Ignition — Start Me Up and Throttle Me, Baby!

by TheHollowest

Summary:

You're no stranger to competition with Gojo Satoru—a dork with an un-earned ego bigger even than his DnD figurine collection. So what the hell is he doing on a motorcycle? This can't be the same Gojo you've butted heads with for three years, because if it is... has he always looked like that under the giant glasses and stupid Digimon hoodies? How much—or how little do you actually know about this nerd?

Notes:

biker gojo? biker nerd gojo.
there is a playlist for this on spotify! link here

Chapter 1

God damned red lights. Driving to New Hampshire should really only take an hour, even with the tolls, but you’ve been sitting in the car for forty five minutes already and you’re not even at the state border.

It’s just accelerate, bumper, brake, red light, sit. Rinse and repeat.

“Pass me a water would you?” You reach blindly towards the backseat as you roll to a stop at the nth light you’ve hit. The AC works in the car, but you like your window down and the air outside is stifling.

Someone presses a cold bottle into your hand, still wet from the cooler in the trunk. “Here ya go, want some chips too?” Yuuji asks as you crack the bottle open and take a long, satisfying gulp.

“Nah,” You say on a gasp as you pull the bottle away from your lips, a drip trickling down your chin and neck to combine with the sheen of sweat forming. “Thanks though. How is it back there, not too stuffy?”

“I’m stuck next to the human inferno, so about as good as you can imagine.” Megumi huffs from the back seat and you hear Yuuji scoff.

“I run hot, you knew this and still chose to sit next to me, it’s kind of your own fault.”

“Yeah, whatever, someone had to.” Megumi grumbles, you glance to the rearview mirror to see him with his chin in his hand, head turned to the window but his eyes are on Yuuji who’s digging into a bag of chips as he stares out his own window.

You chuckle to yourself as you hand the bottle to Nobara and she takes a sip, the light turns green and you roll off the line, getting through the intersection just to hit another red light.

“This place better be worth it.” You mutter, braking for the millionth time today.

“Yuuta texted,” Yuuji pipes up from the back. “The house is huge! And right on the beach too, they just got there.”

“I can’t believe that guy,” Nobara crosses her arms beside you as you roll to slow stop. “He’s had a crazy rich family this whole time and this is the first time we’re hearing about it? Guys been holding out.”

“He only just found them, it was one of those DNA test things, apparently he was adopted.”

“Tch, still, knowing that we could’ve been in the Hampton’s on a beach every spring break for the last three years instead is annoying.” Nobara huffs.

“We’re going now, that’s all that matters!” Yuuji exclaims from the backseat, ever the optimist. “But we’re sharing the place, his long lost cousin is using it for the week too apparently.”

“Well if it’s as big as he’s saying it is, it shouldn’t be an issue. So long as whoever it is isn’t deranged we can all coexist.” You offer and Yuuji hums in agreeance, you look over at Nobara for a moment as she shrugs and something catches your attention through her window.

Still sitting at the stop light, someone rolls up on a sleek black bike next to your car, leaning back with one hand still gripping the brake, he rolls a shoulder. His bicep flexes, blue veins prominent under smooth pale skin as the tight black tee-shirt stretches around his arm.

His head turns to your car and he does a little double take, his helmet flicking back to you. His face is hidden under the black helmet and the mirrored visor, completely faceless. You’re about to look away, but he nods, his chin lifting in a motion that says, “’Sup?”

You return it, unable to help yourself as a little smile spreads on your face. His body turns to you, free hand resting on his thigh covered by black jeans. Your pulse jumps a little as you take in his wide chest, hugged perfectly by a tight black shirt that shows off every lean curve to his body. His legs are long enough that the bike doesn’t lean to either side, but he’s flat footed on the road and it’s all doing something you weren’t expecting while sitting in traffic.

The jump in your pulse spikes and you feel it when he twists the throttle and sends a roaring purr reverberating through you. You lift a brow, cocking your head. Does he… want to race or something?

He does it again and your lips part. This faceless stranger—ridiculously hot, but a stranger nonetheless and the rev of his bike are having an effect that you don’t think you’ve ever felt throughout your academically driven life.

You shift to neutral and press the throttle a little, lower lip catching in your teeth as the engine in your car comes to life with fervour you’re not sure it’s ever had.

His shoulders shake a little, like he’s laughing and he replaces his hand on the grip, one foot up and toeing the shifter of the bike. He looks ahead at the light, then back to you. Oh yeah, he totally wants to race.

Are you really going to do this? That bike looks fast and you don’t do this kind of thing, you definitely don’t eye-fuck faceless strangers either but clearly this heat and the endless stop and go has done something to your usually sharp and critical brain.

“Hold on.” You murmur to your unsuspecting passengers, shifting back to drive.

“Huh? What are you—“ Nobara cuts herself off with a little yelp as the light turns green and you hit the gas hard, peeling off the line just as the street racer on his glossy black bike does the same. His tires squeal and the roar of his engine fills your ears and it all pushes you harder. You’ve always been competitive, but racing is definitely a new thing for you.

You nose ahead, luckily the road is open and a few lights have turned in your favour so you keep pressing harder on the throttle, glancing briefly to your racing partner to see him leaned down close to the bike, chest almost pressed to the rounded tank and arms tensed, biceps flexing hard.

The grin on your face is wicked, exhilarated with the wind whipping your hair, both hands gripping the steering wheel and adrenaline pumping through your veins and keeping your foot stomped down hard on the accelerator.

Megumi barks your name from the back seat and you laugh. You’re keeping up with the bike somehow, maybe your little hatchback has more guts than you give it credit for, or maybe you’re more unhinged right now than you thought.

Nobara is gripping the door handle but you can see a grin on her face as the car shifts another gear and revs up again. Yuuji is laughing along with you, Megumi is the only voice of reason left in the car as he barks to slow down before you all crash. You don’t.

Your back pressed hard into the seat, you steal one more glance to street-speed-racer as he pulls a hand off a grip to wiggle his fingers at you, and peels off, weaving through the traffic up ahead and disappearing. You slow a little, accepting loss as three more bikes whip past, following the stranger up ahead.

“What the—were you racing that guy?” Nobara whips her head to you as you slow and resume the speed limit, your little car purring away happily, having enjoyed the chance to stretch its legs just as much as you had.

But it’s a mix of bittersweetness, I wonder where he’s going. Maybe you’ll see him again, maybe you’ll catch up and get a rematch, or maybe… you’ll never see him again.

You shrug, taking the water bottle back from her as you roll to another dull stop, your heart is still sprinting like it could catch up to that stranger up ahead. “Why not? Spring break, right?”

────୨ৎ────

“Holy shit… Yuuta wasn’t kidding.” You blink at the towering estate behind the wrought iron gate you’ve stopped at, waiting to be buzzed in.

“My whole house would fit in that fucking garage, this is insane!” Nobara squawks, gawking out the windshield at the—admittedly, insane—house and surrounding property. Lush colourful gardens full of brand new blooms and budding trees wrap around the multi-story main house. The salty scent of the nearby ocean wafts and mixes with freshly cut grass and young roses, this place even smells rich.

“Hey! Just park in front of the house, we’ll meet you out front in a second!” Yuuta’s voice crackles through the intercom and a quick buzz sounds out as the dark gates begin to swing out. The car crawls through as they lock in place, the gravel crunching under your tires as you drive along the roundabout centered with an ornate stone fountain, the water spurting from the lotus flower on top catches the sunlight, glinting as it pours down the three other tiers into a main pool.

It looks like something you would throw pennies into to make a wish as a kid. You wonder if it would be worth it to toss one in now.

The car comes to a slow stop in front of the white stone steps up to dark and towering French doors. The house—err, mansion?—is mostly white, with dark accents around the tall windows and door frames. The porch the front door steps out to wraps all the way around the house, with another one on what must be the second floor that disappears around back as well, likely offering a great ocean view behind the already impressive estate.

The front doors open and Maki steps out first as you all hop out of the car, stretching out after the way too long drive up here. Yuuta follows her closely behind, his hair a little messy and his white shirt is rumpled.

“They were totally fucking.” Nobara murmurs to you as you wave to them and you chuckle, she’s absolutely right.

“How was the drive up?” Maki asks as you all grab your bags from the trunk.

“Great! We even raced a biker on the way, we lost but it was still fun.” Yuuji chirps as he hefts his and Nobara's bags up to carry in. She doesn’t even need to tell him, he just knows at this point.

“Fun, that’s one way to say it.” Megumi grumbles as he swings his bag over a shoulder.

Yuuta looks a little taken aback and he cocks his head at you. “Weren’t you driving?” You shrug, grabbing your own bag and closing the trunk.

“Yeah, is it really that surprising? I’m not that boring, am I?”

“Well, um…” Maki hums, looking you over as Nobara throws an arm over her shoulder. “Maybe a little?”

You scoff, “Oh shut up, that was supposed to be rhetorical. Let’s go, this grand tour is probably gonna take all day.” Nobara chuckles behind her hand and she and Maki shrug before you all head into the house.

The interior is just as extra as the outside leads one to believe it to be. You tip your head back, looking up at the silver and crystal chandelier hanging in the entryway, at the vaulted and untouchable ceiling, a round skylight with a pattern etched into it casting a bright glow in the same shape on the marbled floor.

The entry way splits off into three directions and Yuuta starts off to the left, showing you all where the kitchen is before heading back in the other direction towards the stairs up to some of the bedrooms, his and Maki’s already set, you pick one down the hall not really wanting to hear… that.

You drop your bag onto the puffy white bedspread, touching the rounded end of one of the polished wooden posts on the bed frame as you head for the double glass doors behind gauzy white curtains. Opening them up, you step out onto the balcony, hit immediately by salty ocean breeze and the view overlooking the beach below. All sand and endless crystal blue water, it’s picturesque like something off of a travel website exclusive to the upper class.

Thank you Yuuta. You think, smiling and taking in the sight as you lean over the railing. It extends just as you thought, all the way around the house with a few other glass doors opening onto it.

