━━━━━ ✦ 𝕮𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄 𝕯𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✦ ━

✦⌜　𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄　⌟✦

━ ✦ 𝕮𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈𝐈. ✦ ━━━━━

━━━━━ ✦ 𝓜𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 | 𝓨𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟒 ✦ ━

After the graduation ceremony, you find yourself strolling on the pink petals of cherry blossoms scattered at the entrance of the junior school.

When you turn your head, you witness the spectacle of your classmates and fellow students capturing moments with their families and friends.

For those in clubs, first- and second-year students eagerly present their favourite graduating seniors with heartfelt gifts and cards.

Fortunately, you receive one or two tokens of appreciation from your clubmates, acknowledging your dedication.

Your family joins the celebration, capturing formal and silly photos featuring your siblings.

Yet, once the impromptu photoshoot concludes, your gaze instinctively drifts toward the distance.

A line forms, composed of students and teachers bearing cards and gifts for Geto, whose hands are already laden with abundant offerings.

A chuckle graces your lips at the sight. People have depended on him, and it's no surprise that they express their gratitude with gifts and inquiries about his high school choice.

He casually responds with a vague "somewhere in Tokyo."

As a couple of teachers approach you, suggesting you consider joining the art club in high school, you nervously chuckle and shrug.

However, the looming decision about your future leaves a bitter taste, a 180-degree turn spurred by a fateful encounter with a curse.

Regret doesn't linger; every experience, especially the friendship with Geto, emanates from that pivotal moment. You don't blame the curse, Death's Pulse, for your choices – you willingly accept the consequences.

Despite the looming uncertainty, there's no overwhelming dread.

The prospect of having Geto by your side is a comforting constant amidst the whirlwind of change – a new school, environment, and faces equate to a fresh start. This perspective eases the stress and melancholy of your junior years.

Now, you won't be recognized solely as--

"Corpse Darling~!"

A shiver runs down your spine at the sound of that voice.

Your head stiffens with fear before you nearly choke, finding the white-haired boy in a black blazer, a casual white shirt, fitted gray pants, and black boots. His signature dark round glasses frame a mischievous smirk as he holds a bouquet of white flowers against his shoulders, a book in his other hand.

"Found you in the yearbook," Gojo smirks, lifting the book open to a bookmarked page featuring your club photo, "Occult Research Club, oh~ didn't think you were already into freaky things."

You frown at the printed nickname, but your attention swiftly shifts to the smirking boy before you.

"What the heck are you doing here?" you hiss.

"Uh, I got the memo," he replies, arching a brow and tilting his head, clearly irked by your abruptness.

"How? I don't even text you," you retort.

"I am officially a member of the family newsletter," he announces, pulling out a printed letter filled with your family's stories, updates, birthdays, and more. "I didn't know Grandma Renzuko won the 10th Karaoke seniors' tournament. Good for her."

You smack your forehead, muttering swears under your breath from your mother's oblivious kindness.

However, since you rarely have friends meet your family, she must have assumed this person is one.

She could not be further from the truth!

However, you blink out of your thoughts to find this strange boy holding the bouquet over to you.

Your brow raises while Gojo tilts his head. "Congrats, [Name]~."

Gritting your teeth, you can't fathom why he's acting so familiar. But the flowers are thoughtful, so you slowly raise your arms, cradling the bundle against your elbow. "...Thank you."

"Of course, I can be generous to my servant now and then."

Before you can respond, a hand gently presses on your back, and a smiling face peeks from behind your shoulder. "Oh, those are nice. Did you forget I was graduating, too?"

Your head turns sharply, and your face blushes as your nose nearly grazes your friend's cheek. "Suguru...!"

"Strange," Gojo shrugs. "I didn't see you in the newsletter."

But Geto smiles stiffly, "Strange indeed; I should be on it."

"Must have slipped my interest." Gojo smirks.

"Ah, quite a selective memory," your friend chuckles lightly, "if only your attention span matched your ego, you might have noticed more things."

The tension in the air intensifies suddenly. It could be the warmth of spring.

You blink between them, but your mother waves excitedly, your father juggles your clingy younger sister, and your older siblings chat on the side.

"Aw, you three are together. Let's take a picture!" Your pregnant mother lifts the camera, capturing Gojo's interest.

However, you and Geto sneer. "No, thanks."

Yet, your mother maintains a stiff smile with malicious eyes. "Let's take a picture, darling."

Fear spikes in your chest, and you shift closer to Geto, who does the same with you, both a foot away from the smiling white-haired boy.

But Gojo playfully jests, "Aw, don't be shy!"

He swerves between you, wrapping his arms around your necks, pulling you close. His fingers flash peace signs. You almost collide with his cheek while Geto maintains a resistant space.

Once your mother snaps the picture, you both push away.

"Well, now, April is right around the corner," Gojo admits with a smile, his glass sliding down to reveal his blue irises. "I guess we'll be seeing each other again real soon."

°⌜　𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥　⌟°

━━━━━ ✦ 𝓐𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 | 𝓣𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝓙𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝓗𝐈𝐆𝐇 ✦ ━

Leaving your small town proves to be a more emotional ordeal for you than for Geto. Your parents and siblings ensure that you pack everything properly. They extend wishes of safe travel even to the driver. They prepare a packed lunch, a gesture that leaves the driver flustering in acceptance.

As you peer through the windshield, your family watches you pass by.

Leaving everything behind feels surreal despite the excitement and anticipation of moving to the big city.

Oh god, you should have stayed. You miss them, your pets, food, bed, and art. What the hell did you get yourself into with this?!

Geto senses your anxiousness in the black leather seat beside you and offers a comforting smile. He crosses his arms, resting his head against your shoulder, whispering words of reassurance that calm your jittery nerves.

Throughout the journey, your fingers find comfort in holding onto a small piece of his shirt's fabric until the car comes to a complete stop.

You step out while Geto expresses gratitude to the driver and lends a hand in unloading the belongings from the truck.

Standing before the torii gates and the long stone steps leading to the entrance of the hidden school campus, you inhale deeply, savouring the crisp air.

The fragrance of cherry blossoms and pine needles weaves through your nostrils, creating a fragrant tapestry that saturates the surroundings.

Upon exhaling, a whine escapes your lips, surprising your dark-haired friend. "Do we have to climb all these stairs?"

Geto chuckles, shrugging casually. "Well, we don't have to..."

Confused, you raise a brow.

He lifts his hand, and a colossal white dragon-like cursed spirit materializes. The wind swirls around your hair and clothes as your eyes widen at the awe-inspiring creature.

"Whoa! Where did you get this one?!" Excitement bubbles within you as you circle, taking in the appearance of the controlled curse. You gaze into its reflective yellow irises as it breathes loudly.

Geto chuckles at your enthusiasm. "Somewhere in the eastern prefectures, during one of my family vacations. This is the first time I've used it."

Your eyes catch the glint of white scales shimmering in the sunlight, creating a delicate, iridescent prism. "It's like a rainbow!" you exclaim.

"Huh...Sure, we can call it that." Geto replies, observing you as you reach out to touch the tamed curse. "Rainbow Dragon."

