#COL

[cutealienfounds]

OMG I FOUND THE HOODIE HERE!!

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。take my time (i’ll spend it all on you) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.6k

summary: gojo sees you in lingerie for the first time. 

contains: f!reader, suggestive almost nsfw (they make out… maybe a bit steamy), 18+ just in case, reader is in lingerie, shy feelings!! gojo down bad!!

a/n: i hc that the first time gojo sees you in lingerie, it’s like seeing you walk down the aisle—he’s a bit sappy like that! i also think that he’d love seeing his lover in pink! idk! it’s just the vibes! (col reader would look cute in pink too i think hehe complements the personality!); takes place later on, around col #4 (wip)

collection masterlist: conversations on love 3.5b. —will i ever bring you peace? <- you are here -> +04b (extra). if you're ready (let me) + 04. these traces of love, they outline you

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

There are few things in life that have earned Gojo’s double take: 

A sign for a newly-opened gelato shop with ‘exclusive flavors for the first 30 customers!’ written in fine print; Megumi, back in middle school, being confessed to with a sweetly handcrafted box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day; a small cut, right at the tip of his nose from that time you sparred with him and he let you get too close (or so he says). 

And now you. 

In something pink—

—that if he backtracks just a bit, steps one foot behind the other to glance again at the space left open by the bedroom door, and squints—

He’s certain, 200% sure. 

It’s lingerie. 

He blinks once, twice, rubs at his eyes even as his mind attempts to catch up to whatever it is–you–he just saw. This must be what wires feel when they short circuit. 

You know he’s home, right? You have to, you just told him to rinse the dishes after snacking.

And he was in the middle of doing that—walking across your apartment from couch to kitchen, stopping only to do a double take at the sight of pink in his periphery, at you, once he looked again, clearly. 

Or were you doing this on purpose? Did you want him to see you? 

He gulps, warmth spreading from the tips of his ears down to his neck, lingering. 

There’s only one way to find out, really. 

He walks down the hallway leading to the bedroom, keeping his footsteps light so as to not startle you.

If he’s being honest right now, his mind is full to the point of feeling empty—too many thoughts swirling around the fact that behind this very door, he’s about to find you in pink lingerie. 

And when he takes a deep breath, fingertips pushing on wood very slightly as he calls out, “Bab—“

“S’toru!” you squeal from the other side, panicked as you instantly push it back closed.

So you didn’t do it on purpose. 

“Sorry, give me a minute!” you call out, and he can hear your footsteps from the other side, frantically walking around for what he can assume is you looking for something to cover yourself with. 

But he doesn’t want that. 

Not when he already has the visual of you, pretty in what he suspects is pink lace.

Not when the way you said ‘S’toru’ sounded so much like ‘‘Toru’, your ‘‘Toru’, the way you usually say it pressed against bed sheets, under him, expression blissed out from—

Do you have any idea what that does to him? 

“Are you wearing lingerie?” 

You freeze. Gojo can tell from the other side of the door, and you think, damn it, because he isn’t supposed to know you bought a set, much less see you in it. Not yet. 

You could try to lie, but Gojo always sees through you, through every change in inflection, the way your eyebrow twitches before speaking. 

“Can I come in?” he asks softly, almost hesitantly. 

How can you possibly resist him when he speaks to you like this? Asking permission as if this space you live in isn’t as much his?

You sigh, flustered at being caught this way, “Can you close your eyes first?” 

He follows, laying one hand over his eyes for good measure before knocking on the door. You open it slowly, wood creaking as he steps inside. 

You feel a little naked right now despite how he isn’t even looking your way, opting to face the side opposite from where you’re standing. It’s on purpose, you know, he can tell where you are—Six Eyes and all. 

There’s a smile that he’s hiding, biting his lower lip to stop it from showing. His toes are wiggling from the excitement coursing through him.

You know Gojo will like you in anything; in fact, he’s made it very clear that he prefers you in nothing—but still. Your stomach feels queasy and you can’t get rid of how nervous you’re feeling. 

And you guess, it’s really just because this was meant to be a surprise for him—the design you’ve chosen, how it looks on your body, how it looks to him, especially. You’d ordered the lingerie set months in advance to leave a lot of time for returns, whether it turned out ill-fitting or just unflattering.

You didn’t expect him to catch a glimpse of it now, months before his birthday, before you were even ready. 

“I’m waiting…” he teases, voice sing-song in that way he usually does to annoy you. It always makes you smile though, and it’s an odd form of comforting with how it dulls your jitters right now, just a little bit.

“Okay, you can look.” 

As soon as he turns, you squeeze your eyes shut, hands on your sides as you fiddle with your fingernails. Seeing, knowing his reaction in real time is still nervewracking, regardless of every reassurance you tell yourself—because, what if this is the off-chance that you’re wrong, and he doesn’t like it? 

Or worse: what if he has to pretend he likes it?

You frown a bit—it doesn’t help at all that Gojo isn’t saying anything.

But—

How can he, when there are no words, no adjectives, no possible descriptions to articulate what he’s seeing—what he’s feeling?

If he didn’t die then, in every instance he’s brushed with death: by Toji’s hands, locked up inside that box, in that final moment with Sukuna, nearly halved—

He thinks he might have just died right now. 

Because this? You? In lingerie as pink as all he’s feeling—his cheeks, his nose, flushing down his neck, maybe even his chest if it were exposed. 

It’s heaven. 

You’re a sight. 

While Gojo has certainly seen you in much less, and done with you things much more than just stand with you like this, he’s never seen you in lingerie.

And you’re so pretty. Sexy. All his, he can’t believe it.   

He’s noticing all the little details on it–on you–its shade, almost salmon with a bit of baby pink; its material: sheer net as the base for everything—it’s practically see-through save for the delicate floral lace running across the bra cups and panty front.

The set itself is nice, sure, but he knows he only likes it this much because it’s on you. And he knows he’ll always like anything on you. 

The heat in his stomach is building, spreading, to the single part of him that—

“Is it that bad?” you scrunch your nose, eyes still closed. He looks at you confused, before he realizes: he hasn’t said anything.

He chuckles and you open your eyes, pouting. 

And God, he wishes you didn’t do that. That look on your face—what it does to him.

“I ordered it in advance for your birthday,” you start, pout deepening as you ramble on, “it was supposed to be a surprise, but if you don’t like it, I can still–” 

That’s enough. 

He can’t believe that you actually think he doesn’t like it. 

Gojo steps into your space, close enough to grab you by the waist as his other hand reaches up to slot itself in the area between your ear and your jawline, tilting your head up slightly as he leans in to kiss you. 

It’s rushed at first, almost desperate—hungry, the way he releases his breath only to take you in; your lips, soft in the way he knows them to be, his hand on your waist squeezing. Your fingertips trail to his cheek, almost cupping as his kisses turn deeper, more languid, lips moving against yours slowly, savoring. 

Gojo is a fast learner, and he shows it best in the way he kisses you, as if he’s memorized every way to build that familiar heat within you. You lay your other hand against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his t-shirt as he pulls you closer. 

You bite his lip and suck, just a little bit, the way he likes it, and he moans, lowly, vibrations rippling through your mouth as he holds you steady. He’s hard already; you can feel it pressing against your lower belly. 

And you realize, as a small laugh tears itself away from you, how ridiculous it was for you to even worry. 