You hear your name called and turn back to your room as Nobara and Maki barge inside. “We’re getting ready in my room, grab your stuff, lets go!” Nobara commands as you step back in from the balcony.

“What? Getting ready for what?”

Nobara grins, glancing to Maki who shares in the look. “We’re going dancing tonight. Spring break, whoop!” She hollers and pumps a fist in the air, Maki scoffs a laugh.

“You idiot.”

“But…” You pout a little, “we just got here.”

“Suck it up! Everyone is going and you’re a part of that ‘everyone’, spring break demands excessive drinking and dancing!” Nobara barks and you open your mouth but she shuts it down before you can start. “No excuses! No assignments, no projects, no tests and no finals, you’ve got nothin to save you from putting on a cute outfit and getting sloppy tonight.” She smirks and cocks an eyebrow. “You clearly need some action if you’re racing random guys through side streets, am I right, or am I right?”

“Whatever, I don’t have a choice anyways, do I?” You sigh and turn to grab your bag as she shakes her head, still grinning.

She may be a tiny bit right. This getaway was welcome news after learning that you’d come in—for not the first time since starting at M.I.T.—second place for the midterm results in your quantum mechanics class to him. So yeah, maybe you do need to let off some… steam.

────୨ৎ────

The club doesn’t exactly fit in with the rest of Hampton, but it’s clearly needed because it’s absolutely packed. People spill out of the entrance as more file in, the bass hums through you as soon as you all approach the line waiting to file in.

In club time, you’re pretty early. It’s only 10:00 PM, most places don’t get this crazy until close to midnight based on your few experiences celebrating the end of finals or getting the internship everyone in your class had been vying for, but you suppose this quiet composed town operates on a different time zone.

Nobara throws her arms around you and Maki grinning between you, her face a little flushed from the drinks you all had while getting ready. “Maki, I know we’re going to lose you to Yuuta as soon as we get in there, but you,” She fixes her narrowed eyes on you with a look that screams mischief. “Are we finding you some tail tonight?”

You groan, halting the hand about to rub your eyes as you remember the makeup Nobara had spent achingly long on. “Let’s just get in there and make it through some dancing before we start talking about tail you horndog.”

“Pfft, like you can talk! You were drooling over that—“ A loud bang cuts Nobara off, you jump at the noise as a roaring engine revs, and quiets to a purr. Your head turns just as four motorcycles screech to a halt just outside the club, only a few feet from the line you’re currently standing in.

The timing.

It’s… him. You don’t know his face, but the adrenaline that kicks in and makes your pulse thrum under your skin at the sight of the dark helmet, mirrored visor still down and keeping him faceless, wearing the same tight black tee-shirt and black jeans as he was during your impromptu race earlier.

“Holy shit… that—that’s the guy. What are the chances?” You lean in to Nobara and Maki, not tearing your eyes off him as he swings a leg over the seat to stand with the other three guys he’s shown up with.

“The one you raced? Which one?” Maki asks, looking them all over, the other three are dressed similarly but for some reason your racer is unmistakable to you.

“In the tee-shirt, he’s the second one down.” You hold yourself back from pointing, not wanting to draw attention or be outright rude.

“This is your shot! It’s totally fate, you have to go talk to him!” Nobara starts to shove you out of the line but you scramble back and she tuts with a reminder. “Tail, remember?”

You whine, glancing at her for a moment before turning back to your racer, biting your lip. Fate sounds dumb but… what are the chances, though? You had been crestfallen knowing that could have been the only interaction you’d ever have with him, but here he is.

“Oh shit! Okay, yeah, how do I look?” You turn back to them for a moment and Nobara fixes your skirt, pulling it up a fraction and pulling your top down a bit, lowering the neckline to show some more cleavage, you smack her hands before she can squish your boobs together.

“Go get em’ hot stuff!” She grins and sends you off.

You turn back to your racer, eyes locked on him as you lift your chin and take a few steps in his direction. Perfect timing, you think as he goes to pull his helmet off.

You’re only a few feet away, the helmet lifts and you see a sharp jawline, full lips and your stomach flips a little as he lifts it the rest of the way off and—

“No…” You breathe. Stopped in your fucking tracks. Eyes wide and horrified as a shock of messy white hair catches the light and sinks your stomach. “You’re fucking kidding me.” You blink, hoping you’re just seeing things with the combination of alcohol and overtiredness.

But as he shakes his hair out, tucking the helmet under an arm to rake his fingers through the long silvery layers, it’s unmistakable.

It’s… him.

Gojo Satoru.

Your eye twitches.

How? He’s a… dweeb? You’ve—unfortunately—known him throughout all three years of attending M.I.T., and he’s inescapable there too. But he’s always in some stupid hoodie with Digimon or Gunpla or some stupid shit plastered on it, or a baggy sweater that screams ‘I looked up what nerds wear and bought the first thing that came up.’ Always wearing those giant glasses and doing the stereotypical ‘Um, actually—‘ pretentious nerd bullshit.

But right now, standing next to—who you also now recognize with his helmet off—Geto Suguru, as well as two guys you would not expect to see with Gojo and his butt-buddy, Zen’in Toji and Sukuna Ryomen, Gojo looks nothing like he does at school.

The hoodies, the knit sweaters, the glasses, has he looked like this underneath it all the whole time?

Gojo laughs at something Geto says as he scans the crowd and you whirl around on a heel to head right back in the direction you came, locking eyes with Nobara and giving her a ‘I’d like to go home now’ look that she returns with one of sympathy and shock equal to yours. She’s been around since it began and witnessed all three years of competition for the top spot with Gojo.

“Whoa, no way!” You’d know that voice anywhere. Like nails on a chalkboard and you wince, your eye twitches again. “Is that Silver? What are you doing all the way out here?”

Your shoulders hike up, nails digging crescent moons into your palms as you grit your teeth against a slew of undignified things you want to spit at him. That name, it makes your blood boil, and it’s only slicing through the last shreds of your will to walk away calmly more so after the %2 difference in your midterm results.

Silver, he started it during first year as a reminder.

Second place.

Fuck, you hate this guy.

Nobara gives you a look, almost like permission. Like she’s saying ‘Spring break, fuck him up!’ with just a scrunched nose and a grin and with that, you whirl around.

Almost instantly, you regret it. Gojo is standing maybe two feet away, it feels impossibly close, way too close and you have to lift your chin to look at his face. You hold his bright blue eyes, unobscured by his usual black rimmed glasses. You’re doing your best at ignoring the rest of him, his arms, his broad shoulders, his chest, his slim waist—focus, hate him, remember? Hate the ridiculous sleeper build he apparently has—fuck, stop it! Focus!

You set your face into cold indifference, crossing your arms as he looks down at you expectantly, that aggravating smirk tugging the corners of his mouth. “What, don’t get enough of me at school? Just had to follow me here too?”

“If I remember correctly—which I always do—you were following me here.” He cocks his head a little, smirk firmly in place.

“Y’know,” Your mouth curves slightly, still holding indifference in your eyes like you’d rather be anywhere else right now. “The wannabe biker thing isn’t really working for you, you should stick to what you know. Like that Pókemon rip-off you cream yourself for.” His nostrils flare like he wants to snap, but he pushes through and grins instead.

“Whoa,” Gojo glances over his shoulder to Geto as he says, “Guess nobody told her that hostility is a turn off for guys, huh?”

“Great advice, if I go into full on hysterics will you turn off completely? Like, total and permanent shut down? Just asking, y’know, for research.” You narrow your eyes as he sets his on you again, the smile slipping slightly as his eyes flit over you for a split second before he regains both again.

“Research, huh? What’s the lab gonna be called? ‘Boner killing man-hater can’t figure out why she still hasn’t gotten a boyfriend’?”

“Boner killer?” You grin, leaning in a little. “I seem to remember quite the opposite happening when I called you out in theoretical physics during first year.”

His eyes narrow, still holding the grin but his jaw is tight. “My dick works and I was 19, sue me. Still doesn’t negate every other boner you’ve killed—not talking about mine though, Toji said he thought he’d never pop one again when you went off about the aerodynamics of his Jeep.”

“Toji is a meat head who’s taken a few too many footballs to the face. He couldn’t sense air flow in a wind tunnel.”

“I can hear you y’know.” Toji snaps from behind Gojo.

“Sorry,” You shrug, turning attention back to Gojo as you continue, “But it doesn’t change the fact that you got hard in front of like 150 people after I pointed out the missing variable in your equation, freak.”

He scoffs but it turns into a laugh after a moment, the sound condescending and grating. “Again, I won’t apologize for being 19 and having a functioning dick. Question is though, you remember that day pretty well, did something about it stick with you?” He smirks again and crosses his arms, leaning in closer to you, making you way too aware of everything you’re still trying to ignore.

“Sorry to disappoint, but nothing about you sticks with me, Gojo.” You say flatly, lying right through your teeth. There are several things about Gojo that stick with you—annoyingly so—and you’ve accumulated a few more just today alone.

His lips twitches, the corner tugging down almost unnoticeably for a split second, like you may have hit a little too hard and you almost feel a little guilty, but something victorious stomps that down and you take the win as you turn on a heel to walk back towards the line.

“Well… that was—“

“Something.” You finish for Nobara.

“I was going to say entertaining. I need popcorn or something when I watch you two go at it.” She puts a hand on your shoulder as you tug your skirt down a little, refusing to look anywhere near Gojo’s direction as he stands with Geto next to their bikes. “Sorry about your biker boy, but maybe it’s like a si—“

“Don’t. Just… don’t finish that sentence. It was stupid and I’m over it.” You sigh and hear the disappointment in it as you do. Just your luck, it’s like Cinderella or something.

But instead of a carriage turning back into a pumpkin at midnight, the hot street racer that sets your pulse on edge turns into the most annoying guy you’ve ever met right before your eyes.

It was him the whole time. And… it all kind of makes sense. The double take he did, like he recognized you, the nod, hell even the race itself. You both have been each other’s ultimate competition since day one at M.I.T., and it seems that extends outside of school too.

