Chapter Text
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Gojo says, half shouting over the music. The party’s in full swing, and his and Geto’s shared apartment is already packed with people.
“Uh-huh. Sure.” You take another swig from the red solo cup in your hand. “So you didn’t specifically ask Suguru to invite me?”
To his credit he barely reacts to the accusation, taking a sip of Hi-C and looking at you with wide, innocent eyes. “You and Suguru are friends. I don’t know why you think I’d have to ask him to invite you.”
Pulling out your phone, you unlock it and open your texts with Geto. After a moment of scrolling you turn and show him the screen.
suguroo: You’re coming on Friday right? Satoru keeps asking
“Traitor,” he mutters as you shut the phone off and shove it back into your pocket. He eyes your outfit. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, just jeans and a sweatshirt.
“You could’ve just asked me yourself,” you say, leaning close enough for him to hear.
He looks down at you, his eyes half lidded, and wonders if this is finally you giving in. “Would you have said yes?”
Biting the inside of your cheek, you think for a minute. “No, probably not. I’m not much of a party person— I only came because Suguru bribed me with dinner.”
“ I could take you to dinner.”
Gojo hates the little edge of bitterness buried in the words. Jealousy has never been his style; the feeling is both unpleasant and unfamiliar.
“You could,” you acknowledge, nodding. “But only if you help me study for midterms. And if you pay.”
There’s no hesitation in Gojo’s answer.
“Done.”
You smile at him, humming what he thinks might be a laugh though it’s far too loud to tell. His eyes flicker to your lips and he realizes that this is the first time you’ve smiled in front of him. He doesn’t comment on it, deciding not to fling himself into the metaphorical bear trap saying of ‘you should smile more often’. Somehow he doubts you’d appreciate that (though to be fair most women don’t), but the expression really does suit you. It’s a splash of color on a blank canvas, and he knows he shouldn’t be staring at your mouth so openly but he doesn’t want to look away.
“Hey, you made it!”
Geto seems to appear out of nowhere, making Gojo jump. He watches you give him a one armed hug, holding your drink to the side so as not to spill it. That’s interesting. Gojo wouldn’t have pegged you as a hugging type of person, but you don’t seem to mind.
“Yeah, I did. How long did you say I had to stay?”
“Half an hour.”
Taking a sip, your eyes shift to the clock on the wall. “Only ten more minutes then. Is it okay if I crash in your room for a bit? It’s kind of overwhelming being around so many people.”
“Fine with me.” Geto shoots Gojo a semi-apologetic glance before shifting his attention back to you. “I’ll show you where it is.”
You turn to Gojo, leaning closer again so that you don’t have to shout. He’s glad the music’s loud enough to mask his little intake of breath when you brush up against him.
“See you later, Gojo. I’ll message you about dinner.”
“Looking forward to it,” he says, managing to keep his voice level.
And then you’re gone, your fingers catching the fabric of Geto’s sleeve to keep from getting separated in such a crowded space. Gojo finishes off his Hi-C like it’s a shot of something strong, eyes lingering on the spot where you’d been a moment before. Despite Suguru’s denial of there being anything going on between you and him, Gojo can’t help but take note of how comfortable the two of you are with each other. It’s probably just paranoia, if he’s being honest with himself. Plus you had just agreed to let him take you out. It’s not quite a date, but Gojo allows himself to feel optimistic.
It’s almost two weeks later, and Gojo’s optimism is long gone. He clicks his pen a couple times, trying and failing to focus on yet another poem he’s been assigned to annotate. Across the table Geto types away on his laptop, drafting an essay.
“Any word on that date?” he asks through a mouthful of trail mix.
No, there’s been no word. Gojo has come to the unfortunate conclusion that you really are hard to pin down. He sees you a few times a week during office hours, but he has yet to raise the subject, worried that you’ll back out all together if he presses too hard.
Reaching across the table, Gojo steals a fallen raisin. He pops it into his mouth and grimaces at the taste. “Ugh, gross, I hate dried fruit. Why are you even eating that stuff?”
“I could ask you the same question. Why’d you take some if you know you hate it?” Geto pauses to pick out a blue M&M, passing it to Gojo. “There. That’ll get the taste out of your mouth. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you haven’t heard anything about the date, judging by your not-so-subtle attempt at changing the subject.”
Sometimes Gojo hates having a best friend, especially one that can read him like a fucking book. It doesn’t help that he’d been so sure of himself when he’d talked to Geto the morning after the party, barging into his room at an ungodly hour to brag about what he’d believed was an assured victory. Now, of course, he’s paying the price for his hubris.
“It’s not that she hasn’t gotten back to me yet,” Gojo says, tapping his pen against his lips as he chooses his words carefully. “It’s that she said she wants to study for midterms, and they’re still a few weeks away. No one starts studying weeks in advance.”