You break the kiss, leaning your forehead against his as you keep your noses touching. It’s impossible to tell how Gojo looks, but you have a hunch with how he’s breathing so heavily; the skies in his eyes must be darker, almost gray, turned on by desire—the same one settling deep in your stomach, aching, needy. 

“It’s perfect,” he whispers, lips grazing yours. He traces hearts by your shoulder, something born out of the many times you’ve lain in bed together, playing with the strap of your bra before pulling, a short snap! as he lets go. 

“You like it?” you whisper back, a lilt in your tone, teasing. Your fingers come up to trace his lips and he holds them in place, nipping. 

“Mhm,” he grins, smoothing his hand over the lace details on your bra, his thumb rubbing, “so pretty.” 

He leans in again, a small peck, before asking, “Does this mean I can get my gift now?” 

You laugh, hitting his chest, “It’s not your birthday yet!” 

“Yeah, but what is time anyway?” 

And you know, with the way he’s trailing kisses down your neck, licking and sucking—you’re going to have to find another thing to surprise him with on his birthday. 

.

Later that evening, with your head lying right on his chest, you remember. 

“Oh yeah, the set also came with one of those belt things. Garter, I think? But I wasn’t sure if you’d be into–” 

You’ve never seen Gojo get up from bed faster.

thank you notes: for that anon that asked about whether col reader wears lingerie! + @stellamancer @soumies @crysugu for validating me that pink is in fact col reader's colour ᰔ i also just luv u guys 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[coolgenie]

Century of Love Ep 6

[annafayeink]

Canvas of Lies

summary: Cate’s life is a careful balance of paint-splattered sweaters, rejection emails, and dreams too big to fit in her tiny apartment. Lu’s life is all charm, designer sneakers, and family obligations that come with impossible expectations. They’re best friends, polar opposites—and suddenly fake dating to help Lu survive a high-stakes family dinner. What starts as an improvised act becomes a whirlwind of tangled stories, unspoken truths, and moments that blur the line between pretend and reality. In the chaos of lies they craft together, Cate and Lu might just uncover the truths they’ve been avoiding all along.

warnings & tags: best friends to lovers; fake dating; mutual pining; slow burn; emotional hurt/comfort; fluff, angst & humor; eventual romance & smut;

Read on ao3

Chapter One

The rejection email sat in my inbox like a tiny grenade, waiting to explode.  

“Thank you for your submission, but we are unable to include your work at this time…” 

I didn’t need to read the rest. They were all the same—polite, distant, and devastating. I hovered the mouse over the delete button, as if making it go away would somehow turn back time. 

I slammed my laptop shut instead. The motion sent a jar of brushes teetering off the edge of my desk. It hit the floor with a sharp clatter, paint-streaked handles rolling and scattering across the floor.

I let out a frustrated breath, eyes flickering towards the half-finished painting on the easel. The colors were bold—too bold. The swirls of blue and gold clashed in a chaotic explosion of pigment that seemed to scream without words. It felt just like my emotions. It felt like me: all over the place and out of control. Somehow too much and not enough at the same time. 

I groaned and crouched to gather them, but my knee bumped against the easel and it was all I could do not to let it go flying to the floor as well. A smear of blue paint ended up on the cuff of my sweater, but I couldn't bring myself to care. It was just another thing in my surroundings to remind me of what a mess I am.

The knock on my apartment door broke the suffocating silence to snap me out of my self-pity spiral.  

“Open up, starving artist. I brought sustenance.”  

I straightened, brushing stray hairs out of my face, and shuffled to the door. I didn't bother checking the peephole — who else would show up unannounced with that much swagger?

His voice was unmistakable: smooth, teasing, and just a little too confident.   

I couldn't help but smile as soon as I opened the door. There he stood, Luigi Mangione, my best friend and occasional pain in the ass. His Adidas jacket was slung over one arm, and his dark hair was artfully disheveled in a way that probably took no effort at all. In his free hand, he held a bag from my favourite bakery.

“You look…” He tilted his head, giving me an exaggerated once-over. “Unhinged. Have you slept?”  

“Hello to you too,” I muttered, stepping aside to let him in.  

With the scent of sugar and butter trailing behind him, he waltzed into my apartment with the kind of casual confidence I'd never quite mastered. As he passed, his hand brushed my shoulder, warm and grounding. Then he placed the bag on my tiny kitchen counter and tossed his jacket over the back of my desk chair carelessly. 

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice tinged with mock concern. His fingers reached out to pick at a paint stain near the elbow of my hoodie. “You look like you’ve been on a three-day bender. Did you finally lose it and paint with wine?”  

“No. Wine is expensive.”  

“Fair point.” He handed me a croissant and perched himself on the arm of my threadbare couch, kicking off his sneakers like it was his second home. 

I took a bite, grateful for the distraction, but his eyes stayed on me, too sharp and perceptive for my comfort.

“What happened this time?” he asked, leaning forward. His tone had softened, but his gaze was steady—like he could see right through me even when I didn't want him to.

I hesitated. Lu was my best friend, but his world was light-years away from mine. It wasn't just the money, or the confidence, or the way he moved through the world like he belonged everywhere. It was the ease with which everything seemed to fall into place for him. Like he'd been handed a map at birth, while I was still wandering in circles, looking for the starting line.

He had more charisma than anyone should be allowed, the right connections, and an aura I couldn't replicate. Meanwhile, I was stuck in this tiny apartment, surrounded by unfinished projects and an inbox full of rejection emails. It felt like trying to explain a snowstorm to someone who lived in a desert. I wasn’t sure he’d understand. Still, I gestured vaguely towards my closed laptop.  

“They rejected me again,” I said, forcing the words out. “Apparently, I’m too ‘experimental’ for the gallery scene. Whatever that means.”  

Lu's brows knit together, an expression so out of character it almost made me laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Your work is incredible.” He held my hand and pulled me towards him, making me plop down heavily on the couch. “Those idiots wouldn’t know talent if it slapped them in the face.”  

I snorted, and a bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Thanks, but I don’t think slapping people is part of the artistic process.”  

“Maybe it should be.” He grinned, but there was a softness in his eyes and a hint of admiration that made my chest ache. He tapped my knee gently in that reassuring manner of his. “You’re going to make it, you know. One of these days, they’re all going to be begging for your work.”

His words landed with more weight than I expected. I felt them sink in, but I didn't know how to respond. The sincerity in his expression caught me off-guard.

His hand rested on my knee, tender, and solid. It made me want to believe him—to think that one day my paintings might be hanging in galleries, admired by the same people who rejected me now.

“I mean it,” he said, quieter. His thumb brushed against the seam of my jeans, an absentminded motion that somehow steadied me. “I'm serious, Catherine. You've got something special, and one of these days it's all going to click for them. You'll show them.��

I turned back to the easel so I could blink away the wetness in my eyes, brought on by the flutter of hope. But when my gaze drifted back to the blue and gold monstrosity laughing at me from its perch, suddenly the lump in my throat grew to the size of a football. How could I show them how good I could be when I didn't even know how to make it right?

I got up, avoiding his gaze, and busied myself collecting the brushes I'd dropped before. “It's just… it doesn't feel enough. I feel like I'm always halfway there, but can never get it right.”

“Maybe it's not about getting it perfect. Maybe it's about… Getting out of your own head and letting go.” I heard Lu getting back up and crossing the room in a few steps. He crouched beside me to take a hold of my chin and make me look at him. “Remember that mural you did in college? The next day you freaked out because you hated it, but it’s still all over social media! People love your work because it's you. That's what they’re going to see eventually, I promise.”