Your smile brightens even more before he signals you to hop on, an invitation you don't hesitate to accept.

Your friend follows suit, securing the spot behind you.

"I wanna go fast!" you declare to him, who has both hands around your waist, his palms pressed against your stomach, preparing for the ride.

However, a sudden urge strikes a mischievous desire into his onyx irises.

The moment you feel the fingers of one hand slide under the soft fabric of your shirt, a prickly, pleasurable tingle flusters on your cheeks.

But you pull his arm away. "Hey! W-watch your hands!"

"Oops, damn curious fingers -- sometimes they have a mind of their own," Geto's breath hovers close to the rim of your ear.

"Jeez, Suguru, we just got here..." you chide shyly. "We haven't even got past the interviews."

With pursed lips, Geto lays his cheek against your back, staring into the natural surroundings to calm himself down.

He's been pent up from all this waiting.

It's been months since the first kiss, and you haven't done anything with him since. Geto believes you developed a trauma reflex after your brother caught you on top of him.

Even though his brother was okay with it, you want to play it extremely safe now. You worry too much about hypotheticals. What if it were your sisters? Not that Geto cares too much, but you do — stating you don't want to traumatize them with a similar image of how you caught your older brother. It's ridiculous, but Geto respects your wishes, not making a single suggestive comment or touch until now.

But now is the right time, away from family, away from prying eyes; Geto deserves at least one small treat after being such a patient boy.

Even if it leads to more scolding.

Sneaky hands grip your waist and pull you in. Hot breaths of his parted lips fan against the nape of your neck, warming and tingling your skin before kissing it.

Surprised, you feel the wet heat against that sensitive spot, causing you to slam your head back in retaliation, making Geto groan and rub his nose.

Blushing madly, your brows furrow. "Oops, damn reflexes -- sometimes I have them as a self-defence mechanism against unexpected PDA!"

"Yes, fine, sorry~," Geto flatly apologizes. "Won't do it again."

'Worth it,' he mentally praises himself, taking note of your physical reaction.

However, you're not taking any chances. You slip off the curse, racing up the stairs.

"[Name], get back onto the curse!" Geto shouts, his eyes widening as he witnesses you double-timing by skipping steps.

"Suguru, you asshole! Just stupid asshole!" you exclaim, the frustration evident in the sharp sound of your palms smacking your flushed cheeks.

However, a slight grin tugs at the corners of your lips, the sheer ecstasy of the moment freezing your expression into a joyous mask.

°⌜　𝐄𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞　⌟°

After the interview wraps up, the principal hands you the uniform. As you traverse the vast campus, initially bewildered by its layout, you pinpoint your destination through some exploration.

You find your dorm and quickly change before heading out again.

The hallways, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle, echo your footsteps as you gently slide the classroom door open. Inside, four desks and chairs are the sole occupants, casting an eerie stillness over the room.

With the academic year set to commence soon, the scarcity of fellow students and the sparsity of desks hint at the impending wave of activity about to engulf this silent enclave of learning.

Strangely comforting, the absence of the typical chaos gives the campus an air of normalcy.

Choosing a seat by the window, a departure from your usual back-row closest-to-door escape preference, you contemplate the new beginning with hopeful confidence.

"Hey, got a lighter?"

Suddenly, a voice interrupts your thoughts. The query comes from a short-haired brown girl with bangs, clad in a jacket-type uniform and a skirt.

A cigarette dangles lazily between her lips.

"Sorry, I don't smoke," you respond, shaking your head.

Confusion creeps in as she enters the room, sighing defeatedly before slumping into the chair beside you.

"Bummer, Yaga-sensei confiscated mine," she confesses, her gaze fixated on the empty podium at the front of the classroom.

"Bummer," you echo, an awkward agreement hanging in the air.

Her attention shifts to you, causing you to straighten your spine anxiously. "Ever smoked?"

"No," you reply.

"Try it sometime," she encourages, her tone calm. "It calms you down."

A realization sets in, and you feel a bead of sweat forming. "Do I seem anxious?"

Slouching in the chair, she says with a faint tease devoid of mockery. "Maybe, but you will want one sooner than you think, Renzuko."

Your realization flickers across your face, a moment of clarity in your features. "How do you know me...?"

"Satoru tipped me off about the new classmates. He threw me a single name, and, well, here you are," she confesses, the end of a cigarette dancing between her lips. "I'm Ieiri Shoko."

On your feet instantly, you capture her attention with a sudden bow. "Nice to meet you! Renzuko [Name], I'm into painting, baking, and making money! If there's any way I can help you, count on me!"

Taken aback by your swift introduction, a smirk slowly graces her lips. "Satoru wasn't entirely off then."

You arch a brow, your eyes meeting hers.

But she surprises you with a smile. "You are cute."

Frowning, your eye twitches as you lean in, covering your mouth with a flat palm as you whisper, "Don't listen to him. That guy's a weirdo! Says the strangest things. I mean, who dyes their hair white?"

"It's his real colour," Ieiri informs you, prompting a surprised blink.

"Colored eye contacts?"

"Nope, pure blues," she muses.

"Wow, nice genetics," you quip, amusement colouring your words.

Ieiri hums, "I'm up for a drink anytime if you're game."

Your heart races with excitement. This is the moment, your chance for a fresh start. "Like alcohol?"

"More like soda, Renzuko," she almost hides a smirk, amused by your eagerness.

You chuckle nervously, apologizing quietly for your overenthusiasm.

Making friends has been on your mind, and Ieiri seems cool—laid-back, unbothered, with a quiet sense of humour. Despite her solemn air, being around her is surprisingly soothing.

But then your attention pivots, the classroom entrance reveals a man with a buzz cut and two precise hair parts encircling his head. A familiar figure. Yaga-sensei. Memories of him conducting interviews alongside the school principal rush back.

Then, Geto follows in tow, dressed in his uniform.

"Alright then, now that we have all of the first years present-- where is Satoru?" Yaga-sensei inquires dryly.

Your eyes dart to the empty desk, then back to the teacher.

"You seriously didn't consider him a punctual person, sensei?" Ieiri confesses. "You would give him too much credit."

Yaga frowns, deeply annoyed, and releases a sigh. "We'll wait for him to start. I'll review the rules, regulations, and curriculum, so I don't want to repeat myself."

Everyone settles into their seats. Geto's gaze drifts in your direction, intercepted by Ieiri's attention. They exchange greetings and pleasantries, leaving you absentmindedly doodling on your wrist with a pen pulled from your pocket.

After ten minutes, Yaga grumbles. "Goddamn! Unacceptable. The other windows may let him do whatever he wants, but if he expects the same treatment as my student on these grounds, he won't get away with it."

You arch a brow, contemplating Gojo's peculiar knack for perfect timing in bothering you.

Half an hour elapses.

Your weary eyelids strive to focus beyond the rhythmic felting sounds. It's surprising to see someone with a robust physique engrossed in delicate crafting. However, the judgment of your teacher is reserved.

Yaga-sensei concentrates on a yarned stuffed doll. The students watch, and before starting a new one, they at least get to pick the colours, providing a temporary diversion for everyone.