Oh god… you… smiled at him.

Oh god… you were eye-fucking him! Nobara was right, you were drooling over that guy and it was Gojo Satoru the whole time. But that fact changes things, that’s where she’s wrong.

The only ‘sign’ here, is a giant red STOP that you’re heeding.

Notes:

how many tropes can one fit in a fic? insert mean girls reference here

Chapter 2

Summary:

did it have to be him?

Notes:

buckle up! oh wait, no seatbelts on a motorcycle... hold on tight then!
this chapter is longer than the last so just a heads up! okaaayyy have fun :)

Two drinks in along with an hour of dancing with Nobara, and you’re feeling much better than you were when you stepped into this club.

The air is thick, heavy with carbon dioxide from the sweaty, writhing masses on the dance floor, weighed down further by music you can feel in your bones. Strobing coloured lights flash over you every so often and render you a little blinded when they hit your retinas.

But you guess that it might be kind of fun. You and Nobara are doing whatever passes for dancing in your minds, laughing at and with each other. Yuuta and Maki are off on their own somewhere and Yuuji is trying to hype up Megumi into dancing with him—more than the little head bob and sway he’s doing now.

As you’re chuckling at the sight of them, you stagger forward and crash into Nobara who luckily stabilizes herself enough to catch you too. You pull yourself off her and whirl around to snap at whatever asshole just body checked you from behind.

And just your luck? You meet wide blue eyes blinking back at you from over a broad shoulder.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t see—“

“Watch it,” You snap, cutting him off and he pulls his hands off the girl working on fusing herself to his chest to raise them defensively. “The next person might knee you in the balls for that.” You turn away, putting your attention back on Nobara.

“Huh!? I can’t hear you!” That nails on a chalkboard voice squawks right in your ear, setting you back several progressive steps and right back into simmering irritation.

“I said—“ You whirl around, ready to connect your kneecap somewhere soft and vulnerable that’ll put him on the filth of the dance floor, but you stop instead as you meet Gojo’s face. So close that you can see every pale eyelash that flutters as he looks you over again, shamelessly, lingering more than the last time.

“Mind if I cut in? Since I’m right here anyways.” He looks to Nobara as he asks and she frowns and goes to respond, but you cut in before she can get a word out.

“Yes, I do mind, very much in fact.” You snap your head back to Nobara, “I’m going outside for some air, I feel like I’m suffocating right now.” You say loud enough to get your point across to everyone.

She lifts her eyebrows and it says, ‘yeah, I bet’ Before you both turn to head in opposite directions.

The cool night air hits your overheated skin as you step out of the club, prickling goosebumps across your chest even though you’re anything but cold. Stars dot the sky above, it’s not quiet by any means but it still feels calm here, soothing the frayed ends of your very confused nerves.

You get about two minutes of peace before a bright and familiar laugh sets your skin buzzing and your eye twitching. You contemplate just taking off in a sprint until you’re out of range and walking back to the estate Yuuta is putting you all up in, but you’re not fast enough.

“Silver! What are you doing up here?” Gojo walks right up to you, Geto leans against the wall next to you, lighting up a cigarette.

“Sorry, I told him he didn’t have to come with.” Geto offers sympathetically, you shake your head as he holds the pack out to you.

“It’s fine. It’s a public street, anyone can be out here,” Your eyes narrow at Gojo, “even the riffraff.”

“Pfft, riffraff? What, are you accepting your fate as a seventy year old cat lady already?” He laughs and it sends your stomach flipping up into your throat and your hand itches like it wants to say hello to his face. Gojo grins and it’s all straight white teeth and bright blue eyes lidded under stupidly long white lashes. “Y’know, it’s been scientifically proven that smiling and saying positive things out loud can improve mood and one’s overall health, even if it’s disingenuous. You should try it, it might even help your grade too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind and make sure to mention it next time you throw a temper tantrum over another internship spot.” You make a point of smiling as sweetly as you possibly can when you’re in Gojo’s vicinity. 

Geto sighs next to you like he just wanted to have a cigarette in peace. But peace is never an option when it comes to you and Gojo.

“I’m over it,” Gojo waves a hand, brushing you off. “But you’re clearly still stuck on the midterm. You shouldn’t take it so hard, everyone else got the same question wrong too—well,” He grins again. “Except for me that is.”

It stings. It always does when it’s this fresh. The hours spent studying, pouring time and effort and your life into preparing for yet another test just to have him beat you by one stupid fucking question. It wouldn’t bother you so much, sure you’re competitive, but it wouldn’t hurt if he wasn’t always such an asshole about it. Rubbing your nose in your own loss. 

“Fuck you, Gojo.” You spit the words with a glare.

“How vulgar,” He tuts, “I thought you were better than that.”

“Thought wrong, guess you’re not as smart as you think you are.”

“You’re so bitter, you really need to loosen up a bit.” He smirks, casting a glance over his shoulder before setting his eyes back on you with a brow lifted. “Wanna go for a ride? It’ll take the edge off and I can show you what it’s like to finally win.”

You can’t hold in the barked laugh that bursts out at that. You’re expecting him to admit to the joke, but he just stands there. Silent with a pale brow up expectantly as he stares like he’s waiting for something, an answer? “You’re kidding, right?”

“I don’t joke about winning.”

“Yeah,” You start with a flat look, “It’s gonna be a hard no, I’d like to survive till graduation.”

“Oh come on,” He drawls, wandering over to where the sleek black bike is parked and throws a leg over, leaning back in the seat with one hand on the grip. “Live a little, Silver, we can even race someone and you can ride the coattails of my win, the usual stuff.”

The bike starts with a momentary roar, quieting down to a purring hum that you can feel even at a distance. You shiver a little but it’s not from the cool night air. The memory of that race earlier today comes flooding back, the adrenaline that filled those seconds seeps in, making your pulse hum in time with the engine. It’s all just so… confusing. Knowing it was Gojo under that helmet is fucking you up a little.

You hate him.

So why are you getting kind of excited at the idea of taking him up on the offer? Why are you even considering it?

“What makes you think I’d go anywhere with you, Gojo? Especially not when you’ve been drinking.” You cross your arms, trying to ignore the little voice urging you to do it.

“Nah, don’t worry, I’m stone cold sober.” He assures with a nod. “And because I know you want to know what it’s like,” He revs the bike a little. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like you did with your foot to the floor trying to keep up with me.”

He’s kind of right, but fuck him.

“So what happens when we crash? I like my dermis as it is—attached to the rest of my body, not smeared on the road.” His eyes flick down, dragging back up and over you as he hums.

Is he… checking you out?

You feel very aware of the kind of skimpy outfit you decided to wear out tonight as his eyes rove up your legs—bare up to the skirt that barely hits mid-thigh—and over the low cut top Nobara stuffed you into.

“We won’t crash, I’m pretty good at driving this thing.” He meets your eyes again with a smile that’s not the smug or cocky one he usually gives you, there’s something else there.

God damn it.

How could it be him? Does the universe really hate you that much?

How could your street racer, the biker boy of dreams you didn’t even know you had, be Gojo?

It feels like a prank, a cruel one. Or maybe a test, and you were already thinking about taking it, tempted to give in to an adrenaline junkie side that you had no idea even existed, not before him.

But you huff and give him grief because that’s what you and Gojo do. “You’re not going to stop until I say yes, huh? Why? Do you just want to scare the shit out of me?” He shrugs and you both stare silently for a few seconds.

Geto clears his throat next to you, “You can use my helmet... if you want.”

“Not helping.” You throw him a side eyed glare.

“See!” Gojo throws his hand out to Geto, beaming at you. “Totally safe. Just say yes, it’s so obvious that you want to.”

Fuck.

Are you really about to do this?

“Clearly my judgement is severely impaired right now.” You mutter, peeling off the wall to approach Gojo as he grins like the god damn cheshire cat.

Geto grabs his helmet for you and your stomach tightens as you watch Gojo slip his on, transforming into your faceless street racer right before your eyes once more. He flips the visor up and watches as you pull your hair back, tucking it behind your ears before tugging the helmet on.

You fiddle with the clasp a little, trying to clip it, head tilted back to expose your neck and give your hands more room. You flinch as warm fingers brush your jaw, taking the clasp out of your hands.

“Chill, I got it.” Gojo murmurs as his hands work, you let yours drop away and watch him as he secures the clasp, tightening the strap a little with head tilted and brow furrowed, a few pieces of snowy hair falling in his eyes.

You try to fight it, but as his thumb grazes your throat, right over your pulse point that’s humming away, you swallow hard.

“There we go,” He pulls back and slaps the top of the helmet, gripping it to shake your head a little and you jerk back out of his grasp. “All set, you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You sigh, the sound muffled with the helmet covering your mouth.

“Hop on then, let’s go.” He twists to pat the space behind him. You eye it, then Gojo.

Against all better instincts, you lift and throw a leg over the back of his bike. The cool leather is like a shock as your ass meets the seat, holding your skirt down until you're sat. You grip the back of the seat, scooting and holding yourself back to keep distance between you and the ridiculously broad back right in your face.

Gojo turns, looking over his shoulder at you. “Hold on tight, I don’t go slow.” You can hear the smirk on his face and you roll your eyes. 

You keep your hands on the back of the seat as he flicks the visor down and hefts the bike upright, flipping the kickstand up with his foot. Your toes lift off the ground and your balance falters, hands shooting out to steady yourself on the only thing in reach; Gojo’s back. Your feet search for purchase and find the rear pegs, settling there you regain some balance.

You can feel his laugh as you slide forward a little on the seat, chest pressed right up against him now. Closer to him right now than you’ve ever been in the three years you’ve known him, closer than you’ve ever wanted to get. 

The purr of the bike as he walks it back goes right through you and it has to be fucking with your head because this all feels too good. The heat of his body against yours, feeling nothing but hard cut lines under your hands as you give in and wrap them around his waist.

Geto waves you both off. Gojo toes the shifter and nods to him, twisting the throttle a little and your knees squeeze around him, hands gripping the front of Gojo’s shirt as he shifts into gear, and peels off.