His smile was gentle, without a trace of teasing. I buried my face in his neck and his arms surrounded me.

The pang of envy hit me unexpectedly, sharp and unwelcome. Everything came so easily to Lu, from charming strangers to walking into a room like he owned it. Even now, standing in my cluttered apartment wearing a five-year-old sweater and looking like he'd just rolled out of bed, he came across as someone who could be in a penthouse somewhere, sipping champagne and making business deals with powerful people. Meanwhile, here I was, hoping the stupid croissant wasn’t my last meal before rent came due.

I knew he was being sincere, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't quite understand what it was like to fight for every inch of progress. To be told you weren't enough over and over again until you started to believe it. But I didn't say that. I didn't want to ruin the moment.

“I'm gonna need you to repeat those words every now and then, okay?” I said, breathing deeply to shove my internal pity party away. “You know, to balance out all the rejections…"

When I pulled away from his embrace, he kissed my forehead lightly. “I will, anytime you need to be reminded of it.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” I said lightly, forcing a smile. “I’ll be sure to let the art snobs know you’re on my side.”

“Damn right I am,” he said, flashing me another familiar grin. “Somebody has to keep you from becoming a tragic artist cliché.”

I rolled my eyes, but the tension in my chest eased just a little.

Then his phone buzzed, and everything shifted. He glanced at the screen and groaned.  

“Oh, come on, not again…” He answered the call, putting it on speaker.  

“Luigi!” his mother’s crisp, aristocratic voice filled the room. “Have you given any thought to who you’ll bring to the anniversary dinner? It’s next weekend, and you cannot show up alone. You know how that looks.”

Lu rolled his eyes at me. The corners of his mouth were pressed into a thin line when he got up with stiffening shoulders to pace the room. “I was actually planning to—”  

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on being so difficult. We’ve been nothing but patient with you, and this is how you repay us? By embarrassing us in front of the entire family and our partners? Do you have any idea what people will say? I mean, for God's sake, Luigi—”

As his mother droned on, Lu ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. The usual easy smile was gone, replaced by a tension that rarely showed on his face.

I raised an eyebrow at him. He usually brushed off family drama with a joke, but this seemed to cut deeper.

He hit the mute button, letting out a long sigh. “See what I have to deal with?” he said to me, exasperated. 

“Getting a date sounds like a you problem,” I smirked. “Good luck with that…”  

My words were casual, trying to lighten the mood, but my gaze lingered on him. The frustration in his eyes wasn't just annoyance—it was heavier, like he was carrying the weight of years of this.

He let out a dry laugh. “Thanks for the support.”

I shrugged. “You could always just tell her to back off, you know.”

He didn't answer, but the flicker of something in his expression—regret? Resignation? — made me feel like maybe I'd crossed a line.

Before I could say more, he unmuted the microphone. “Fine, Mother. I’ll find someone you’ll approve of.”  

“You’d better. And make sure she’s… respectable. Someone worthy of the family name. Honestly, Luigi, do try to act like a Mangione for once. We've given you everything, every advantage, and all we ask is for you to do your part and stop being troublesome.”

The call ended with a sharp click, leaving a silence that felt too loud. 

Lu stared at the phone for a moment before setting it down on the counter with more force than necessary. His fingers drummed against the countertop, his usual ease replaced by a restless energy. 

“Wow,” I finally said, breaking the silence. “That was… intense."

“That's just how she is,” he replied with a shrug, as if It wasn't that big of a deal. He flopped back onto the couch, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him. “She wants ‘respectable.’ What does that even mean? Respectable by whose standards? Am I supposed to find someone who quotes Shakespeare while doing charity work in pearls?”  

“Or,” I suggested, nudging his leg with my foot, “you could skip dinner altogether.”  

“Tempting,” he said, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “But no. If I don’t show, she’ll send an army of matchmakers after me. Last time, it was someone who thought a ‘fun date’ was discussing the stock market.”  

I giggled, imagining him squirming through that nightmare. “Lu, you don't have to jump just because she snaps her fingers. You're a grown man.”

He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. “It's more complicated than that.”

“It is?” I asked before I could stop myself, curiosity piqued.

He didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. 

I wanted to push further, ask what he meant by that. But there was something in the sudden darkness of his demeanor that stopped me. There was something he wasn't telling me, but I didn't know how to ask without possibly making things worse.

With a resigned huff, he shifted, laying his head on my lap. It was a familiar gesture, one he'd done countless times before whenever he sought comfort but refused to admit it.

Instinctively, I began to play with his curls, twirling the soft strands around my fingers. The rhythmic motion seemed to soothe him, his eyes fluttering shut as he relaxed.

“You're too good to me, Cate,” he murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Someone has to keep you in line,” I teased, gently tugging on a particularly stubborn curl.

He chuckled softly. The weight of his frustration seemed to lift, replaced by the comfortable silence that often settled between us.

After a while, I broke the quiet. “So, about this anniversary dinner… Any ideas on who the lucky ‘respectable’ date might be?”

He let out a humourless laugh. “If I had someone, don't you think I'd have mentioned it by now?”

“Okay, fair.” I paused, a mischievous thought creeping in. “You know, if you're desperate, I could always dust off one of my old dresses and pretend to be your doting girlfriend for the night.”

His eyes snapped open, and he tilted his head to look up at me. “That’s… insane.”  

“It’s genius,” I corrected.  

“It’s insane,” he repeated, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You’d really do that?

“Of course,” I said, giving his hair a gentle ruffle. “It sounds fun. Plus, I owe for all the croissants.”

The tension in his shoulders eased visibly. “You, in a fancy dress, pretending to be my girlfriend? Now that's something I'd pay to see.”

“Hey, I clean up nicely,” I shot back, feigning offense.

Lu's eyes softened. “Do you, now?”

Before I could respond, he reached out to cup my face with his hand. His thumb brushed gently against my cheek, moving in a slow arc, tracing a line that left warmth in its wake. 

The sudden unexpected touch sent a shiver down my spine. I froze, not sure what he was up to, until he pulled his hand back with a smug grin. 

“You're wearing your art again,” he said, holding up his thumb to reveal a faint cobalt smear.

I blinked, then let out a nervous laugh. “Occupational hazard.”

His hand dropped back to his chest. His smile came a second too late, gaze lingering on me like he wasn't entirely sure whether to laugh or say something else entirely. But then I saw the familiar playful glint return to his eyes. 

“I guess that means I'll have to keep an eye on you during dinner. Make sure you don't end up wearing the hors d'oeuvres too,” he laughed. 

“Very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“That would really make you look experimental.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Hey, as long as you promise not to spill your hundred dollar wine on my fancy dress...”

“Fine,” he said with a cheeky laugh. “Just don’t fall in love with me. That’s not part of the deal.”

“Pfft. As if.” I swatted at his arm, grateful for the tension finally breaking into our usual banter.

As we laughed, we stayed like that on the couch—close, steady, familiar. Just like always.

___

For the tag list, click here ✨

[lianaloverr]

Happy Birthday Sam!!!!