Then, as if granted by wishful thinking, you hear unhurried footsteps echoing through the corridor.

Judging by Yaga's furrowed brows, they grate on his nerves. They draw nearer, louder, closer until the door swings open.

"Satoru," Yaga utters with a sharp tone that could cut granite. He pauses and takes a measured breath, inhaling and exhaling, all while theatrically presenting his wristwatch. "You're late."

Blue eyes sweep the room before landing on you. Gojo's strides carry him to you. "Good morning, [Name]~. Did I keep you waiting?"

Your eyes narrow, silently questioning why he would single you out. "Sensei is speaking to you."

Gojo blinks, an almost imperceptible surprise flickering in his otherwise innocently bright eyes. He cranes his neck back to Yaga and grins after a brief pause. "Oh, morning, sensei. Didn't see you there."

Geto rolls his eyes while Ieiri curiously blinks at an ant traversing the floor.

"Excuse me?!" Yaga snaps, his face now a remarkable shade of red, a vivid contrast to the stuffed doll clutched tightly in his hands. "You are a student in this school. Be serious! How difficult is it to show up on time? This is disrespectful to anyone who's waiting for you!"

Momentarily taken aback, Gojo purses his lips, surprise dancing across his features—a moment of startle, as if he's not accustomed to facing reprimands.

"...Oh," he hums with a casual air. Though his voice remains calm, it resonates through the room. "I'm not a morning person."

"Twelve is barely morning!" Yaga retorts, frustration evident in his tone.

"You all could've just started without me," Gojo suggests, his irreverence unyielding.

Yaga-sensei's grumbling fills the air, a low undercurrent of disapproval that hangs like a storm cloud.

"This is not the point," he insists. "First, Satoru, you're late. Then, you don't apologize nor greet and acknowledge the rest of your classmates, who have been here waiting for you."

Gojo sighs as if he's the one who has been kept waiting. He straightens and looks up at Ieiri, a smirk on his lips. "Good morning, Shoko," he greets her before turning to Geto. "Bangs."

"Suguru," you correct him almost instinctively.

"Suguru," Gojo repeats, but you scold yourself for allowing him to use that. "There. Satisfied, sensei?"

"Satoru," Yaga warns.

"Alright, alright. Sorry, I'm late, but..." Satoru tips his chin up, fixing his gaze on you. "This wouldn't have happened had [Name] remembered to wake me up."

Your eyes twitch at the audacity.

With thinly veiled irritation, Geto bites the inner of his cheek, and his furrowed brows weigh heavily on him. "How is it any of [Name]'s responsibility to wake you?"

Your fingers nervously shiver.

"You make him sound like he is a servant to you or something," Ieiri scoffs at the absurd excuse from her white-haired classmate.

Anxiety prickles your chest as Gojo hums down at you. "Huh, strange. I swear we had executed an agreement..."

They did. You would serve him while he kept his word, not disclosing the existence of your execution and the agreed plan of how you must figure out how to activate this forgotten ancient cursed technique that came with this curse.

You had completely forgotten about it until this very moment. Can't he cut you some slack? It's your first day. Indeed, he can't be so severe as to be this petty to evade trouble and divert blame.

However, he only continues to stare at you, much like everyone else in the room, forcing you to answer.

"...Sorry, I forgot you texted me...sorry, everyone." You bow, extending your apologies to the entire room.

°⌜　𝐈𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬　⌟°

Despite your sincere apology, Yaga-sensei banishes you both to the hallway, imposing a disciplinary measure that requires you to crouch with your arms raised above your heads.

Your gaze remains fixed on the floor while Gojo, taken aback, blinks in surprise.

"Huh. This is a first," he remarks casually, attempting to lighten the tense atmosphere.

"You can't be giving Yaga-sensei attitude! He's a teacher," you scold, your arms starting to ache from the enforced position. "And how was I supposed to know I had to wake you up?"

Unfazed by your scolding, Gojo scrunches his nose in annoyance, "It's one of the basic duties of a servant. You have to tend to your master."

As if you had servants growing up!

"You're unbelievable," you mutter under your breath, shaking your head. "And on top of that, you tried to blackmail me."

"Only because you breached our agreement," Gojo reminds you flatly. "I told you I'm not fond of fake friends."

Your brows furrow momentarily, but then you relax as you reflect on your initial misunderstandings.

While initially perceiving it as a one-time encounter, you recognize your resistance to him, though he certainly didn't make it easy to like him.

Despite the tension, your kind nature urges you to extend an olive branch, seeking a fresh start in this new setting, aiming to fulfill your resolution of making more friends.

You press your lips together before admitting, "...I want us to be friends. I'm sorry if I made you feel otherwise."

Having heard countless apologies, usually tainted with insincerity, Gojo contemplates the authenticity of your words. He's accustomed to his attitude and ego, forged through a world that values strength over else.

However, this time, he detects a shift in your tone – not defensive or annoyed, but laden with guilt and sincerity. It gives him pause at the subtle awkwardness in the air as if he feels bad.

His eyes linger on your raised wrist as he notices the skin exposed but adorned with ink.

To lighten the sombre mood, the boy points attention to your wrist and lets out a nearly amused chuckle, "I thought only gangsters got tattoos! Trying to look like one now?"

A sudden jolt of surprise courses through you at his unexpected outburst. You glance anxiously at the closed classroom door, ensuring no one overheard.

When Gojo raises a skeptical brow, you pull down your arms, inviting your curious classmate to join in.

As he is crouched down, he lets his arms dangle against his knees, observing as you neatly roll up your sleeves to your elbows, revealing the intricate doodles that adorn your skin.

With a hint of embarrassment, you explain, "I always carry a pen with me... I think it's out of habit. But now, I draw on my skin whenever I'm bored."

His blue eyes sparkle on the detailed designs trailing up to your elbow. Rough sketches of decorative statues around the school, symbols, flowers, a dragon, and other creatures catch his attention.

However, you find yourself blinking when he rolls up his sleeve, presenting his elbow to you. "I want one!"

"Seriously?" Confusion colours your tone.

His persistent smile remains, "Come on, draw on me too."

You meet his excited gaze before glancing down at your fleshy canvas. "...what would you like?"

"Digimon!" He exclaims with glee.

"...Digimon?" Your brow raises curiously, "Ah, my little sister watches that. I can do Koromon since I remember that design."

"I want SkullGreymon." Gojo insists.

"Do you have a picture?" you inquire.

"No."

"Then you're getting Koromon..." you deadpan.

"Ugh, fine~!" He sighs, feeling your grip on his arm as you hold it with one hand, the pen hovering above his skin in the other.

Purposeful strokes adorn the side of his forearm, blank ink leaving its mark against the contours of his muscles.

"Next time, get me a picture so I can draw SkullGreymon for you," you instruct, focused on the task.

"...'kay." He mutters, a gentle curl forming on his lips.

Your gaze travels over the rest of his arm, realizing this is your first experience drawing on someone else.

Your heart pounds, not used to someone being this close to observe your art, but you find motivation in his appreciation.

