#being a dramatic Thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

grenadehearts · 8 days ago

Text

bathed in baby blue. - gojo satoru

in which its the last night before your childhood best friend leaves.. and everything you've ever known slips through your fingers.

authors note: word count 2.7k, this fic is very dear to me, vv self indulgent feelings wise. still unsure of how i feel abt my writing in this though. masterlist link here.

It was a breezy summer night, the kind that clung to your skin with the softness of memory. The grass was dewy, leaping at your ankles like it had a life of its own, dragonflies swirling lazily above while the cicadas screeched their nightly song in the distance. You and your best friend, Satoru Gojo, walked the edge of the cracked pavement where blades of green crept through the gaps, tickling your bare skin. Slurpees in hand—blue raspberry for Satoru, cherry for you—both half melted from the short walk back from the 7/11 down the street.

Like clockwork, like a silly childhood tradition, you’d trade drinks halfway through. He’d grab your cherry slurpee with a smug grin and suck it down in loud slurps that made you roll your eyes. With That same cheeky grin that still brought you to your knees, even after all this time. He’d nudge you with his shoulder and say something dumb, something that made your stomach twist and flutter. “We should kiss and make our tongues purple,” he’d say with a waggle of his brows, and you’d shove him away, pretending to be disgusted—pretending you didn’t want to cradle his face in your hands, didn’t want to kiss him just to see if he’d taste like summer and syrup and every moment you’d spent loving him.

You had loved Satoru gojo your whole life—since he moved down the block and changed everything. Truth be told, he’d been kind of bratty back then. Most kids avoided him because of it. And maybe that’s why the two of you gravitated toward each other—because you didn’t quite fit in either. The girls would wander off without you, leaving you picking at the grass, pretending you liked the solitude, trying to swallow down that ache in your belly that you didn’t yet have a name for. They’d huddle and whisper, casting glances that always felt just a little too pointed.

Then Suddenly, Satoru was there – loud, dramatic, and annoyingly persistent. He was the first to offer a clammy handshake and the first to grin at your new Hello Kitty shirt, a purchase your mom had made that weekend, hoping it would help you make friends. Unfortunately, everyone else considered the shirt, and by extension you, lame, a fact Satoru seemed completely unaware of when he said, "You're gonna make friends easy with that."

Maybe you loved him because of that—or because he knocked the leaves off your shoulders without being asked. Maybe because you saw how he acted strong when no one was looking, and you understood it wasn’t real. You knew the pressure he carried, the way his family treated him like he was supposed to fix everything. So you gave him grace before you even knew what grace was.

And even when crayons were left behind, even when middle school blurred into high school, Satoru stayed. He grew into his face—messy white hair, a grin sharp enough to cut glass. His eyes narrowed at the right moments, and he stood at 6'3", all confidence and cocky charm, girls chasing after him like moths to flame. But he never once left your side.

Until now.

Now you walked the same familiar path, shoulders bumping, lips stained from sticky syrup. It was the last night before Satoru left for some fancy college across the country, to follow the legacy his family had carved out for him in Tokyo. You knew what it meant. You weren’t dumb. Most high school friendships don’t survive the distance. They fade, dissolve like sugar in hot tea, and you’d already started grieving that loss.

Even now, at eighteen, you still felt like that little girl who waited for friends that never came. Like childhood had slipped away in the dark while you weren’t looking, and you’d woken up one day in a woman’s body with trembling hands and an ache in your chest that never quite went away. Satoru was no longer your Satoru—not the boy next door who made you laugh when the world felt heavy. He was a man now, a man born to carry something too heavy, and after tonight, he would never be yours again.

Growing up is a cruel thing. You crave it your whole life, chase after it like a dream—just to realize no one stayed. No one waited for you at the finish line. The stands were empty, the crowd had gone home.

But you won’t cry. Not tonight.

Instead, you’ll laugh with the man you love and pretend this moment can last forever. You’ll bite your tongue and swallow the fear, just like you always have. You won’t confess—not when you know everything you’ve clung to is already slipping away.

There’s a shuffle beside you, and suddenly Satoru yelps, his lanky frame tumbling to the pavement in a dramatic mess of limbs. You lurch forward to catch him, but all it does is drag you down with him. The slushies explode between you in a splash of ice-cold syrup, soaking your knees and thighs as you land sprawled across his chest.

His hand flies to your back instinctively, steadying you. The streetlight above casts a hazy gold over his pale skin and even paler eyes, and for a moment, he just looks at you. Your hair’s fallen from your face, strands tickling his cheeks, and with a quiet breath he tucks a lock behind your ear.