Such a beautiful person, who’s been here for 28 years! I’m wishing you a happy happy birthday and i hope that you get to cherish many many more. Sam and Colby lift up my life so much you have no idea, i love you to pieces. Happy Birthday Sam!🎂🎉

(i love this song and i feel like it perfectly describes yk back at the trap house days because everything was so carefree back then)

[shitty-tmagp-aus]

Au where Chester and Norris have a lovely computer wedding with all the OIAR members invited and Hatsune miku officiating. Augustus wasn’t invited

Colin is the flower girl

[bllemons]

Never forget Century of Love is a LAKORN FIRST and BL second! Like tHe DRAMA! the long shots of everyone's shocked expressions. The melodramatic crying scenes. The punch to the face. AND A SLAP!! SCANDALLL!! Ep 7 has it all lol

Its giving telenovela!!

[leonmarie]

bibou

[rurilamb]

Cute gif of Ruri

Source

[strapcreep]

B-]

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ don't let go, okay? | gojo satoru

wc: 2.1k

summary: it has to be some sort of fate that you happen to be stuck with gojo on valentine's day.

contains: f!reader, slowburn, fluff, reader and gojo are 21, reader and gojo are ‘guardians’ to megumi and tsumiki but they are not romantically together, japanese valentine’s chocolate tradition, reader’s cursed technique (vaguely), kind of pining

a/n: in the 'conversations on love' universe but takes place before the main series (would be nice to read but not necessary to understand this). theme song for this is what love is by zimmer90.

part of 'do you know what love is like?', a mini-series of almost's within 'conversations on love'. also included in how to be your lover boy (a valentine's collab by augustinewrites & seiwas)

The night is crisp when you step into it, the clean cut of a cool breeze tickling your cheek; it sweeps past you in the edge of winter and spring. 

You walk along the street. 

A sort of faded, vintage hue paints Shimokitazawa, wooden boards with worn down signages holding names of antique shops in every corner. The night feels older here, retro lights tinging bars and pubs more maturely than those nearby in Shibuya. At the street across, the sign of a cafe is flipped the other way to formally open the speakeasy it transforms into. 

You’ve only been here twice before: once with Nanami and Utahime years ago, while searching for old vinyl records the three of you had gotten into, and another with Tsumiki, some time last month because she’d mentioned wanting to check the thrift shops. 

Who would have thought you’d be back so soon? With—

“Satoru,” you call out, half-giggling, “why are you sniffing?” 

Gojo trails just a few inches behind you, body bent over closely to catch a whiff but not near enough to touch. Each inhale he takes is punctuated with the sound of whizzing air, condensing to fit through his nostrils. 

“You smell like chocolate.”

Out of all the plans you’d anticipated on Valentine’s Day, being roped into a mission with Gojo at the last minute was definitely not one of them. 

You shake your head knowingly, the corners of your lips curling; Gojo can smell sweets miles away, you could honestly mistake it for his cursed technique. 

He pulls back, falling into step with you. 

“Tsumiki asked me to help make some earlier.” 

Heavy jazz floats through the air as you pass by a bar entrance, the music muffling as the doors fall shut a few seconds later. Your boots clack against the pavement. 

“Oh?” Gojo perks up, voice turning an all-too-familiar hint of nosy as he teases, “What kind?” 

You snort as you dig your hands further into your pockets. For someone who claims to be all-seeing and all-knowing, Gojo is a lot more inquisitive than he seems; his nonchalance is but an added security much like his infinity is, dissipating only in company he’s comfortable sharing that side of him with. 

It’s been a while since Gojo’s been ‘home’ in the past week, so you don’t blame him for wondering. 

“Tomo mostly,” your gaze shifts to the side, waiting for his reaction, “though I did notice her sneaking a few honmei ones when I wasn’t looking.” 

There’s a slight stagger to his step as his shoulders tense up, his sunglasses shifting higher as his ears push back. You bite down your laugh. 

For as clueless as both you and Gojo are when it comes to being guardians to Megumi and Tsumiki, you think Gojo’s grown an odd mix of semi-brotherly-kind of-fatherly-mostly-guardianly protectiveness over the both of them—to Tsumiki especially. You can tell because his reminders to Megumi are always sealed with some form of ensuring Tsumiki makes it home safely. 

‘Home’, which is where the kids stay, but it’s neither yours nor his—just a place nearby that keeps them protected and comfortable. You’re with them most days, Gojo staying when he can, but with the higher-ups assigning him on missions left and right, there’s hardly any time for him to drop by. Hell, you haven’t seen much of him either, besides the rare instances of bumping into him along the halls of Jujutsu Tech, a whine almost always drawn from his throat. 

You see his curiosity as an effort to check in.

He only hums, hollower than his usual responses. The sound of his footsteps fill the gaps of what would typically be a seamless back-and-forth with you; you try not to comment on it. 

Indinstinct chatter brings the street to life, smooth beats cascading warmth against the chilly breeze. Despite the noise, Gojo’s silence feels unsettling—as if there are words forming at the tip of his tongue, withheld for reasons you can’t quite get a read on just yet. 

So, you wait, learning more and more that he usually comes around when—

“Did you?” 

The question is half-murmured, part of it lost to the night. 

Did you what? Notice Tsumiki?

“Hm?” you tilt your head towards him, tucking strands of hair behind your ear in an attempt to hear him better. 

He doesn’t answer. 

You stop walking. 

“Did I what?” you adjust your coat before turning towards him, catching the slightest of his gaze before he looks away quickly.

(“Did you make honmei chocolate?” he means.) 

Still, no answer. 

The tips of Gojo’s ears dust pink, and you try not to comment on that too.

His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, slipping free before his Adam’s apple bobs, swallowing. 

“Wanna see something cool?” he changes the subject, removing his sunglasses and turning back to you as if none of it happened. As if he didn’t ask you anything, as if you didn’t ask what he meant—as if you didn’t just catch him at the tail end of a wistful stare. 

The shift in his tone happens so suddenly, it feels disjointed. Unnatural. But you’ve gotten used to moments like this from knowing him for so long; Gojo always says less of what he truly means. 

You focus on his face, yellow and red retro lights dancing on clear blue. He looks almost freakish this way, otherworldly—a crazed look you’ve gotten familiar with. His hands are stuffed inside his pockets when he stops, gangly long legs outstretched by the shadow beneath him. 

There’s really no time to be doing this right now, the both of you just 10 minutes away from the mission’s location—an abandoned building housing a special grade curse that lures people in with fabricated memories. Around you, the neighborhood’s nightlife has dwindled, your walk thus far having brought you farther from the heart of the place and closer to somewhere quieter, more secluded. 

Gojo looks too excited, eyes beaming wonder and mischief along with something else you can’t quite figure out yet. You purse your lips in thought. 

“C’mon, it’ll be quick.” he smirks, the dimple on his cheek deepening as he shrugs, “I’ve finally perfected it.”

A beat—skipped before your heart races. 

You wonder if he knows, if he’s using this to his advantage, because—

—when have you ever denied him when he looks at you this way? 

The higher-ups should have known better than to pair you together for a mission. Your instructions were merely ‘to assist’, but you hardly believe it considering Gojo almost always handles these things on his own. It’s more babysitting, you know, to keep the damages of his technique to a minimum. 

They shouldn’t have called on you, of all people—you’re on Gojo’s side. Always. 

A smile threatens to escape your lips, warmth spreading within your cheeks; you roll your eyes jokingly, stifling a giggle before relenting.

“Fine.” 

He guides you forward, chest bumping against your shoulder blade as he picks up pace. It’s a clear road ahead of you, the streets emptying out to more greenery; your senses are filled with the smell of the earth mixed in with the faint cotton of Gojo’s cologne. 