"...Your hands are cold," Gojo observes, causing a nervous flutter in your chest. When your touch withdraws, his skin is left exposed, and a perplexed expression crosses his face.

You confess, "Oh, I am naturally so."

"You're almost as cold as a corpse from the touch of it... Oh, corpse darling~, now it makes sense."

Nope. That is not the reason. But explanations don't interest you right now.

"Alright, look," you say.

Gojo's gaze returns to the drawing, his smile widening in admiration, "Wow~! Super nice."

Grateful for the compliment, you attempt to pull away, but he seizes your palm, his thumb firmly between your fingers.

You stare at it. Warm-toned fingertips. That becomes your sole focus for a moment.

A mischievous grin graces his features, soft wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. "Now, my turn."

Your questioning eyes meet his, but his swift motion catches you off guard. He tugs on your arm, almost pulling your entire body closer to him.

Excitement dances in his eyes as he snatches the pen and finds an empty spot on your forearm, ready to create.

"You wanted to be a painter originally, right?" The boy's gaze locks onto your subtle surprise at his recollection.

Your attention shifts from the fingers to him almost instantly. "...yeah."

"Right, right," he hums to you assuringly. "Now, I remember the paintings in your room... You could seriously go pro one day..."

A warmth settles in your heart, and you gently smile, responding to his generous comment.

"There..." he declares, blinking at his design before releasing your arm.

Your focus shifts to his creation on your arm. "...?"

"It's a penis," he proudly remarks.

However, you respond with a blank stare, your eyes twitching unexpectedly.

°⌜　𝐃𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 　⌟°

In Yaga-sensei's class, time drags on as he delves into an extensive monologue about rules, regulations, and the curriculum.

But as the drudgery peaks, the distant echoes of muffled shouts and thumps disrupt the monotonous rhythm.

Everyone's attention shifts to the commotion unfolding in the hallways.

With an exasperated expression, Yaga-sensei starts to question the uproar, only to be abruptly silenced.

There, you and Gojo sport matching penis doodles—innuendos etched on your cheeks and scribbles scattered elsewhere on the skin.

With a proud smirk, you mockingly point at the drawing on Gojo's face, declaring, "Ha, my dick is bigger than yours."

Gojo, not one to back down, retorts, "HAH?! No, it's not! Mine is! Get the measuring tape--."

Before the debate can escalate further, a resounding hand slams down on the heads of the troublemakers. "Enough! I am at a loss for words!"

Despite the lack of words, Yaga-sensei swiftly resumes his verbal reprimands before storming off.

However, the spectacle doesn't end there.

The classmates peek out from the classroom. Ieiri, amused, snaps pictures on her flip phone, capturing the comedic face-off between you and Gojo—however, Geto grimaces at the secondhand embarrassment.

Feeling past that, Geto takes notice of something else.

As a master at deciphering facades, he recognizes a forced smile when he sees one. He's intimately familiar with the art of simulated happiness.

Expecting Gojo to reflect his disingenuous charm, he is surprised to find something different.

When Gojo turns those bright blue eyes towards you, they crinkle with genuine delight. The afternoon sunlight bathes him in a golden glow, highlighting his white hair and creating an almost ethereal glow.

The sky-blue of his eyes holds your gaze, and for a moment, the world pauses.

It irks Geto to watch him stare at you like that.

"[Name]..." The dark-haired boy instinctively calls out.

Your gaze snaps to him.

Geto even startled himself when it slipped out. However, that didn't make him lose his composure. "We have something to do soon, so you should wash your face."

Rising swiftly, you walk beside your friend, shooting a defiant glance back at Gojo.

However, the white-haired boy's snickering only intensifies as you leave.

Snapping his gaze to the side, Ieiri shows Gojo the pictures.

"Send those pics to me," the boy requests.

With a sly grin, Ieiri counters, "How much are you willing to buy them from me?"

Amused, Gojo offers the confiscated lighter as a trade, and Ieiri accepts it with a snarky giggle. "Did you sneak into his office to get it?"

The white-haired boy smirks, "It's not hard to know where he hides them."

Meanwhile, aquiet air envelops you both as you and Geto traverse the corridor. Silence reigns, punctuated only by the echo of your footsteps against the wooden floor.

Upon entering the washroom, the flickering fluorescent lights reveal your ink-stained face.

You splash water on your face, the soap failing to eradicate the ink. Your palms rub fervently at your cheeks, but the stubborn residue persists.

With each attempt, you can't help but notice Geto's eyes burning. The reflection in the mirror captures your shared silence, the unspoken tension palpable between you two.

"You're staring," you finally admit, annoyance reflected in the stern gaze you direct toward his crossed arms in the mirror.

Geto, ever the candid observer, offers a gentle scolding, his head tilted in disbelief. "You look ridiculous."

"I don't need your commentary," you retort, your tone dismissing his critique.

Undeterred, he sighs, retrieves a paper towel, and dampens it. "Turn around, let me help."

Following his lead, you lean against the sink as Geto approaches, the coolness of the metal contrasting with the warmth of his presence. He carefully wipes away the ink near your nose, his touch gentle.

As the ink fades, the annoyance on his face does not. Was Gojo this close to you to draw this unsightly thing on your skin? It pisses him off.

"You enjoy having genitals drawn on your face now?" His words sting with a hint of disapproval.

A subtle irritation creeps into your voice. "Watch your mouth."

He complies with a nonchalant "Right."

Leaning in, he traps you between his arms. "Instead of fake ones, wouldn't you prefer the real thing on you?"

A tremor courses through your veins at the unexpected proposal.

Despite the initial panic, you meet his gaze with a defiant look. "Keep acting like a jerk; maybe you'll never find out."

His brow twitches in response as you swiftly yank his ear, causing him to wince. You walk away, dragging him along. "Ow, ow, okay, okay, sorry!"

Yet, you refuse to release your grip, his protestations falling on deaf ears. "You're going to rip my ear off!" Geto whines.

°⌜　𝐏𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐝　⌟°

After that ink incident, everyone gathers again. Ieiri takes you along while Geto pairs up with Gojo, and the two duos head in opposite directions.

Walking towards the reserved room, you inquire about what you missed during the classroom meeting.

Ieiri, after a brief muttering, touches on the curriculum, necessary resources, and potential contacts. It becomes apparent that she's the type to doze off, and a bead of sweat forms as you realize this.

Curiosity leads you to question why Yaga-sensei separated them into pairs. Ieiri remains silent until you reach a screening room.

Your brows furrow as hologram screens display various angles of a forest, showing Gojo and Geto waiting near the entrance.

"Mei Mei, thank you for monitoring this for the first years," Yaga-sensei acknowledges, settling into the first seat.

Your gaze shifts to a woman in a dark bodysuit, tie, and skirt, her hair in a high ponytail with two parallel bangs.

"I am charging by the hour," Mei Mei smirks, arms crossed. "I am curious about another person."

Mei Mei winks at you, and you can't help but blush at her beauty.

