.
You kept your hand pressed to the ledge so you wouldn't float away again, your fingers gripping the edge.
You watched as Satoru climbed out of the pool, his body dripping wet from the chlorinated water, droplets cascading down his back in rivulets that caught the light. Even though you were in the deeper end, he didn't need to take the ladder; the pros of being tall meant he could just hoist himself up like it was nothing, muscles flexing with the effort.
It took a minute for him to come back with your sweet relief, his footsteps padding against the stone tiles as he made his way to the outdoor fridge. He carefully unwrapped the red, white, and blue bomb pop, holding two others in his hand.
Crouching down in front of you, his strong calves bending towards you, he waved the cold treat over your lips, the cool air touching your lips ever so slightly. You reached out to snatch it away, your fingers grazing the white wrapper, but he happened to be faster, pulling it back with a grin.
Holding the popsicle in the air, his arms reached higher than where you could grab it comfortably, his height advantage making this game incredibly unfair. He waved it back and forth, and you felt that familiar irritation prickle at your skin once again.
"Satoru, stop," you groaned, sitting up from the floatie to take it out of his hand, the movement causing water to slosh around you. You were planning on playing nice with him today, being the bigger person and all that, but he always found a way to scratch your nerves, pulling them taut until you snapped. Nevertheless, you enjoyed his company.
Knowing Satoru since your freshman year, through friends of friends who had somehow dragged both of you to the same party, you happened to become friends with Satoru; it felt practically inevitable.
When you first met him, you thought he was an egotistical prick. But the more you got to know him, the more you realized he wasn't that bad. He was there for you during breakups, letting you cry on his shoulders while he fed you ice cream and told you that your ex was "a shit loser anyway."
He was there for rough hangovers, making you drink water and bone broth even when you insisted you would die if you moved. He was there for late-night drives, windows down, music blasting, the two of you screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs like you were the only people on the quiet streets. The plentiful noise complaints proved you definitely weren't.
And you were there for him, even when he drunkenly threw up on your vintage Kelly, a bag you had gotten for your sixteenth birthday—She will be missed. He ended up buying you two more as an apology, one in the original color and one in a shade that matched your eyes, but still, Satoru was a great friend.
Even if the lines are blurred in the friend portion.
"Satoru, stop!" he mocked in a high-pitched voice, his impression of you absolutely terrible. You definitely didn't sound like that, and you snatched the already melting popsicle from his hands before he could pull it away again.
Your tongue hurriedly reached out to lick the melted juices, the sweet flavor exploding on your taste buds as you started from the base to the top, not wanting to waste a single drop. The UV was making it melt faster, so you took a bite out of the tip, crunching through the icy layers. Might as well eat it before the sun does first, you thought, chewing happily.
You hadn't noticed Satoru's gaze as he watched, his eyes fixed on your mouth, wincing slightly as you bit the bomb pop with more force than necessary.
"Don't look at me like that, you're double-fisting bomb pops over there," you rolled your eyes, lifting your glasses to the top of your head to get a better look at his face. His face was crunched up with a look of amusement.
"You're the freaky one," he mused, licking both of the popsicles at the same time, his tongue darting out to catch the melting drips with practiced ease.
You were tempted to bring up the time you found him and Suguru passed out on his bed with two other girls, a scene that had been burned into your memory forever, but you decided to let it slide. But you're the freaky one, right..
"Whatever," you said instead of bringing up his freak escapades, taking another bite of your bomb pop. You wouldn't let Satoru live that one down, but you'll live past his greed, saving that ammunition for a later date when you really need to win an argument.
"I feel bad for any of your victims," he said, his eyebrows furrowed in mock sadness, kissing up to the sky like he was praying for the souls of your hypothetical head receivers.
He sat down on the ledge, his legs dangling into the water, the ripples spreading outward from his movements.
"Luckily, there are none," you said, the words coming out louder than you intended.
He paused dramatically, his entire body freezing as he stared at your face to see if you were serious. Realizing you weren't lying, a smirk twitched at his lips, one that usually preceded with more irritating and unnecessary comments.
Much to the dismay of your many hookups, you had never given head before. Too nervous to mess up and bite someone's appendage off, you never tried. It was a confession you rarely made, one that usually got you a mix of shock and pity, but with Satoru, it felt different.
"Not even-" he started until you shook your head firmly, cutting him off. He thought for a second, his expression contemplative, before asking, "You want to practice?"
It's not like you haven't tried to practice before, using fruit and various objects in an attempt to gain some semblance of skill, but a banana is much different than a real dick. The texture, the shape, the way it moves—or lack thereof. It's just not the same.
You stared at him momentarily, thinking about his offer, your brain running through all the possible outcomes. It's not like neither of you had crossed lines before; you're the one who taught him how to make out with someone after he claimed he didn't know how.
A claim you still weren't sure was true or just an elaborate excuse to get you to kiss him.
Once, led to twice, and whenever either of you was feeling lonely enough, your lips would find his. It was convenient, and a line you had long since stopped pretending existed.
This wasn't much different, right?
"You'd really show me?" you questioned hesitantly. If you wanted to practice on a real person, you might as well do it with Satoru. He nodded, leaning closer to the edge, looking down towards you. His gaze was almost eager, excited maybe.
"Of course, I mean, what are friends for, right?" he tilted his head slightly, the sun catching the water droplets in his hair. He looked pretty, glittery even. "The same way you were eating that, just less biting, more sucking, and inside action." You nodded, taking in what he said patiently.
Lifting from your floatie, you climbed onto the sun-warm pool deck. Swallowing the rest of the bomb pop, you sat next to Satoru, ready on the ledge, your eyes hinting at the lounge chairs. He stared at you for a moment. "Oh- I see, yeah, over there m-might be better," he stuttered, getting up to go to the chairs.
He sat down on the much cooler chairs, shaded by the umbrellas from the sun. "Do I sit here?" You knelt on the pool deck's smooth concrete, your body kneeling between his spread legs.
He looked down at you, confused and partially nervous. "Don't tell me you're getting nervous about me, Satoru," you teased, laying your head on his knee.
"N-nervous? No, I was just… surprised," he muttered, clearing his throat, "Didn't think you meant practice on me." he paused for a moment, his empty hand carding through his hair.
"Not that I am opposed, practice makes perfect, you know?" he smiled, licking the remainder of his bomb pop.
"You expected me to practice on a bomb pop?" you chuckled. "I need to practice on something real," you sighed. By the hardness growing in Satoru's swim shorts, he definitely didn't seem opposed.
"Why? Tried before?" he half-joked, but you only glared at him; he didn't need to hear how you embarrassingly choked on a banana after it broke in your throat. "Well, first, you need to set the tone; it's better if the little guy is awake first," he instructed, handing you a pillow.
"Doesn't seem like you need any help with that," you murmured, getting more comfortable on the pillow.
"What can I say, I'm a healthy guy," he commented nonchalantly, the pink tinging his ears telling a different story. "You want to take it out," you followed, your hands nervously pulling at his trunks.
His breath hitched the second your fingers brushed against the waistband of his swim trunks, the fabric damp from the pool water he'd been lounging in moments before.
The bomb pop had long since melted down his hand, sticky sweetness dripping onto his knuckles, but he made no move to clean it off. His focus was entirely on you.
"There you go," he murmured, voice dropping as he lifted his hips just enough for you to tug the trunks down his thighs. His cock sprang free, already half-hard and flushed pink at the tip, curving slightly to the left. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the slit, catching the sunlight like a tiny pearl.
"Very healthy guy," you joked, trying to distract yourself from being too nervous. You swallowed, staring at it with wide eyes. It was big. Thick and long, veined and heavy, resting against his lower stomach with an almost casual weight.
Not really what would be your first as a beginner. You wouldn't boost his ego any further, or he might explode.
Your hand hovered over it, fingers trembling slightly, and Satoru's lips curled into that familiar smirk. "Don't just admire it, babe," he teased, reaching down to wrap his sticky fingers around yours, guiding your palm to wrap around his shaft. The heat of him seared against your skin, velvety smooth over rigid hardness. "You gotta touch it. Get familiar with it. Not gonna bite."
"Says you," you mumbled, but your fingers tightened experimentally, and his breath caught in his throat, a tiny, almost imperceptible hitch that made your confidence bloom.
"Start slow," he instructed, his voice a little rougher now, the playful edge sharpening. "Just... wrap your hand around it. Feel the weight. Get it, wet, get a rhythm going. Don't just-" You nodded, spitting onto the tip. You stroked him, once, clumsily, your grip too tight and your angle wrong. He winced, but the sound that escaped him wasn't entirely pained.
"Okay, okay," he laughed breathlessly, his head falling back against the lounge chair. "That's-that's a start. But loosen up. It's not a weapon, alright? Gentle. Like you're holding a baby bird."
"I've held birds; this does not feel like a bird," you shot back, but you adjusted, lightening your grip, letting your fingers slide down to his base and then back up. His hips twitched involuntarily, and you grinned at the reaction.
"There you go," he breathed, his hand coming up to card through his wet white hair, pushing it back from his forehead, his gaze making you even hotter. "Now, use your mouth. Just the tip, first. Get used to it."
You leaned forward, pressing a tentative kiss to the head of his cock. He tasted salty, like chlorine and sweat, and you found yourself licking your lips before you even realized what you were doing.
"Don't overthink it," he murmured, his hand dropping to rest gently on the back of your head, not pushing, just there. "Just take it slow. Let it- ah-"
You parted your lips and took him in, just the head at first, your tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge. His hips buckled up involuntarily, and you gagged, pulling off with a wet pop.
"Sorry, sorry," he panted, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink beneath the shade. "Fuck, you just-your mouth is really cold, okay? Give a guy some warning."
"Maybe you should give me some warning," you snorted.
"Fair enough," he conceded, "How about this, you get back down there, and I'll return the favor. Make it fair."
"Fair?" you echoed, your hand still wrapped around him, feeling the steady pulse of his heartbeat through the velvety skin. "You think you can keep quiet while I'm down here?"
Satoru's laugh was low, almost a purr, as he settled back into the lounge chair. His white lashes fluttered half-closed, those piercing blue eyes watching you through the slits. "I've kept quiet through worse."
Your thumb traced the ridge of his tip, spreading the glistening bead of pre-cum across the sensitive skin. His stomach muscles flinched, and you felt a surge of power at the small reaction. "Yeah, sure."
"Attagirl," he breathed, one large hand coming to rest on the back of your head again. His fingers resting gently in your hair. "Now, take a breath. Relax your jaw. You're thinking too much."
"How do you-"
"You're clenching your teeth," he interrupted, "I can feel it." You exhaled slowly, forcing your shoulders to drop, and leaned forward again. This time, when you took him into your mouth, you focused on the weight of him on your tongue. Your lips stretched around the head, and you hollowed your cheeks experimentally.
"Fuck," Satoru hissed, his fingers tightening in your hair. "Yeah, that's-that's good. Just like that. Don't try to take it all at once. Work your tongue."
You obeyed, swirling your tongue around the sensitive underside of his tip, tracing the little vein that ran along his shaft. His hips twitched again, but he held himself still, letting you explore at your own pace. His hand stayed heavy on your head, occasionally stroking your hair in a way that felt almost encouraging.
"Breathe through your nose," he instructed, his voice growing rougher. "And, mmngh- use your hand on what you can't fit in your mouth. Make it part of the same rhythm."
You pulled off with a wet sound, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his flushed tip. "You're a lot better than a tiktok video."
Satoru's laugh was breathless, his chest heaving. "What am I not good at? Now get back down here before I get lonely." You rolled your eyes but complied, taking him back into your mouth with renewed determination. You wrapped your hand around the base and pumped in time with your bobbing head.
The angle was awkward, your neck starting to ache, but the way Satoru's breath hitched every time you took him deeper made it worth it.
"Sloppy," he murmured, his thumb stroking the shell of your ear. "Get sloppy. Use more spit. You're not trying to make it pretty, you're trying to make me come." You pulled off just long enough to gather a generous amount of saliva in your mouth, letting it drool down your chin and onto his shaft. The sight of it, the way his cock glistened in the dappled sunlight, made something hot curl in your belly.
You licked a stripe up the underside, from base to tip, and Satoru groaned, deep and guttural. You were starting to understand when your friends would remark that their mouths were watering.
"Fuck, okay, okay," he panted, his composure finally cracking. "You're a fast learner. That's—yeah, right there-"
You took him back into your mouth, deeper this time, pushing past the resistance in your throat. Your eyes watered, but you forced yourself to relax, just like he'd said. You focused on the sounds he was making: the broken moans, the way his breath stuttered, and the feedback loop of pleasure and power it created.
"That's it, baby," he crooned, his voice dropping into something silkier. "That's my good girl. Taking me so well, you're a natural, shit-" His hips bucked upward, and you gagged, pulling off with a cough. Saliva dripped down your chin, and you wiped at it with the back of your hand, glaring at him through watery eyes.
"Warning?" you croaked.
"Sorry, sorry," he panted, but he wasn't sorry at all. The smug look on his face was a dead giveaway, even as his chest heaved and his flush spread down to his collarbones. "You just got me excited."
"Asshole," you muttered, but you were already leaning back in, licking a slow, teasing stripe across his tip.
Satoru's hand tightened in your hair. "Watch your mouth, princess. Or I'll make you." The challenge in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.
You took him back into your mouth, sinking farther than before, feeling him hit the back of your throat. You held there for a moment, breathing through your nose, before pulling back and repeating the motion.
"That's it," he groaned, and his control was sliding, melting away with each bob of your head. "Just like that. You're doing so good, so good for me-" His grip tightened, guiding your pace faster, and you let him. You wanted this, wanted to push him over the edge, wanted to taste the proof of your progress.
His cock twitched in your mouth, opening your throat to take him deeper. "Fuuck-" he moaned loudly. He motioned for you to pull off, but you kept your head still. His seed sputtered onto your tongue. You held there for a moment as he caught his breath above you.
His cum didn't taste horrible, just foreign, a bit salty. Nevertheless, you swallowed. Wiping the outside of your mouth of spit.
"Did I do well?" You asked slowly, pulling his cock from your mouth.
"You- yeah, you did great," he breathed. Tossing the melted popsicle into the trash, licking his hand clean of the popsicle. "Since you did so well, let's make it fair."
Before you could ask what he meant, he was shifting, grabbing you by the hips and manhandling you with surprising strength, flipping you around until you were positioned over him, your knees on either side of his head, your face hovering above his already hard cock.
"Pretty skilled here too," he announced cheerfully, his voice muffled by the fact that he was already pressing his mouth to the inside of your thigh. "Best way to learn. You get to focus on your technique while I keep you...distracted."
"Distracted?" you squeaked, but the word dissolved into a moan as his tongue licked a broad stripe up your slit, through the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms. He hooked a finger under the material, pulling it aside, and the first real taste of you seemed to make him groan.
"Shit," he breathed against your cunt, his nose nudging your clit. "You taste better than those bomb pops."
"Focus, Satoru," you managed, your voice shaky as you lowered your head back down to his cock. "You're supposed to be teaching me."