This is bad for your feelings. 

(Being this close to you feels like the ticklish drag of fingernails just right before it creates indents in his chest.) 

There’s something brewing between you and Gojo, neither of you have just addressed it yet. He pulls away when the moment is too close but still looks for you first after missions, an almost automatic question to either Shoko or Ijichi about your whereabouts.

You’ve been catching his stares too, almost always at the split-second before he turns away—a reaction on impulse. The silence between you feels fuller lately, as if there are words he wants to say but is choosing to withhold. 

When the space is vacant enough, he steps a few inches to your right, left hand stuffed inside his pocket as he shakes his arm hesitantly, almost awkwardly. 

“You have to hold on to me,” he instructs you. 

Your eyes widen, equally surprised and shy as you slowly take your hand out of your coat and slip it into the empty space, resting it on the crook of his elbow. Gojo freezes very slightly. 

He shakes it off just as quickly, “You might be sensitive to my domain because of your technique, so stay close just to be safe.” 

Then, his head tilts towards you, a little closer than you’re both used to. This near, his eyes hold a perfect morning sky, eyelashes hanging like wispy clouds on a clear day. 

Your gazes meet and you blink twice, goosebumps littering your skin. 

“Don’t let go, okay?”

Another beat—followed by another, and another, the sound of it growing louder. 

You almost miss the way he says it gentler than normal, how sincere it feels with his breath tickling your cheek. 

“Okay,” your fingers curl around his arm tighter. 

He lifts his other hand up, crossing his fingers as he recites the mantra to his domain. In an instant, the greenery around you disappears, stark white taking its place. 

“What do you think?” Gojo asks almost immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. Your fingers stay curled onto the crook of his elbow, sandwiched between his forearm and bicep; his other hand rests a few centimeters away from yours, nearly touching. 

You scan the space, examining its vastness. Minimalist. A blank sheet—

“It’s…” you try to find the right words, “... empty?” 

He gasps exaggeratedly, “Hey!” then pouts in fake offense, “I made it porcelain white at least. This isn’t pure white you know.” 

You eye him from the side.

He chuckles, breaking his act, “You should be honored.”

A pause—his tone shifting to something softer, more vulnerable. 

“You’re the first person I’m bringing in here.” 

His admission is unexpected, but it feels relevant, makes you feel like it, too. 

You’re touched, knowing how secretive he’s been on perfecting his domain since Toji and Geto; he only ever tells you and Ijichi about it. No one ever pressured him into achieving his perfect domain, but he feels like his existence necessitates it. 

“It’s clean,” you finally say, playing along, “I like it.” 

He eyes you this time, dimples deepening the more he attempts to poorly push down his smile. 

“Shame I can’t really do much with it, would have wanted to spice up the interiors a bit.” 

You snort, knowing full well that Gojo’s very much the type to pick one piece of furniture and anchor the entire place’s aesthetic off of that. 

“Someday,” you catch his eyes again. 

(It echoes in his ears, the quickening thump of his heartbeat—pink noise that can’t possibly be a product of your technique. 

In the silence of his domain, all he hears is that sound and you.) 

He hums before looking back to the empty space, “Acoustics would be good by then, we can try your technique in here.” 

You nod, the corners of your lips curling; his pinky presses against yours so faintly you wonder if you just imagined it—if he had meant it or not. 

. 

The special grade is dealt with within a quarter of the time it took you to travel to here, but Gojo seems to bear the consequences with another one of his migraines—a mixture of fatigue from activating his domain earlier along with sensitivity from the increased bustle in Shimokitazawa’s night life as you exit the neighborhood. 

You make a mental note to get him something that covers his eyes a little bit more than those circle frames he uses—an imbued blindfold maybe? You’ll have to think about it some more. 

(When you both get ‘home’, you set up the couch, offering him the spare bedroom so he can sleep off the headache. It’s a quick trip to the kitchen for a glass of water when he catches a glimpse of it—a fully decorated box of honmei chocolate partially hidden at the corner of the counter. 

The card has half of his name written in your handwriting.

You don’t end up giving it, but he does receive some chocolates from you, still. It’s a belated gift the next day, along with the ones you gift to Shoko, Yaga, and Ijichi—a tradition you’ve kept up since you were 16. 

But, his box has an extra piece, and you even tailored each one to all his favorite flavors: sakura, strawberry, zunda, and anko; his card is the same one you left half-written, just now fully spelling ‘Satoru’. 

So, he thinks his might be a bit more special, and he’s realizing that he likes it that way—he might prefer it much more, actually.)

a/n: haven't written col in a while but this is the official launch of 'do you know what love is like?', a mini-series of almost's within the 'conversations of love' universe! there are lots of details that connect to some of the col works but this happens before all of the ones released so far (so you don't need to read the main series to understand this, but it would add to the full experience if you do!).

thank you notes: @augustinewrites love u my valentine, this fic wouldn't exist without you 🥹 + @stellamancer col couple is here!! with chocolates!! thank you for going over this for the first read 🥹 ily niku + @mididoodles @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat my cheerleaders!! thank you for the support always 🥹

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[coolgenie]

Century of Love Ep 6

[annafayeink]

Canvas of Lies

summary: Cate’s life is a careful balance of paint-splattered sweaters, rejection emails, and dreams too big to fit in her tiny apartment. Lu’s life is all charm, designer sneakers, and family obligations that come with impossible expectations. They’re best friends, polar opposites—and suddenly fake dating to help Lu survive a high-stakes family dinner. What starts as an improvised act becomes a whirlwind of tangled stories, unspoken truths, and moments that blur the line between pretend and reality. In the chaos of lies they craft together, Cate and Lu might just uncover the truths they’ve been avoiding all along.

warnings & tags: best friends to lovers; fake dating; mutual pining; slow burn; emotional hurt/comfort; fluff, angst & humor; eventual romance & smut;

Read on ao3

Chapter Four

It was late afternoon, and the sunlight was softening and slanting through the trees. Lu and I strolled side by side down a quiet park path, close enough for our arms to brush occasionally. I’d insisted we take a detour past the fountain because it was my favourite place around here and, as usual, Lu hadn’t argued.

The backs of our hands touched, just for a moment, before his fingers threaded through mine. I knew exactly how Lu’s hand felt in mine, but now I couldn’t stop noticing things I’d never paid attention to before—the slight roughness of his palm, the way his fingers curled so naturally around mine. How had I never noticed that before?

It wasn’t the first time we’d held hands; we’d done it a million times before, like when we were crossing a busy street, when we wanted to keep track of each other at concerts or even when I needed a tug to keep up with his long strides. But this time, it felt different. Intentional. Like it meant something. Like it was staged.

I squeezed his hand and glanced down at our intertwined fingers. “Does this feel weird to you?”

“What? Holding your hand?” He raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “Not really. I’ve done it before.”

“Yeah, but not like this.” I gestured vaguely with my free hand, already feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “Not to make it look like we’re... you know.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Like we’re a couple?”

“Exactly.” I sighed. “It’s just holding hands. It shouldn’t feel like a big deal, right? But now it kinda does.”

Lu didn’t let go of my hand, but his thumb ran absently over mine. “Okay, maybe it feels a little weird when you put it that way. But it’s really no big deal. We’re overthinking it.”

For a second, I thought I caught something in his expression—something unreadable. But then he smirked like always, and I told myself I was imagining things.