It’s all squealing tires and whipping wind and you realize that he was totally holding back when we raced. In a matter of blinks, you’re going faster than you think you ever have in your life and…

It feels amazing.

The adrenaline pumping through you now is greater even than when you raced him.

It feels almost natural, leaning a little with him as he takes corners, feeling him press his back into your chest as he brakes to make a sharp turn, leaning forward into him as he twists the throttle hard to get back up to breakneck speed on straight stretches.

Doing all of it with your mouth curved in a smile hidden by the front of Geto’s helmet as you look out at the scenery. The road he’s taken you both up to runs almost right next to the water. Winding and curved, only a couple of other cars are on the road with you, but he leaves them behind quickly.

You’re thinking it’s just going to be a ride like this, quiet and just the two of you aimlessly speeding along with the pretty view of a darkened—inky and almost black—ocean on your left. You’re admiring said view when Gojo slaps your thigh a few times, just above your knee and you startle and suck in a sharp breath at the sudden contact, turning your attention back to him as he points at something in the distance.

It’s a car. A little hard to tell what kind in the dark but it’s low and sleek and looks like it could probably go fast. You’re about to yell at him to ask ‘what about it?’ but he grips the handle again, downshifts, and cranks the throttle.

He catches up to the car quickly, coming up close on the bumper of maybe... a mustang? You're not sure, you've never really been into cars outside of their function and utilization in hypotheticals for momentum in Newtonian mechanics.

Your grip around Gojo tightens further as he swerves around to pull up next to the car and it dawns on you exactly what he’s doing.

He’s about to fucking race this guy.

The thought sends a jolt of lightning up your spine, making you shiver again. The night air is cool, but the drinks you’ve had tonight and Gojo’s body heat leeching through his shirt and right into you keeps you warm despite the wind tearing around you.

A silent conversation passes between Gojo and the guy driving the car, revving and nosing ahead of each other in a mechanical dick measuring contest. Through the open window you can see there’s a girl in the passenger seat of the car, leaning hard into the driver with his hand high up on her thigh.

You’re all too aware of how you and Gojo look right now, how you’re touching, chest pressed to his back and thighs around his hips. To the couple in the car, you probably look, well, the same as them.

It’s so confusing because it doesn’t disgust you like you expect it to. Like his hands on your neck, on your thigh should have. He’s an asshole, a nerd with an ego too big to fit inside his helmet or even his big fat stupid head. 

When did he even start riding a bike? It’s so out of character for him—at least from what you know about him with all the annoying back and forth you two have been doing over the years.

From the very first interaction, when he’d pointed out how close your score was even though you topped his, not even saying ‘hi’ before he got under your skin, you’ve felt nothing but burning, white hot hatred for him. Three years worth of it built up. You’re definitely still burning, but it’s something alive, hot and deep in your gut that makes your knees clench tighter that you’re feeling right now.

Gojo yanks you out of your churning thoughts, urging the bike faster and faster. The sound of both the car and his bike peaking to max RPM’s before shifting and somehow getting even faster. You can’t see the speedo, but you know it’d probably make your stomach flip to see as you approach a straight stretch, coming out of a turn that has you so close to the car as its tires squeal and fight for grip.

You come out of the turn and the back tire skids a little, fishtailing in a terrifying wobble that steals your breath and stops your heart, white-knuckling his shirt as Gojo fights it, throttling to push the bike through, and he does.

He opens the bike up again and tears ahead, faster than the car could ever hope to recover from the corner and taking the lead, only gaining more distance between the car as he pushes harder, faster.

There was never a finish line set for the race, but in unspoken street-racing rules, you assume Gojo has all but actually claimed gold here as you round another corner and the car disappears from sight, defeated and backing off.

Even over the wind and the bike, Gojo’s whooping laugh rings out loud and clear as he pumps a fist in the air, savouring his victory lap as he slows a little to a slightly less heart-pounding speed.

And you’re grinning. Laughing right along with him because that was exhilarating. It feels so good, the way your heart beats at your ribcage, thudding against his back with your senses so alight the air smells sharper, the dark waves that roll and lick at the shore seem alive.

Everything around you feels crisp and clear.

The feeling that spreads as Gojo slaps his hand on your thigh, gripping and leaving it there with his long fingers pressing into your soft flesh higher than before. Laughing victoriously still, like he’s claiming a prize.

You know the feeling. It’s not unfamiliar, but it’s foreign and confusing for it to be flooding in around Gojo.

Hands unclenching from his shirt, your fingers ease and splay out against his sternum, palms pressed to abs you had no idea he had.

You feel almost high and chalk it up to adrenaline from a near skid out and the endorphins of winning. Not the way he squeezes one more time and pulls his hand off so slowly, fingers dragging tortuously over your skin to replace on the grip after what feels like somehow way too long and not nearly enough time.

The touch is seared onto your thigh, the heat of his hand there burned into your skin and brain as you cruise on, looping back to head into town again. Head turned and resting the side of the helmet against Gojo’s spine as you look out at the quiet streets that blur past, it all feels so good and you let yourself just feel it. Knowing it’s fleeting.

He hates you just as much as you hate him—well, maybe you hate him just a little more—and that still stands of course, but maybe just for tonight you can allow yourself to feel something else.

For this ride, he can just be your nameless, faceless street racer instead of your mortal enemy. You deserve that, right?

You press hard into Gojo as he brakes, screeching to a near full stop and pulling the bike around to park in front of not the club as you’re expecting, but a small shop. Windows lit with colorful neon signs that cast bright colors on the sidewalk out front.

“What are you doing?” You ask, pulling away from him as he shuts the bike off. “We should probably get back to the club.”

“Just a quick pit stop, this place has really good ice-cream sandwiches.” He’s muffled a little with the helmet still on, twisting to look over his shoulder as he gestures to the shop. “They use monster cookies and like half a pint of whatever flavor you want.”

You’re stopping for… ice-cream? You make a face behind the cover of the blacked out visor. “Oh, um… okay.”

He leans the bike and hops off first, holding a hand out to help you off. 

You stare at it. 

It feels weird. Sure you’ve been smushed against his back with your arms around him for the last—you’re actually not sure how long you two have been out for, you realize—but that was out of pure necessity.

This is just… nice?

Gojo Satoru, being nice, to you?

You think it might be a trick, a prank to let you fall on your face should you actually lean on him at all. But, for some reason, you take the offering anyway. Taking his hand as you swing your leg over and slide down the side. You don’t fall, he doesn’t yank his hand away at just the right time, he just… helps you get off the bike.

He pulls his helmet off, shaking his head to make already messy platinum hair even fluffier, like one of those Persian cats after they’ve been blow-dried and you chuckle at the sight, getting a flat look back.

Pulling off Geto’s helmet, Gojo gets one look at you and howls, throwing his head back to laugh at you with zero hesitation, returning the favour.

You tuck the helmet under an arm and pat your head, feeling your own messy hair. Scowling at Gojo as you fix it a little with a finger comb.

Leaving both helmets on the seat of his bike, Gojo walks into the shop ahead of you. Holding the door for you to grab behind him—not like a gentleman, but also not letting it slam in your face as would be usual.

Tonight just feels weird. Nothing is going how you would imagine it to—hell, you never would have imagined getting on that bike in the first place, not while knowing who was driving it. But here you are, getting ice-cream with Gojo.

There are already a couple other people inside when you walk in, one on his phone at a table trying to focus on the screen and failing miserably—very clearly drunk—and a girl ordering at the counter.

“So, you’ve been here before?” You ask Gojo as you line up behind the girl.

“A few times, yeah.” He peers at the display case, humming and looking over the options as the girl ahead pays for her order. “For you, I’m gonna say… vanilla seems fitting, with oatmeal raisin cookies, also fitting.” He turns back to you, shit eating grin stretched wide across his face.

You ignore that and step up to the case to look in. “For you, cotton candy—predictably over the top—and… ah, sugar cookies, same reason.” You turn back to Gojo and he’s still just smiling down at you.

“Sounds like you just think I’m sweet.”

“Sounds like you think I’m classic and consistent.”

“To a fault, although,” He tilts his head a little, “Maybe not as boring as I thought.”

Usually, you’d snap something back at him, call him a loser or tell him to get back to moderating his Digimon reddit forum and quit thinking about you. 

But you don’t.

Instead, you lift your chin a little, hands loosely clasped in front of you instead of crossed and guarded. “Yeah, I’ve been surprising even myself today.”

Now he looks surprised, blinking once as the grin slips a little like he wasn’t expecting that either. 

“Yeah…” His jaw works, a muscle feathering for a moment like he’s holding something back and he clears his throat. “If you really feel like living it up tonight, you should try the salted caramel. There are crunchy caramel bits and a ripple in there too. Still on the boring side, but with a little bit of, mmm, something else.” Your lips part and he steps up to the counter.

These personality reads disguised as ice-cream flavours are weird. Is he kind of right, though? Maybe about you, but maybe about himself too. He’s being weirdly nice. Weirdly sweet.

What the fuck is going on?

Gojo gets strawberry cheesecake with—and you grin as he does, brimming with satisfaction at being spot on with your assumption—sugar cookies. Deciding to take Gojo’s advice, you get the salted caramel with classic chocolate chip cookies and he grins as you do, looking equally satisfied.

You go to pull some cash out of a pocket in your skirt, Gojo has his wallet out and taps a sleek dark card on the reader. You go to hand over a few bills for your order, but Gojo says something that makes your face screw up, mouth hanging indignantly.

“I got it.”

Okay… what the actual fuck is going on?

Taking you for a ride on his bike, touching you, stopping for ice-cream, paying for said ice-cream, being kind of nice to you all the while.

It’s all too much like stuff people do on dates and if you didn’t hate each other's guts, you’d say it kind of feels like that too.

But you do.

You hate him.

He hates you.

So it’s all just weird instead.