"Right, right," he chuckled, the vibration of his laughter against your pussy making you jolt. "Then get to work, pretty girl. And remember-"He licked into you, slow and deliberate, "-tongue's your best friend. Use it."
You moaned, the sound vibrating around his shaft, and he groaned in response, his hips twitching up to meet your mouth.
You tried to remember his instructions: gentle, start slow, don't overthink it. It was hard when his tongue was doing that, curling inside you, tasting every inch of your slick heat.
"You're-" you gasped, pulling off his cock for a breath, "-you're not making this easy."
"Not supposed to be easy," he murmured against your folds, his lips brushing your clit with each word. "Supposed to be fun."
His thumb found your clit, rubbing lazy circles while his tongue dipped back inside you, and you cried out, your hips grinding down against his face without your permission.
He let out a pleased hum, his free hand coming up to grip your ass, squeezing the flesh hard enough to leave marks.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a low rumble. "Use those pretty hips. Ride my face." You took him back into your mouth, deeper this time, your head bobbing in a clumsy rhythm.
Your teeth scraped against him, and he hissed sharply. "Teeth, angel," he reminded you, his voice strained. "No teeth. Just lips and tongue."
You sucked hard, and his hips bucked, pushing himself deeper into your throat. You gagged, tears pricking at your eyes, but you didn't pull off. You were determined. "Good," he praised, his voice dripping with approval. "That's my girl. Taking it like a pro."
His tongue speared into you, and you moaned around his cock, the vibration making him shudder beneath you. His grip on your ass tightened, his hips thrusting up into your mouth in shallow, desperate little movements.
"Just like that," he breathed, his words muffled by your pussy. "Fuck, you're so beautiful. Suck it- yeah, just like that." You were drooling, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft, your jaw aching, but you didn't care.
He pulled his mouth away from you for just a moment, his breath hot against your slick folds. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. Gonna make me cum again if you keep that up-" You doubled your efforts, taking him deeper, your hand pumping what your mouth couldn't reach. His hips bucked erratically, his fingers digging into your ass, his whole body tensing beneath you. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-"
He came with a choked cry, hot and thick down your throat, and you swallowed instinctively. He kept twitching in your mouth, his hips still jerking as you milked him through it, not pulling off until he went limp beneath you.
Although he had just come, he didn't let off. His moans vibrated against your cunt, pulling you closer and closer.
You barely had a moment to catch your breath before Satoru's tongue was back on you, lapping at your dripping folds like a man starved. His grip on your ass tightened, spreading you wider, and you felt the cool air against your slick skin before his mouth descended again.
"F-fuck, Satoru-" you gasped, your forehead dropping against his thigh. His cock was starting to grow half-hard beneath you, twitching against your cheek, and you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat through the velvet skin.
His tongue circled your clit, slow and deliberate, and your hips stuttered against his face. He laughed, the sound vibrating through you. "You're so responsive," he breathed, pulling back just enough to speak. "I can feel every little noise you make-" He licked a broad stripe up your slit. "-Don't think I can stop after this."
You cried out, your hips grinding down against his face without permission, and he groaned in approval. His hands gripped your ass harder, pulling you closer, and you could feel the wet sounds of his mouth against you; it was obscene. "'Toru-" you gasped, your hand tightening around his thighs.
His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles while his tongue plunged back inside you, and you shattered. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, your body convulsing above him, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.
You could feel him smiling against you, his tongue still working you through it, drawing out every last tremor.
"That's it," he cooed, his voice soft, almost tender. "That's my girl. Let go for me."
Your hips rocked against his face involuntarily, riding out the aftershocks, and he let you take what you needed. When you finally stilled, trembling and breathless, he pressed one last kiss to your clit before gently nudging you off him.
"Okay?" he asked, sitting up to wrap his arms around you. His voice was rough, but his eyes were soft as he looked at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
"Yeah," you managed, your voice hoarse. Turning towards him, you positioned your body over his lap. Your hips were still trembling from the aftershocks as you settled over his lap, the wet heat of your cunt sliding along the thick length of him. Satoru's hands found your waist immediately, fingers digging into the soft flesh there like he was grounding himself. His chest was heaving beneath you, that stupidly pretty face.
His grip on your waist tightens the moment you settle over him, fingers pressing bruises into your skin before he's even inside you. "Fuck," he breathes, the word coming out almost reverent. "You're gonna kill me, you know that?"
You don't answer with words, just roll your hips forward, letting the slick heat of your cunt drag along the underside of his cock. The sensation makes him hiss through his teeth, his head falling back against the lounge chair.
"Look at you," he murmurs, one hand leaving your waist to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His thumb traces along your bottom lip, and you part your mouth instinctively, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. He groans.
"So fuckin' eager. That mouth of yours-" He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale as you sink down, just the tip, just enough to make him see stars. "Shit, baby. Don't tease."
"Thought you wanted me to take what I needed," you counter, voice breathy but carrying an edge of defiance. You lift your hips again, letting him slip out, watching the way his jaw tightens. "You said I could-"
"Sassy," he cuts you off, but there's a grin splitting his face, all teeth and mischief. His hands find your hips again, and this time he doesn't ask; he just guides you down, slow and steady, watching your face as he fills you inch by inch.
Your breath catches in your throat, fingers curling into his shoulders. The stretch is obscene, almost too much, but you take it, sinking down until you're flush against him, his cock buried to the hilt.
You moaned, feeling every ridge and vein of him inside you. Your hips start to move on their own, small, experimental circles that make him groan low in his chest.
His eyes flutter shut for a moment, and you take the opportunity to lean in, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth. "Thank you," you murmur against his skin, and his eyes snap open. "Satoru-"
"Don't." His grip on your hips is almost bruising now. "Don't thank me, not when you're-" He bucks his hips up, just once, and the sudden jolt steals the breath from your lungs. "Not when you're doing this."
You laugh, breathless, and it dissolves into a moan as you start to move in earnest. Up and down, slow and deep, letting him watch the way your body takes him. His eyes are glued to where you're joined, watching the way your cunt glistens around his cock with every slide.
His thumbs trace patterns into your hips, not guiding, just feeling— like he can't get enough of the way your skin feels under his palms.
"Faster," he says after a moment. His voice is thick, almost strained, and there's a flush creeping up his neck. "Come on, pretty girl."
You raise an eyebrow, even as you pick up the pace. "What, you want me to-"
"I want you to ride me like you mean it." His hand comes down on your ass, sharp and sudden, and you jolt forward, a squeak escaping your throat. He grins, satisfied. "That's more like it. Now come on. Don't make me ask again."
You plant your hands on his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath your palms, and you move. Hips rolling, thighs burning, you find a rhythm that has both of you gasping.
His head falls back again, his hands gripping your waist as you might disappear, and you feel it, the way his breathing quickens, his hips start to meet your thrusts with increasing urgency.
"Yeah," he breathes, and his voice is ragged now, all pretense of control gone. "Just like that. Fuck, baby, you feel so good-"
You lean down, pressing your forehead to his, your breath mingling. The position changes the angle, and you feel him hit something deep inside you that makes your vision white out for a second. Your nails dig into his chest, and he groans, snapping his hips up harder.
"Right there," you gasp, and he grins, that infuriatingly beautiful grin, because he knows. He knows exactly where you need him, and he's gonna give it to you. His hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with practiced precision, and you cry out, your rhythm faltering.
"Don't stop," he commands, and his voice is a low growl now. "Don't you fucking stop, baby. You're so close, I can feel it. Just let go."
You're shaking, trembling, every muscle in your body tense as he works you higher and higher. He's watching your face, eyes dark and hungry, like he's memorizing every expression you make." 'Toru," you gasp, "I can't-"
"Yes, you can." His fingers on your clit are relentless, his hips driving up into you with a pace that's almost punishing. "You're gonna cum for me, aren't you? Gonna soak my cock like the good girl you are."
The words break you. Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, your whole body seizing as you cry out his name. Your walls clenched around him, milking him, and he groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge.
You feel the heat of him filling you, pulse after pulse, and the sensation sends another ripple of pleasure through your oversensitive body.
When you come back to yourself, you're collapsed against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like you're something precious. His heart is pounding against your ear, and you can feel his breath ruffling your hair.
"Fuck," he murmurs, and his voice is soft now, almost sleepy. "That was-"
"Stop talking," you mumble against his skin, but you're smiling. "You'll ruin the moment."
He laughs, and it's warm, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. "I just saved some lucky guy from getting his dick cut off, thanks to me." Smugness filling his tone.
You smacked his chest, playfully, your palm connecting with his pectoral in a light thump. "I would not do that," you rolled your eyes, but your hand stayed resting on his chest, your fingers splayed across the firm muscle.
It was soft, the skin warm and slightly damp, and you didn't feel like moving it. He didn't mind either, his fingers finding the strings of your bikini top and toying with them absently, twisting and untwisting the fabric.
"Let me use your shower. I feel disgusting," you groaned, the words muffled against his skin.
The chlorine and sweat had dried on your body, leaving you sticky and uncomfortable, your skin tight and pulling with every movement. The heat didn't make it any better, the sun still bearing down even as the afternoon wore on.
He nodded, his chin brushing against the top of your head as he played with strands of your hair, twirling them around his finger.
You missed his shower; the water pressure was perfect, hitting your shoulders with just the right amount of force.
You'd even set up the same one in your own apartment after the first time you used it, but it never quite felt the same. You were staying the night here anyway, not like Satoru was going to say no. He never did.
can't say that i am very surprised by lack of engagement for the remedy. i know it's a multi-chapter, heavy work, with only occasional soft moments in between, plus a triangle with naoya (I understand that too 😭) + i know i am myself my primary audience, but i am kind of upset, and maybe a little bit petty for venting. nevertheless, this is a story that i hold dear to my heart and the one i want to finish very much.
OMG?! IGNORE ME??? I JUST SAW U R UKRAINIAN AYYYY I RESPECT THAT! Me too and I’m also Pisces 🥹🥹🥹
omggggg girl don't be shy, drop that anon off!!! i am so glad to speak to other Ukrainians, i would be so happy 🥲🫶🏻 it seems like i can't answer it in inbox, but otherwise you're so welcome to hit my messages!
the whole world conspires on me about the remedy series, bc not only i fucked up with one link (and shout-out to one lovely who told me that) and now you keep spotting typos 😭😭😭😭😭
Heyyyy!!! I was just reading ur fic and I saw a typo but that type was like extra letter added at the end of the word which was “ю” and I was just wondering if you speak Russian/ukrainian?🤭
oh god 😭😭😭 i am so embarrassed now, i am gonna delete it later 😭😭😭😭😭 WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO MEEEE. thanks for noticing!
fiance! naoya x paediatrician! fem reader x single uncle! satoru
summary: Your days had long turned into an endless grey stream of monotony, brightened only by children's smiles at the hospital. Soon, your life would be subjected to loneliness in the golden cage of the Zenin Estate as you agreed to be Naoya's wife; the weight of his love had already burdened you to the point you no longer believed there was any left.
And then you met Satoru Gojo.
Your biggest curse. And your greatest remedy.
tags: AU, medical setting, heavy angst, toxic relationships, messy feelings, emotional abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, misogyny (Naoya is a prick), reader struggles with her self-image, slow healing, falling in love, yearning. eventual smut and happy ending, i promise! we just have to get here. some specific tags will be included in the parts, if any.
word count: 14.5k
gojo's art by @/maronjapan9a. all dividers are mine.
playlist
masterlist
part 1
Satoru Gojo slowly started threading himself into the canvas of your life, and when you looked back, startled and stunned, to see the turning point — when the warmth slowly sipped into your polite, careful smiles and when the anxiety slowly loosened its knot as Gojo's laugh washed over you — you slowly realised that you couldn't name one.
Was it the boyish grin? The Union Jack lighter? The first compliment? The first shared conversation in the walls of the cafeteria? Nothing criminal, but every time your eyes met — his, impossibly blue, crinkling at the corners with mirth and something you were afraid to name — they caused the tender petals of affection in your chest to bloom.
Only if they weren't destined to wither the moment your future husband set his eyes on you.
Maybe he noticed that you returned from the hospital happier than usual. Your softened voice grated on his nerves, and your dreamy gaze only sharpened his. Honed his tongue to the way it left more and more wounds.
As if you weren't berating yourself for even thinking about another man. As if you didn't force your gaze to tear apart from Gojo at first. To keep your mouth shut. To gather your bearings and lock your heart with the key thrown away to the ocean depths. To shut Nitta's and Miwa's whispers with sharp glances. To stand your ground as the endless blue threatened to swallow you whole.
Either way, you were torn between your actual feelings and things you were supposed to feel.
That day wasn't particularly sunshine and rainbows: from a kid with an asthma attack to very vigilant parents, insisting on vaccine shots conspiracy. Your smile turned more strained with every word, and your left eye almost twitched at "how much are you paid per shot?"
And that was only the morning.
"Kao, stop squirming! What will the doctor think of you?"
The boy, a 5-year-old Kao-kun, who was supposed to have his hearing examined, fell on deaf ears to his mother's pleading words (not literally, as you hoped, standing with an otoscope beside the kid).
"I am so sorry, Doc, I don't know what's gotten into him," Kao-kun's mother, Nakata-san, offered you an apologetic, forced smile, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy towards her.
"It's completely fine, Nakata-san. Kids don't usually like these sorts of things," smiling warmly back at the lady, you briefly patted her arm in support. Nakata-san only pressed her lips into a thin line and opened her purse to fish a handkerchief to dab on her forehead.
The sudden April heatwave enveloped Japan in its suffocating embrace. Heat clung to skin in rivulets of sweat, and people fought for every sliver of shade, not to mention the usual humidity — the feeling of your blouse sticking to your back set your overstimulated brain on fire even more, but you didn't have the right to complain.
Poor Nakata-san, meanwhile, murmured in despair and sighed, shaking her head, "He's usually such a nice, smart boy. We started to teach him Hiragana a couple of weeks ago, just like in that handout you gave us, Doc. Oh, I have it, wait a minute, —"
The woman started to browse through her endless purse again, but you interrupted her softly, glancing briefly at the clock. Ten minutes were left before the next appointment, and Kao-kun seemed way more interested in the poster of the giant green cactus Sabo-san, a chair named Kosshi and…Inai Inai Baa.
The corners of your mouth twitched with a bright grin.
Of course.
"Hey, Kao-kun," drawling playfully, you waved at the poster. "Do you like Inai Inai Baa?"
The boy's voice rose to a high-pitched tone as he nodded enthusiastically, "Yes!"
You clapped happily, hoping to match Kao-kun and beamed at the kid, "You want to play Peekaboo?"
The boy practically jumped out of his seat, and Nakata-san hurried to shush him, only for you to gently stop her with a knowing look. She stopped in her tracks, blinking a couple of times; as the realisation dawned on her, the woman sent you a conspiring wink.
"Kao-kun, I am gonna look for Inai Inai Baa in your ears," as you finally had the kid's attention, he looked up and hung on your every word, "Will you help me — "
You barely finished the sentence as the boy shouted happily, his toothy grin on full display:
"Yes, yes, yes!"
The sight dispersed the gloomy clouds in your mind like the brightest sunray.