“Maybe.” I let out a breath, glancing down at our linked fingers. The shape of his hand felt familiar in mine, but now I couldn’t stop wondering if this looked right.

Lu tugged me to an empty bench and we sat down. He stretched his legs out in front of him, and pulled his hand away to let his arm rest along the back of the bench. I leaned into it without hesitation, like I always did—the motion was so automatic I didn’t even realise it happened until I was already pressed against his side.

I glanced at his arm behind me and he caught me doing it. “What?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“We’ve always been like this. Kind of… all over each other. Why does it feel different now that we’re trying to make it look like we’re dating?”

“Does it feel different?”

“It does to me. We always sit like this, it’s nothing. But now I’m wondering if someone’s watching us and thinking, ‘Wow, what a cute couple.’ And that thought feels... weird.”

He chuckled, his fingers brushing my shoulder lightly as he leaned back. “You are overthinking it. People can’t tell the difference between natural and staged anyway. If we’re comfortable, it’ll look real.”

“That’s exactly my point,” I said. “We’ve always been comfortable like this. What does that say about us?”

Lu didn’t answer right away. Instead, he squinted at the sun, as if it would help him pinpoint the answer to all of my questions. “That’s why people have always assumed we were… more,” he said, after a while. His voice was light, but there was something unreadable in his expression, something that made my stomach twist.

“I guess that’s why I’m overthinking all of this. Before it was just us being us. But now that we’re supposed to actually look like a couple, I’m suddenly aware of every single move we make.”

“Yeah, I understand that.” With the hand over my shoulder, he picked up a small strand of my hair and twirled it absently around his fingers.

I reached for his hand again. He didn’t hesitate, his fingers curling around mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. For a moment, the noise of the park faded, and it was just us on the bench, the world holding its breath. It wasn’t staged. It wasn’t strange. It just was.

We lapsed into a comfortable silence, watching as a dog sprinted past, chasing a red ball. A little boy squealed with delight as his kite finally caught the breeze, its tail dancing in the air. I followed its path, my mind wandering.

“You know what’s funny? I keep thinking people are watching us, but I haven’t actually looked at anyone else. What if nobody even cares?”

Lu chuckled, low and warm. “They probably don’t. Most people are too caught up in their own lives to notice stuff like this.” He gestured toward the small crowd milling about the park. “But if it makes you feel better, we can give them something to look at.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, really? And what exactly would that be?”

He leaned closer, mischief lighting up his face. “A grand romantic gesture. I could sweep you into my arms, dip you back, maybe even twirl you around a little. Really sell the whole ‘madly in love’ thing.”

I laughed, shoving his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He leaned back, grinning like he’d just won something. “I think I’d be pretty convincing.”

“I swear,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him, “if you ever try that, I’ll trip you before you even get to the twirl.”

“Noted.” His grin didn’t falter, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“You know,” I started, unable to keep a more serious tone away from my voice, “I don’t think I’ve ever done this with anyone else. Just... sit and be comfortable, like this.”

Lu’s gaze shifted to me, thoughtful. “Not even with Eric?”

I shook my head. “No. With him, everything always felt... I don’t know. Performative. Like there was a script. Like I had to try.”

I paused, considering my own words. Maybe that was the difference. With Lu, I didn’t have to try at all. I never had to think about what to do or how to act—I just was.

I cleared my throat. “He’d say something flirty and I’d laugh and touch his arm because that was expected or something. I guess that’s why it didn’t work out.”

He nodded, quiet for a beat before saying, “Yeah. I get that.” His voice was softer than usual, like the words carried a weight he didn’t want to drop on me. “I never really had that kind of comfort with anyone else either.”

That made me glance up at him, surprised. “Really? I thought you were always the smooth, cutesy boyfriend type.”

“I mean, sure, I played the part.” His lips curved into a faint smile, but his eyes were distant, looking somewhere else entirely. “But it was always surface-level. Never... this.”

There was something about the sincerity in his voice that made my chest tighten. I brushed it off, focusing on the comfort of the moment instead. “Guess we’re pretty lucky, huh? Being this comfortable with each other.”

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful, and in his smile there was a hint of sadness. “Lucky.”

The hum of the park filled the quiet between us, the occasional laughter of strangers drifting on the breeze. A couple passed by, arms linked, smiling like they were in their own little world. I watched them, their natural closeness, the way they moved together without thinking. It made me wonder why this, sitting here with Lu, felt so comfortable.

“Do you think it’s weird that we’ve always been like this?” I asked suddenly.

Lu tilted his head. “Like what?”

“This.” I gestured between us. “The touching, the leaning, the casual... everything. Most people don’t have this with their friends, right? So why is it so normal for us?”

He considered the question, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the back of my hand. “I don’t think it’s weird. I think it’s just... us. Some people are wired for that kind of closeness, and some aren’t. We just happen to be the kind of people who don’t need all those boundaries.”

“Maybe.” I sighed. “But now that we’re trying to make it look romantic, it’s like I can’t stop analysing it. Like, what if all those little things we’ve always done have been toeing the line this whole time, and we just didn’t realize it?”

Lu turned to face me, his expression softer than I expected. “Cate, if anyone else ever thought we were something more…” He hesitated, just for a second, then shook his head slightly. “That’s on them. We’ve always known what we are. And just because we’re pretending now doesn’t change any of that.”

His words sank in, and I nodded slowly, even as my mind lingered on the question. “Yeah. You’re right.”

His arm shifted from the back of the bench to wrap around my shoulders, pulling me close. It was a gesture I’d felt a hundred times before, but today, it made my stomach flutter. I told myself it was just the new context—the whole fake-dating thing—but the feeling didn’t go away.

“You okay?” Lu asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“Yeah.” I leaned into him, resting my head against his shoulder. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“About how convincing we are,” I said, trying to keep the mood light. “I mean, if I didn’t know us, I’d totally buy it.”

Lu smirked. “Well, we are a pretty great team.”

I tilted my head up to look at him. “We are, aren’t we?”

Our eyes met, and for a split second, the world seemed to tilt—not dramatically, but enough to make my breath catch. It was just a moment, a flicker of something unspoken that I had to force back down into hiding.

I was just starting to relax, the rhythm of Lu’s thumb brushing against my shoulder soothing in a way I didn’t want to think too hard about, when a voice cut through the quiet behind us.

“Cate? Luigi?”

My head snapped up, my heart lurching as I spotted Emma and her boyfriend, Alex, walking toward us. Emma—an old friend from college I still texted occasionally but hadn’t seen in months—was waving enthusiastically, dragging Alex along like she’d just found treasure.

Lu straightened beside me, his arm still draped casually around my shoulders, and shot me a quick glance. His raised eyebrow said it all: Well, here we go.

“Emma! Hey!” I forced a cheerful smile, sitting up a little straighter but not moving out of Lu’s hold. I couldn’t, not without making it more awkward. “It’s been a while!”

“I know!” Emma practically beamed as she reached us, pulling me into a quick hug before taking a step back.

“I didn’t even know you were back in town!” I said.

Her eyes darted to Lu, and then back to me. “And I definitely didn’t know this was happening.”

My stomach flipped, the weight of her curiosity pressing down on me. I laughed—too quickly—and gestured between Lu and me. “Oh, yeah. It’s, uh...a recent development.”

A recent development. That was one way to put it. Another way would be a complete and utter lie that had just become significantly harder to manage.