Yaga-sensei, however, redirects your attention as Ieiri guides you to a seat. He picks up the intercom, "Alright, Satoru, Suguru. Due to your previous experience dealing with curses, consider this training simulation to refine your cursed techniques, develop strategic combat approaches, and maximize efficiency."

Oh, that is why you are not with them; you lack experience. Somehow, that thought disappoints you when it shouldn't.

He stops the intercom button to talk to you. "[Name], don't be discouraged. You will have time to learn and train, but since you are starting new, I need to determine their capability, and what ranking mission they can take."

You freeze, nodding politely while panickingly thinking, 'Ah, Yaga-sensei can read minds now? I better not think of unsightly thoughts...easier said than done.'

Meanwhile, Gojo yawns, showing little interest, unlike Geto, who pays close attention. You notice it, and it suggests that the teacher must, too, though he chooses not to address it.

"With all the curses within the forest being monitored and tracked, they range from the lowest level grades to a grade-two level curse. You two must exorcise them all."

"Seriously?" Gojo sulks. "This is no fun."

"You act like a child with a spoiled attitude," Geto remarks crossly. "It won't kill you to stop that behaviour."

"Well, that's not very nice, Suguru," Gojo hums cheerily. "Yaga-sensei wouldn't want us to fight on our first day. But, if it comes to it, you should reconsider before I embarrassingly fold you with [Name] watching too."

Your friend flinches at this strange boy's one-sided familiarity with you.

Jaw-locked, he tries to avoid the urge to punch Gojo by staring at the sky. Mentally sighing, Geto vows to beat this arrogant guy, dismantle his ego brick by brick, and make him sweat.

But Geto results in playing fire with fire. "Then again, as if [Name] would even be watching you."

This seemingly innocuous remark hits a nerve. Gojo's face dulls, an unreadable curtain drawn over his face. The tension hangs thick in the air before Geto can backtrack on his words, trying to figure out what provoked such a reaction.

But as the sign kicks off, Gojo extends his arm. Before Geto can initiate the training, a sudden shift in the wind's direction grabs his attention.

His unruly bangs threaten to obscure his vision as he squints against the gust. His attention shifts to Gojo, whose white hair dances wildly in the air, and the fabric of his uniform flutters with the trees that seem on the verge of uprooting.

The boy conjures a personal storm in the palms of his hands, crackling with cursed energy.

As the boy prepares to unleash, the atmosphere becomes impatient. "Lapse Blue," he breathes, the cursed energy pulsing before his bright blue irises.

With a swift motion, the boy propels the compressed large ball of cursed energy into the dense forest, a storm of destruction felt in the rumble of the earth.

The impact obliterates, desegregating everything—curses, trees, and even moss-covered rocks.

The unleashed power leaves no room for mercy, leaving a residue of smoke and radiating heat of a large tunnel dug. At that moment, trees seem to bow to the overwhelming might of this boy.

"Gojo Satoru exorcised 30 curses."

Geto feels his insides curl from the intercoms announcing that.

"So, who do you think [Name] is watching now?" A stinging, satisfying jeer sharp flashes from Gojo's lips.

What the actual fuck. A sudden spark of cursed energy crackles inside of your friend.

A wave of delight courses through Gojo as he observes the slight twitch of annoyance in the dark-haired boy's eyes. It sparks a compelling interest, urging him to continue this taunt.

With a triumphant chuckle, the white-haired boy crosses his arms over his chest and addresses his opponent in a petty, mocking, yet resolute tone.

"For someone who can manipulate curses," he begins, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips, "it is such a stupid, weak-ass lame technique."

The words hang in the air, a momentary pause before the storm.

"Hurry along now; you better go and catch up," Gojo taunts, a smirk still lingering as he vanishes from his original spot, almost teleporting away.

The shock from the insult propels him to snarl in response, a seething anger threatening to consume him. It doesn't matter if anyone is watching now; Geto's restraint has vanished, and his patience recoils into itself like a tape measure snapping free.

He braces his feet against the ground, pulling one elbow back. He channels the surge of cursed energy, feeling it pool from the pit of his stomach down through the length of his arm. It forges into a black, swirling mass at the tip of his fingers, manifesting his growing cursed energy.

From a distance, Gojo quickly glances back at his classmate. His eyes widen with genuine interest as he observes the multiple cursed spirits forming around Geto's presence.

Meanwhile, back in the screening room, Yaga-sensei's fingers nearly shatter the coffee mug he clutches, his face etched with irritation and restraint.

He contemplates the numerous detentions a particular student will amass, considering the unnecessary havoc on the school's training forest.

Mei Mei lounges at the rear, her legs elegantly crossed, savouring the spectacle as if it were an entertaining movie.

Ieiri releases a rigid chuckle, finding amusement in the theatrics.

However, her amusement wanes when her gaze turns to you, noting the pallor in your distraught eyes fixated on the aftermath of destruction.

You run your hands up your neck, dislodging hair strands clinging to your skin.

Sinking into her seat, Ieiri feels sympathy for her white-haired classmate, suspecting it wasn't his intention to instill fear in others.

"Gojo Satoru," Ieiri addresses you, diverting your attention. "His family lineage is unparalleled in the most respected and strongest sorcery..."

Your focus sharpens as you listen intently.

Ieiri reveals the societal belief that the world's equilibrium shifted with Gojo's birth. He's the first in 500 years to possess the Six Eyes and Limitless cursed techniques—abilities that defy mortal comprehension.

Despite her attempts at explanation, these powers remain elusive understanding to the user, painting Gojo as untouchable and unapproachable.

Yet, his supremacy isn't solely due to his cursed techniques or lineage; it's his audacious attitude.

The way Gojo strides into rooms, callous yet carefree, with eyes resembling a beautiful, pure ocean. But, the beauty belies the disregard dripping from his words.

This white-haired boy is coveted in a world controlled with strength, transcending human boundaries.

To many, he's the strongest shaman, a god among humans, the undisputed head of a generation.

The realization hits you. 'He must have a lot of people relying on him...that must be a lot of work.'

Amidst the labyrinth of thoughts, the training session ends in five minutes. The outcome sees Gojo inching ahead of Geto, albeit with just one more curse kill.

For the white-haired prodigy, victory feels hollow, far from the landslide he anticipated.

Displeasure erupts across his face as he shoves his hands into his pockets, turning away from his dark-haired classmate, who catches his breath from all the running and attacking.

"Don't start thinking you can keep up with me," Gojo admonishes, a pointed finger aimed at Geto. "I am still going to beat you during every training!"

But, the fury in Gojo's expression brings a peculiar satisfaction to the boy.

"Fine by me, as long as I keep stepping on your toes," Geto retorts after catching his breath. He relishes the satisfaction of needling Gojo, who responds with a defiant flip of the middle finger.

Their confrontation dissolves as attention pivots to the approach of their teacher and two classmates.

The duo's eyes light up at the sight of you, prompting you to jog towards them.

Feeling excited, Gojo strides towards you, attempting to meet halfway while Geto maintains his stance, observing his white-haired counterpart.

"[Name], did you see?" Gojo's smile radiates, eyes crinkling with pride. "I looked pretty cool, right?"

But a soft breeze brushes past him, prompting him to turn.