Kao-kun helped you to spot the dog, Wanwan, every time he barked into the boy's ear, and you discreetly wiped your forehead as you finished the examination and put the data into the kid's medical record.
"Doc, you're the best!" Nakata-san pressed her palm to her chest, thanking you sincerely. Kao-kun eyed the bowl of lollipops on your table as his mother kept talking about the school they were about to choose. Stiffling a warm chuckle, you nodded at the bowl.
"Help yourself, Kao-kun, don't be shy."
The boy beamed and hurriedly thanked you, urged by his mother on the way out of your office. He was already too fascinated with the sweet and colourful cartoon sticker inside, but dutifully listened to his mom. You waved back with a laugh.
"Take care!"
When you finally had two minutes for yourself, you fished a small handy fan. As it always happened in the most inconvenient times, the climate control in your office decided it certainly had enough and retired after a long period of duty. The facility manager grumbled that the equipment hadn't been modernised in a long time, glaring at you as if you were the sole reason for that decision. You highly suspected your beloved fiancé (to be precise, his family) of being in charge of it. Yet, somehow, the one on the receiving blade of occasional pointed glances and hushed whispers was usually you. No wonder: Naoya had a knack for charming everyone under his spell.
And you were just…you. Your presence, so tethered to his, didn't help the situation either. Mostly, that didn't bother you: little patients adored you, while parents paid their respects — after all, that mattered the most.
One of the nurses kindly informed you that the next appointment had been cancelled. That rare occasion had you raise your brows in a mild surprise, which later turned into a fleeting moment of joy: since it was the last appointment before the day hospital's checks, you could go there earlier and later hurry to the little cafe near the hospital. The cold kiwi lemonade had been quietly haunting your mind since the moment you stepped into your office.
"How are you feeling today, Rika-chan?"
"Better now!"
The little girl with two pigtails stilled as you checked her throat and discreetly let out a sigh of relief as you turned to her mother with good news.
"I think Rika-chan is going to be discharged soon," muttering under your breath as you flipped the papers, you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of happy Okami-san. "Cephalexin 20 mg…yeah, that's right. I'll see you tomorrow at the final examination, Rika-chan!"
The girl eagerly nodded, hugging her Kuromi plushie, and your chuckle morphed into a warm laugh.
Walking out of room 626, you hurried to the last patient of the day. Knocking softly at the door, you couldn't help the low roaring of your pulse in your head. Your grip on the chart tightened, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.
Gojo was engrossed in his phone, thumbs flying over the screen, and cast occasional glances at Megumi, who was quietly drawing in the corner. The black crayon wandered over the paper; judging by Megumi's brows, knitted in concentration, and the peeked out tongue, he was more than focused. Your gift, a little plushie dog, alongside a giant toad, guarded Megumi's peace like loyal knights.
Another warm sunray crept through the clouds.
Too absorbed in his own little world, the kid didn't notice you. Contrary to his uncle, whose ears immediately perked up at the sound of the doors creaking. A bright grin spread on Gojo's handsome face at the sight of your slightly hesitant form — you had to blink a couple of times just to reassure yourself that you weren't dreaming — before he sent you a conspiratorial wink with his finger on his mouth and pointed at the boy.
Pressing your lips into a thin line so as not to burst with laughter, you closed the door as quietly as you could. What was a paediatrician without a little whimsy?
"Hey, Megumi-chan," Gojo drawled in an overly obnoxious manner, earning Megumi's unimpressed look. Gojo's grin turned even brighter. "What are you drawing out there?"
Megumi's grip on the crayon tightened, and he mumbled back, finally sneaking a glance at you, "I am not finished yet."
Gojo wasn't quite satisfied with his nephew's answer and leaned over to peek at the table, only for Megumi to snatch the drawing from his uncle's nosy gaze.
"Come on, Gumibear —"
The boy's ears went pink at the humiliation that Gojo was bestowing upon him with a mere nickname, and the glare he sent his uncle was nothing but murderous. "I told you not to call me that!"
"Careful, Megs, your anger level is wa-a-ay above your daily norm, ouch!"
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, but a few chuckles left your lips nonetheless.
Gojo slumped back in his chair with a theatrical groan, resting his palm on his forehead like a damsel in distress; his biceps flexed with each movement in a white t-shirt.
Well, it was really hot.
You allowed yourself a second of gawking before eventually stepping to Megumi's side.
"Can I have a look, Megumi-kun?"
Megumi's eyes briefly flicked between you and the drawing he clutched close to his chest before he shrugged, "I still have to finish it."
Peeking at Gojo, you saw the amusement dancing in his bright blue gaze. So, it was a yes.
"Had a rough day?"
Your hands on the pulse oximeter stilled for a moment. Megumi's eyelashes fluttered with a tiny fractured breath. Gojo's casual words sent your heart stammeting against your ribs like a trapped bird; however, you forced yourself to focus and didn't tear your gaze away until you saw the result.
"Saturation is still not good."
Gojo, who hovered over you, knitted his brows in concern and opened his mouth to ask you something when Megumi's exhausted voice tugged on your heartstrings.
"You put a mask on me, right?"
The movement of your throat was sharp as you swallowed and exchanged glances with Gojo. He pressed his lips in a thin line and gave you a silent nod, urging you to continue.
"It's nothing bad, Megumi-kun." Your hand, warm and pleasant, rested on the boy's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. A deep frown crossed over his features as Megumi murmured in a barely audible voice.
"You are always saying that."
After another worried glance shared with Gojo, you kneeled before the boy's bed and put your mask down, so he could see you better.
"I promise you it won't hurt you. Besides, your uncle and I will be with you all the time." Even turned away from Gojo, you could feel the light grin already tugging on the corner of his mouth. The boy's eyes flicked between you and Gojo, and after seconds of inner debating, his posture relaxed just a tad, and he grumbled.
"I suppose it's okay then."
Your chest suspiciously tightened as you watched Megumi's small fingers twitch in Gojo's hold. His shades were gone, offering you an unobstructed look at the blue of his eyes, simmering with concern, framed by the snow of his lashes.
Casting your gaze back down at the boy, you concentrated on the task.
"He's slowly getting better," a soft, reassuring murmur left your lips as your gaze lingered on Megumi, who dozed off, exhausted after all the procedures. Then it landed on Gojo, driven by some unknown force. His hand hovered over the boy's shoulders — strangely unsure for a man like him — and finally drifted down to tuck Megumi's blanket in clumsily.
"I hope so."
His hesitant whisper stirred something deeply buried. Before the ever-present tentativeness could consume you, your hand settled on Gojo's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The contact made your fingers twitch with an unexpected urge to dig them deeper into the muscled skin. The heat immediately coloured your cheeks; a fleeting thought of yanking your hand away crossed your mind, but it was too late and impolite.
Gojo stilled beneath your touch and slowly turned around. The blue of his eyes held you captive in their waves, but his small, gentle smile gave you a much-needed breath of fresh air.
Only to take it back with a casual brush of the long fingers, subtly grazing your hand. A fragile, aching in its delicateness, flower bloomed quietly between you.
Soon, Gojo's ringtone dispelled the strange air. You discreetly shook your head in a skimpy attempt to get rid of the image of the man beside you, now talking quietly to someone on the phone. His lips widened into a smile so bright and unadulterated, it transformed his face into something…angelic.
Naoya's disdainful scowl from the morning emersed in your exhausted mind, no matter how hard you tried to drown it.
Gojo shot you a sidelong glance — seemingly relentless to decipher a look of somberness on your face — on your way to the elevator.
He couldn't quite put a finger on the sudden feeling the bags under your eyes evoked in him.
Your fingers came to fiddle with your chain as you worried your bottom lip. Then your hand limply fell at the absence.
Yeah. Right.
Gojo's eyes followed your gesture, but you seemed so hollowed out, as the life had been suddenly sucked out of you, that he didn't think of anything better than to blurt out, "Wanna have a coffee?"
Eyes widening, you stilled completely. That man, Gojo, who looked like a secret the morning tentatively shared, a kiss of the rosy sunset on your skin, and a whisper of a mystical night, had asked you out?
Or were you imagining things? Was he just bored? Polite?
At first, a usual thought of waving a man who somehow had his mind hazy enough to look at you immediately crossed your mind. A hot wave of panic flooded you like a strong ocean. The need to flee somewhere, just not to stay under Gojo's piercing blue gaze, ordered a retreat already. You almost opened your mouth to offer a moot excuse, with Naoya's presence looming over you even miles away, and…
Abruptly closed it.
The sparkle of rebellious flame surged high and slowly devoured the gnawing hesitance.
Your silence gave Gojo quite an unambiguous sign. His smile wavered for a moment, taking a bitter edge, and he stepped back, raising his arms in surrender.
"Oh, I am sorry, you might think I want to hit on you or whatever, but it's just so hot —"
You cut him off with a shrug too quick and a grin too sharp. "Sure. Why not?"
Surprised, Gojo blinked before tilting his head as the boyish grin slowly made its way back on his handsome face.
"Lead the way, Doc."
For a moment, you weighed all the options on the inner scales: the hospital cafeteria was immediately off the limits — even the walls had ears there, as well as a popular cafe just around the corner. The possibility of someone grassing you up to Naoya rose tenfold.
Yet, you had something on mind.
"Meet me in ten minutes near the entrance."
A content hum and a theatrical salute were your answers.
ੈ✩‧₊˚
Mentally thanking yourself for filling out daycare forms in advance, and the raging flu that knocked Yaga out, which saved you from the lunch meetings, you set the world record for changing out of the scrubs and hurried to the elevator.
The hospital still buzzed with worried patients and exhausted doctorsю You craned your neck to see a familiar spark of frosty hair outside, and your pulse roared in your head at the sight of the tall man, leaning on the wall with a casual air of confidence.
Smoothing down your sundress — for some unknown reason — you hurried out.
"Hi!"
Gojo was looking somewhere past the crowd, a melancholic smile playing on his lips, and your words made him abruptly turn to you with a messy white fringe falling over his forehead. His smile dipped into something warm as he took you in.
"You're not in scrubs, it's the first!" An airy chuckle left Gojo as you led the way to the small cafe, nestled between towers of the enormous business centre, and a flower shop. To your surprise, Gojo immediately fell into step with you; Naoya never bothered to wait for you. You had always been expected to catch up to him, no matter what. "Nice dress."
Warm spring air caressed you both with delicate touches. The pink sundress you wore — Naoya raised his brow in the morning and mused whether you were dressed for work or a playground — licked the soft skin of your thighs with every step. Gojo sincerely tried not to gawk at the legs of his nephew's doctor (wait, was it a breach of ethics? He sincerely hoped no), but it became increasingly difficult.
Luckily, you stopped near the small, cosy coffee shop just before his feigned nonchalance would've morphed into something more scorching.
"Here we are!"
The scents of cinnamon and peppermint immediately hit his senses, mixed with the drumming sounds of an espresso machine and the faint hum of the climate control. The sudden temperature difference caused you to blow a lone strand of hair that escaped your ponytail off your face, and a whiff of your fresh perfume (albeit with a strong sense of antiseptic clinging to you like a second skin — once a doctor, always a doctor) sent his pulse drumming quietly.
Just when Gojo wondered if you felt at least something too, your shoulder lightly brushed against his. He didn't know what to do, because even the touch like that was enough for something to stir in his chest. So he just stilled, and let his gaze unabashedly drift over the delicate line of your neck as you studied something through the display.
Perfect.
"Recommendations are accepted," clearing his throat, Gojo waved at the arrays of pastries and rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn. Might as well order everything."
The look of pure confusion and something suspiciously similar to awe on his face earned a quiet laugh from you.
"Uhm, I usually like those chocolate-filled croissants," you murmured, hesitantly pointing at the pastry that looked like it had just descended from the famous French boulangeries. "Sometimes I take a tiramisu or a panacotta. Their strawberry-filled mochis are absolutely to die for!"
Beside you, Gojo went completely rigid. You felt the usual fear that you might've fucked something up — nothing new, but something inside you wished Gojo would be kind enough to let it slide — but then he turned around.
"I love mochis!" He breathed out not even with enthusiasm — a playful reverence coloured his tone. His eyes sparkled even brighter.
You briefly discussed other desserts displayed, and you complimented the ones shaped like fruits ("Actually, very close to Cédric Grolet's!"), before you attempted to grab your wallet from the purse and… met a disappointed nothingness. You sulked a bit and stepped back in the line before the barista would glare daggers at you, giving Gojo an apologetic shrug.
"I forgot my wallet, so this time I am just gonna —" You glanced around the cafe. "Wander around, I guess."
Gojo blinked and shook his head with an airy chuckle, pulling his wallet out, "You're so funny."
Your smile briefly faltered. Nevertheless, you forced it to stay plastered.
"I know, yeah."
A light frown flickered across Gojo's face, but before he could even form a question, the barista, a young, lively girl, greeted him with a joyous chirp.
"Good afternoon, what can I get you today?"
Flashing a charming grin, Gojo slightly leaned over and pointed at the pastry with a low purr, "Hello. I would like to have a caramel latte and that whole set of fruit desserts. A box of strawberry mochi and two — no, wait, three chocolate croissants for takeaway."
"Noted," the girl nodded as the light pink tinged her cheeks at the sight of Gojo. Well, no wonder. "Anything else?"
"Make the latte really sweet. And whatever this lady wants, of course." With that, Gojo finally leaned back and waved at the pastries as if he had baked them all by himself, "My treat, Doc."
Completely stunned, you just huffed an unsure laugh, "No, Gojo, it's okay, I am just —"
"Please," Gojo's voice lost all the cockiness just for a second, offering you a peek of the man beneath the facade. "Do me a favour. You showed me this place, after all."
A strange kind of fog clogged your mind as you watched Gojo casually take out his black card. You murmured something about a kiwi lemonade.
He ended up buying another yearly supply of sweets for you as well.
Gojo flipped his wallet, and a photo tucked inside — him hugging a couple of kids — immediately caught your attention. Judging by a grumpy scowl on one of the children's faces, you successfully deduced the boy to be Megumi. And the girl with a shy grin, showing a peace sign, should've been his sister, Tsumiki.
A flicker of warmth sparkled in your chest as your lips twitched in a smile.
Shifting your gaze just a tad, you noticed Gojo's business card peeking out from the photo. Your best attempt at squinting at it wasn't successful, but the sight of his surname in a bold business font awoke something in your mind.
You certainly heard it. Maybe Naoya once happened to drop it during dinner? Or some hushed pieces of gossip finally reached you at the numerous Zenins' gatherings?
The image of Naoya stubbornly kept surfacing in your mind, no matter how hard you tried to bury it under the pretence of nonchalance towards a certain white-haired man. The mere thought of your future husband finding out about your little detour sent a fresh wave of fear through you.
God. What the hell were you doing?!
Swallowing, you briefly mused about fleeing, but the force that seemed to be stronger than the gravity itself — attraction, blending with recklessness — chained you to the chair right in front of Gojo.
Damn him. You felt like a butterfly pinned to a board by the sharpness of his gaze.
"What's bothering you?"
Forcefully blinking yourself back into reality, you sent Gojo a confused, apologetic smile, "Nothing much."