Emma’s eyes widened like she’d just stumbled onto the juiciest gossip of the year. “I thought you’d still be attached at the hip but not this!”

She turned to Alex and he elbowed her lightly. “Didn’t I tell you? I always said they were too close to not end up together eventually!”

“You did,” she agreed, chuckling. “I think I owe you ten bucks.”

I could feel my cheeks heating up, the flush creeping all the way to my ears. Beside me, Lu’s lips twitched in amusement, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“We were just taking a walk,” I said quickly, desperate to steer the conversation anywhere else.

But Emma wasn’t letting it go. “You know, at first I thought you two had some kind of unspoken thing going on. And then you told me—what was it you said?” She tapped her chin dramatically, as if trying to jog her memory. “Oh! Right. ‘He’s like my soulmate but strictly platonic’, wasn’t it?”

Lu let out a laugh, low and warm, and I shot him a warning glare. That, of course, only encouraged him. I couldn’t tell if the glint in his eyes was just amusement or something else but I didn’t have time to analyse it.

“Well,” he said smoothly, leaning back with that infuriating smirk of his, “she wasn’t wrong about the soulmate part.”

Emma clasped her hands together, grinning like she’d just read the happy ending of a romance novel. “See? I knew it! I’m so happy for you guys.”

“Thanks, Emma. It’s, uh...been nice,” I said, my smile stretched so tight it might have cracked.

“We should catch up soon. I want all the details,” Emma added, her enthusiasm bubbling over.

“Of course!” I chirped, already mentally plotting how to avoid that conversation.

Emma finally let herself be pulled along by Alex, her smile radiant as she waved over her shoulder. “It was so good to see you two! You look amazing together!”

I managed to smile, but something about her words clung to me. Did we?

As soon as they were out of earshot, I slumped back against the bench, groaning softly. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

Lu’s laugh rang out beside me, his arm slipping from my shoulders as he stretched out along the back of the bench. “I think it went pretty well.”

I turned to glare at him, though I knew there was no real bite to it. “I cannot believe you called yourself my soulmate.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into that smug grin I both hated and couldn’t help but find endearing. “Technically, it was you who called me your soulmate. I’m just going along with it.”

I groaned again, burying my face in my hands. “Remind me to never tell Emma anything ever again.”

Lu nudged me with his shoulder. “Oh, come on. Admit it—it was kind of funny.”

Peeking at him through my fingers, I sighed heavily. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, grinning, “you insist on keeping me around.”

As Emma and Alex disappeared into the distance, Lu turned to me, his smirk firmly in place. I knew that look, and I knew nothing good ever followed it.

“So,” he said, his tone dripping with mischief, “what else have you been telling people about me? Should I be worried?”

I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. “Please don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” he said, shifting on the bench to face me fully. “Come on, soulmate. Spill. Do you go around telling people I’m secretly in love with you too? Or maybe that I cry during rom-coms?”

“You do cry during rom-coms.”

“Excuse you, but people who don’t cry during Notting Hill are soulless.”

I laughed. “I don’t know, it’s not like I go around making speeches about you.”

“People have always been curious about us. If you’ve been calling me your soulmate—strictly platonic, of course—I can only imagine what other gems you’ve been dropping.”

My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my shirt as I hesitated. “Honestly? I don’t really talk about you like that.” I glanced at him, my expression softening. “But... I have told people you’re the person I trust most. Like, if I need to hide a body at 3am you’ll show up with a shovel no questions asked. That you’re always there for me no matter what.”

Lu blinked, the teasing fading from his face as something quieter, almost vulnerable, took its place. When he spoke, his voice had lost its usual lightness, and became softer. “Oh.”

“When I’m having the worst days you always know how to make everything better without me having to ask. I tell them you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“That’s… actually really nice to hear.”

I smiled, nudging his knee with mine. “Your turn. What do you tell people about me?”

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Hmm. I tell them you’re my arch-nemesis and that I only keep you around to plot your eventual downfall.”

I laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Be serious.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. His gaze softened as he looked at me, his smile less mischievous now. “I tell people you’re brilliant. And stubborn. And probably the funniest person I know.” He paused, his voice dropping just a little. “I also tell them you’re the only person who really gets me. Like, in a way no one else does.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavier than I expected. I knew Lu and I understood each other deeply. That wasn’t new. But hearing him say it—out loud, like it was something undeniable—made my chest feel too tight.

I stared at him, the usual playfulness between us fading into something... deeper. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, I reached over and laced my fingers through his again, giving his hand a small squeeze.

Lu looked down at our hands, then back up at me, his smile returning, this time softer, more genuine. “See? It’s not so bad, being my soulmate.”

I groaned, the warmth in my cheeks betraying me. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Never,” he said, kissing my hair. That gesture was so brief and familiar it should have meant nothing. But it did. It did, and I wasn’t quite ready to think about why.

I shook my head to pretend I was annoyed at him, but the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me. As we sat there, fingers intertwined and the sounds of the park fading into the background, it felt... easy. Maybe too easy.

“Hey, Lu?” I said softly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?” he replied, his focus still on his thumb brushing my skin.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

That got his attention. His head snapped up, eyebrows raised as he gave me a curious look. “So we're really leaning into that, huh?”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but I didn’t look away. “I’m serious. Do you?”

He leaned back, letting my hand rest in his lap as he considered it. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “I think... If soulmates are real, it’s not just about love. Not about romance or some magical ‘meant to be’ thing. It’s more about finding someone who just... fits. Someone who makes everything feel a little less complicated.”

I nodded slowly, his words settling somewhere deep in my soul. “That makes sense.”

He tilted his head, studying me. “What about you? Do you believe in that?”

I hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “I used to,” I admitted quietly. “I thought I’d found mine once.”

His brows furrowed, concern flickering in his expression. “Really?”

“You remember Mike, the guy I was dating when we met? You know, before Eric?”

“Vaguely,” he nodded. “I only met him a few times.”

“Yeah. I thought he was it.” I shrugged. “He made me laugh, he made me feel special... and then it all fell apart.” I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “I really thought I was going to spend my life with him. But looking back, I don’t think he ever really... knew me. Not the way you do.”

Lu’s grip on my hand tightened just slightly, his voice softer now. “I remember how much it hurt when it ended. But I never realized it was that deep for you.”

I gave him a small, sad smile. “I didn’t let you see how bad it was. You already did so much just being there for me—I didn’t want to dump everything on you.”

“You could’ve,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “I would’ve been okay with that.”

“I know.” I paused, exhaling slowly. “That’s the thing, though. You’re the one person I don’t want to burden. You’re... different.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on our joined hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more vulnerable than I’d ever heard it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.”

I blinked, startled. “Never?”

Lu shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “Nope. I’ve dated, sure, but... it’s never felt like something I couldn’t live without. It’s like, the closer I get to someone, the more scared I get of giving them too much of me. Love... it always seems to end with someone getting hurt. And I’ve never been ready to take that risk.”

I looked at him again, this time with something closer to understanding. “Do you think you’ll ever be ready?”

“Maybe.” His expression was unreadable. “If I find the right person.”

Something painful tightened in my chest. “Well, when you do, let me know. I’ll have to approve of them, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he agreed, his smile widening. And then, quietly, he added, “There’s only one person I’ve ever even considered spending my life with.”

He tilted his head, almost as if to search my eyes, and my breath caught in my throat. I didn’t need to ask who he meant. The way he was looking at me said it all.