There you stand, a few feet away, in front of your friend. And, at your approach, onyx irises soften, and eyelids blink gently at your presence.

But, Geto's gaze shifts upward towards Gojo, brows furrowing suggestively, accompanied by an intolerable smirk.

As the teacher discussed the training session, Gojo could only focus on you and Geto.

The white-haired boy rarely succumbs to anger, usually reserving it for pain, life-altering events, or those involving adults.

However, this moment defies the norm. Though seemingly inconsequential, a contrary emotion bubbles within him.

"Suppose everything goes well, and you both are compatible as a cohesive team," Yaga-sensei's words break the tension. "In that case, you can handle future missions independently, with a window for observation and assistance from afar. Today's training concludes. But classes will be soon, so stay diligent. A sorcerer's life depends on sheer strength, intellect, and discipline."

As the day's training wraps up, Ieiri suggests, "Soda, anyone?"

Your heart leaps with joy as you nod, catching Geto walking ahead.

But your feet stutter for a quick scan around you. But there is no Gojo around anywhere.

°⌜　𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝　⌟°

Teleporting is not in Gojo's forte. Or at least it still isn't.

Whether from the dense woods or the far side of the campus, it always feels like a difficult journey even to walk, so teleporting is the obvious solution.

While teleportation still works regardless of the distance, his aim can be a bit off. It is still a turbulent experience, like a roller coaster ride gone awry. As the world distorts around him, everything converging into a singular, twisted wave of discomfort, he suddenly finds himself suspended in mid-air, legs dangling precariously.

He blinks at the tree he is about to hit.

"Ack!" Gojo can't help but yelp as he plummets, landing on the ground roughly.

His uniform sustains a few cuts, twigs snap beneath him, and the scent of fresh dirt mixes with the grass.

"Ow," he groans, leaning against said tree to brush off leaves off his clothes and hair.

After a few minutes, the boy lounges with one arm hanging loosely against his bent knee, the other resting on his outstretched leg.

White strands sway in the breeze as he is lost in thought.

The quiet is something that keeps the boy company when he is alone.

So, it is always quiet.

Not that Gojo cares. It's perfectly fine. But that's just how it is.

At sixteen, he comprehends the weight of routine.

From an early age, the world decreed that it would bow to him, but the price of such power demands solitude.

And thus unfolds the inevitable: people flock to him with admiration and worship. They cater to his every whim, entice him, and go to great lengths to avoid opposing him. These individuals permit him to indulge in whatever he desires, and dealing with such sycophants can be a real pain.

On the flip side, some actively shun him, avoiding eye contact and steering clear of his presence. Gojo doesn't mind the safe distance they maintain until circumstances take a turn, and suddenly, they become just as much of a pain in the ass.

However, his classmates and teacher are the opposite.

For once, he has an adult who doesn't fold at the sight of him.

As for the classmates, he has met with Ieiri before, coming into the infirmary section of the campus to see what the big fuss was about with this girl with a reversal cursed technique that she can heal others. Even he is not that stupidly egotistical to undervalue the importance of that ability.

And then there's Bangs, or what you affectionately know as Suguru, with that infectious winning smile. His onyx eyes soften at the corners, lips drawn into a charming expression, especially in the presence of someone he holds dear - you.

Suguru's charm, politeness, and righteousness immediately trigger a sense of annoyance in how you're drawn to him.

Gojo groans, unable to shake off the bitter sight of how your eyes bounce around in Geto's direction, which is utterly ridiculous.

His blue eyes reflect when staring at the sky.

Your presence at this school wasn't entirely by choice; it was a reluctant commitment, a self-imposed duty to shield your weak friend from harm.

"It's so exhausting, looking out for the weak," he grumbles.

"Gojo-sama!" you call out, diverting his attention from his inner musings.

His eyes snap forward, surprised to see you jogging toward him through the grass, offering a cold drink. "...what are you doing here?"

Gasping for breath, you thrust the drink into his hands. "It's a basic servant's duty to tend to their master—that's what you told me, remember?"

Gojo studies the drink, reluctantly accepting it. Ah, the servant excuse. He did ask for you to be his servant, not that he is of need in one when he has so many others at his beck and call back home. But he was unsure how else to keep you close.

Friendship is a foreign concept to him.

You huff and collapse onto the grass, catching your breath while your classmate sips.

"Running across the campus to find you is almost as bad as climbing those damn stairs at the school's entrance," you complain, gasping for air. "Seriously! I passed out halfway, and Suguru had to carry me the rest of the way."

The white-haired classmate snickers softly, closing the cap of the drink bottle. "How will you survive as a sorcerer if you get winded so easily?"

You exhale, feeling your heart rate return to normal. "I wasn't all that motivated until now."

"Oh?" Gojo hums tastelessly. "I'm sure you had to be observing Suguru in training so closely to be so."

Your eyes flutter momentarily as you express, "You mainly caught my attention."

Caught off guard, Gojo stammers with a stiff gasp, redirecting his surprised gaze toward you.

"Did I look cool?" he queries, leaning in as you sit up.

"What?" Your face jerks back, realizing his azure eyes are uncomfortably close.

"Did I look cool to you out there?" he repeats.

"H-hey, don't get too close!" You push his cheek away.

Gojo grumbles.

However, you avert your eyes, lips frowning, "...Well, I was scared watching you."

His eyes twitch slightly at your honesty, and your words don't ease the prickling feeling in his stomach.

"...I was scared not of you specifically, but of your sheer strength... it's so destructive. But then it made me think... I'm glad that someone like you has it."

Someone like me?" Gojo echoes, puzzled.

"...Someone that people can rely on, you know?" you admire.

"You mean people who are weak..." He spits the words flatly.

Logically, yes. So you nod, acknowledging that you're under his protection. That would make sense, "Yeah, people like me."

Gojo stifles a laugh.

"...I didn't save you because you are weak," he corrects you.

Confusion etched across your face, you furrow your brows and question, "Then why did you save me? It can't be because you wanted to spare my life to be your servant..."

Oh, you're funny today. Gojo likes funny.

His chuckles soften, shaking his head in amusement before fixing his intense gaze on you. "Of course not; I did it because you are strong, just like me."

"Trust me, man. I am nothing like you," you admit.

"Not yet, you're not," he smirks scoffingly. "But once you activate that ancient cursed technique, I wonder how having an equal would feel."

"You're exaggerating," you say in disbelief. You – an equal to his strength – can't even catch up with anyone by running!

"Why would I go against my mission orders to save a weak person I didn't know then?" Gojo taunts.

Your eyes widen. "...But, the rules...it is a sorcerer's job to maintain the peace and safety of society by preventing danger from cursed techniques, curse spirits, and curse objects."

If anyone, he would be familiar with these rules, given that his family and two other families decided them in the first place. But here he is, challenging the very principles he should uphold.

"Yes, and you decided to eat curse. So, people here would consider you a cursed human – reason enough for your immediate execution," Gojo fires back.

Your brows harden. "I am not dangerous! Just because this curse exists within me doesn't mean I will do any harm!"