"Come on, Doc," he prompted, resting his chin on the palm. Almost half of the caramel latte in front of him was gone, as well as a peach-shaped dessert. Yours still rested untouched on the plate. "You've been hypnotising that poor peach for a solid five minutes."
You nervously twirled a straw between your fingers. Shit. You didn't even notice it. And with Gojo staring at you, his brow lazily arched, you decided to opt for a half-truth.
"Your surname. Where could I hear it?"
Gojo's grin withered a little before taking a strained edge. Just a fleeting second for everyone else, but if sharing a roof with Naoya had taught you anything, it was attunement to other people's senses. So, you just waved your hands in surrender.
"I didn't mean to intrude, sorry. Forget it."
The sincerity of your gaze softened the sudden harshness of Gojo's features and the rigidness in his shoulders. You indeed were just… curious.
He shook his head with a light chuckle, "No worries. My family is quite well-known. Limitless, maybe you heard it?"
Eyed widening, you almost spluttered the poor kiwi lemonade.
"Limitless? You mean that big company in advanced robotics and technology?"
Well, that surely explained why he spent so much time with Megumi at the hospital. Nepo babies weren't used to working a lot, judging by Naoya.
Gojo gave you a lazy nod and took a bite of another pastry, looking somewhere past you at the bustling Tokyo streets, and dropped off-handedly.
"Yeah. But I am not a big fan of boring meetings, reports and presentations."
Something in his tone suggested that it wasn't a single reason.
You just prompted gently, "What are you doing then?"
Gojo's smile turned relaxed.
"I am a restaurant owner."
Stunned, you paused with a spoon halfway through, "What? That's so cool!"
Laughing warmly, he confirmed again, "Yep. Three in Tokyo, one in Kyoto, and…," he leaned over with a suspicious look and whispered loudly, sending you a wink, "planning to open in Yokohama as well. But that's a secret just for you."
A light chuckle left you as your face heated up from the sudden proximity. You quickly cast your gaze down on the plate, cutting through a delicious treat.
"So, where are they? Maybe we, sorry, I —," you corrected yourself immediately, earning a slow, curious tilt of Gojo's head, "visited them?"
He only dropped one name, but the mere mention of that restaurant had you staring at him in shock, eyes sparkling with excitement. A dollop of soft cream was smudged over your chin, but in your contagious joy, you never really noticed. The blue of Gojo's gaze softened into a warm breeze, embracing you in a tender gale.
"Really? Is that one in Ginza, a rooftop bar? God, I've been dying to visit it! That grilled red squid with herbs? Damn," gesturing animatedly, you quickly explained at Gojo's curious glance, "I had a bit at a family gathering. And let me tell you," now it was your turn to lean in with a conspirational whisper, "it was the best thing in that evening."
Despite Gojo's attempts to compose himself, his grin widened even more as he asked, "So, why haven't you visited it yet? I mean, you look pretty happy talking about it."
Your own smile slowly faded at Gojo's ask, and the unsure curl of your shoulder that followed immediately didn't go unnoticed.
Naoya's dismissive words sparkled brightly in your mind again, and you waved them as best as you could. Hugging the empty cup with your lemonade, you attempted to joke weakly, "Didn't have enough time. You know, hospital, shifts, meetings."
Gojo's lazy drumming slowed a little before coming to a complete halt. A warm feeling cracked in his chest at the memory of you attending Megumi.
"Ah, of course. Sorry for that. You are the busiest that I will ever be."
You weren't used to it. To someone listening to you with a genuine expression. To someone casually complimenting you. To someone including you in a conversation. As if you were worthy of someone's attention.
And that someone being Gojo caused a warm sun to rise in your hollowed soul.
So you resorted to the only thing familiar to you.
"Ah, it's nothing. I am just a paediatrician," offering a usual downplayed explanation, you didn't even notice the muscle in Gojo's jaw jump. Why were you doing it? "I mean, there are surgeons and — "
"You are joking, right? You are literally a doctor."
Gojo's incredulous tone caught you off guard. Shoulders dropping, your smile curled into a nervous, unsure scowl, while he went on.
"You're doing such a great job. I mean, all of that stuff, checking saturation, temperature, carrying all these charts, and, on top of that, working with kids! This is so cool."
A weird, scorching feeling coloured your cheeks. What was actually the last time you heard someone talking about you like that? All sincere, kind, and…warm?
The lump in your throat started to feel suspicious, and you took a shuddering breath in an attempt to accept Gojo's words with no usual overthinking, "I guess so. Kids are really cool."
Popping a spoonful of panna cotta in his mouth, Gojo hummed in acknowledgement.
"You're cooler. Do you like working with kids?"
For the second time, you were sharing a conversation, your smile widened, tone dipping into an affectionate tenderness, "Of course! I like seeing them smile as they finally get better. I love helping them to navigate through the world, especially knowing I can do that and make a difference! I want to make the start of their life easy and smooth. The rest of it may be shitty, but the childhood…"
Quiet steel crept into your voice, honing your tone.
"…the childhood is sacred."
Your eyes suddenly bore remembrance to black holes — swallowing Gojo in vast expanses of them. He stared, unblinking, and recalled that version of you on the lone evening. Smoking, laughing. Teasing.
Where was the line between that version of you and the shy doctor sitting in front of him, shrinking, lessening herself to fit some image Gojo hadn't deciphered yet? Who were you?
The truth might've hid amongst smiles, sincere, and too stretched to be genuine; glances, soft, and too pointed to offer truth; gestures, secretive, and too deep-seated to bear some meaning.
Gojo recalled your laugh as you talked about the damned grilled red squid. Maybe that version of you, that crept in the cracks of all the conversations you shared, was the real one?
He didn't know yet. But hell, he was determined to solve the mystery that his nephew's doctor was. With those sweet smiles. That sharp tongue. And that contagious laugh.
"Gojo? Are you listening?"
Okay. Perhaps he went into recalling a little bit too much.
He let his gaze wander over your features freely. "Yeah. You mentioned that kids usually don't like their ears checked. But honestly, what kid likes hospitals?"
Your shoulders shook with mirth as you shot him a quick, shy grin. Gojo felt his lips curling into a warm smile as well.
"Do you like working at that hospital?"
Twirling a straw, you stilled at his question. Then a deliberately calm shrug came as you glanced through the window.
"I like working with kids."
"That's not what I asked." Despite the warmth in his tone, you managed to notice an unusual heaviness lurking behind it. Nothing in Gojo, from the curious tilt of his head to the calmness in his blue gaze, revealed his true intentions.
Still. An assessing gleam that flashed in Gojo's eyes told you much more than he probably thought.
His fingers drummed against the table with barely concealed impatience. You mirrored his tilt and drawled hesitantly, "Could've been better, honestly. The department's director is constantly on our ears about financing and modernising the equipment. But, you know. Paediatrics isn't on the priority list."
Gojo hummed — a low, throaty sound that had you casting your gaze immediately down on your plate — and leaned in. His brows furrowed in frustration.
"Really?"
You mumbled something unintelligible as your shoulders curled inwards.
"But that doesn't make any sense," a murmur full of disbelief left him soon, addressing no one in particular, but rather musing aloud. "You're doing such an important thing, taking care of kids. I saw you running around like a Duracel rabbit, and this constant chaos. Yet you're doing such a great job! Especially with Megs. He likes you, you know? And he doesn't like doctors."
You leaned a bit with your chin cradled in your palm, looking out of the windows: some lady hurried to the cafe, barely catching up to her doggie, an adorable Pomeranian. The doorbell soon announced their entrance, followed by a cheerful bark.
"No wonder. He has a long story with them. I am afraid he just has to like me because I am a lady with masks and all that stuff."
"I am serious, Doc. Believe me," a small laugh followed his grin — you would've been damned if you didn't spot bitterness buried in it.
"I know when Megs feels…," Gojo pondered for a moment, looking for the right word. "Acceptable towards someone."
Now it was your turn to smile.
"He's not an easy kid," you murmured to Gojo after some time as you both watched the lady attending to her adorable, lively puppy. Gojo's grin widened for a second before settling back with heaviness too unfitting for the mask he usually wore.
"You can say so. They both went through…a lot."
You could only press your lips in sympathy. No matter how many tragedies you witnessed, each of them had left scars on you. Especially when you found out the reason Gojo adopted Megumi and Tsumiki.
Gojo didn't like to talk about it, but you gathered enough from the bits of conversations, information from Megumi's chart and heavy pauses between the words. Didn't press: one time, you saw Gojo examining the handout on how to help a kid process the grief, and noticed Gojo's gaze hardening into an iceberg.
So, you kept all assumptions safely catalogued in your head.
A heavy silence settled between you, interrupted only by excited yips of the Pomeranian, distant melodies of some indie song coming from the speakers, and the whirring of the cash register.
Hand drifting mindlessly to scratch an old scar, your fingers twitched with an indescribable urge to soothe Gojo's wounds as well. In the end, he lost his sister, too. And as shocked as he might've been, he had two distraught kids to bring up.
Did he have a chance to mourn her at all? Or just poured himself into the life that suddenly felt too enormous to fit into?
Judging by the distant waves of his gaze and the melancholy flickering over his face, too beautiful for all the sorrows, he didn't.
As much as you wanted to console him, to tell him that you hid scars like that as well, you couldn't bring yourself to do this. The lock on your heart was still impenetrable.
A bitter realisation, melting into a sour resentment that you didn't remember the last time you felt like that towards your fiancé, had your chest constricted with the weight of ache.
Instead, you tried not to dwell on it. Lifting your hand, your slightly trembling fingers grazed Gojo's hand across the table. A thick whisper followed.
"I am sorry."
Gojo's head immediately snapped up at the sound of your soft words. His eyes met yours in a moment of shared grief and quiet understanding — something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time.
A silent yearning to be seen hid in the desperate twitch of his fingers as they squeezed your palm in response.
He quickly masked that momentary weakness behind a frantic clearing of throat and a casual, too casual ask.
"You lost your chain?"
Frowning a bit, you shifted your gaze to the dip of your cleavage; a sudden, shaking breath followed as you gently pulled your hand back to touch the bare skin.
Naoya's words, full of malice and icy wrath, flashed behind your closed eyelids just as if he had been throwing them at you now. He was seething with ire that morning.
You just sat there: a silent witness to irritation consuming Naoya more and more. Mentally went through every place you visited, every corner rounded, and every room attended. Still, it had no sense at all.
The ring was gone.
"Yeah."
"It must've been important."
You gritted your teeth until the muscles in your jaws twitched. Slowly, you lifted your gaze and couldn't believe the next words that left your lips, "It's okay. Something that was meant to be mine would make its way back, right?"
Gojo's eyes widened a bit at the sudden declaration. A boyish grin curled on his lips as he just shrugged in response, "I guess so."
Just in time. An alarm on your phone not so kindly informed you that your lunch was over. Oh, how you wished that it could last a small eternity longer.
Did Gojo feel that as well?
Watching his tall figure retreat to a shop nearby, you thought about the warm sea that spilt in his irises, when you reminded him that you would meet again tomorrow.
And then, as the sudden gust of wind threw your hair back into your face, you realised when you heard Gojo's surname. The sound of it had become a frequent guest of all the Zenins' outraged discussions.
But…
What did that mean to you?
ੈ✩‧₊˚
"Darling?"
Your voice sounded hesitant in the car on the way to your parents' house.
Tearing his gaze from the streets of the Denenchofu neighbourhood, adorned with lush greenery, and the rows of houses, draped in elegance and serenity, Naoya quirked his brow at you in a silent question.
With a hasty breath, you twiddled with your bag. The damn binder kept evading you like on a cue. A quiet curse left your lips as you felt Naoya's patience wearing thinner and thinner with each flimsy attempt of yours. You heard the irritated click of his tongue just as you fished the folder. Handed it to your fiancé and watched boredom on his face morphing into vague surprise and… mild interest.
"What is it?"
"It's my — uhm, you know, it's something I am doodling while not busy and —"
Nayoa interrupted you with a sharp glance, "Quit babbling."
"Right. Sorry," forcing an apologetic grin, you folded your hands on your lap. "It's my sort of portfolio. Best of my works. I just — would like to know your opinion about that."
"And why do you want me to do this?"
"One of my patients' parents is an art dealer. He noticed some pictures in my office, and we exchanged a couple of words." Naoya's eyes narrowed at your revelation; you quickly corrected yourself, "That's it, I swear!"
"Quicker," he cut you off with a wave as if you were stealing minutes of his precious time.
Your gaze briefly flicked between your hands and the binder in his hands.
There it was. Something shaping as an opportunity to share with the rest of the world what your soul ached for and your eyes saw.
With a sharp exhale, you concluded, "Anyway, his gallery is searching for some new artists for the opening of a new exhibition. I thought — I thought I might give it a try." Your voice cracked at the last words.
A low, almost indifferent hum was all you got in response.
Breath bated, you intently watched Naoya slowly opening the folder and going through the pictures with deliberate scrupulousness. Head tilted, his gaze wandered over each line and stroke. You examined every minuscule twitch in his expression just to notice the fleeting movement of his eyebrows. Something resembling bewilderment flicked across his face.
A flash of excitement faintly sparkled within you.
Only for Naoya's bewilderment contorting into disbelief, masked by cold indifference.
"You drew it?"
A glance at his face didn't stir anything suspicious in you, so you slowly nodded, lips curling into a nervous smile.
His gaze darted to your makeshift portfolio once again. And then a smirk — a quick twitch of his lips — followed. As cruel as his love for you was.
"Don't you have something more important to do than simply wasting your time?"
The splendour of excitement faded within you into a dim flare. Your smile wavered as you breathed out, "I don't under— understand."
Your distress only fed Nayoa's ego even more. He carelessly tossed the portfolio back on your lap and drawled in mock sympathy, leaning closer.
"Aw, my poor dove. You are not born yesterday, aren't you? Still so innocent and full of naive dreams. You should've known better already."
Your grip on the poor binder tightened. The wrinkled, beaming face of your little patient caught your attention; but despite the usual reluctant acceptance of his words, you felt another match put to a growing flame inside.
Raising your chin a little, you noticed with a grim satisfaction that Naoya was slightly taken aback.
"Should know better what exactly?"
His smirk sharpened into a ruthless blade.
"That the world doesn't care about the wishes of innocent little doves like you, my darling." For all your desperate attempts to stand your ground, your heart sank to your stomach. Disappointment and your own failure buzzed in your tired mind, bearing Naoya's taunting voice.
"You think that guy really wanted these drawings of yours? Oh, darling, please. He probably was just polite. After all, you are the one who can write a slightly wrong prescription for his kid out of spite and —"
Cheeks flaring at the entendre in his voice, you blinked in shock, "What? I would never in my life do that!"
Naoya peacefully hold his hands out.
"Just saying, dove. I only want the best for you." Naoya's hand came to pinch your chin as he let his gaze roam over your face. Then a fake concern flashed on his face — you lifted a heavy gaze on your fiancé. "Saving you from an inevitable disappointment. No need to worry that pretty little head of yours about anything."
And then his tone deceived you into pretending sweetness, "You said you were bored?"
You answered it with an unblinking stare, which Naoya interpreted in his own way. As usual.
