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“You know, some people consider coffee dates as not real dates,” you point out. “Very cheap—”
“—your coffee was eight dollars, don’t start with me—”
“—low-effort—”
“—you don’t even wanna know what I just went through before meeting you here—”
“—shows no interest—”
“—I’ve been interested in you since before I even knew you.”
You pause your half-hearted attempt at teasing him. The truth is, there is nothing cheap, low-effort, or uninteresting about Satoru Gojo. No one has ever held your attention and your affections for as long or as strongly as he does. The world is reduced to nothing more than the cafe the two of you spent a lot of time frequenting beforehand. It’s why everything is in such startling, vivid detail. Some of your best memories are here, and it shows from the warm scent of coffee wafting in the air, and how you got his complicated frozen coffee order just right.
“Smooth. You use that line on all the girls you buy coffee for?”
“Oh, other girls exist?” Satoru’s bright, cerulean eyes widen in mock surprise. If there’s one thing that your fiance is good at, it’s committing to the bit. No one gets into character as well as he does.
No one ever will.
Trying to keep your darker thoughts at bay, you try to think of a retort but fall short, settling for, “How can you even be interested in someone before you even know they exist?”
“Because everyone was boring to me ‘til I met you. All my interest was reserved specifically for you.” He hums. He doesn’t tell you the really sappy stuff he holds inside his heart, like how he thinks his soul knew that it belonged to you and that’s why he could never connect with anyone else. He figures, foolishly, that he still has time to bring it up later.
Later, when he’s not choking on his own blood and lost in the illusion you have shrouded the both of you in.
My beautiful, delusional girl.
He says it to tease you, but the fondness with which he laces the words in only further proves how completely, utterly whipped he is for you. Somewhere deep inside of him, he’s well aware that he’s in your domain. That he is not sitting inside the cafe he nervously took you to the first time he got the nerve to ask you to hang out. He knows that this is nothing more than a cleverly crafted illusion used to make saying goodbye a lot easier for the two of you.
Everything is just so vivid. The colors, the scent, you. He knows it’s selfish to want to drag out this process even longer. It must be tiring for you, to have to mentally strain to maintain this realistic illusion while also tricking his mind into ignoring the pain he’s actually in. He can see it in your eyes; the ones that never seem to want to leave his face, almost like you’re scared you’re going to forget him the moment you blink.
He stretches, fakes a yawn. “It’s getting kinda late, don’t ya think? I should probably head home.”
“I’ll walk you there.” You say, getting up from your chair.
“You think a man like me can’t defend himself?” You want to remember Satoru like this: messy hair, eyes brimming with mischief and life, cocky grin. Maybe it’s your heart acting on its own accord, altering reality for your own benefit, but Satoru looks younger in this lighting. Happier. At peace.
“I think you’re the type of man people need to be defended from. It’s my civic duty to make sure you’re not wreaking havoc.”
You know that time is limited. You know that neither of you really want to acknowledge what’s truly happening. Satoru has to go, and all that he’ll be leaving you behind with is the aftermath. If you try hard enough, you can manipulate your minds into thinking that these seconds are much longer than they actually are, but—
—he deserves to rest.
That’s why walking him to his front door is an ordeal that lasts a total of two seconds. One blink, and the cafe has vanished. Now, he’s standing in front of his apartment door, still smiling, still bright, still alive.
“So, you going to invite me in?” You tease him, keeping your tone lighthearted, as if he doesn’t know you well enough to know how you’re truly feeling.
“After just the first date?” He pretends to look offended. “I don’t know what kind of man you take me for, but I don’t let just anyone spend the night, especially only after a coffee non-date.”
“Fine.” You pretend to contemplate, the smile on your face perhaps the only real thing here. “Will you let me hit on the second date, at least?”
“I’ll think about it.” And then, Satoru cocks his head to the side. “I’ll see you the same time next week?”
You don’t want to think about the real world. In this world, it’s just the two of you, and that’s all that matters.
You swallow back any sadness; Satoru swallows back any blood.
“Text me where, and I’ll be there.” You say this, knowing that you would gladly follow Satoru right through the door that beckons for him. He’s smiling, like he knows what you’re thinking about.
“I’ll pick you up when it’s time. But, uh, if I don’t text you back soon, sorry in advance.” He gives you that boyish look of his, the face he always makes when he’s about to make an incredibly stupid joke. “I have a bad habit of ghosting people.”
A kind of guttural sound leaves your throat; a choked up laugh and a barely concealed sob. Ghosting, really, Satoru?
“It’s okay. I have a bad habit of liking guys that are bad for my health.”
“If you don’t hear from me, just know that it’s me and not you.”
“I love being fed cliche lines like this. Tell me some more.” Tell me everything, you want to beg him. Let’s just stand here forever, and you’ll drag out the time, and he can talk for as long as he wants to about anything and everything.
“Feeling a bit sleepy. The cliche lines will have to wait until next time.” He clears his throat. “Hey, I know we just had our first date—”
“—coffee doesn’t count, you still owe me a real first date.”
He sticks out his tongue, childishly, at your interruption. “Is it too soon for me to tell you that I love you? I don’t normally move this fast, but I really do love you. Hope this doesn’t scare you away.”
He could never scare you away.
You should tell him that, but something in his eyes and in his smile let’s you know that he’s already aware.
“Is it too soon for me to tell you that I love you, too?”
“Yeah, it’s kinda crazy. Lucky for you, I like crazy girls.”
“Please don’t go to sleep yet, Satoru. You haven’t even walked through the door yet, and I already miss you.” In the illusion you’ve created, you can take away that door from him. It won’t change the truth, but it can certainly prolong the pain that comes with it. You don’t, though. Even if his hand wasn’t already reaching for the doorknob, you would never take the choice away from him.
“Yeah, I have a lasting effect on women, what can I say?” He laughs, but there’s none of his trademark humor woven in it. The world goes quiet. “I’m feeling really tired, [Name]. I’m gonna head to bed now.”
“Goodnight, then. Sweet dreams, Satoru.”
He looks at you. Really looks at you, like he’s trying to embed the memory of your visage on his pupils, to have it so permanently etched in his mind that he’ll still be able to remember you every time he closes his eyes.
“As long as you’re in every single one of them, they will be.”
He opens the door.