“Not in a romantic way, necessarily, but just... someone I know I can trust. Someone I know will never break my heart.”

“Oh Lu...” I started, my voice barely above a whisper.

He cut me off with a soft smile. “Don’t. It’s not a big deal. It’s just the way things are. You’re... safe, Cate. You always have been.”

My chest stung, emotions swirling inside me too fast to untangle. I didn’t really know what to say, so I settled for squeezing his hand, my thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re safe for me too, you know.”

The weight of the moment hung between us, unspoken but impossible to ignore. I wasn’t sure what compelled me to move closer, but I did. I lifted my hand, pausing only for a heartbeat before reaching up to slip my fingers into his hair. It was soft, a little messy from the breeze, and the familiar gesture grounded me in a way nothing else could.

Lu closed his eyes briefly, leaning ever so slightly into my touch. Then I let my hand slide down to rest on his shoulder, just below his neck. I shifted closer until our sides were pressed together, and without thinking, I brushed my nose against his cheek. His breath hitched—just barely, just enough for me to notice.

The warmth of his skin sent a shiver through me, but I ignored it, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of his breathing. “You’re safe,” I repeated, my voice barely audible.

He turned his head just enough to look at me, his expression softer than I’d ever seen it. “Cate…” he started, his voice low and reverent, but whatever he was about to say faded.

Instead, we just sat there, my arm draped over him and my head leaning against his. His hand came to rest just above my knee, with his thumb stroking lazy patterns as always. The noise of the park seemed to fade, the rest of the world falling away until it was just us.

And for a moment, it didn’t matter that this was supposed to be an act. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

Because this? This was real.

I let my eyes close for a second, breathing him in—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of him. It was effortless, the kind of comfort that didn’t ask for permission because it didn’t need to.

“See?” he murmured. “This is why we don’t have to overthink it.”

I tilted my head up slightly, my temple still resting against his cheek. “What?”

“This,” he said, giving my leg the lightest squeeze. “Being close. Acting like a couple. If we just don’t overthink it, it’ll come naturally.”

I exhaled a soft laugh. “You’re saying we just have to keep doing what we’re already doing?”

“Basically.”

I hummed, considering that. He had a point. No one would question a thing if we just carried ourselves like this—like we belonged close, like we fit.

A new thought wormed its way into my head, and before I could talk myself out of it, I asked, “Do you think there’ll be a moment at the party where we’ll have to kiss?”

Lu went still for half a second. Then I felt the slow rise of his chest as he inhaled.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “I mean, it might be expected at some point. Depends on the circumstances, I guess.”

I shifted just enough to glance up at him. His expression was unreadable, but his grip on me hadn’t loosened.

“Would it be weird?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

He was quiet for a moment, like he was turning the idea over in his mind. “Maybe,” he said finally. “Would it bother you? To kiss me?”

I let out a soft laugh, leaning my head fully against his shoulder again. “I don't think so. Would it bother you?”

His thumb moved absentmindedly against my thigh, a barely-there gesture. “No,” he said quietly. “Not really.”

My fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt for a while, my gaze distant as my mind worked through something I couldn’t quite name.

Finally, I broke the silence, my tone deliberately casual. “You know... maybe we should just get it over with.”

Lu turned to me, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Get what over with?”

I looked at him like the answer was obvious. “The kiss.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he blinked at me. “The kiss?”

“Yes,” I said, sitting up straighter, my arms crossing over my chest as if to bolster my argument. “I mean, think about it. It’ll probably happen tomorrow, right? And if we just... do it now, it won’t be weird when it does. We’ll already know what to expect.”

Lu stared at me, his lips parting as though he was about to protest, but no words came out. Finally, he let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “You’re serious?”

“Of course,” I replied, fixing him with a challenging look. “You’re the one who wanted to rehearse everything. This is just... another part of the act. Right?”

He leaned back against the bench, brushing a hand through his hair. “Cate, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but my kisses have been described as addictive. If you end up hooked, that’s on you.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped me. “Addictive, huh? Well, just so you know, I kissed a guy once, and he was so overwhelmed his knees nearly buckled. So honestly, this is just as dangerous for you.”

Lu barked out a laugh, the sound warm and familiar, and shook his head. “Oh, really? Are we comparing stats now?”

I smirked, leaning in slightly. “All I’m saying is, if one of us ends up regretting this, it’s not gonna be me.”

For a moment, he just looked at me, the teasing glint in his eyes softening as he realized I wasn’t backing down. He exhaled, his smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. “Alright,” he said finally, shifting to face me. “If you’re so sure about this, let’s do it. But just so we’re clear—when you fall in love with me after this, I’m still going to blame you.”

My heart was suddenly pounding in my chest, but I kept my voice steady. “Deal.”

We moved closer, our legs pressed together, and the playful atmosphere gave way to something quieter, heavier. My gaze flicked from his eyes to his lips and back again, and I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat.

“Okay,” I said softly, my voice more breathless than I intended.

“Okay,” he echoed. His tone was easy, but his eyes flicked down to my lips.

I knew this was probably a terrible idea. But instead of pulling back, I leaned in. I didn’t want to second-guess myself any more than I already had.

He met me halfway and for a moment, the world seemed to still.

His lips were warm and soft, the kiss unhurried and careful. Not exactly tentative, just thoughtful. Like he was as aware as I was of how this could change things.

It lasted a few seconds, long enough for my hand to find its way back to his shoulder, for his thumb to brush absently against my shin. It was enough to make my stomach flip and my pulse race, like every inch of my skin was crackling with electricity.

We pulled back, almost at the same time. When I opened my eyes, his were still closed. He inhaled slowly, like he needed a second to ground himself before facing me again.

“Well?” I asked. I tried to sound casual even though my heart was racing. I failed.

He tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Not bad. I can see how someone’s knees might buckle.”

I laughed, swatting his arm. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “You might be dangerous after all.”

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips despite myself. “Well, now you know what to expect. No excuses if you mess it up tomorrow.”

“Mess it up?” Lu scoffed, leaning back with a confident grin. “Cate, if anything, I’m going to steal the show.”

I shook my head, laughing softly. Then I leaned against him again, settling my head back on his shoulder. His warmth was a steady presence, grounding me. My hand rested on his chest, fingertips lightly brushing the fabric of his shirt.

And then I felt it.

His heartbeat. Fast, unsteady, thumping against my palm.

I didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. I just let the feeling sink in, the thrum of him beneath my hand, trying to make sense of everything.

But the longer I stayed there, the more I noticed. The more I felt. His breath, shallow but even. The way his muscles tensed slightly under my hand. How he didn’t seem to notice that his heart was racing.

And how, despite the way it made me feel—like I might be on the edge of something huge—I couldn’t bring myself to mention it. I didn’t want to overthink.

We just sat there, quiet and still, as if the world hadn’t quite caught up with what had just happened. We both pretended it was just another rehearsal, a necessary part of the act. But as the silence settled around us and the moment stretched out, I couldn’t deny that something had shifted between us. I couldn’t quite shake the way my lips still tingled from his.

And the way he looked at me—like he was thinking the exact same thing—only made it harder to ignore. He didn't say anything either. He didn't have to.

--

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[these-summer-nights-in-december]

Christopher Citro | This Is Today | 2025-03-17

[sturnisposts]

anyone else go see sam and colby’s movie??

if not i’d recommend it

it was AMAZIN!!

[wendalin]