"Maybe it's high time for you to step into the wedding preparations. All I hear is endless chirping about napkins and lilies and the size of your obi sash. Why don't you join it? And while musing, maybe at least try to look for your engagement ring."
With that derisive scowl, your future husband leaned over to order something for your driver. And like that, the conversation ended.
Just like your pitiful attempts to become something that you weren't. A sandcastle that you carefully built crumbled in your hands, putting all your dillusions to an end.
Naive, little dove.
That was who you were, right?
Ache travelled down your cheeks in briny tears. They hit the pieces of your heart in lines and sketches, smudging them with sadness.
As the car finally stopped in front of a big house, screaming about quiet luxury, you quickly wiped all the signs of your life quietly falling apart. And when you stepped out of the car with your hand resting leisurely in the crook of Naoya's elbow, your smile only painted the image of a happy fiancée and a nice daughter.
The portfolio in the depths of your bag told another story.
For all the heavy air and weight of disappointment following your every step like an ominous shadow, you still preferred home walls to the bars of the Zenins' cage.
At least, you were in your territory.
Naoya had never been particularly interested in stepping into that place — perhaps he regarded it as settling to your level — but much to your surprise, he always accompanied you.
Deep down, you were well aware of the true reason; it was neither his affection nor understanding. Oh, no. Quite the opposite.
Your home greeted you with polite indifference.
If it had a face, you were sure it would wear the same expressionless look you often witnessed on your parents. A deep-buried bitterness surged inside at the sight of framed photos, depicting your family. The main guest was always their most beloved child — their business, its numerous triumphs and accomplishments. Its presence had always gnawed on you at the dinner table and hovered over, akin to a skilful executioner, with the axe of their expectations behind the back.
It was a competition you could never win.
As wounding as that realisation was, you swallowed it and every sharp remark to come.
After all, those crumbs were better than facing the silence.
Your mother joyously trilled something to Naoya, who listened to her with a mild interest. You were well aware that was the closest to politeness he was able to muster. As a lot of men tended to be, your future husband had never been keen on participating in "women's useless prattle".
But not as your father studied him with a scrutiny too unfitting for someone so blazenly indifferent.
At least, that was what you believed him to be.
Because lately, every time you stole a glance at your father as he talked to Naoya, you couldn't help but notice a mocking sparkle in his eyes. As if Naoya entertained him by the mere fact of his existence. You silently wondered if he was able to sense it, because your fiancé's attempts to earn his future father-in-law's approval were met with a quick grin and a curt nod more and more.
Of course, it wounded Naoya's pride and ego. Everyone had to be enamoured with your fiancé; a few tailored compliments and seemingly soft glances were usually enough. Naoya never bothered himself trying too much, though, just because he initially treated people like someone to use and discard later.
The only exception was you at the start of your relationships. He woven himself into your life with late-night strolls, dinners at the expensive restaurants, attentive gestures, and charming smiles. Until he made sure you were on the hook of his affection and in a constant state of craving more. Playing with you, testing the limits of your obedience and his own vanity, gave him a cruel sense of satisfaction.
Either way, some flattery and asking for business advice didn't fascinate your father into actually accepting Naoya. Sometimes your fiancé's disappointment and anger burst into spiteful remarks directed at you, although they quickly morphed into distant rambles as he understood how pathetic he might've looked. Trying to earn respect from the man who was supposed to give it to him on a silver platter.
If there was one thing you were certain about Naoya, that was his absolute despise to being looked down on.
You didn't know what game your father was playing — it might be just another mind game or whatever it was called in terms of business — but you enjoyed it inwardly nonetheless.
The clink of silvery cutlery followed soon after the usual exchanges among the whispers of pristine tablecloth and rivers of elite alcohol. Nayoa's shoulder brushed against yours every time he reached for whiskey. The gradual rise of his pitch matched the growing annoyance within you. You politely waved the maid every time she walked to your side with a glass.
"Ah, darling," your mother's cheeks were already painted red from numerous portions of Roku gin. Otherwise, she wouldn't be as kind as now. "Why don't you try this Roku gin? Torii-sama sent us the premium Sakura Bloom Edition, might as well try one!"
Your mother paused to pop a cherry in her mouth. Then her eyes comically widened as she shared a few curious glances with your aunties, earning tipsy giggles. Naoya's jaw tightened. "Your fiancé might not like your drinking! Silly me."
Your plastered smile twitched for a moment before you let a fake saccharine chuckle and nodded wordlessly. You knew better after the last gathering in the Zenins' estate.
Unknown to you, not only did Naoya watch you like a master, seeing his doll take the stage for the first time, but so did your father. His calm expression wavered for a moment before a usual mask slotted back into place.
"Darling." All the voices quietened as your father spoke up. Your grip on the fork tightened as you braced yourself and slowly dragged your eyes to meet his gaze, spine involuntarily straightening under its weight.
"Father?"
"Tell us about your…work," the last word left your father rather hesitantly as he absent-mindedly twirled a lavish whiskey glass between his fingers. Saying that surprised you would be an understatement: your work, the path you chose, instead of becoming another cog in their enormous corporate machine, had long been a touchy subject in your family. Your becoming a doctor was acceptable. But a paediatrician? It evoked a couple of arguments, but that was the most you could have ever received. From that moment, your profession hid between the pauses in conversations and was swept under the rug like a useless mention.
The voices around the table came to a complete halt, and even the lone clink of your cousin's spoon against the plate sounded shocked.
Trying to ignore the bewildered glances and especially the pointed glare of your fiancé at the lack of attention to his superb persona, you smiled corteously, "Thank you for asking, father. Everything is going nicely, and the kids are as healthy as they can be. Well, you know them. You don't keep an eye on them, and the next thing you do is blow on their scraped knees."
The table remained ominously silent after your attempted little joke. You cleared your throat and carried on, feeling Naoya piercing daggers into you.
"And, uhm, our department's well-financed, surprisingly! I suppose it's Naoya's achievement. He's on the board of the shareholders, if someone doesn't know," you hastily added. The paediatrics department was buzzing with a new juicy piece of gossip, exchanging knowing looks and conspirational whispers. Just like that, your fiancé once again bathed in the glory and adoration.
Meanwhile, you weren't even completely sure he actually showed up to those meetings.
Naoya straightened a little in his seat, sending a sleazy smirk to one of your distant relatives. Her cheeks went red immediately as she cast her gaze down on the plate.
"Yeah, dove is right." Naoya's speech had long already been slurred from the alcohol, straining his breath. Your jaw twitched with effort not to grimace as it fanned over your cheek. "No wonder they had such a big problem with money. I mean, they are looking after kids. Not even real doctors, if you catch my drift."
You were so shocked and astounded that you couldn't utter a single word.
"What?" Naoya shrugged indifferently as his gaze swept across the table to notice that some people were stunned as well. He quirked a brow at you. "You said it yourself, honey. That you felt so stupid talking to surgeons sometimes."
The humiliation snaked immediately in your chest and sank its teeth into your heart, until you bled quietly on the pristine white in front of you. The silver of the fine clutter caught light, showing you a reflection of smirking Naoya, even more distorted. Your grip on it tightened, but you still played your role, sending your father a jarred grin.
However, he looked past you. His brows knitted together in confusion and something suspiciously looking like seething anger. Shivers ran down your spine as your father finally muttered.
"And who do you consider a real doctor, Naoya?"
Naoya's smirk slowly wavered before vanishing completely; his cheeks went from painfully pale to slightly pink in a span of seconds, and for a death cup like him, it equated to a crimson bloom.
Clearing his throat, your future husband threw pointed glances at you.
You remained indifferent to his silent pleas.
The sight of your fiancé, trying to make his way out of a frying pan, brought a strange kind of contentment. You hid your smirk behind the glass.
He parted his lips to answer, only to be interrupted by the maid. She bowed in an apology, saying someone was calling you,
"That must be some parent. Excuse me," you quickly stood up and hurried to another room. Ah. You wished you could see Naoya humiliating himself in front of your family a bit longer. However, you still managed to mouth "thank you" to your father, who answered you with a quick nod.
Parents' calling you all the time wasn't anything sort of an usual, but seeing Gojo appearing on your screen sent your heart stammering against your ribs. Was something wrong with Megumi? Did he feel bad again? You were just about to discharge him and —
Before the wave of overthinking consumed you, you accepted the call, thumb hesitating over the button for a few seconds longer than needed.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Doc. I am so sorry to interrupt you, really. You must be busy," Gojo chuckled nervously. You noticed with a frown that his low voice had lost its usual smoothness: he sounded genuinely… worried. You had to cut off his words before they would turn into rambling.
"Don't worry. What happened? Is Megumi alright?"
"Megs is fine, it's —," a loud bark interrupted your conversation, earning a distressed groan from Gojo. "Shiro, for the love of God! Stop that!"
The dog's barks — as you presumed, Shiro's — grew even louder, and in a couple of seconds, playful yips followed as well.
"Kuro, no, I can't play with you right now!"
As much as you would've enjoyed that chaos in every other situation, your voice took on an urgent edge, calling for Gojo's attention back.
"Gojo, I need you to focus. What's wrong?"
The sounds of the crisis on the other side of the call quietened a little, and you could finally feel Gojo's voice, coming in a nervous breath, "It's Tsumiki."
"Okay. Is she nauseous? Has a temperature? Diarrhoea? Pale, blotchy skin?"
"She threw up a couple of times. We've been at the new place near their school, and then went to an amusement park. Yeah, wrong move, I know. No diarrhoea, no. A little bit pale, though." Gojo huffed nervously. You briefly imagined him carding fingers through his hair — you picked that habit of his during Megumi's admission.
Shaking your head, you interrupted Gojo again.
"What did she eat? Did you give her some meds?"
"She had a poke bowl with tuna. Pepsi. Sugar-free, if that's important. Cotton candy. I think it's cotton candy. It should be cotton candy, 'cause we all had those damn poke bowls. Honestly, it was too sweet, even for me."
Gojo's voice turned too distant all of a sudden. You figured he was checking on Tsumiki, given the worried edge in his tone. "We went home, and I gave her Pedialyte."
"Oh, that's great. You did right, actually. She should drink a lot and have plenty of rest."
"Dunno, Doc. She's not looking very good, and I —" A deep, sharp exhale that followed twisted something in your heart.
Swallowing nervously, you tightened your grip on the phone. "I'll check on her. Just send your address. I'll be there as soon as possible."
Gojo kept silent for some time, until you heard his quiet, strangely hesitant voice. "You sure? I don't want to interrupt whatever you might have, it's a Friday evening, after all. I can call an ambulance every time."
Already putting on your light coat, you gently murmured, "No, it's okay. Don't worry about it."
"I'll send my assistant after you."
You were already familiar with Gojo's assistant, a driver, and a planner — Ijichi. The poor guy looked perpetually stressed; you genuinely didn't want to cause him even more trouble.
"I'll get a taxi."
"But —"
"By the time he gets to me, I could've already been at yours."
Gojo reluctantly agreed, not capable of fighting your logic, and dropped his address. Your brows raised in a slight surprise.
With a quiet hum, you finally called a taxi, already grimacing at Naoya's possible reaction, as you hastily texted him an apology. His face, contorted in fury, especially after a confrontation with your father, sent shivers down your spine. A thought of backing down briefly crossed your mind, but you quickly shook it away. Not only because you were always keen on keeping your promises and the poor girl involved, but…
Watching the streets of Seijo pass you in quiet green parks, tennis courts, university campuses and elite buildings, you finally admitted to yourself.
That you longed to see Gojo.
His house met you with a daunting gateway and a robotic voice, calmly telling you to proceed further. A quick, examining look around the beautiful, well-tended yard made you wonder how many people worked there, but the sight of water guns scattered over the grass, as well as the picnic blanket on the grass, gave you a much better understanding of the family living there.
After hesitating a couple of seconds, you knocked.
You fully expected Gojo to greet you right that second. Instead, you heard a couple of barks, some intelligible mumbling, and the sound of something being knocked over, until the door finally opened, revealing Gojo and a white Labrador puppy, enthusiastically chewing on the man's trouser leg.
Hardly had you opened your mouth, when another puppy — that time a black one, albeit also a Labrador — jumped on you with a joyous yip. The puppy wiggled its tail with such speed that you sincerely worried about the poor doggie launching itself into space.
A joyful chuckle left you as you petted the puppy, cooing at him, "Hello to you, too!"
Gojo finally managed to get the white one off his leg and craddled it against his chest with a loud sigh. A couple of white strands were plastered to his forehead, and he quickly wiped it with his forearm.
"Hello, Doc. Kuro, come here. Don't jump on ladies like that," he mock scolded the black one, Kuro, and flashed you a tired grin. Kuro trotted back to Gojo. "We're gonna talk about it later, I swear. With you as well, right, little guy?" Gojo murmured to the white puppy, scratching him behind the ears and nodded towards you. "Meet Shiro!"
You beamed back in response and quickly looked around. "Where's Tsumiki?"
Gojo's expression changed in an instant, a frown crossing over his handsome face. "She's upstairs. You can use the bathroom there. Wait a minute, okay?"
Nodding nervously, you found your seat near the cream sofa. A white, fluffy carpet easily swallowed the sound of your footsteps. You sank into the comfort of the armchair nearby and let your gaze drift over the dog toys on the carpet, neatly folded colouring pages on the coffee table, a half-opened pack of coloured crayons, some book about dog breeds, and… wait, was it a pastry book? Nonetheless, Cédric Grolet's? Squinting, you only got convinced more about it: the sight of familiar lemons immediately caught your eye.
Nothing strange. He was a restaurant owner, after all. Broadening a worldview was useful for everyone.
Unless…
He picked it up after you mentioned it at the cafe.
Weird warmth blossomed in your chest, spreading through your veins like sunshine, mellow and bright.
Until a sudden thought of Naoya burnt you.
"Megs, why don't you have the puppies and play with them at the yard? I'll go check on Tsumiki." Gojo's loud voice startled you out of your hazy mind. Blinking, you returned to reality and watched the grumpy kid dragging his feet to Gojo. "Oh, and say hi to Doctor-sensei. She'll look at her too."
His words had Megumi stop mid-rubbing his eyes and stare at you with mild disbelief. Waving at him, you forced a smile. You couldn't let yourself dwell on your future husband and bathe in your misery in front of a kid.
"Hi, Megumi-kun! You feeling better?"
The boy blinked as well and shrugged in response. "I guess."
As driven by the force of gravity, your eyes immediately drifted to Gojo to find him already staring at you with a curious expression. Warmth curled on his lips, but his eyes remained sharp and focused. Your cheeks heated up.
Stuffy. It was stuffy.
One of the puppies barked.
Megumi briefly glanced at the dog, and for the first time, you saw a sincere smile spreading on his face. Then, he dragged his eyes back to you with a pensive, hesitant expression and asked quietly.
"Will Tsumiki be alright?"
Your chest tightened with emotions as you kneeled before the kid. He watched you carefully, but didn't speak up.
"She is alright, from what your uncle told me. Don't worry. He takes care of her." Letting yourself look at Gojo again, you noticed something indescribable flicker over his features before he smiled back, albeit strained. A weird feeling stirred within as you added, "Both of you, actually."