The woman working hands Gojo a dark purple box, beaming at him as she does and you eye Gojo as he takes it, returning her smile with one of his own. She’s giving him that look people do when they see something they like, eyes lit up and glued to his face like it’s the best part.

Your body is doing stupid shit as he turns to you, box in hand and tips his head to the door, some of his fluffed up platinum hair falling across his bright eyes, so weird to see unobscured by glasses. Smile almost as bright as the shade of cerulean in his irises. You turn away, from Gojo and from the weird feeling tightening across your chest, twisting in your stomach and making this shop too warm all of a sudden.

He follows you out, opening up the box and handing you your dessert. He leans on his bike and you lean against the wall outside the shop as you both take the first bite.

You really, really hate to admit it, but Gojo was right.

“This is—mmf—really good.” You mumble around cookie crumbs and the not too sweet ice-cream that coats your mouth with a slightly salty tinge that compliments the ribbon of thick and creamy caramel perfectly, those little crunchy bits offering something kind of nutty too.

“Mmm—I know right,” He nods, mouth full of his own sickly sweet concoction. “I knew you’d like that one.” You’re about to take another bite, but that makes you falter, hand halted just before the thick sandwich reaches your open mouth.

He’s munching away at his own dessert and his hand comes up like he’s about to adjust his glasses, but realizes they’re not there and he drops it back to hold the cookie. It’s something you’ve seen him do hundreds—god, probably thousands of times and it forces the last bit of the realization in through a crack opening.

You’ve known Gojo for three years, been around him for a lot with you both working towards the same degree in the same field, you’re in pretty much every class together, spent almost the entirety of your college life with him.

You do know him, maybe not well, but he clearly knows you too. Maybe not by choice but more by the forced proximity despite M.I.T. being a massive school.

But this is the first time you’re seeing him like this, a little softer around the edges.

“Y’know,” You start, lowering your hand from your mouth. “I think this is the longest we’ve ever gone without insulting each other.” His eyes find yours and he swallows the mouthful of cookie and ice-cream.

“Feels kinda weird, right?” You nod slowly and he chuckles. “I can say something about the midterm and you can call me an egotistical asshole or something, get back to the usual stuff if you want?”

“You don’t have to bring up the midterm, I’ll call you an egotistical asshole anytime.” He laughs at that.

“Of course, silly me.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling and you take a bite to force your mouth to do something else.

Gojo finishes first, that big fat mouth is good for more than just shit talking you guess, and you peel off the wall as you pop the last bit in your mouth, walking back to Gojo leaning on his bike. He stands and gives you a look that makes your stomach flip a little.

“Wanna try sitting up front?”

“You mean like… driving?” The ride was fun, but the thought of being the one in control of the sleek black rocket makes that flip in your stomach turn to full on somersaults and he laughs.

“No, no,” He wipes a fake tear. “No way I’m letting you drive,”

You scowl, “What’s so funny? Don’t think I can?”

“I never said that,” He lifts his hands, palms out and placating. “And it’s not while the bike is moving, just to sit.”

“Just to sit?” You echo and he nods. “What’s even the point of that?”

“It’s fun,” He shrugs, “and I can show you how to work it.” You feel heat flood into your cheeks at that, going wide eyed and he laughs. “Get your mind out of the gutter, the bike, I mean.”

“Tch, whatever.” Your eyes roll again, but you do step up and swing a leg over, taking the front seat. Up on tip toes, your hands splay on the tank for balance, expecting him to stand there and point out all the buttons and controls.

But he doesn’t.

Gojo takes the seat behind you, his weight sinking the bike’s suspension a bit. His hips pressed to your ass. Breath catching as he leans forward to look over your shoulder, his chest against your ramrod straight spine, your whole body going stiff as his closes around you.

A pale forearm, veins and muscle prominent under his skin, reaches around you to point things out on the bike in front of you. “Okay, the important stuff first, throttle, clutch, and—you’ll like this one—brake.” The teasing lilt to his voice makes you itch to turn and scowl over your shoulder, but he’s right there and if you do… it’d be too close.

“Alright, hands on the grips and feet on the pegs,” You do as he says, holding the grips tight and shifting your toes to rest on the pegs—thankful you opted for cute sneakers instead of heels for tonight, they’re coming in handy for more than just the dancing you’d planned. “Good, you’re a natural! Stay just like that.”

You swallow hard against something tight in your throat as heat spreads throughout your entire body, emanating from deep in your center. You don’t think he’s ever commended you, definitely not like this, not with his hard chest against you as he pushes the bike upright, both feet on the ground to balance.

“Okay, this switch here, flick it.” He points it out and you do so with your thumb, staying silent as he walks you through the steps of starting the bike and it roars to life. He shows you the shifter near your foot, how to work the clutch in tandem with it and the throttle and you try to follow along, but your head is a little scattered.

“Okay so… hold the clutch, shift to gear, ease off the clutch and onto the throttle, right?” You ask, going through the steps over again.

“Yeah, you’ve got it. But remember to steer too, no smashing into walls.” You scoff, turning to give him a look like ‘yeah, no shit.’ before you can think twice on it and come face to face with Gojo. The look wiped right off to instead stare wide eyed back at him.

“So,” He looks ahead of you, to the bike as his other arm comes around, hand brushing yours as he thumbs a button near the grip. “That’s the horn,” His hand drops, flicking a switch near the speedometer. “Lights are—“

“Why are you doing this?” You blurt, the words jumping up and out of your throat, forced out by your stomach twisting on itself with Gojo so close, pressed in and around you.

He looks at you again, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

His mouth opens, hesitating for a second and letting a sigh out as his eyes drop, feeling his breath fan over your lips as he does. “Just trying to be nice, I guess.”

Your jaw clenches, hands tightening on the grips. “But, why though?” His eyes flick back up to yours, brow low but not frowning, not smiling either.

“Felt like trying something new, doing something different. Is that allowed?” His voice is thin, words clipped like you’ve hit something and it’s irritated him. You almost want to ask what’s wrong, but you don’t.

“You’re so all over the place.”

A smirk quirks his mouth, smugness tugging his lips. “I think you just have a hard time keeping up with me.”

There it is.

“It’s impossible to keep up with inconsistency.” Your eyes narrow a little and his do too, but there’s a slight lift to them as well.

“It doesn’t even seem like you’re trying.”

You glare now, the usual irritation that simmers between you two rising to cut through whatever else you’re feeling having him so close. “Have you crashed this thing already? You’re talking like someone with head-trauma. Trying to do something impossible sounds pretty damn similar to the definition of insanity people love to misquote.”

He’s acting crazy right now, toeing waters that aren’t meant for you and Gojo. The familiarity of butting heads isn’t pleasant but it’s less heart pounding than whatever else is stirring—has been stirring since that race.

“Right back to insulting me, lasted all of five minutes with that one, nice.” He scoffs and you return it, whipping your head forward.

“It was like ten minutes, and it’s hardly an insult if it's true.”

“So if I’m ever nice, it has to be because of head-trauma?” He barks a laugh, loud and humourless in your ear. “How else am I supposed to take that if not as an insult? Last time I ever buy your ungrateful ass ice-cream, damn.”

“Ungrateful?” You echo, pitched and undignified and more like a squawk than a retort. “I never asked for that,” You scramble to get off the bike, needing space and to not be six inches away from his face when you look at him. You slide off, leg up and on the seat and your foot gets caught. Gojo goes to help you and you snap. “Don’t, I’ve got it.”

He backs off, hands up as you yank your foot off and stumble back. “Okay! God, don’t pop a blood vess—”

“I never asked for this, never asked for any of this actually.” You jab a finger at him, probably looking a little wild with wide eyes and helmet hair. “You dragged me out here and I have no idea why—“

“Oh stop, just admit it,” He cuts you off. The engine dies as he flips the kickstand out and leans the bike again. “You had fun.”

You blink, finger still aimed accusingly but curling in on itself as he stands. “What?”

“I know you’re not actually deaf,” You have to tilt your head to look up at his stupid smug face again as he stands with hands in his pockets barely two feet away, again. “Even though it does seem like it sometimes with how shit goes right through your skull like it’s empty or something.”

“Me?” You scoff, incredulous. “Your brain must be fried from all the hot air blowing up your fat head if you think I’ll admit that this was anything other than dangerous and idiotic. I was right, you are insane and not nearly as smart as you think you are if you decided to start riding a motorcycle.”

“Says the one who snatched that helmet from Suguru like it was the One Ring and hopped on my bike like you were dying to ride it.” Your nose scrunches, frowning as he bends, leaning just a little closer. “Admit it, when we raced—I was letting you keep up by the way, but I saw how you looked at me, you were totally dying to ride it. Which was it though? The bike, or me?” He smirks like he knows the choked noise of disgust that rips from your throat is feigned.

“You are such a fucking pig, I can’t believe I ever thought—” You cut yourself off with a forced huff, turning away from him. Again, does the universe just fucking hate you or something? And how could you have ever thought that Gojo would be anything but your mortal enemy.

“Thought what?” He prods, straightening a little as you take a few steps towards the wall with your fists balled at your sides, nails digging into your palms again.

“That you would ever be anything other than a disgusting, egotistical asshole.” You snap over your shoulder.

“Yeah, I can’t believe I ever thought you’d be anything other than a boring, stuck up bitch, but I guess I can be wrong sometimes.” He laughs and it’s devoid of anything resembling humor and you whirl around at that.

“Fuck you.” You spit out, glaring as he does the same right back.

“Yeah? Well fuck you too.”

Your whole body is tense, rigid again and burning hot as you glare at each other. Your eyes betray you, flitting over him for a split second, seeing his thick biceps flexed, broad shoulders hiked a little like he’s coiled up in anticipation for something.

You can feel it. The heated static charge that sits in the space between you. The ‘fuck you’ you exchanged hanging somewhere in there too. His icy blue eyes betray him just that same as yours, dragging over you for a moment as a muscle feathers in his jaw.

God, you fucking hate this guy.

So why does it feel like the moment after lightning strikes, when you’re waiting for the inevitable clap of thunder that follows? There’s no thunder with you and Gojo, there’s no lightning, there’s no storm that could ever bring such things.

