#creds to nora sakavic bc andrew minyard is a fool in love

[lovingnekoma]

gojo once asks you what you truly, genuinely think of him.

you pause. there are pages and pages in your journal dedicated to him. how he is a supernova, burning up from the inside out. how he is infinite and brilliant and you want to hold him in your palms until eternity comes crashing home. how you think he is a fool and you think he is, often, the smartest person in the room at any given moment.

you settle on saying, “you are a pipedream.”

he laughs. his eyes scrunch into little half moon smiles. they are strikingly bright, the curve of his mouth genuine and sweet.

“i’m right here,” gojo says.

“not always,” you say. you do not mention the missed and cut off phone calls; gojo’s bloody hands the last time he came home at 3am. you do not mention the way he sometimes grows distant, the twist of his mouth when he becomes the jujutsu world’s prodigy, golden boy, strongest sorcerer. you do not have to.

gojo satoru as you know him does not exist in many landscapes. gojo as you see him now, hair down, in soft sweatpants and bare feet, is still as deadly as he is with his bandana around his eyes, in full regalia. your gojo is vulnerable in spades, uncurling around the edges: casual, and a little careful around you, existing in the margins of sunlight and nighttime.

you do not have to say any of this, because gojo knows better than anyone the faces he dons. you know, only in parts, the collateral of them.

it is quiet for a moment, and then, an arm curls over your shoulder. you look at him, try to memorize the cut of his high cheekbones and arch of his brows. the sunrise turns his hair pink and a little gold, warm tones.

“i’m here right now,” gojo promises. “i’m here for you.”

not always, you want to say, words catching in the hollows of your throat. you will break my heart and i will love you regardless, maybe for forever. and yet, you want to believe in him, this pipedream that is your shared apartment and his love and gojo fucking satoru himself, in his bleeding heart, golden veined glory.

you say nothing. when he reaches for your hand, you hold on tight.