Something twitched behind the stone mask that Megumi's face was. A light pink coloured his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze.
"Alrighty, Megs," Gojo held the door open, and Kuro already jumped happily outside, followed by Shiro, wiggling his tail. "But not too long! You gotta be in bed till ten, and we are going to brush teeth together this time. You're not going to fool me anymore, little punk."
Megumi rolled his eyes, but the sparkle of mischief in them was a dead giveaway. "More like you are not going to fool me like the last time you ditched the irrigator —"
You watched the puppies immediately clinging to Megumi with cheerful yips as he stepped out — and looked at Gojo. Nothing in him, save only for the tension in his broad shoulders, revealed the quiet storm brewing inside.
Swallowing, you hurried to catch up to him.
"Tsumi-chan, how are you now?" Gojo's voice dropped to the gentle warmth you had yet to hear. He quietly closed the doors behind you both and walked to the girl. A little grin tugged at the corner of your lips at the sight of the barrage of meds on the bedside table.
"I feel better now, really. Thank you, Satoru-san. You don't have to worry about me so much."
"Oh, I absolutely do," huffing loudly, Gojo walked over and cleared his throat, telling Tsumiki your name. "Doctor-sensei treats Megumi."
Tsumiki murmured something to greet you, but her last words caught you off guard.
"Nice to meet you, sensei! Satoru-san told us about you."
Eyes widened, you shifted your gaze to Gojo, who was already checking Tsumiki's bunnies. "Really? Did he?"
"Oh, yeah! I know you're really good," she chuckled warmly, but then added hastily, "I don't think there's any need to check on me, I am completely fine!"
But after this, she grimaced quickly and gave up under Gojo's hardened gaze.
Tsumiki got a certain paleness to her skin as you examined her, but nothing unusual for the food poisoning, as you indeed figured it out.
"I think it was cotton candy," the girl murmured, sinking back into the bed. A quiet sigh left her lips. "It's a shame. I liked it."
"Oh, yeah," Gojo grumbled indistinctly from his place. "I'll never let you eat that stuff again, I swear."
The girl's eyes widened as she shared a startled look with you. "But you ate five portions all by yourself! It's not fair!"
Gojo shot her a quick look, though a teasing grin danced on his lips.
"It's not the same. I am an adult, and you are just a teeny tiny girl," he joked lightly, watching a white bunny devouring an applewood stick. "You're such a fatty, fella, I swear."
"Snow is not a fatty!" Tsumiki already jumped in to protect her precious pet. "Just…furry."
"Tsumi-chan, calm down a little. You'd better relax and have a rest," you murmured, while writing down recommendations for Gojo. "Your bunny's name is Snow?"
She nodded carefully, following your words, and twiddled with her fingers.
"Yes. Snow and Ball. The owners wanted to give Snow away, because, you know," she whispered and sniffled quietly. "He was not like other bunnies."
"Albino," Gojo interjected immediately. Almost absent-mindedly: his eyes were focused on the large constellation map on the wall, but you were sure he was listening more than attentively.
"So we took Snow in, and Satoru-san later brought us Ball! He lived on a Bunny Island, but now he's with us."
Your smile wavered, sinking into fragile softness as your hand squeezed Tsumiki's. Then your gaze found Gojo again, who was trying to use Tsumiki's telescope. The sight was quite funny, given Gojo's height and the telescope's design for kids.
Not looking away, you whispered, "Satoru-san is good to you."
"He is," the girl beamed at you, but then grew shy again. Clearing her throat, she asked whether you had some pets.
The bitterness instantly rose in your chest, flooding all the warmth.
Naoya didn't understand the concept of pets and anything that could steal your attention away.
That was your first big fight.
You were just a year together.
With gaze cast down, you shrugged, not aware that Gojo was watching you all the time. "Uhm, no, unfortunately, no. With my work…not quite possible."
"Oh. It's a shame," she sighed again. "But if you want to, you can come and play with my bunnies. And I am sure Megumi won't be against you playing with Kuro and Shiro. Right, Satoru-san?"
"Yeah." He answered without missing a beat. Your heart did a treacherous flip, slamming against your ribcage, and you breathed out with a weak grin.
"Thank you, Tsumi-chan. Get better soon, okay?"
"Make sure she's well-rested. I think she should feel better before Monday. A lot of drinks," you nodded at the paper in Gojo's hand. "Watch the vomit too, and basically just keep an eye on her. If there's a sudden tummy ache, call an ambulance. And call me just in case."
"Sure will do," Gojo murmured tiredly, carefully folding your note and tucking it into his notebook. A sharp pang of something you weren't ready to name yet shot through your heart. Quietly watching Gojo's brows furrow in thought as he turned the pages of his planner — probably filled with dozens of meetings, visits and even dates — you muttered your goodbyes with a full intention to slip quietly out of that lovely home.
Only to be stopped by a warm hand on your elbow.
"Where are you going to? It's late. Ijichi will drive you home."
Your phone was already buzzing with dozens of irritated texts from Naoya, and the thought of him seeing you leave another man's car made your insides churn.
Waving, you huffed a chuckle, "Ah, it's nothing, I'll take a taxi, and it's late!"
"He will be there in five minutes." Gojo casually shrugged your words off, already on its way to hold a door for you. "Come on, I'll walk you out."
The gusts of wind under the veil of tranquil twilight didn't bite you as usual; perhaps, it was Gojo's warmth shielding you from its coldness. Standing right beside him as you waited outside, you couldn't help but reminisce that evening with the British lighter.
An airy chuckle cut through the serenity between you. Gojo tore his gaze away from the star-spilt sky above, and his gentle murmur caressed the expanse of your skin. Even though he was standing a foot apart.
"What are you thinking about?"
Your smile deepened, but you shook your head in response. "Nothing much."
"Hey. Don't go shy on me, Doctor-sensei."
Despite the coldness of the evening, your cheeks flared up. "Telling about me to your kids?"
A soft smile spread on his face as he chuckled.
"Couldn't help. You're really a nice doctor."
"Well, thank you then."
He basked in a response you gave him — a widened gaze, a pink tint to your cheeks, and a little smile — until you went silent again.
Gojo tilted his head in a silent question — the harsh wind threw his white bangs all over his forehead. He didn't make any effort to brush them away; instead, he kept looking at you as if you were the only star gracing the heavens above. Beautiful. Observing.
Mysterious.
"I don't have the lighter on me now."
Startled, you abruptly burned and blinked, your huff dissolving into a light laugh. "And I don't have any cigs."
Gojo's smile deepened almost imperceptibly. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his warmth enveloping you tighter in its embrace. Nervously, you tucked the lone hair strand behind your ear. Glanced at the sky above, glimmering indifferently.
"Tsumiki likes stars, doesn't she? A whole map and a telescope in her room?" You murmured absent-mindedly, eyes lazily wandering from one celestial body to another.
Naoya didn't like stargazing.
"Ah, yes. A little scientist. She dreams about space and visiting some planets." At the mention of his niece, Gojo's gaze turned melancholic, albeit full of tenderness. "She's a nice girl. Kind and gentle."
At the sudden pensiveness, colouring his voice, you turned around. The wind threw your hair into your face, but you chose not to see anything but Gojo. Your voice came surprisingly steady.
"And you are a nice uncle. When I said to Megumi that you took good care of them, I didn't joke."
Your words clearly stunned Gojo; his eyes widened, and the dark blue of them shone so brightly under the lamplight that you let yourself drown in them all over again.
"You think so, Doc?"
Despite the lightness in his tone, you picked up the strained edge, the hesitance, and something weirdly resembling hope.
His hand twitched a little as you stepped closer and let your fingers tentatively brush against his. Gojo went still, and your quiet yet sure words nearly undid him.
"I know, Gojo."
His chest expanded with a sharp exhale. There was no way he could contain the overwhelming fullness in his chest that came with your presence. And as the honk of Ijichi's car erupted through the silence, he finally managed to find his words again.
"Thank you for coming. I… really appreciate that."
You just shook your head with a warm smile you wore so often. A strange gleam flashed in your gaze.
"No worries. I am glad to help."
For some reason, he couldn't tear his gaze away, and just watched the lonebeam caressing your features in a way he longed to.
The black car finally stopped in front of you. Gojo stepped to open the door for you and murmured.
"Good night. See you soon, right?"
"Right. Bye, Gojo."
And seeing the car slowly disappearing into the dark, Gojo let out a breath, carding his fingers through the hair as the realisation that had been hovering over him like a sword of Damocles finally hit him.
He was so fucked.
ੈ✩‧₊˚
The clock in your office almost struck two, marking your possible fifteen minutes for a break, but you were focused on a baby on the examination table. Softly pressing on the belly, you checked for any enlarged organs, only to give the parents an assuring nod.
"No signs of a hernia as well."
Your light tickles earned soft gurgles from the kid, and you couldn't help but lean down and coo, "Aw, you're such a little talker tonight, aren't you? Looking so happy out here."
The baby babbled something again, flailing their pudgy arms, and gave you a little grin. Your hands softly brushed over the kid's legs to move them over.
"No problems with hip joints! Your baby is completely healthy." A relaxed smile made its way on your face as well, seeing the little girl's parents breathe out in relief.
"Doctor-sensei, we were thinking about introducing Kiki-chan to solid foods," Kiki-chan's mother squirmed in her seat, while her father attempted to put a pacifier in her mouth. The baby protested with a huff.
Humming under your breath, you went through the baby's medical record. "Honestly, it's better you wait a little. I will give you proper recommendations when the time comes. It's usually around 6 months. Meanwhile, remember to have the vitamin D supplement I was talking about."
"Ah, yes. I wanted to ask if 400 IU daily is alright?" Ito-san's voice sounded a bit strained, as Kiki-chan curiously attempted to tug on her mom's hair.
"Totally fine."
Shortly after answering a couple of questions more and reminding the parents to call you in case something suspicious arises, you bid your goodbyes to the family.
Exhausted, you massaged your temples and decided to take a quick nap before a meeting, only to be interrupted by the knock. No urgency, though. No hesitation.
Frowning, you called out to come in, already straightening in your seat. Might've been another emergency, since you didn't have anything more scheduled before the endless Yaga's droning.
The door opened, revealing the emergency himself. The emergency bore a smile, able to disperse any signs of an impending grimness; his hair flashed bright white under the light, and the blue of his gaze pulled you into its ripples just like the day that emergency walked into your life.
Your heart slammed against your ribs, pulse roared in your temples with deafening force, as you stared back at Gojo. Megumi had been charged some time ago, but the lie would've tasted sour if you said Gojo didn't cross your mind. Maybe something happened to Tsumiki?
Sometimes, when the evenings pinned you down with their weight of loneliness, as you stared at Naoya's back blanky, the memories flushed in your mind. You kept every smile, every glance, every bruf of fingers and every word close to your heart, akin to the precious gems.
Then, as Naoya's lips would press a claim on your skin and his fingertips would burn another into your soul, you pulled them out with the utmost care.
Somehow managing to compose yourself, you forced a grin that Gojo would find a pleasant one, at least, "Hi! What are you doing here? Oh, have a seat, would you?"
Gojo's grin deepened, and he sank into the chair in front of you.
"Long time no see, Doc. No-no, everything is okay with kids, don't worry," he hastily added, seeing concern immediately taking over your face.
"Oh." You blinked in surprise. Cleared your throat. Tried not to look as nosy as you felt. Twiddled with a kitten figurine on your table. Finally breathed out.
"Not to be rude or anything, but…what are you doing here then?"
His white brows knitted together as he managed to huff a chuckle. It slowly died under your inquiring gaze.
"You don't know?"
Briefly closing your eyes at the sense of migraine slowly crawling back to make your life even more miserable, you murmured, "Know what?"
The bright grin on Gojo's face wavered, but his voice came out surprisingly soft. As if he were trying to soothe you by the mere tone alone.
"I am on the board of shareholders now. I thought you might've known by now. But it's even better! I am telling you myself."
Brows flying to your hairline in surprise, you breathed out a quiet, shocked chuckle. The gentle sun — as bright as Gojo's radiant grin — warmed your soul in hesitant rays of fondness.
"Really? That's so great! I didn't even hear —"
Naoya didn't bother to mention it to you.
Your smile slowly vanished as the clouds of despair slowly fogged that very sun.
Gojo, who had already helped himself to a candy, suddenly looked up. "Didn't even hear…?"
If you were a lot more braver, you wouldn't let hesitance shake you to the very core. Expose you for who you truly were.
A dove. A naive, frightened dove.
The knife of Naoya's disdainful whisper slowly twisted between your ribs once again, leaving the droplets of something that used to be your affection spilling in crimson paths of sorrow and ache.
"Doc? You good?"
You would've told Gojo everything.
Instead, you gave him a jarred grin.
"Doesn't matter. So, what's the thing for you here?"
His gaze narrowed suspiciously, but he decided not to press further.
"I thought it was a good opportunity. Non-profit management, something like that. You took good care of Megumi, and I was already thinking about," his gaze swept across your room, pausing at the sweets, the examination table, the posters on the walls and the box with toys. The very same you fished Megumi's plushie from. "Contributing to society, all that jazz."
Something in his deliberately light tone told you that you weren't the one to have secrets. With a curious hum, you leaned over, tapping on your chin in mock thoughtfulness.
"Weren't you the one saying that you didn't like meetings and everything?"
Gojo paused, his eyes briefly flicking to your face to gauge your reaction; he saw none, besides an intrigue, dancing in your gaze.
Oh. That was how you wanted to play, huh?
He slowly mirrored your grin, lazily tilting his head. "I am okay if that's for the good."
"It's for the good, then?"
His smile widened, giving you a good look at his dimples.
Giving Gojo the last suspicious glance, you leaned back.
He cleared his throat.
"So, if you have something to say or ask for... you can tell me. Within reasonable limits, of course."
"I'll keep it in mind."
Your pager beeped loudly again, putting your conversation to a halt. With a heavy sigh, you hid it and rose from your seat.
"Did something happen?" Gojo inquired with the same curious, albeit soft gaze that had been silently caressing you the entire conversation.
Stifling a sigh and your urge to ditch the whole thing, you admitted begrudgingly, "No, not at all. Just the department's meeting."
"Oh," he hummed incredulously, but his gaze was still firmly set on you. You decided to get through your notes just not to feel its weight. It never failed to send shivers down your spine.
"You've already met Yaga-san, the department's director, I suppose?"
An attempt to briefly switch the topic and the nervous tone didn't go unnoticed by Gojo.
As well as the slightest twitch of your fingers, when you meticulously tucked all the notes into one neat pile.
"Yeah. He's...an interesting guy. I would say more like a businessman type. Talks about the financing and the sponsor's attraction."
Gojo's words earned an airy chuckle from you.
"Oh, he can talk about it day and night, I swear."
"That he can," he agreed, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Still, I think he cares about all of you. The finances topic is surely one of the hottest on the board meeting."
"That's why I am not really sure why you decided to join it — ah, shit!"
One clumsy turn and a misguided step — god, sometimes Naoya was right: you really felt like having two left feet — and the carefully arranged notes went scattered on your floor like birds trying to escape.