He’s Gojo Satoru, your natural nemesis. Your faceless street racer doesn’t exist because it was Gojo the whole time and that will just never happen.

He might be ridiculously hot, but in no world would you ever—

Space disappears way too easily. Your hands grip the front of his shirt, feeling his toned chest as your fingers splay and ball the soft fabric up, yanking him. He grabs your waist with one hand, fingers digging hard into the curve there as his other tangles in your hair, tugging to tilt your head back as he pulls you flush against him.

Your spine curves with the position he’s forced you into and your mouth opens for a sharp gasp to escape at the sting of your hair being pulled not so much with pain, but with a sharp jolt of something hot that floods your body as his mouth crashes against yours.

It’s not nice and soft and romantic as first kisses often are, as they’re supposed to be. It’s heated, rough and hard, his lips bruising against yours and you push back against it, pulling at his shirt and pushing up to fight back.

That’s what it is. It’s a fight, just as you and Gojo do in every aspect of your lives. A clash for dominance that neither of you will ever give up without tearing each other apart for first.

He tugs your hair again and you groan into his mouth, around his tongue as it sweeps along yours, tasting strawberries and sugar and something else underlying that must just be Gojo as you meet each wet slide of his tongue.

It’s all teeth and tongue and noses bumping. Both panting with each break of your lips from his to gasp for the oxygen your racing blood demands, only getting more of his hot breath before being suffocated again.

Why does it feel so good? He tastes too good, his body feels too good against yours, under your hands. His own hungry and desperate and exploratory, gliding and squeezing up and down your side, drifting under your shirt to grip bare flesh. That feels way too good.

It’s like every insult you’ve ever hurled at each other is just fuel on flames licking at your heels, urging you further and it seems Gojo is feeling the same demanding heat.

He steps forward, forcing you to take one back. His mouth never leaves yours as he grips your hips with both hands, thumb digging into the bone hard enough to ache. Walking you backwards until he shoves you to hit the wall behind you and you break apart with a sharp gasp.

Your eyes fly open to find his lidded and dark with pupils wide, pieces of messy, silvery hair falling across them. Your hands splay out flat on his chest and shove, but the six-foot-something bastard barely budges, just leaning back a little to give you space as you both huff and pant for breath.

Your lips waver, you want to say something, ‘what the fuck?!’ maybe, or another ‘fuck you’ but nothing comes out except for the sound of gasping desperately for oxygen. His eyes searching your face, from your eyes, to your lips. Throat bobbing as he swallows, looking for something in your features.

Palms still flattened over the plane of his chest, his hips pressed to you and pinning you to the concrete wall, all of it still feeling too good for this to be Gojo.

Maybe you went through a dimensional rift when you raced and you’re in an alternate reality now, or something like back to the future. But there’s no past, present or future where you’d ever do this with the Gojo from your universe.

Maybe this is actually a body-snatcher alien that you’re grabbing the shirt of again to yank back down to you.

Feeling the shitty smile spreading on his face as you give in and kiss him again, arms up over his shoulders and threading your fingers into soft hair.

The moan that escapes is involuntary, ripped from your throat as he slots a leg in the heated space between yours and pulls your hips to him. Dragging you over the hard muscle of his thigh with nothing between your cunt—sensitive after sitting on that vibrating seat pressed up against Gojo—and the texture of his jeans but cotton panties already damp and sticking to you.

His smile widens at your noise and he rocks your hips as his leg lifts, pressing harder into the sticky heat between your legs, sparking electricity to make your clit throb. Made only worse feeling where he’s hard and heavy behind the closure of his jeans, the thick heat of his cock pressing into your hip. Moaning softly into your mouth as he pulls you closer and thrusts against you a little.

Something hot and needy floods in, deep in your core making you chase the friction. The insane amount of pleasure that sparks as your clit grinds on his thigh. As you feel the guy you fucking hate getting hard against you, for you.

You tug his hair and hisses, biting your lip, catching it between his teeth. Sharp and prominent canines sink in hard enough to make you gasp, feeling his smile around your caught lip.

“I hate you,” It comes out breathy and quiet on a whine, want cloaked behind hot and simmering hatred as you practically hump his leg. “So fucking much.”

“Yeah? You do this with all the guys you hate?” His tone is thick and condescending, but he’s breathless too with his own undeniable desire underlying it all. “If you hate me so much, tell me to stop.”

That doesn't happen. Your mouths crash together again, hard and spiteful and full of desperation you hate that you feel for him. Hate that you like this brand new fight for dominance you’re clashing against and grinding into him for.

Hate him.

Your tongue swirls with his and you arch up. He moans into your mouth with your tits pushing up to his sternum and your hip rubbing on his cock. Blunt nails dig into your hip as one hand drifts under the hem of your skirt and up to grip the cusp of your thigh—almost your ass—and you rock back into his hand for a moment.

Lost in this and falling deeper, chasing the heat and tension twisting through your gut with every slide of your lips against his, every touch and breathless sound. With your skirt riding up, pulled up by Gojo’s wandering hand squeezing your ass now, somehow your dazed and clouded mind knows you have to stop now before this goes any further with him, and with you in public like this.

Your palms flatten on his chest again and you shove, harder this time and he must not have been expecting it because he actually staggers back a step, leaving the space between your legs achingly empty.

“Fuck you, Gojo.” You pant out, glaring as you straighten and pull yourself off the wall, yanking your skirt down. His lips are glossy and dark pink from your kiss and he drags a hand through his hair, the rise and fall of his chest slowing as he catches his breath.

“Fuck you too,” His laugh is breathy and low, tinged with something beside the smug tone. “Kinda seems like it’s what you want.”

“Fuck off, don’t talk like you know me.” You scoff, brushing past Gojo to walk back to the bike and grab Geto’s helmet. “Just take me back, we’ve been gone for way too long.” You pull it on and fiddle with the clasp again, shaky fingers fumbling with the complicated fixture. “Fucking stupid—fuck, I hate this thing!” You drop your hands and take a deep, cooling breath with eyes shut tight.

“Hateful little thing, aren’t you?” Gojo asks, and your eyes open to him in front of you, too close again. “Need me to get it again?” He offers and you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. But you tilt your head back and Gojo takes the clip and fixes it closed for you, fingers brushing tortuously over your jaw again, down your throat in a way that feels purposeful.

Hate him, I hate him. It repeats in your head like a mantra over and over as he takes his hands away, going to pull his own helmet on again as he takes his seat on the bike, starting it up as you move to sit behind him.

You stifle a whimper as the vibration of the engine humming through the seat goes right into you, reigniting everything Gojo started when he pushed you into the wall. Putting your arms reluctantly around his waist as he walks the bike back, shifts, and takes off again.

The ride is brief and absolute torture. The shop wasn’t far from the club and it takes maybe five minutes to get back. But it’s five minutes of being pressed up against Gojo again with his bike purring reverberations exactly where you’re already overheated and stimulated.

You quite literally leap off the bike the moment he rolls to a stop beside the others, scrambling to get off before he’s even shut the thing off. Geto is standing out front again and you undo the clasp quickly as you walk towards him, luckily that part is easier than doing it up.

“You guys were gone for a while, how was the ride?” He asks, taking a drag off his cigarette. You say nothing as you yank his helmet off and shove it at his chest, jaw tight and your whole body stiff and hot as he takes it from you with an eyebrow raised, looking over your shoulder for a moment. But he doesn’t say anything else and you stomp back into the club, flashing a stamp on your wrist at the bouncer.

The bar is your first stop and you down a full glass of water in an attempt to cool yourself down from the inside out. It doesn’t work.

It’s something deep that’s keeping you burning and overheated, something unfulfilled that you know won’t die down and go away until it’s sated. But you’re not about to give it what it wants.

Your pussy does not have your best interest in mind.

“Oh my god! I was looking everywhere for you, where the fuck did you go?” Nobara grabs your shoulder and leans into your line of sight as you’re leaning on the bar, deep in contemplation over the life choices that have led you to this point.

“Oh, um…” You start, not looking her in the eye and swallow. You can’t tell her, you can’t tell anyone and you’re praying to whatever god will take mercy on you and listen that neither will Gojo. “I, uh, went for a walk, lost track of time.”

“You had everyone freaking out, send a text or something next time, jeez!” She thumps you over the head, not hard but enough to get the message across and you nod. You don’t really have it in you to fight back or argue that it wasn’t your fault, because what would you even say?

No, you’ll be taking this one to your grave.

“Let’s go, we’re gonna stay for a few more songs then we can dip!” She tugs your arm and you allow yourself to be dragged back to the dancefloor. No will to fight, and it’s not as if you could get any hotter than you already are right now anyways.

Hopefully you can just make it through the rest of the night without bumping into Gojo again, then flee to the safety of Yuuta’s mansion and stay there for the rest of the break.

────୨ৎ────

The faint crashing of waves and a soft pool of golden light across the bed are the first things you hear and see as you stir awake. Stretching out and taking up the entirety of the massive king size mattress, a smile curls your lips as you silently thank Yuuta for his newfound family and for sharing the insane getaway with you all.

The sun is peeking, just getting started with its early rise as you do the same. Your internal clock has been reset to function around early classes so getting up with the sun is typical for you, that won’t change even on vacation you guess.

There’s a mild ache in your head, likely from the alcohol but it might be thanks to the amount of justification and mental gymnastics you’ve been doing since getting back to the club last night. Your body is certainly feeling the after effects of every stupid thing you did—your back is stiff, hip aching with a reminder.

But you’re safe from all of it now. Safely tucked away behind wrought iron gates and tall hedges and are free to hide here for the rest of break with your one obliged outing done and over with. Whatever Gojo is doing here, wherever he is, you won’t have to see him again until school starts up and there, you’ll be back to the usual dynamic.

There, he’ll be hidden away behind geeky glasses and oversized hoodies again with absolutely no motorcycles nearby to stir heated excitement.

Because that’s what it was. It was the bike.