He inhales.

“Strawberry?” he murmurs, and your face betrays you—heat crawling to your cheeks. You swat at him with a groan.

“Be more careful, dumbass. Now we’re all sticky.”

He just laughs, loud and unapologetic, wiping fake tears from his eyes. “Just like when we were kids. You never changed your shampoo once?”

You climb off of him with a huff, arms crossing tightly. “I know what I like.”

His grin softens. “Is that why you’ve stuck with me for so long?”

It’s a simple question, probably asked without any deeper meaning. But it hits too close, and you wish—God, you wish—there was something behind it. Something more. But he’s Satoru Gojo. Oblivious and teasing and perfectly annoying. So you bite your tongue.

“Don’t fish for compliments,” you mutter.

He shakes his head dramatically, only to knock it against the metal fence surrounding the community pool of the nearby apartment complex. “Ow,” he whines, but then as he realizes what’s sitting behind him, his face splits into a daring grin.

Before you can say anything else, he’s back on his feet, eyes gleaming.

“Satoru,” you warn, your voice stern.

He grins wider, mocking your tone with a sing-song, “Y/n.”

And before you can blink, he’s hopping the fence in one easy motion, long legs clearing it like it’s nothing. He turns to you, hand extended, eyes shining with mischief.

“C’mon,” he says, as if this night isn’t the end of everything you’ve ever known.

He's stripping, leaving only his baby-blue boxers, revealing taut, milky flesh stretched over defined muscles. A white happy trail peeks out from the waistband—and with all his childish glee, he’s sprinting, running up and jumping into the pool before you can even revel in the sight.

Cold, icy water splashes against your skin, making you shriek and stumble back, head whipping around to make sure security doesn’t come chasing after you both. He's already swimming back toward the ledge, head breaking through the water like something celestial. His hair glistens like crystals under the moonlight, his eyes a startling, bright blue, droplets clinging to his thick lashes. His lips curve into a grin only a man with a child’s spark could wear as he drawls, “Come onnnn, Y/n!”

You're inching away, chewing your inner cheek. “S’toru, I don’t know, I mean, what if—”

But you don’t even get to finish before a large, freezing hand wraps around your ankle, yanking you in. You’re plunged beneath the surface, the shock of the cold shooting up your nose as you kick and resurface, sputtering—only to be met with a pink-faced, laughing Satoru.

“I’m gonna kill you,” you say, a playful bite in your voice.

He just cocks his head, eyes wide like a puppy’s, and grins. “If you can catch me.”

Then he’s swimming off, leaving ripples and waves in his wake as you chase after him. You're both tangling in the water—capturing limbs, kneading flesh, twisting and turning through the chlorine-drenched chaos. You hop on his back, and he’s already spinning, dunking you once again beneath the surface.

It’s all laughter and water-slicked joy, childish glee echoing off the pool tiles.

And maybe that’s why—when you’re holding onto his hand and he’s twisting, ready to dunk you again—or maybe it’s the way nature paints him so angelic, the light dancing across his features, making you dizzy and thirsty in a way you can’t explain, that makes you contradict every promise you made to yourself.

Or maybe... it’s the way Toru lets you live carelessly. Every time he steps forward, it’s like he’s giving you permission to do the same. Even with the stupid pool you swore you’d never get in—not until he pulled you. Not until he made you taste the cold water rush up your nose and into your lungs.

So maybe now, finally, you want to take a step on your own.

Dive in headfirst.

Which is why you say, breathless, "Toru... I love you."

And it’s instant. Like those words were air, and he’s been drowning, waiting his whole life just to breathe. His lips crash into yours, messy and a little uncoordinated, teeth nipping your bottom lip—but it’s maddening, filling you in ways you never knew you needed.

Kissing Satoru feels like reliving your entire childhood.

His hands in your soaked hair feel like a goodnight kiss on your forehead, the promise of the park tomorrow. It’s like opening a fresh pack of Silly Bandz or gumdrops from the corner machine, ones that taste like pure sugar.

Kissing Toru feels like realizing you never had to say goodbye to who you were—only that you needed someone to remind you it’s okay to still be that person. That growing up doesn’t mean losing everything soft and sweet and stupid. That adulthood doesn’t have to erase you.

He finally pulls back, gasping for air, hands still cradling your face. He looks like he’s about to say something—but you beat him to it, words tumbling out in a jumbled mess:

“What—how—did you—you kissed me? And I’m so confused—and oh my God—”

To anyone else, it would sound like gibberish. But Toru knows.

And he answers like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I’ve always liked you. Why do you think I never dated any of those girls back in high school?” He shrugs. “Never wanted them. Wanted you. Always.”