"Damn, I am so clumsy." Kneeling immediately, you murmured under your breath and stilled, feeling Gojo's finger brush gingerly against yours as he handed you one of the vaccination reports. The time completely paused around you: the thick, heavy substance enveloping both of you.
The world closed in on the blue in his eyes. Spilt heavens, simmering waves of an ocean, June sky, when the world's radiance blinded with its brightness, merged into the tint that dulled every other colour for you. Took you to another world, even just for a fleeting moment.
"Oh, look at that. Is that...wait, is that yours?"
Your head immediately snapped towards Gojo, and you saw him holding that small, pathetic makeshift portfolio — the one you probably pulled out just to throw away, but the thought slipped away from your tired mind just like usual.
The heat of humiliation, mixed with embarrassment, exploded within you in a painful red. Helplessly blinking, you forced a pathetic chuckle.
"Oh, that? No, it's — "
And then why did you carry that binder around, huh? Think, think, think!
Your mind desperately scrambled for a plausible explanation, but after some debating, you surrendered to his gaze.
"Yes. These are mine. It's nothing special, though. Some lazy, stupid doodles."
Gojo frowned instantly at the belittlement curling in your voice like a berated animal. He slowly rose to his height and murmured in bewilderment.
"You're joking, right?"
You blinked. Blinked again. Didn't think of anything better than to stare at Gojo as you had seen him for the first time. Stare at him carefully going through the binder. Stare at the light wrinkle between his brows, knitted in concentration. Stare at his lips until they parted and uttered the words that knocked all the air from your lungs.
"These are wonderful!"
The pager beeped again to remind you about the upcoming meeting, but all your being shrinked to the little folder in Gojo's hands.
Naoya's words about wasting your time immediately flared up, and you straightened as well to make a grab for the photos.
"It's nothing special. Really. Just a bunch of stuff."
Gojo dragged his shocked gaze from the portfolio back to you and let you have the damn binder. You would throw it away the first thing after the meeting.
To which, in fact, you should've hurried long ago.
"I have to go."
Gojo watched your figure moving around with the newly acquired urgency. As if you had been trying to shake any remnants of the intimacy that had just unfolded around you.
His eyes searched your face with a quiet, almost aching attention, until he finally muttered.
"Did I say something wrong?"
No.
No.
Don't say that.
Don't do that to me.
A cruel beast crawled up your veins to clutch your insides in a freezing grip, while fear and regret trapped your lone heartbeat.
Gojo didn't say anything, instead letting his eyes talk, but you were too occupied with your own thoughts to hear him.
Eventually, he stepped back with a quiet sigh, and the thinly veiled frustration in his voice caused your heart to sink.
"I am sorry. I didn't mean to go overboard in any way. I'll leave you alone."
The sight of Gojo's broad shoulders slumped in the slightest bitterness cracked something in your chest.
The pager went off again with a loud beep.
"I really have to go."
Gojo only gave you a curt nod, and all the time you were closing your office, you felt the weight of his gaze pinning you down.
A hundred words rested just on the tip of your tongue. Instead, you settled on a quiet, hesitant apology, gently grazing his elbow.
"I am sorry. It's not this. You haven't done anything wrong."
He turned almost immediately at your words, but as much as he wanted to ask more — so, so much more than you were ready to offer — he stilled. And prompted gently.
"Then what is it?"
You sucked in a sharp exhale, just to —
"Dove? There you are!"
For the reason to appear himself.
The look of pure panic on your face the second the voice reached you made Gojo frown. Then your frightened gaze flicked to him.
The crowd around you parted slightly, revealing a man. Gojo caught a couple of fond gazes shared between the nurses, but that couldn't bother him less.
The immediate self-conscious curve of your shoulders, paired with the stiffness of your moves, when the guy pulled you closer without any words, concerned Gojo way more.
"Dove. What did I say about answering my calls? I don't want to look around for you all over the hospital. I am way too busy for this."
The arrogant, disdainful voice of that prick immediately grated on Gojo's nerves. The tone was not suitable even for berating a pet, let alone talking to a human being. Someone supposedly beloved.
Gojo's jaw tightened. He was about to step in when you swiftly interjected with a grin too wide to be sincere. Your hand on the man's arm didn't promise any good.
The guy turned to Gojo's side and stilled for a moment, quirking a brow.
"Darling," your tone sounded so weird, Gojo barely recognised it — something like the plea to an executioner to give you the last glimpses of freedom. "This is Gojo Satoru. He's on the board of the shareholders as well."
The prick slowly tilted his head, dragging his gaze over Gojo in silent yet sharp examination. Then a weird gleam flushed in his eyes as they slightly widened in recognition.
That scowl and barely masked derision on his face had stirred something distant in Gojo's memory, but the whole image remained blurry. Until you introduced him as well, piercing all the pieces.
"This is Zenin Naoya. My..."
Naoya didn't appreciate your pause and flashed an arrogant smirk.
"Her fiancé."
Zenin.
Right. Of course.
The surname that was such a frequent guest at all the gatherings Gojo used to attend. He felt an immediate wave of repulsion towards that prick, but managed to mask it with a slightly narrowed gaze, simply out of respect for you.
Gojo heard a lot about the Zenins back then, when his piece carried some value in his parents' game. Even now, some rumours still managed to reach him, despite all the efforts.
If any of them were true about the young Zenin heir…
Fiancé.
Gods. He put all the details — your empty stares, self-deprecating jokes, occasional flinches, even the earlier reaction to his compliment to your drawing — with terrifying clarity.
Puzzles finally slotted into the frame that your fiancé forced you into. Everything made sense now.
Quickly closing his eyes to compose himself, Gojo immediately opened them, forced by the hesitance in your tone.
"You should've met at the board's meeting, I suppose," your gaze flickered nervously between Gojo and Naoya in an attempt to quickly assess the surroundings. The air was growing thicker with each passing second: the whispers around rose in frequency, while Gojo's gaze narrowed even more deadly, and Naoya's smirk turned maliciously sharper.
The muscle in Gojo's jaw tightened.
"It's always a great opportunity to meet another member of the respected clan," Naoya tilted his head just a tad, but the harsh look in his eyes didn't melt even for a second. "Even though he somehow busied my little dove so much, she forgot to check her phone, huh?"
The scene he would certainly cause you later flashed before your eyes. You managed to offer some apologetic murmur before Naoya cut you off with a single word.
"Quiet."
Wordlessly, you dropped your gaze. One word shaped you into a person so meek that you barely resembled the woman Gojo slowly came to know.
His blood boiled at the sight, but the look he gave Naoya was enough to freeze hell.
"Can't say the same, Zenin."
Naoya stilled. His smirk slowly wavered, but then a low, amused chuckle left him, followed by the words dipped in poison.
"Oh? I suppose other respected clans didn't care about teaching their heirs proper manners, did they, Satoru-kun?"
The crowd around went completely silent, as if someone stole their voices. Even the sounds of pagers and rhythmic taps on the keyboard quietened. A few glares landed on you, and you could already hear your colleagues clicking their tongues in annoyance.
Again, never directed at Naoya.
Nothing changed in Gojo's face as he simply raised his chin and drawled with an infuriating smirk, "Have you learnt any before talking to your future wife, huh?"
Your head snapped immediately at the sound of his voice. Your lips parted to force some excuse.
You had none.
As well as Naoya.
His cheeks paled in an instant, but the tips of his ears blushed pink. No wonder — another humiliation from a man, let alone a man, defending you.
That act of disgrace Naoya couldn't bear.
Seething inside, he surprisingly gently tugged you closer and whispered, "We'll talk about it later, sweetheart."
As Gojo watched your figures retreat, he caught the wide-eyed gaze you sent him over your shoulder, full of so much remorse, that it twisted something violently in his chest.
synopsis. satoru is a bonafide genius. he’s got the perfect transcript and ten-year plan to prove it. he knows how to keep his head down and avoid the chaos his twin thrives in. so when the unofficial frat princess sets her sights on him, he knows there’s a catch. he just doesn’t figure out what it is until he’s already fallen for her
pairing. nerd! satoru gojo x popular! fem! reader. ✶ contents. sfw! college + gojo twins au ⇢ fratjo’s called souta. a whole lot of lying + deception. satoru still runs a strict program ˖ ࣪ . ࿐
sundays are supposed to be the days of rest. you certainly need some after the series of unfortunate events you’ve endured this weekend. the last forty-eight hours have been a special version of hell, curated just for you.
( commencing with toji fushiguro breaking up with you, of course, followed by the nauseating sight of him parading his new sorority girl around the party like she was a prize he’d just won at a fair. then came your reckless, alcohol-and-insecurity-fueled decision, the bet. and the grand finale: the coffee incident. )
it’s safe to say you’re running on fumes, a hollowed-out version of yourself powered by nothing but spite and your daily dose of caffeine as you trudge toward the engineering library to meet none other than satoru.
the air conditioning hits you the moment you step through the heavy glass doors, raising goosebumps along your bare arms.
yesterday was an absolute failure. it proved that satoru gojo isn’t just difficult, he’s genuinely a completely different species. one that prefers physics lessons to clumsy flirting.
according to shoko, academia is the only way to his heart. she’d painted a vivid picture of him during your debrief, her cigarette smoke curling lazily around the dorm room like a ghost. the orange glow of the tip had flickered in time with her words, casting shadows across the poster-covered walls.
“he doesn’t understand the concept of rest,” she’d said, her voice a mix of awe and pity, like she was describing a zoo animal. “he’s so smart he doesn’t actually need to study but for some reason it’s all he chooses to do. if he isn’t in the lab, he’s in a library learning next year’s syllabus.”
“and now,” she’d sighed, leaning against your doorframe, “he’s trying to get some biomedical engineering internship. so he’s even more locked in than usual. like, scarily locked in. like, i don’t think he’s slept in weeks locked in. . .”
( an internship. of course. because being top of the dean’s list and a member of the cum laude society isn’t enough for satoru gojo. he has to be top of the dean’s list and a member of the cum laude society with a resume so shiny it probably glows in the dark.
you wonder what it’s like to be that driven, that focused, to have a brain that isn’t constantly at war with itself. and here’s satoru gojo, probably close to solving the mysteries of the universe while you can’t even solve the mystery of why your relationships never last.
the thought of him, with his perfect grades and his perfect future and his stupidly perfect face, makes you want to simultaneously punch him and. . . well. you try not to think too hard about the other part. )
“we’re covering quantum and nuclear physics in class right now,” shoko’d continued, her eyes gleaming with sleep deprivation and nicotine. “he’s great at both, he got a hundred on the test last week so act like you’re lost and he won’t be able to resist showing off. his ego won’t let him.”
“act like you’re lost,” you’d echoed, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, “shoko, i don’t have to act. i am lost. i just read the same wikipedia page like six or seven times and i still can’t tell you what a quark or lepton is”
she’d just laughed, a cloud of smoke escaping her lips as she handed you a textbook so heavy you thought your arm would snap clean off. “you’ll be fine,” she’d said, “just nod and look pretty. and maybe cry a little. guys love that. it’ll be a piece of cake”
( easy for her to say. she’s not the one who has sit next to a guy who probably only speaks in equations and somehow make herself seem like a credible physics student. )
the library is practically empty. only a few lights are on, casting pools of yellow across old wooden tables. it’s perpetually silent, making you hyperaware of every sound your body makes. you feel so, so out of place.
you see satoru before he sees you, of course. he’s exactly where shoko said he’d be, tucked away in a corner booth. wearing a simple black hoodie and jeans. the most basic outfit imaginable, but he looks like he should be on the front cover of vogue. it’s annoying.
he’s so completely absorbed in his work, for a moment, you just watch him from behind a shelf, your fingers curled around the spine of the textbook you have zero intention of ever opening once you win this bet.
( for a split second, you feel a pang of something that feels suspiciously like jealousy. you’re not jealous of his intelligence, but of his passion. of his ability to lose himself in something so completely. what’s that like ? to have something that consumes you so wholly ? to care about something so much that the rest of the world just . . fades away ?
you can’t relate. you’ve never been able to relate. you’re suddenly very aware of the gap between you and satoru. it’s not just about intelligence. not really. it’s more about depth. he has so much of it. you’re not sure you do )
you take a deep breath, heart fluttering against your ribs. you can do this. you’re a social butterfly. you can talk to anyone. you’ve charmed your way out of parking tickets and talked your way into parties you had no business attending as a freshman. you just have to walk over there and. . . talk. it’s simple. it’s just talking.
“hey . . . ” you hover for a moment, fingers drumming against the strap of your tote bag. you clear your throat. nothing. not even a flinch. you try again, a little louder, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet space. someone will shush you any second now . . .
he finally sighs, a sound of pure irritation, like you’ve personally offended him by approaching him. slowly, like every second he’s not spending on his work is killing him, he pulls his navy blue headphones down to rest around his neck. the faint, tinny sound of what you’re positive is minecraft music cuts off mid-note.
“no, coffee girl,” he says, like he’s swatting away a fly. “i’m not going to give you souta’s number. or help you get with him. i have more important things to do.”
you can feel your blood boiling. coffee girl ? seriously ? after the soul-crushing, ego-destroying performance you’d put on at the cafe, you’d hoped – prayed – that he’d at least have the decency to forget your face. but no. he remembers. and to top it all off, he’s given you a humiliating nickname, one that will probably haunt you for the rest of your college experience.
and the assumption that you’re here for souta, of all people ? it’s insulting. souta was a nice enough guy, you guess, but he’s about as interesting as a slice of bread.
he’d once talked about his collection of soccer jerseys for forty-five minutes at a party. forty-five minutes. you’d rather eat a pile of glass shards than date him. again.
you have to physically stop yourself from reaching over and slapping that smug, unbothered look right off satoru’s stupid, pretty face. pretty ? no. not pretty. petulant. annoying. his face is annoying. that’s the adjective you’re going with. your nose scrunches up in disgust before you can stop it, a reaction that you hope reads as ‘how dare you’ and not, ‘i’m constipated.’
“i would hope not,” you retort, your voice cutting through the library’s silence like a knife. “i’m here for you to help me out with physics. shoko says you’re the best in her class.”
“shoko ?” at that, his head snaps up, and those blue eyes finally meet yours. they’re even more intense than they were at the cafe, a startlingly bright shade that seems to see right through you, like he’s reading your soul’s source code and finding it full of malware
( shoko ieiri, the cynical pre-med student who sits in the back of his lecture hall, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else, like the room is slowly draining the life force from her body. he’s always had grudging respect for her. she’s smart, but she doesn’t feel the need to announce it to the world.
you being friends with shoko is a variable he hadn’t accounted for. he scrutinizes you, who nearly spilled coffee all over his laptop and are now standing in his library, his sanctuary, demanding his help.
you’re really pretty, he’ll give you that. in a sorority-girl kind of way. all bright colors and energy and a smile that probably gets you into places you shouldn’t be. but you’re not his type. not that he really has a type. he doesn’t have time for a type. he has equations to solve and a future to build and an internship to land. )
“she’s my roommate,” you say, trying to sound casual, like your heart isn’t currently attempting to escape through your ribcage.