As he says it, Gojo wonders how true that statement is. He doesn’t really know much about other people’s academic habits, since he’s never needed to study.
“Ah, so it’s a study date. Interesting.”
Shit. That’s right. He’d been careful not to reveal that information when he’d first spoken to Geto about his plans to meet up with you.
“A study date is still a date,” he says defensively. “And we’re getting dinner.”
“No, you’re getting dinner. That was one of the terms, if I remember correctly.” Checking the time on his phone, Geto frowns. “Speaking of which, aren’t you meeting up with someone tonight?”
Gojo stretches, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, I am. I should get dressed.”
He stands, not bothering to put his papers away, and heads to his room to change out of his sweats. Even Gojo, vain as he is, doesn’t need a full hour to get ready, but he’ll take any opportunity to ditch his Creative Writing homework.
The girl he’s meeting up with, Hana, goes to a technical college a couple towns over. They’ve already hooked up a couple of times, but it’s nothing serious. Or, at least it isn’t serious on his end of things. She’s a friend of a friend of a friend; that’s how he prefers to meet people. It means more of a buffer when he inevitably ghosts them.
“You look nice tonight,” he says as they take their seats. She bites her lip, leaning forwards a little over the table. It’s a blunt affectation, one clearly meant to draw his attention to the low neckline of her blouse, but Gojo’s not complaining.
“Thank you,” she says. “I wanted to get a little dressed up for you.”
He’s got a flirtatious reply ready on his tongue, leaning forwards just enough to murmur it in her ear, but as he opens his mouth to speak he catches a flash of movement in the corner of his eye.
Oh no. Oh no. Karmic punishment strikes again.
You’re here. In the restaurant. With him. And his date that isn’t you.
It looks like you’re getting ready to leave, the rest of your group still collecting their belongings. Gojo doesn’t know the people you were out with, but he feels jealousy flare in his chest even though he has no right to. Hana is looking at him, confused, and with a concentrated effort he turns his attention back to her.
“Everything okay?” she asks, and Gojo realizes he’s still leaning forwards. He sits back, pushing his glasses up his nose. He doesn’t really need them in the restaurant’s low lighting, but he has no intention of letting her see where his eyes are.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. What were we talking about?”
“I was saying I got dressed up for you.”
He smiles, though behind his glasses his eyes are still fixed on you. “That’s right. You look beautiful.”
She seems a little put out, turning her attention to the menu, and Gojo finds himself grateful for the reprieve. You’re coming this way, though he’s sure you still haven’t spotted him, too focused on winding your way between the cramped tables. Fuck, at this rate you’re going to pass right by him. Gojo picks up a cocktail menu, pretending to study it like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen as he tracks you out of the corner of his eye.
You’re only a few feet away when you recognize him. From this angle you can see over the top of his glasses, so it’s not like he can even feign ignorance.
“Oh, hey Gojo.”
Your voice is as unreadable as ever. He tries to relax, pushing his glasses up to rest them on the top of his head. Hana looks up, narrowing her eyes at your sudden appearance. She’s clearly suspicious, something which is not helped by the fact that you look gorgeous tonight.
“Hi,” he says, trying not to sound like he’s panicking, which he definitely is. “How’ve you been?”
You give him an odd look, and he swears inwardly because why is he asking how you’ve been when he just saw you yesterday. Your eyes flick over to Hana, who’s still staring you down.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were out with someone. I don’t think we’ve met before.”
Dread washes over him as you exchange introductions. This is the last thing he needs, not when he feels like he’s finally started to make progress with you. There’s no way you’ll want to go out now— not when you know he’s seeing other people. Except you really don’t seem to care, greeting her much more warmly than you had greeted Gojo. You even go so far as to smile at her and politely inquire about where she goes to school.
What the fuck. It had taken him a solid month to get a smile out of you, and here you are chatting it up with the competition like you’re old friends. His dread begins to shift into irritation, though he does his best to push it from his mind.
“Well, it was nice to meet you,” you say, nodding to Hana as you prepare to go. “Have a good night.”
He searches your face as you turn to him, desperate to find any trace of jealousy. Of disappointment. Of something , at the very least. But no, you’re an empty canvas as usual, and then you’re gone before he can even do more than say goodbye.
“She seems nice.” Hana’s outright suspicion has subsided, but she’s still watching him warily. “How do you know each other?”
“I tutor her in biology,” he says, shrugging. “And before you ask, that’s not a euphemism.”
She laughs, and some of the tension dissipates. “Don’t worry, I didn’t think so. I doubt she’s your type.”
I doubt she’s your type. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
“Why do you say that?” He tries to keep his tone light, propping his cheek on his palm and looking at her across the table. Hana’s smile falters.
“Don’t you think she’s a little… I don’t know. Dull?” She passes a hand across her face a couple times. “Blank, you know?”