"Just because you haven't done so yet does not mean you never will. But, whether you were considered safe or dangerous, you are a liability regardless. With Death's Pulse inside your weak body, you are easy to kill for others to take advantage of," Gojo reminds you.

"The higher-ups are super sticklers for the rules. So, I would have sent you to them to have you dead if you ate any other weak curse!"

Your heart sinks at that revelation. "You are making no sense!"

"Didn't you listen to me? Your curse grants the user a forgotten ancient cursed technique that has been the closest to defeating the King of Curses. It is a big deal! So I don't want higher-ups having control of something too power and give it to just anyone that can follow their orders — no way! That would be a pain in my ass."

You stare at him, veins growing cold, fearing this new reality.

"Do you get it now? If you can activate that technique, our powers would be on a whole different level to everyone," Gojo smirks. "You would be untouchable and a clear equal. I would have a reason to call you a friend rather than my servant."

The silence is heavy with the weight of unexpressed thoughts and uncharted emotions.

You begin to understand why people find him unapproachable. It's not just his demeanour; there's an intangible barrier, a mentality that sets him apart.

Perhaps the world has hoisted him onto a pedestal for a much young age, making it increasingly challenging for him to view those weaker than him as equals. It's not just dehumanizing for him but for everyone else caught in this societal gap.

To him, they are strangers, almost extraterrestrial beings in his isolating world.

His only understanding of these strangers is through the lens of their demands and needs, continually hinging on his strength. People seek him not for his personality or a desire to know him profoundly but as a shield against their weakness.

Your fingers grip the fabric of your uniform, conveying a subtle tension.

"People have only regarded you for your strength...so that is how you can only regard them. That made you believe that the only way we can be friends is if we are equals," you say, your expression a mixture of sincerity and sadness. "I'm sorry you had to grow up with that mindset. You must have been so alone."

Gojo fixes his gaze on you, your words penetrating the walls he didn't expect to crack.

Your sincerity is almost uncomfortable, a stark contrast to the usual exchanges in his world.

So, he fixes that uncomfortable feeling with laughter escapes him, breaking the tension.

"You worry too much," he remarks, tilting his head back. The easygoing tone catches you off guard.

However, you want to reassure him.

"I meant what I said earlier... I want to be your friend, so I'll do my best to activate this cursed technique." Your appreciative gaze softens. "Sorry for any trouble I will cause due to my weakness while under your care, Gojo-sama."

Gojo appears pleased, a smug satisfaction playing on his features. "Good. Now, how about fixing me a lunch? I'm starving."

"But, I thought we were trying to be friends?" you retort.

He shrugs, "Then get strong; I consider friends my equals. And as you said, you are nothing like me. Besides, do I have to remind you that you still owe me for keeping your execution a secret and shielding you from other curse users?"

You roll your eyes.

"That, my soon-to-be-friend, is a mission in itself, and even you don't have the means to compensate for my constant services..." Gojo sighs poorly for you, "It's not like you have any other way to settle your debts with me, do you?"

You stand up, emitting a groan, which he savours, relishing in your apparent defeat. Your narrowed eyes meet his, and he responds with a carefree smile and a shrug.

But just as you're about to step away, you halt and turn your face to the side.

You remember something.

"Gojo-sama... you did look cool out there," you reluctantly admit before returning to resume the order.

The white-haired boy blinks, caught off guard, before slyly covering his mouth, lips curled into a triumphant grin as he whispers, "I knew it."

°⌜　𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞　⌟°

In the quiet stillness of the late night, Geto sits at his desk, bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp.

The notebook before him becomes a canvas for his thoughts and plans, a personal agenda meticulously organized with the tasks he wishes to accomplish and the goals he needs to check off his list.

As the impending start of classes looms, there exists a window of time—a precious span to hang out and uncover the hidden sight of Tokyo with you after training concludes.

In a spontaneous decision, Geto dials the number of your older brother, Mako, seeking guidance on the best places to explore in the city.

To his startling surprise, Mako abruptly hangs up on him.

A bead of sweat forms on Geto's forehead as he realizes he never correctly apologized for the late-night incident, an oversight that should have taken precedence.

Undeterred, he turns to your older sister, Mina, whose assistance is more readily available.

But then, a sudden knock interrupts his thoughts, and you enter his dorm, catching him amid his organizational efforts. "You're still up?"

Closing his notebook, he slides it to the corner of his spotless desk. "Just getting myself sorted before classes start. I've got a few errands in the city. Care to join?"

"Sure," you reply, igniting a triumph in Geto's chest at the prospect of a surprise outing.

A smile plays at the corners of your lips as you stand beside him.

Assuming a casual posture, Geto asks, "Would you like to spend the night?"

You lean against the desk with a thoughtful hum, arms pressed against the wooden surface. "Sure, but I was hoping we could catch up..."

Your innocent blink and heart pounding don't go unnoticed by Geto. One thin eyebrow raises in curiosity.

"Catch up...?" he repeats before a subtle smile tugs at his lips. "Hm. I suppose we should."

While lingering guilt from today's shenanigans casts a shadow on your mind, you don't want to dampen the mood from Geto.

There's a lot on your mind, and before anything else, there's one crucial thing you need to express, something weighing on your chest that demands acknowledgment.

But your cheeks burn warmly as your gaze fixates on inching lips. "Yes, but... Suguru, there's something I need to ask you."

He responds with a low hum, leaning in so close that his arm presses against yours, effectively trapping you against the sides of the desk. Fingers gently graze against each other, a subtle touch. "Do ask~."

The words, however, find themselves hesitating on the tip of your tongue as chaste yet intimate pecks tenderly brush against your lips.

A rush of heat ascends to your head.

"But you might not like it," you murmur between the tiniest spaces of kisses.

"Well, if you ask nicely, how can I not like it?" Geto presses against you, his height advantage reduced to two or three inches, prompting you to tilt your head upward.

Your elbow instinctively blocks any further closeness, your cheeks now flushed, eyes dilated, as you gather the remnants of self-control before things escalate beyond restraint.

"Can you become friends with Gojo?" you finally express, glancing upward with a hint of worry, only to observe Geto's mouth tightening into a straight line.

His eyes adopt a half-lidded, deadpan expression.

"Yeah, you're right. I don't like it," he admits impassively. "I would gladly eat curses instead."

Upon those words, Geto leans away, leaving you with a sudden chill, and the moment's warmth dissipates.

"Wait, wait," you plead, tugging on his hand, only to find yourself gently pulled instead. "There is a reason."

He releases your hand, fingers rising to the zip of his uniform jacket, and you watch the motion from behind. "He is an egotistical asshole."

You awkwardly defend, "Gojo has a bad attitude only because he has been lonely his whole life. His interaction with people has been limited."

"Oh, sorry," he scoffs teasingly, extending his jacket toward you. "A lonely egotistical asshole."

Rolling your eyes, you grab the fabric, turning away to fold it neatly on the chair.

But there's a pause, a moment of hesitation as you search for the right words to reveal enough to Geto without . "I'm not saying he isn't that, but he could use a good influence."

Turning around, your footing stutters as a shirt obscures your eyesight.