“so why are you here then ?” he asks, his voice laced with suspicion, eyes narrowing slightly. “wouldn’t it make more sense for her to tutor you ?”
( it’s a good question, he thinks to himself. why are you here, coffee girl ? what do you want from him ? are you trying to get him to do your homework ? is this some sorority initiation ritual ? an elaborate prank ? he wouldn’t put it past shoko. she’s got a sense of humor that’s as sharp as a scalpel. but you. . . you don’t look like you’re joking. you look . . . desperate. genuinely, desperate. there’s a tremor in your hands, barely visible, and you’re not looking him in the eye. interesting. very interesting. )
“well, she said you’d be more helpful,” you sigh, launching into the story you and shoko had rehearsed until you could recite it in your sleep. you let your shoulders slump, trying to project an air of genuine desperation, which honestly isn’t much of a stretch because you do need him to take the bait. “look, i failed the first quiz on quantum physics, and i won’t be able to join my dream sorority if i don’t get my grade back up soon. i really need your help, and i know your family’s like, super rich, but i’ll still pay you.”
you’ve never felt or sounded more desperate and dishonest in your life but his walls are up so high, and you’re standing outside with a plastic spoon, trying to dig your way in.
( if you can’t convince him to tutor you, how the hell are you supposed to coax him into falling in love with you in the next eight days ? you might be completely, utterly fucked. )
a flicker of something – pity ? amusement ? the faintest trace of both ? – crosses his face like a cloud passing over the sun. is that really the best you could come up with ? it’s so. . .shallow. so. . . sorority girl. but you look sincere. your hands are trembling, just a little, and you’re picking at the strap of your bag like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
( the offer of money is just . . . insulting. do you really think his time is so cheap ? that he can be bought like a vending machine snack ? )
he’s about to send you away, to tell you to go bother someone else, to go find some other poor soul to torment with your inability to grasp basic physics. but then he thinks of ijichi. poor, lovesick ijichi, who spends his days pining after shoko ieiri like a lost puppy and his nights playing world of warcraft in the dark, his face illuminated only by the blue glow of his monitor. he needs to get out. he needs a life. he needs to talk to a girl who isn’t an npc. and you. . .coffee girl, with your trembling hands and your desperate eyes. . .you’re his ticket to paradise.
“i don’t need your money,” he frowns, and the casual dismissal of your offer stings more than it should. you gape at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“then what can i give you in return ?”
“peace and quiet,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear, he looks you up and down, a long, assessing sweep of his eyes that makes you feel like a bug under a microscope, pinned and squirming. then, the kind of look a chess player gives the board before making a decisive move crosses his face. “you’re close with shoko, right ?” he asks.
you nod, wary, unsure where this is going. does he have a crush on her ? you really hope that isn’t the case. it’ll certainly make the bet a lot more difficult.
“well, my roommate has a thing for her,” he says, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial level, like he’s sharing classified information. you let out a huge sigh of relief. “if i tutor you, introduce them or something. but obviously,” he adds, his eyes narrowing, “don’t tell her he has a thing for her. ijichi’s. . . down bad. and he’s not the best when it comes to girls.”
( ijichi, he thinks. poor guy. he’s a brilliant coder, one of the best he’s ever seen, but he can’t even order a pizza without having a mini panic attack about whether to say ‘i’d like’ or ‘can i get.’
shoko ieiri would eat him alive. she’d chew him up and spit him out before he even finished his first sentence. but maybe. . .maybe that’s what he needs. a little danger in his perfectly ordered, perfectly boring life. and you. . . you’re clearly good at this kind of thing. social engineering. it’s a skill satoru doesn’t have, doesn’t understand, and doesn’t particularly want to. but he can appreciate its value.
it’s a win-win. he gets ijichi out of his dorm, and he gets a little peace and quiet. and he’ll score brownie points with yaga for tutoring another helpless student. it’s perfect. almost too perfect. )
your eyes light up with glee, a spark of genuine excitement cutting through your anxiety. you can win the bet and possibly play cupid ? what more could you ask for ? this is the universe throwing you a bone, “deal,” you grin, sticking out your hand like you’re sealing a business agreement.
he shakes it, his grip firm and surprisingly warm, his palm dry and steady against your soft, nervous one. your hand is soft, he thinks, a little surprised by the sensation. and small. so much smaller than his. it feels strange in his, like holding a baby bird, delicate and fragile.
he pulls away quickly, a little flustered by the thought, by the unexpected intimacy of the contact. he’s not used to physical contact. not unless it’s a handshake with a professor or a pat on the back from souta. this is. . . different. warmer. more personal. and he doesn’t like it. not one bit. or maybe he likes it too much. which is worse.
“don’t screw this up for him.” he warns
“wouldn’t dream of it,” you grin, already plopping down in the seat next to him, the chair scraping against the floor with a sound that makes him wince. he shifts his sleek laptop to the side with a reluctant sigh, and you dump shoko’s heavy textbooks onto the table with a thud that reverberates through the quiet library, earning you a glare so sharp it could cut glass.
( you’re like a whirlwind, he thinks, watching you settle into your seat with the kind of restless energy that makes him tired just looking at you. you’re the complete opposite of him. of everything he knows.
he’s not sure how he feels about it. but he’s intrigued. against his better judgment, against every instinct that tells him to send you packing, he’s intrigued. it’s like watching a storm approach from a distance. he knows it’s going to be disruptive. he knows it’s going to make a mess. but he can’t look away )
“i’ve never seen you in the lecture hall before,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning your face, searching for cracks in your story.
“i always sit in the back,” you lie smoothly, the words dripping off your tongue like honey. “who’s your professor ?”
“yaga.”
“ah, well, i have gakuganji.”
satoru lets out a short, humorless laugh, a sound that’s more exasperation than amusement. “that makes a lot of sense,” he says. “i’ve heard terrible things about his lectures. he was supposed to be my professor, but all of his slots clashed with my engineering lectures. looks like i dodged a bullet.”
( he thinks gakuganji is nothing short of a fossil, a relic from a bygone era of education. he probably still thinks the atom is the smallest particle and that pluto is still a planet. no wonder you’re failing. poor coffee girl. you don’t stand a chance. not with that dinosaur as your professor.
he feels a strange surge of something. . . protectiveness ? no. that’s not it. that’s too soft, too sentimental. it’s more like. . . determination. he can’t let you fail. not when your failure is a reflection on his field. on his profession. on the subject he loves more than anything. he has to help you. he has to. it’s a matter of his pride. nothing more. nothing less. definitely nothing more. )
and then he starts from the very basics of nuclear physics. you thought this part would be like watching paint dry, a slow, painful torture session where you’d have to fight to keep your eyes open and your brain from leaking out of your ears. but satoru is surprisingly good at explaining stuff. he breaks down complex concepts into simple, comprehensible parts, his voice low and steady, like a river smoothing over stones.
he’s so smart it’s almost infuriating, the way the knowledge seems to flow from him effortlessly, like he’s not even trying, like he was born understanding the fundamental forces of the universe. his writing is perfect – of course it is – all even, blocky print like a microsoft font, each letter uniform, like he’d somehow managed to train his hand to be a printer.
he rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie, revealing strong, toned forearms, muscles shifting beneath his skin as he writes, his arm brushing against yours as he leans over your notebook to write out the basic formulas. a jolt goes through you, you feel like you’ve touched a live wire, and you suddenly realize he’s actually really hot.
not in the obvious, flashy way of the guys you usually go for, all charm and cologne and carefully cultivated swagger. it’s deeper than that. wayyy deeper. it’s the way his brow furrows when he’s concentrating, the way his long fingers wrap around the pen, the way he talks with his hands, tracing patterns in the air. and he smells really good, like clean laundry, like coffee, cinnamon and cedar. it makes you smile despite yourself.
he’s surprised to find that you’re actually listening. you’re not just nodding along, eyes glazed over with boredom. you’re asking questions. good questions, even. questions that show you’re paying attention, that you’re trying to understand, that you’re not just here to waste his time.
you’re smarter than you look. not that you look dumb. you look. . . well, you look like a sorority girl. all carefully applied makeup and perfect hair. but there’s a sharpness in your eyes that he didn’t notice before. curiosity. it’s. . . refreshing. he’s so used to people just accepting what he says, to them being intimidated by his intelligence, nodding along like bobbleheads without actually understanding a word he’s saying. but you’re not.
you’re challenging him. in your own way. you’re pushing back, asking why, demanding explanations that go beyond the surface. and he likes it. he likes it a lot. which is dangerous. which is a problem. he doesn’t have time for problems. he has equations to solve and an internship to land and a future to build. but here he is, enjoying himself, actually enjoying tutoring you, of watching understanding dawn on your face like the sun rising over a dark landscape. it’s. . . nice. oddly nice.
he tutors you for an hour, the time slipping by in a haze of equations and explanations, before making you solve a few problems.
you sit there fidgeting, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your sternum, while he grades your work, his purple pen moving across the page with methodical precision.
you’re actually scared, genuinely, bone-deep scared, because you really don’t know much about physics, and it took you a while to answer the questions, your brain working overtime to apply the concepts he’d just explained. they were mostly theoretical, which was fine, thanks to shoko’s crash course and your own ability to bullshit your way through abstract concepts. but you’re terrified for when he whips out the big equations, the ones with letters and symbols that look more like ancient hieroglyphics than math.
you get a little more than half of them completely correct, with a few half marks here and there for partial understanding. satoru’s got his work cut out for him. but he just sighs, a long, slow exhale that ruffles the hair that’s fallen across his forehead, and makes a few notes in the margin of the paper in his perfect, printer-like handwriting.
“not terrible,” he says, and it feels like the highest praise you’ve ever received, like you’ve just been awarded a nobel prize by the most critical judge in the world.
( seventy percent, he thinks. that’s . . . not bad. considering you’re stuck with the worst professor he’s ever come across and the fact you’ve probably never understood a physics class in your life, or at least that’s the impression you give with your wide eyes and your “what’s a quark” energy.
you’re a quick study. you pick things up fast, faster than he expected. he’s almost impressed. almost. he’s still not sure what to make of you.
you’re like a puzzle. a really beautiful one with a lot of pieces. and he’s always loved a good puzzle. which is exactly why he should stay away. puzzles are distractions. distractions are dangerous. and he can’t afford to be distracted right now. not with the internship on the line. not with his future hanging in the balance.
but here he is, already looking forward to your next session, already wondering what questions you’ll ask, what insights you’ll have, what new and unexpected thing you’ll do to throw him off balance.
it’s insane. he’s satoru gojo. he doesn’t have time for this. for you. for the way you make him feel like the world is bigger and brighter and more chaotic than he could have ever imagined. but he can’t help it. you’re like a virus, infecting his perfectly ordered world with your soft hands and sharp, curious eyes. he’s in trouble. he knows he’s in trouble. and he has no idea what to do about it.
“i have to go wrap up some stuff in the lab” his voice is regretful but firm, “you can meet me here tomorrow,” he says, already packing his bag with the same methodical precision he applies to everything. “same time. don’t be late. i’ve got a lot on my plate.”
“that rhymes,” you quip, unable to help yourself, the words slipping out before your brain can catch them. he withers, his expression going so flat and blank that you almost laugh, a sound you have to bite back by pressing your lips together hard. he’s trying not to laugh too.
( you’re so. . . annoying, he thinks. but you’re also. . . kind of funny. in a ridiculous, juvenile, dad-joke kind of way. he shouldn’t encourage you. shouldn’t indulge in your antics. he should just ignore you. but he can’t.
he’s really looking forward to your next session. he’s already smiling in spite of himself. you’re infectious. and the worst part is, he doesn’t even mind. he’s not even trying to fight off the virus anymore. he’s just. . . letting it happen. letting you happen to him. )
he’s gathering his belongings and slinging his bag over his shoulder when he pauses, his hand hovering over the zipper of his bag. “i just realized i don’t even know your name. . .what is it ?”
the question, so fundamental, catches you off guard. of course he doesn’t know your name. why would he ? he recognizes you from the cafe incident and the few frat parties he’s been forced to attend, but he’s never had a reason to learn it.
you avoid his azure gaze as you tell him. he echoes it out loud, testing it on his tongue, rolling the syllables around like he’s tasting a new flavor. he repeats it slowly, carefully, like he’s committing it to memory, and the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine.
“it’s a lot nicer than coffee girl” he says, his eyes meeting yours for the first time without a hint of arrogance, without a trace of that smug, dismissive mask he’s been wearing all afternoon. they’re so. . . open. blue and bright. “sorry for calling you that, and for assuming you wanted me to help you get with souta. that’s typically what girls come up to me for. that or they want me to do their homework.”
a wave of regret washes over him like cold water. why did he say that ? now he sounds like a loser. you probably think he’s in the same boat as ijichi now. and to a degree he is. but by choice.
he doesn’t regret apologizing to you though, there was something in your eyes earlier . . . a flicker of hurt, brief and quickly hidden, but he’d noticed it. and he didn’t like it. he didn’t like being the cause of it. he’s used to people being intimidated by him, to them putting him on a pedestal, to them treating him like some kind of specimen instead of a person. to them treating him like a middle man for souta.
but you’re different. you’re not treating him like you want to use him and offer him nothing in return. you’re treating him like he’s just any other guy. a slightly annoying, slightly arrogant guy who happens to be really good at physics. and it’s refreshing. it’s a little terrifying. because this is the first time a girl has come up to him for him. not souta. him. he’s not sure how to handle it.
“no, i don’t want either of those things,” you say, and it’s the most honest thing you’ve said all night, the truest words that have come out of your mouth since this whole ridiculous bet began. “i genuinely don’t understand physics.”
“yeah,” he says, and a small, almost-smile plays on his lips, a tiny, reluctant curve that’s more genuine than anything he’s shown you so far. “i can tell.”
( you’re honest. it’s so rare. so. . .refreshing. he’s surrounded by people who are always trying to impress him, to get something from him, to use him for their own gain. but you’re not.
you genuinely need his help. it feels like a revelation. and for the first time in a long time, he feels like he can just be himself. without the weight of expectations and the pressure of performance. and it’s an exhilarating feeling, like standing on the edge of a cliff and not knowing whether you’re about to fly or fall. )
before you can retort, before you can think of something clever or charming or witty to say, he’s walking away, his long strides carrying him into the stacks, his ivory hair catching the light one last time before he disappears around a corner.
( what has he gotten himself into ? his heart pounds in his chest as he walks away, his footsteps echoing in the quiet aisles. you’re going to be a distraction. he should have just said no. he should have sent you away. but he didn’t. and now he’s in trouble. he’s in so much trouble. and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t mind it one bit. he doesn’t mind it at all. )
you’re left alone with your textbook and the lingering scent of his cologne, a ghost of warmth and spice that clings to the air. you really do have your work cut out for you. but at least he’s agreed to tutor you. you can’t help but feel a flicker of hope ignite in your heart, a small, stubborn ember that refuses to go out. maybe this bet isn’t so impossible after all.
masterlist day one ⇆ day two
── .✦ mimi’s notes: satoru cums laude, you heard it here first. i was gonna make him sweeter but cocky nerds are hot ok? if you feel bad for him you’re about to feel a lotttt worse <3
