Chapter Text
It’s fully dark by the time you leave the restaurant, and the rain has picked up. Loitering beneath the awning, Gojo digs through his bag and pulls out his umbrella.
“I’ll walk you home. If you’re okay with that.”
The ‘if you’re okay with that’ is clearly an afterthought, tacked on to the end of the sentence to make it sound like a question, but you don’t call him out on it. Instead you just nod, and to his surprise move a little closer.
“Can I share your umbrella? I forgot mine.”
“Of course,” he says, holding it out for you. Stepping out into the downpour, the two of you begin the trek back to your dorm. The sidewalk is deserted, silent except for the sound of rain on the pavement and the last of the summer leaves rustling overhead.
“The food there was nice,” Gojo says after a few moments. “I’d never been before.”
“I like it there. It’s quiet, and they don’t mind me bringing my work.”
Looking around, Gojo realizes he hasn’t spent much time in this part of town. The buildings here are older, the pavement shaped by the trees that grow alongside it. In a few places where the stones are especially uneven, someone’s taken the time to spray paint around them as a warning to others.
“Can I take you there again sometime?” he asks.
You turn towards him. “That depends.”
Just as he’s opening his mouth to ask what exactly it depends on, you stumble on a crack in the sidewalk.
Gojo nearly drops the umbrella in his haste to steady you, his arm snaking around your waist to keep you upright. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Your eyes are back on the path, but you make no move to shrug him off. Instead you lean into him, pulling away only after you feel him tense up.
“Sorry. I was getting rained on.”
“I don’t mind,” he says, forcing himself to relax. The arm around your waist tightens a little, drawing you closer, and he can feel his pulse pounding in his ears.
When’s the last time he felt this nervous?
“Are you doing anything for Halloween?” he asks.
“Probably not. I might get takeout. What about you?”
“Suguru and I usually watch horror movies.”
It’s not technically a lie. The two of them always marathon 90’s slashers a few days in advance, but on Halloween night their activities tend to be less wholesome.
“You won’t be going out?”
You’re looking at him; he can sense it. When he turns to meet your eyes the first thing he’s struck by is how close you are. How easy it would be for him to close the gap between your lips. The second thing he notices is the knowing expression on your face.
Sighing, he looks away. “Yeah, I’ll probably go out.”
“You don’t have to be ashamed about it. I’m not going to judge you for having different interests than I do.”
“I know, I just…”
…Would say just about anything to end up in your bed.
“…don’t want you to think less of me,” he finishes lamely. You lean your head against his shoulder, and some idle part of his brain wonders what shampoo you use. It smells nice.
“I’m not oblivious, Gojo. I know you go out on the weekends, and that you sleep around, and honestly it’s not something I care enough about to factor into my opinion of you. Suguru and I have been friends for about a year now— it’s not like I live in a vacuum.”
The use of Geto’s first name stands out to Gojo, sending a pang of jealousy through him.
“Call me Satoru,” he says. “Please.”
He winces at how desperate he sounds. You’re quiet for a long moment before you reply.
“I think I’ll stick with Gojo for now.”
That stings a little, but he doesn’t bring it up again, choosing to focus on other parts of your statement. “So if you don’t care about my reputation, what do you include in your opinion of me?”
“The things that you say to me.” You pause for a moment, reflecting on the question. “...And also the things that you don’t say to me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Even in his own ears he sounds exasperated.
“Hm, I’m not sure how else to put it.”
Again you pause, and Gojo glances down to see you lost in thought, your lower lip caught between your teeth. He swallows, looking away before you can catch him staring.
“You don’t flirt with me as much any more,” you say at last. “I know you want to, and that it’s your first impulse, but you don’t do it and I appreciate that.”
“I thought you said you were okay with some flirting.”
“I am. But I like it better when you don’t. It makes me feel like you actually want to be my friend.”
Gojo frowns, unsure what to make of that, but is granted a brief reprieve as the two of you pull apart to skirt around the edges of a large puddle. He leans out over the water to keep the umbrella above your head, shaking off the droplets of rain that begin to collect at the ends of his hair. A moment later you’re back at his side and his arm is settled around your waist again.
“So you don’t want me to flirt with you, but you’re fine all pressed up against me like this?”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” you ask, dodging the question.
“Not at all. I like it.”
“I do too.” You let your head rest against his shoulder. “You’re warm.”
The pavement smooths to unblemished tarmac as you cross over onto the school’s campus. Gojo realizes your dorm is only a couple blocks away, and his heart sinks. He doesn’t want to say goodnight just yet, not when he feels like he’s finally having a real conversation with you.
He tries to quell his rising anxiety, but when he speaks there’s still hesitation in his voice. “…Would you like to come back to my place?”
“To do what?”
It’s a good question. One Gojo doesn’t have an answer to. “I’m not sure.”
“I can’t tonight. I’ve got an 8am tomorrow.”
Right, he should know this. It’s the women’s lit class that Geto’s in as well. As you near your dorm a sense of dread begins to build in him, like the time he’s shared with you is slipping away. He tightens his grip on you without meaning to, and though you look up at him in surprise, you don’t comment on it.