He says it like it's just a known fact, like gravity.

“I just figured… you didn’t feel the same.”

You’re stunned, words slipping through your fingers like water.

And then it hits you—it doesn’t even matter anymore.

You finally said it. You finally got what you wanted. You dove past the shallow waters for once in your life.

But by sunrise, it’ll all be gone.

The town will remain, but it won’t feel the same. You’ll still be able to get a slurpee and walk these roads alone. You’ll scrape your knee on the same asphalt you always have. But Toru won’t be there to sit you on the cold granite countertop of his family’s lavish home, gently bandaging you up like it was second nature.

Because even though his mother was never home, never kissed his bruises or held him when he cried—he always did that for you.

"Y/n," he says gently, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Toru… this is pointless."

He stops for a moment, like he's about to say something, but nothing comes—only a puff of air that swirls into the night sky and vanishes, just like he's about to.

“You’re leaving tomorrow… your family’s legacy.” You laugh bitterly, trying to mask the ache in your chest.

"Y/n," he says again, softly.

“No, Satoru. There’s no use. It’s my fault—blame me for saying something,” you mutter, turning to walk toward the concrete steps that lead out of the pool.

But Satoru's quicker.

Before you can reach the second step, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him. By instinct, your legs loop around his hips. His fingers, tender and slow, brush the wet strands from your face. You're met with an expression so serious, so unlike the boy you’ve loved all these years, it steals your breath. But it is him—and maybe that’s what stills you.

The realization that you can love someone for years, think you know every side of them, and still discover new pieces—it’s not bitter, not scary. It’s beautiful. The way people change, evolve. The way small things, like a serious look on a face that’s always shown joy, feel monumental when you’re in love.

And then he says, “I’m not going, Y/n.”

Your breath catches. The night stills. Even the cicadas fall silent.

“What?” you whisper.

“You heard me.”

“But Toru, your family… won’t they be upset?”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “I don’t care what they want from me. I don’t want that life. I’ve been waiting—waiting on a sign. And it sounds stupid, but maybe all that shoujo manga you hide in your room got to my head,” he grins, “because I told myself if you gave me even the smallest sign, I’d stay.”

You exhale, eyes wide. A puzzled look spreads across your face. “Wait—you read my manga? Was it Blue Spring Ride? Is that where—”

He laughs, a sound so bright, so full of joy it makes you feel like a page in a coloring book—being scribbled on with crayons and gel pens. It’s messy and all over the place, but it makes you feel alive.

“Not the point,” he grins, shaking his head. Then, more seriously,“ it’s not just about staying, Y/n. It’s about wanting something—really wanting it—for the first time in my life. Not a legacy someone picked out for me, not a future that’s been mapped out since I was a kid. You’re the only thing that’s ever made me feel like I had a choice. Like I could want something just because I wanted it.

And I want to choose you. Not because someone told me to, not because it’s expected of me—but because it’s you. You make me feel like I can want things. Like I can choose.

And I want to choose you, over and over again. I want to spend my life chasing the way you make me feel.”

You cut him off with a kiss.

His lips are warm, soft, and they light your soul on fire. Butterflies erupt in your belly. His hands are kneading your skin, touching you in all the places that leave you trembling, and your fingers are in his hair, and it’s intoxicating. Maddening. It’s everything.

Then—a sharp, blinding light slices through the night.

You and Satoru freeze like deer in headlights, blinking at each other before bursting into laughter.

He scoops you up effortlessly, hoisting you over his shoulder as he bolts out of the pool.

“Toru—your clothes!” you gasp between giggles.

He spins around, grabs them off the ground in one hand, and sprints toward the fence as a grumpy, middle-aged security guard—who definitely isn’t paid enough for this—shouts, “Hey! Kids! Get back here!”

You’re breathless from laughter by the time you tumble back through your bedroom window. Your childhood room is damp with the scent of chlorine and the haze of the night air. You dry off in a flurry of adrenaline, pulling Satoru down beside you.

And there, tangled on the floor—fingers tracing skin and hearts—you rewrite your futures in whispers and quiet promises.

To never leave.

To always choose each other.

To stay.

taglist: @luvseraphh @lotusstarr @cupkiki @candiiee @cvnt4him @xoxojisu @soundtrqck @badslittlemuffin @wokar @moonstonejpg @chlosology @princessshnazzy @203steph @chitteringcicadaeyes @idk1187 @notartemis777 @chosostonguepiercing @chocolatedefendorbaa @t33th--r0t @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @tuneinwlosers

101 notes · View notes