You hum as you stand and shove the thin gauzy curtains aside, agreeing with yourself and the statement in your mind out loud to solidify it as you look out over the view of the quiet beach bathed in honeyed light.

Coffee. Sitting on that picture perfect beach with coffee as you watch the sunrise, now that might just be the perfect morning.

You shuffle barefoot along the cool hardwood floor towards the stairs down to the main floor. The house is quiet, everyone else is likely still passed out and yet to feel the effects of the rowdy night out. As you finish the steps down, the heated marble flooring seeps warmth into your feet with each step. Your cold bare feet grateful for the insane amount of modern tech this place has.

The air is cool against your bare arms and legs with just pajama shorts and an over-sized tee-shirt, but once you head outside and sit under the warm glow of a sunrise, you’ll warm up in no time. Maybe you’ll even get a little bit of a tan if you do this every day.

The thought makes you kind of giddy and you walk faster to the kitchen, the sound of your quickening footsteps slapping on stone echoes through the long, wide hallway. 

The tour Yuuta had given you all was brief, only showing the things he and Maki had found when they had first arrived. You know where the kitchen, a living room with a TV that takes up almost an entire wall, a couple of bathrooms, and your room are. You’ll have to do some exploring at some point.

You round the corner to see the bright kitchen, the countless large windows that line the room, modern stainless appliances, pristine white cupboards and cabinets. The large island with a pale marble counter to match the rest and a breakfast bar with Gojo sitting in one of the tall chairs.

Wait, what?

Your eyes sweep right over him at first and you halt mid step into the kitchen as it registers in your sleepy one track mind. You do a literal double take and actually look at him sitting there with a mug in one hand and his phone in the other.

He hasn’t seen you yet, didn’t hear you walk into the kitchen with a pair of black headphones on and your mind churns, contemplating backing away and questioning what the hell he’s even doing here?

The realization dawns on you, hitting like a bucket of icy water as Yuuji’s words slam in like a truck.

Long lost cousin. Sharing the place with a long lost cousin.

“Fuck my life.” You mutter, still standing frozen and staring dumbly at the edge of the kitchen with your veins thrumming under your skin like they might burst out.

The universe does hate you. It’s an absolute fact now solidified by the platinum headed menace sipping coffee, screen reflected in black rimmed glasses and head nodding slightly to whatever music is playing through the headphones. The sleeves of a loose white tee-shirt with a cute Sanrio character plastered on the front rolled up a little, showing relaxed biceps and a peek of broad shoulders. His hand envelops the coffee cup so wholly as he lifts it to his lips, lips that had been pressed hard to yours not even twelve hours ago.

As he takes a sip, he looks up from his phone, eyes flickering in your direction and going wide and round as they find yours and he chokes on the sip of coffee.

You feel a twinge of satisfaction as he splutters, coughing into his arm. He drops his phone to the counter and sets the mug down, yanking off the headphones and taking a few ragged breaths.

“What the—why are you just standing there?” He manages to get out as the fit dies down. “Creep.”

You ignore all of it as you finally break from the spot to approach the coffee maker. “So you’re Yuuta’s long lost cousin? Fuck, that figures.” You start opening cupboards, searching for the mugs.

“Well actually, he’s kinda the ‘long lost’ one, I've been here the whole time.” Gojo huffs a laugh and stands, walking into the other side of the kitchen. “They’re over here.” 

You turn to Gojo as he grabs a mug out from one of the far cupboards, his shirt rides up as he reaches for one on the upper shelf, showing pale skin and a curved line that disappears into the waistband of grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. A trail of wispy white hair leading down from his bellybutton, to where you can see the outline of his—

You look away quickly, heat rising up your neck to creep into your face like you can feel it all over again, feel the heat of his hands all over your body. Cut that out.

You go to take the mug from him as he approaches, but he walks right past you to the machine. “I’m capable of making a cup of coffee.” You say flatly, crossing your arms.

“Didn’t know where the mugs were, but you know where the spoons are? Where the sugar is?” He replies, amused as he grabs both from a drawer and another cupboard.

“I would’ve figured it out, there’s only so many—” Your face scrunches, confusion furrowing your brow. “Hold on, why do you know how I take my coffee?” Your eyes are scrutinizing as he puts a spoon of sugar in and just enough cream to lighten it to a dark caramel colour. Exactly how you take it.

“Lucky guess,” He hands you the mug, one corner of his mouth lifted. “Or maybe you’re so basic that you take your coffee how literally everyone else in the world does, makes it pretty easy to remember.”

A smirk tugs your mouth, “I take up so much space in your head that you remember my coffee order?” You hum and take a sip, and it’s perfect.

Gojo leans back on the counter next to you, a hand gripping the edge to brace. “Like a parasite that feeds on my synapses. Every time I learn something about you I can feel the connectors dying and I get a little dumber.” He flicks his own forehead and you laugh before you can catch it.

“You might be on Toji’s level by the end of break then.”

His head tilts a little, straightening against the counter. “Are you saying I’m gonna get to know you?”

Just like last night, the idea of it doesn’t totally revolt you. You open your mouth for something unusually genuine to come out, but it dies halfway up your throat as you think better on it.

This isn’t what you two do, you don’t want to get to know him and you don’t want him to know you. But the confusion, the whiplash of going from insulting each other to him buying you ice-cream, back to insulting each other just to crash together and into the best and definitely most confusing kiss you’ve ever had, feeling something so intense and foreign that is just not going away.

That feeling followed you last night, persisting through till morning and now it’s hanging over your head and curling up to set up permanent residence in your body. Relentless as you look up at Gojo with his hair still messy from sleep, dressed in pajamas and those glasses that take up damn near half his face. 

No bike in sight, just the familiar nerdy guy who made you a perfect cup of coffee from memory alone.

You ignore the question, repeating the mantra in your head to stifle down something else whispering that his glasses are kind of cute. “Why are you even hanging out with those guys? Trying to fit in with the cool kids now?”

“I felt like doing some fun, dumb stuff and that’s their thing, so I invited them to come with Suguru and I.” He crosses his arms, fixing you with a lifted brow and a sly smirk. “Are you implying that I’m not cool too?”

You snort, “Yes.” Gojo’s face falls, you aren’t sure what he’d been expecting, a no?

“Like you can talk, that might be the one thing you beat me out at.” The smirk pulls the corner of his mouth again.

Your eyes narrow but your mouth is curved a little as you scoff. “Yeah right, being the biggest dork in existence is the one thing I’ll gladly admit that you beat me at.” You jerk your chin at him, “You have Hello Kitty on your shirt for fucks sake.”

“Cinnamoroll.” He corrects, and your eyes roll.

“Whatever, same shit. Doesn’t change you being a dork.”

“Yeah, but I’m like the cool, hot dork,” You scoff at that and he looks you over again, eyes flitting in a quick once over before meeting yours again and tilting his head. “And you’re… boring.”

There it is.

Your hand grips the mug so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t shatter. “Fuck you.” You bite it out with heat coiling throughout your body, boiling your blood and setting your skin on fire as he straightens off the counter. 

Close, he’s too close again, so close you could just reach out and grab him, just like last night—not gonna happen.

“Fuck you too.” He says it with a smile, eyes lidded but intense and locked on yours like he’s remembering what happened after you’d thrown the same lines at each other last time.

But that’s not happening. That’ll never happen again. “Thanks for the coffee, too bad that parasite hasn’t eaten whatever makes you an insufferable asshole.” You say with a polite smile and turn to leave, ready to get as far away from this kitchen as possible.

“You’re welcome!” He chirps behind you and the noise grates on the frayed ends of your spent nerves.

How are you going to make it through a week of this? This house is massive, you can definitely avoid him if you try hard enough but this was supposed to be a break, from school and everything there.

But it’s just followed you here, and it’s worse than ever because even as you settle into one of the cushioned chairs on the porch, looking out over the perfect beach as the sun continues its journey, every sip from the mug in your hand is like swallowing liquid flame.

A hot, creamy, perfectly sweetened reminder of everything you’ve done.

────୨ৎ────

Gojo Satoru, is inescapable.

This is hardly new information to you, but you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for two days, and just like the plague, he always finds you.

Laying out on the beach with Nobara and Maki, finally getting through a spicy book you picked up nearly six months ago? Gojo is running around with the other three stooges in a water gun fight, white tee-shirt sopping wet and transparent, clinging to every stupidly defined muscle. Making you re-read the same line five times before huffing that you need to go somewhere quieter and storming off.

Watching a movie with everyone in the living room? Gojo waltzes through and casually leans over the couch, way too close to you as he grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap, spoils the plot twist, and leaves.

In the kitchen making breakfast in the peace and quiet before everyone else is up? Not with Gojo under the same roof. He’s strolling in, calling out a chipper “Goooood morning!” Reaching over you to grab a mug from the cupboard, muttering that what you’re making smells good. Stealing your god damn food right off your plate before you can smack his hand away. Muttering that it “tastes good too” before walking away, leaving you overheated and suddenly without an appetite.

Taking a walk around the property to explore? Gojo is hopping on his bike with Geto to head into town, calling out to you as you head for the front door, “Wanna go for another ride?!” Laughing as you flip him off over your shoulder and shut the door hard behind you. Jaw clenched so hard your teeth might shatter.

He’s a god damn torture specialist.

It all feels so purposeful and you’re on the verge of snapping. Your nerves are so frayed you’re convinced you’re going to actually punch him if he says another god damn word to you, even if it’s just hello.

The worst part? The way he looks at you as he does it. Like he knows the set to your jaw is in a confused and complex frustration and he’s feeding off of fuelling it.

No. Actually, the worst part was finding out that he’s in the room right next to yours.

Leaning against the railing, you’re drinking wine on the balcony just outside your room against your own better judgement. But you’re determined not to let your vacation be completely ruined by the menace next door, you’re going to enjoy the quiet starry night sky with the sound of waves lulling you into a false sense of security, even if it’s the last thing you do god damn it. 

Your mind already fuzzy around the edges, like a vignette has been laid over to keep your focus narrowed on the bright, near full moon reflecting off the inky expanse of ocean.