You take a moment to inhale his scent. It's a familiar aroma that always holds a strange comfort.

But your hands reflexively pull the shirt off your face, the need to stay focused on the situation overriding the temptation to get lost in his fragrance. "Suguru!"

But your muscles stiffen when you spot his figure casting a dark shadow on the dimly lit floor. You steady yourself, reminding yourself to stay strong and focused.

However, that control doesn't prevent you from stealing glances at his back.

You swallow gently, loudly thinking, 'Goddamn!' The internal conflict between reason and desire echoes in your heartbeat.

Meanwhile, yanking you back to the harsh reality of the present moment, Geto grumbles, his fingers rubbing the tense muscles at the back of his neck in sheer annoyance. "Why me? He seems to much rather be around you."

"I can't relate to him in the same way you can. I don't have enough strength... but the isolation, the absence of anyone who understands you... I didn't have anyone until I stumbled upon you... but he's got no one." You explain, the words tinged with a quiet urgency.

"He's the strongest. He shouldn't need anyone," Geto mumbles, his discontent evident.

"Everyone needs someone..." You counter, your voice carrying a gentle insistence.

Geto sighs, his fingers threading through the ebony strands of his loose hair, manifesting his displeasure on this ask.

Your heart aches for Gojo. The truth is, he's traversed the entirety of his existence without the comforting presence of friends. You may not fully comprehend the magnitude of his strength. Yet, you understand the crushing weight of loneliness, the feeling of being unable to connect with anyone because there was no one to relate to.

You found solace in Geto, someone who helped you navigate through that desolate solitude. And now, you're determined that Geto can extend that lifeline to Gojo, bridging the gap of his isolation, maybe improving this bad attitude while ripping him from that difficult mindset brought upon him.

The room hushes into a brief stillness, a quiet anticipation hanging in the air.

As you approach Geto, your fingers graze his arm delicately, a subtle inquiry to see if his decision has solidified.

Your gaze, filled with pleading hope, meets his, and you watch as a furrow forms on the boy's brow.

His obsidian eyes, usually guarded, reveal a soft state.

"Is it truly that important to you that I become friends with him?" he questions, his words weighed down by a guarded hesitancy.

With a gentle nod, you express the significance of this request.

"Then... I'll see what I can do," Geto concedes, averting his gaze. Yet, beneath the surface, there's a subtle reluctance.

This way, Geto can act as a barrier so that Gojo is not so closely entwined with you.

The dynamics of friendship with Gojo will be complex. He only accepts those who match his strengths and relate to him equally.

Given the uncertainty of when you can activate your cursed technique, you find yourself compelled to play the role of a servant.

However, if Geto can serve as a bridge from Gojo's world to the human one, it might prompt the bad-attituded boy to dissolve the perceived chasm between them.

All this thinking has stealthily caused a yawn to maneuver into existence from your lips, and your friend catches the subtle sign. "Tired?"

Your tired eyes blink in response. "Somewhat now..."

A peculiar smile plays at the corners of his lips. "That's unfortunate... I distinctly recall you wanting to catch up. I don't think it was about sleep."

Pursing your lips, you gaze up at this tender-hearted boy, his demeanour hanging by the thinnest thread of self-control.

A small gasp escapes your lips as he deftly guides your waist towards him. His fingers graze the fabric of your shirt, each touch sending a subtle electric current racing up your leg.

"Ah, but there's one rule," you interject, a shift in your tone snapping Geto out of the momentary trance induced by his actions.

Your fingers lightly graze the belt encircling his waist as you flush with a delicate shade of pink. "This right here," you murmur, "stays on for both members."

A sly grin creeps across his lips in response. "That isn't fair," he teases, his tone hinting at sass.

You find it challenging to maintain eye contact at this proximity, but you reach out to intertwine your fingers with his. The subtle connection brings a comforting warmth.

"When it comes to matters of intimacy," you share, recalling a piece of wisdom from your mother, "the better you understand the person's heart, the better the body feels."

The memory of your mother explaining such things to you and your older brother surfaces, emphasizing the significance of such moments.

There is no need to rush things when you and Geto have all the time in the world. So why not start small?

"Other than that rule," you admit, "touch me where you need."

Anticipation flickers in his eyes, a spark of eager expectation. A surge of heat pools in the pit of his stomach, a sudden ache pulsing to life.

As his arm raises, your head tenses for a moment. His fingers delicately find their place against your cheek, gently sliding down until his thumb rests upon your lips.

Pulling you closer, he directs your attention, urging your lips to linger over the base of his palm, a move that softens the defences of a friend.

"Okay," Geto agrees in a whisper, his tone softening in acceptance. "I will learn how your heart beats for me."

The hint of disappointment tugs at the edges of his heat.

But he harbours feelings for you, so accepting the balance between desire and patience solely because you ask him to is not hard.

Being enticed by your influence, he doesn't mind. He would go to great lengths in whatever mattered to you.

Your hands trail up his chest, circling his neck.

His hands slip beneath your shirt, and he reminds his hands to graze your skin upwards despite the tempting urge to explore below.

Fingers trace the bones of your spine, teasing you to arch against him until chests are pressed together.

You don't have any features he dislikes, making him enjoy this body.

But, the shirt that still clings to you — yeah, he doesn't like it. So, he peels off your shirt, the only thing he can remove. Now he can see the features he does like.

With bare skin exposed, he might steal a bite or two before swirling his tongue along the side of your neck, relishing the jolt and tension in your response.

Your hands slide to his arms, pushing gently at him to grab his attention from his eager trance.

"You need to slow down," you gasp breathlessly, overwhelmed.

His warm breath tantalizes, and he places a kiss a few inches below your ear, igniting a dangerous warmth within you.

When your eyes loosened, meet his salaciously dilated black gaze; he guides himself to brush his lips against yours.

"I need to catch up," he murmurs.

He still has to release months of pent-up sensation.

━ ✦ 𝕰𝐍𝐃 𝔒𝐅 𝕮𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈𝐈. ✦ ━━━━━━

𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒
𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩

━━━━━ ✦ 𝓟𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓒𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐒 ✦ ━

Gojo takes a bite of a chocolate but makes a disgusted face: This tastes like shit.

Geto blinks: [Name] made that.

Gojo grabs the entire box, shoving several pieces of sweets into his mouth in one gulp.

Gojo praises: Amazing, fantastic! The best goddamn chocolates I've ever had. [Name] is so amazing. He makes the best treats. I'm so proud of my [Name]. The best person to exist. Give me the rest!

Geto smiles while thinking: I think I added enough dog shit in it.

━━━━━━━━━━━
𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐄〈𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲.〉
❝ －𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵,
𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘯

𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭
𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦
𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘺
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮
𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯
𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴𝘦 － ❞

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
𝓚𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒
❝ －First and foremost, thank you
for your lovely comments and
support for this story. My heart
excitedly panicked whenever I
wrote the third chapter.
So, thank you very much!

Even when I am slow in updating,
I appreciate everyone's patient waiting.
I hope you like the long chapters as I
try to make up for the wait.

━ ✦ 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✦ ━━━━━