“She smiled at you,” he points out. He knows he’s digging himself into a hole here, but he’s not ready to put down the shovel quite yet.
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, and? Anyone can fake a smile. My guess is she was just jealous, trying to play it off like she doesn’t care.” Pausing, she takes a sip of her water. “Plus, she’s not even that pretty.”
It’s at this point that Gojo mentally checks out of the conversation, before the red at the corners of his vision makes him say something he’ll regret. He can excuse the comment about your appearance; that one’s easy enough to attribute to envy. It’s the other thing she’d said, the thing about you being blank, that bothers him the most. It’s not like she knows you or how rare your smiles are, or how hard Gojo’s had to work just to catch a glimpse of one, but it still pisses him off because you’d clearly been making an effort to be friendly.
At the end of the night, before they part ways, Hana invites him back to her place. He declines with all the civility he can muster, and blocks her before he’s even gotten home.
thegirlreadingthis99: Dinner tonight?
Gojo clutches his phone to his chest as he thinks, biting his lip and staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Would it look desperate for him to answer your message right away? He hasn’t actually opened it yet, conscious of the read receipt that will show up once he does. Ah, fuck it. You’re already well aware of his intentions, so what’s the harm in looking a little desperate?
pretty_blue_eyes: Sure. Do you still want to study for midterms?
He swipes away when he sees you’ve read the message, again letting the phone rest on his chest while he waits for a reply.
thegirlreadingthis99: Yeah
thegirlreadingthis99: [external link] Does this work for you?
It’s the address for a local restaurant, nothing too fancy.
pretty_blue_eyes: You don’t want to go somewhere nicer? It’s on me remember
thegirlreadingthis99: No this is fine
thegirlreadingthis99: I’ll see you at 6:30
He sighs, stretching an arm up towards the ceiling. Gojo frowns; he likes the idea of spending money on you. And he wants this to feel like a date, even if he knows it technically isn’t one. So he showers and picks a nice outfit for himself, careful to choose clothes that could pass for everyday wear but err on the side of formal. A pale blue shirt cuffed to the elbows and paired with his favorite black jeans, the ones that make his legs look like they go on for miles.
It’s cool out, and the last rays of sunlight are still struggling to pierce a heavy blanket of clouds as he slips out of his apartment. By the time he gets to the restaurant it’s beginning to drizzle, though not enough to warrant digging the umbrella out of his bag. He pauses under the awning, brushing away a few stray drops, and pulls the door open.
You’re not hard to spot, half buried in notes and textbooks. Gojo skirts the hostess’ podium and makes his way over to your table, pulling out a chair across from you.
“You’re here,” you say, not looking up.
He raises an eyebrow. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”
“I wasn’t sure. It was kind of a last minute arrangement.” You pause to dig out a battered copy of the syllabus, sliding it across the table. “I highlighted the sections I’m having trouble with. It’s mostly stuff about enzymes. I feel pretty good about everything else.”
He blinks at you, surprised by the lack of pleasantries, but takes it in stride. By now he should’ve known not to expect any sort of small talk, but even so, he can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Excluding the party, this is the first time that you’ve met up in a non academic setting. Still, he did say he’d help you study, so he takes the paper without complaint.
Your conversation stays mostly in the realm of your upcoming midterms. Gojo can tell you’ve gotten a lot more comfortable with the material— your semi-weekly visits to office hours have paid off. It’s only when the food arrives that you pause, shoving your textbook and notes aside to make room for the plates.
“How did your date go?” you ask, carefully pouring dressing onto your salad.
Gojo’s been expecting this question, but even so he has no idea what answer you want to hear. The truth is probably the best way to go, he thinks, remembering your comment about his eyes giving him away. His glasses are folded on the table beside him and it would look suspicious for him to put them on now.
“I definitely wouldn’t call it a success,” he says, and you frown.
“I’m sorry. She seemed nice.”
He knows he should be annoyed by your lack of jealousy. It’s not the best reaction, but it’s the one that should come naturally right now. Instead, he remembers what Hana had said about you and feels hurt on your behalf. You’re back to your blank expression, and Gojo wonders how hard you’d had to push yourself to smile at her and add some enthusiasm to your voice. He’d always assumed that your lack of emotion was a mask you donned to keep him out, or perhaps to feign disinterest, but the more time he spends with you the more he realizes that the opposite is true. This is who you are: blank, yes, but not unfeeling. When he’d walked you back to your dorm you’d told Gojo that you didn’t trust him, and yet here you are showing him a part of yourself that not everyone gets to see.
“Gojo?” you ask, and he blinks as he breaks away from his thoughts. “Are you okay?”
He nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I guess I spaced out there for a second.”
So you don’t trust him, but you’re willing to drop your guard around him (to a certain extent, at least). That’s a contradiction he can accept, and maybe even be happy with.