No thoughts of school and the mountain of assignments and reading and immediate quizzing professors will inevitably be throwing you into the moment break is over to snap you back into reality. All those thoughts sit at the back of your brain to make room for appreciation for mild weather, great views, rosé and…

…The memory of being shoved up against a wall. 

The dark rolling waves of the ocean below annoyingly remind you of the view from your tandem ride. The bright white moon reflecting off the ocean is silvery just like the annoyingly soft head of hair your fingers had tangled in. The warmth from the wine that emanates from deep in your body out through your limbs is all too similar to the fire that danced across your skin at every lingering touch, every bruising grip.

Oh yeah, he left you with a nice reminder of everything on your hip where he’d pressed his thumb in hard. You’re pretty sure the mark that bloomed and has been darkening to a light indigo was from when he actually pushed you into the wall, it certainly felt like it in the moment.

Apparently, you’re such a god damn masochist that you find yourself pressing your own fingers into the bruise without even thinking of it. Gasping a little at the ache as it floods your entire body with a heated tingle that leaves you feeling breathless and frustratingly empty.

The heated exchanges from the last few days are nothing new. But it feels like every ‘fuck off’ or ‘fuck you’ or ‘dear god, do you ever shut up?’ is different. The eye contact that lasts a little too long like fuel on a raging fire you’re throwing pitiful cups of water on in an attempt to douse, and when it doesn’t work, you turn around and stroll away like it’s definitely not a problem. Not yours at least.

You’re so lost in the thoughts that have overtaken your mind like a forest fire, singeing everything in its path, that you don’t notice Geto until he’s leaning over the railing right next to you.

“Jesus fuck!” You jump as he appears in your periphery, sloshing rosé over your hand as you startle. “Don’t sneak up like that, asshole. Look what you made me do.” You mutter, taking the mug into your other hand to flick the liquid off your fingers.

“Sorry,” He lights a cigarette and slips the rest of the pack into the pocket of his dark sweatpants. He gestures to the mug in your hand as you shake residual wine off the other. “You do know there are actual wine glasses here? Crystal ones too, fancy shit.” 

“Yeah, I don't really feel like footing the bill if I break one. This seemed like the safer option.” You sigh at your own sticky fingers, shoulders dropping a little as you glance sidelong at Geto. “Where’s thing two?” 

It’s not like you want him around, but it’s unusual to see one without the other.

Geto exhales through his nose, almost a laugh and a wisp of smoke curls. “We do some things separately, we’re not attached at the hip, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“We fool a lot of people.”

You chuckle at that and take a sip of the significantly depleted wine in your mug. Another glance at Geto and you hold up your mug. “Wanna swap?” 

He lifts a slim, dark brow. “I thought you didn’t smoke?”

You shrug, “You’re right, but spring break rules say fuck it, right?” He concedes and takes the mug, hands you the lit cigarette and you cheers the two. 

“Fuck it.”

Geto takes a sip and watches as you take a drag. Bitter smoke fills your mouth and trickles into your lungs, burning and tickling at the same time. Your eyes water, nose stinging and you struggle to hold the coughing fit in that's threatening to tear out.

Geto sighs, “Just let it out, it'll be worse if you try to hold it.” 

A cloud of smoke bursts out with the first choked cough. Your lungs feel like they're collapsing in on themselves as you hack and splutter. The taste of burnt tobacco coats your mouth, your throat, the lingering bitterness goes all the way down to your stomach that's currently threatening to turn itself inside out.

Geto pats a hand on your back as you lean over the railing on the verge of death. “I would’ve warned you not to hold it but I thought you knew.” He laughs a little, getting some amusement out of watching you suck sputtering, ragged breaths of fresh ocean air in finally.

“Nope,” You wheeze. Geto takes his cigarette back, the filter a little squished from your pinched fingers death gripping it and replaces the devil stick with your wine again. The alcohol doesn't help exactly, but it's liquid and it eases the smoky residue coating your insides when you take a few small sips. “Thanks, and don't ever let me do that again.” 

Geto laughs at that, taking an easy drag off the half finished smoke. “Satoru said the same thing the first time he tried one too.”

“Oh, please tell me he died at least as much as I did.” 

“Worse. He puked.” You snort a laugh, vindicated. “Don't tell him I told you that.”

“I'm gonna shove his face in it the first chance I get.” Geto shoots you a side eyed look and you raise a defensive hand. “Kidding, his mortifying secret is safe with me.”

You’ve never had an issue with Geto, it was always more of his proximity to Gojo that made it difficult to get along, or even just be around him. You tend to try to get the fuck out of wherever Gojo is as fast as possible, which doesn’t leave much room for conversation with his dark haired counter part.

As you look back out at the water, the near full moon mirrored off the inky expanse and putting that reminder back in your head, you can’t help but ask. The wine might be lowering your guard a little too much. 

“Was smoking part of the new, wannabe bad-ass thing he’s going for?”

You catch the slight smirk that pulls the corner of his mouth as he quips back quickly, “Why do you care?”

Shit. 

Why do you care?

“I-I don’t. It’s just…” You drum your fingers on the mug, chewing your lip for a moment as you think. Why? “It all just seems out of character. That’s all. He’s not going through a quarter-life crisis, is he?” You chuckle a little and glance at Geto, expecting him to join in, but he doesn’t. 

He takes a long drag, eyes on the glowing cherry and holds the breath, looking up to the stars. He looks almost pained, sad at the mention. When he lets the breath out, it's a sigh. And when he finally answers, it’s not what you’re expecting either.

“There’s a lot going on right now, he’s kind of… coping, in a way.” The smirk returns as he meets your eyes again. “But you should ask him yourself if you want to know, it’s not really my place to say anyways.”

“Well… I mean, I did, kind of. I asked him why you guys were hanging out with the meatheads.”

“And?”

“What do you think?” You deadpan. “He brushed it off, and then insulted me.” 

Geto throws his head back and lets out a laugh, shoulders shaking a little. “Ah, yeah, that sounds about right.” He drags a hand down his face, exacerbation tinged with fondness. “For two of the smartest people at school, it’s uncanny how terrible you both are at proper communication.”

“I’m great at communication so don’t group me in with that asshole.” You snap back immediately and Geto gives you a questioning look. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

He raises both brows at you expectantly and realization hits a moment later with a furious flush that begins to creep up your neck.

You scowl. “Fucking big mouthed asshole.” 

“You really expected that he wouldn’t tell me the moment you guys got back? That’s just naive.” You feel the sudden need to down the last of the wine in your mug, and you do. “I mean, come on, you know him. He can’t shut up on a normal day, he finally kissed the girl he’s been tripping over himself for for the last three years and you expect him not to explode? The poor guy was practically dying to tell me.”

“What?” Your head snaps to Geto fully. Maybe you just misheard, you’re pretty tipsy right now and the single drag of that cigarette definitely made your head a little fuzzy, even lighter than before.

Geto looks at you, sees the bewilderment and disbelief in your eyes and immediate regret floods his features.

“Oh fuck.” He mutters, turning fully to you. Incredulity twists your features and you take a gasping breath, readying to go off, but he cuts you off, waving his hands up in your face. “I thought you—fuck, you can’t tell him I—shit, ugh, just-just please for the love of god, talk to him.”

“What do you mean? Finally? What—I-I don’t, what does that—”

“No! Just-just, please, don’t tell Satoru I said anything, and talk to him yourself.” Geto runs a hand up through his dark hair, pushing his bangs up just for them to fall back down almost immediately.

As if on cue, the voice that sets your skin on fire and lights up every nerve ending on your body with a much more confused kind of simmering heat calls out from the room next to yours. 

“Suguru! Hurry up, we’ve been paused for like an hour!”

“Eh, shut up you idiot!” Geto calls back over his shoulder, “It’s been like ten minutes, don’t get your panties all twisted!”

He gives you one last pleading look and you groan, pressing your forehead into your hand. “Do whatever you want to, but leave me out of it, please.”

“Fine,” You sigh, resigned at least for tonight to let the jarring topic go. “Go, your boyfriend is waiting.” You wave him off, peeling yourself off the balcony and Geto gives you a flat look but doesn’t say anything else. Just nods and walks off to the cracked door adjacent to yours, leaving you alone with the bomb he dropped.

It is a bomb. 

Finally? Finally implies time, time spent wanting something before it happened.

That kiss was probably one of the most impulsive things you’ve ever done, second only to getting on that bike with Gojo in the first place.

You hate him.

And he… hates you, too?

For the first time in your life, you’re questioning that fact. Is it even a fact anymore? Facts are indisputable, cold and hard and not open to scrutiny or questioning. 

But Geto dropped a bomb that’s forcing that tiny crack open. The one that you could feel splintering in front of that ice cream shop in the reality where you hate Gojo and he hates you and that's all there is to it. 

Impulsivity doesn’t have rationale behind it. That's the point of it being impulsive, you don’t think, you just do. Was that kiss impulsive for Gojo?

Your brow furrows, lip catching between your teeth.

Was it impulsive for you?

It was weird, sure, but that night was… it was nice. Well, up until you exploded at each other, but hell, even then it wasn't bad. You kissed, had his body against yours, pawing at you like he was desperate to touch you. Had he thought about that before it happened?

Everything before that. The ride, eating ice cream together, laughing with each other, laughing at him, the version of him you're used to after he made you coffee that first morning.

Could you and Gojo ever be more than enemies?

He’s been terrible to you, feeding uncertainty and the idea that you’d never quite live up to a standard he’s set and insists on pushing you to keep up with. Laughing at you when you trip and fall behind.

Maybe he could never be nameless and faceless and just a hot stranger again, but you did get along with him knowing full well who was under that helmet. Jabbing and teasing each other without it being painful. 

Is that possible? Could it be like that instead?

Geto is right, annoyingly so because this is definitely a conversation you’re not looking forward to. But you need to talk to Gojo. 

Finally? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Notes:

geto "putting his nose in everyone's damn business" suguru