The two of you part ways just outside the building, pausing so he can say goodnight. His side feels cold without you.
“That was nice,” you say. “Thank you for dinner, and for helping me study.”
You’re standing above him at the top of the accessibility ramp, resting your elbows on the dripping railing and looking down at him like a princess in some unassailable tower. He tilts his head back to meet your eyes, his pale outline carved into the black fabric of the umbrella.
“Thanks for letting me take you out,” he says. “I had fun. And I think you’re going to do well on your midterms.” Gojo pauses, taking a moment to swallow his nerves as he lines up his next words in his head. “I… If you want, I could start tutoring you. Outside of office hours.”
He has more he wants to say, more reasons he wants to give, like how things are going to be busier in the second half of the semester. Or how he can tell you don’t like studying around other people and he wants you to feel comfortable. Or, of course, that he likes spending his afternoons with you, even when it’s just to go over powerpoints. But tonight it seems that all Gojo’s pretty words have abandoned him. Time slows to a crawl as he waits for a response. His heart is in his throat, loud enough to drown out the sound of the rain still falling around him.
“I’d like that. Thank you.”
You smile at him. This one is different than the one from the party; it’s not meant to tease or to call him out. It’s sweet, happy even, and Gojo can’t help but mirror it as relief washes through him. He can’t remember the last time he allowed himself such an uncalculated expression.
“Okay,” he says, trying to get himself under control. “Cool. I’ll, uh, see you then, I guess.”
“I’ll text you. Will you be alright walking home?”
In any other circumstance he’d consider that a proposition, and even now his knee jerk reaction is to take it as such. But he checks himself, suppressing his instincts and answering you truthfully instead.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thank you though.”
“Goodnight,” you say, propping your cheek in the palm of your hand and giving him a little wave. “Stay safe.”
Gojo spends the walk back to his apartment sorting through an array of emotions. His pace is slow, eyes downcast as he dodges the worms congregating on the pavement. He feels happy… or at least he’s pretty sure he’s happy. There’s a strange ache in his chest, somewhere between anxiety and joy, and while it isn’t all together pleasant he finds he doesn’t mind it. He’s so deep in his own head that he doesn’t register when Geto greets him, focusing instead on shaking the excess water off his umbrella and propping it up against the wall.
“Satoru. Sa-to-ru!”
Finally Gojo looks up, spotting his friend sprawled out on the couch.
“Hm? Oh, hey Suguru.”
Geto shoots him a look of mild annoyance. “I asked you how dinner went.”
“It went well.”
Kicking off his shoes, Gojo shrugs his bag off his shoulder and leaves it hanging on one of the chairs in the kitchen.
“That’s it? Just ‘it went well’?” Geto asks, raising an eyebrow.
“There isn’t really anything to add. We had dinner. I helped her study. Then I walked her back to her dorm and came home right afterwards.”
Geto clearly isn’t satisfied with this answer but Gojo leaves it at that, excusing himself under the pretense of unfinished homework. Though he can’t explain it, he finds that he doesn’t want to talk about the conversation under the umbrella. It’s an unfamiliar feeling— usually when he gets back from a date, he barges into Suguru’s room and immediately tells him everything that happened, going into way more detail than is appropriate. But this time is different. This is a memory he wants to keep for himself.
After some time sitting at his desk and ignoring his Creative Writing homework, Gojo gets up to take a shower. It’s still too early to go to bed, but his restlessness is keeping him from concentrating. Turning the water on, he strips out of his clothes and steps in before it has time to heat up. He barely feels the cold on his skin.
It’s not that he thinks things have gone too far with you— if anything, they haven’t gone far enough. But something you said keeps nagging at him.
It makes me feel like you actually want to be my friend.
Gojo has always thought of the friendzone as a sandtrap to be avoided at all costs. Your comment is a step towards it, but it stings for an entirely different reason. This whole time have you really been under the impression that he doesn’t want to be your friend? And, more alarmingly, has he been under the same impression? Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t know much about you.
He knows your mannerisms and your discomforts. He knows that you met Suguru about a year ago, meaning you’d likely been transferred to his advisory sometime around then. He knows that you need to be taught things two or three times before they stick in your head. But what about your aspirations? Your likes and dislikes? Hell, even your favorite color? Gojo’s never bothered to ask about any of them, so focused on his goal of winning you over that he’s never taken the time to get to know you.
The shower finally heats up, soothing the goosebumps that have sprung up along his arms. He can’t keep playing this stupid game, trying to get you into bed with him. Normally he pulls shit like this to keep himself busy or to beat whatever challenge he’s set for himself. It’s supposed to be casual fun, certainly nothing serious enough to have him staring at the shower wall while his mind replays every interaction he’s had with you.
It’s time to cut his losses. Sure it’ll break his flawless winning streak, and Suguru will tease him mercilessly for the next few months, but if he stops now he’ll have a chance at a real friendship with you.
That’ll be enough, right?
He’ll be satisfied with that, right?