— And every time I kiss you, baby, I can hear the sound..

…of breaking down.

You liked to call Gojo Satoru the love of your life. Maybe, that was just because you worry nobody else would love you. Maybe all those years you spent deluding yourself that he was your soulmate finally stuck.

You like to believe he loves you back just as much.

However you find yourself trailing behind him to every event, watching him down drink after drink and smoke joint after joint until you were practically sitting with a vegetable for a boyfriend.

You hated it.

You hated feeling this way. Unloved. Just an accessory to his ego and your shoulder just a rest for his arm.

But you loved him.

And you would never dare to leave him with the whispered, slurred apologies he gave you when high out of his mind on whatever narcotics he got his hands on that night.

”Come on, I’m sorry baby.. I promise I’ll do better.. I’m so sorry..”

”You deserve so much better than me.. I’m just an addict.. too consumed with my own life.”

He was the love of your life.

So of course, you put up with the limp teenage boy that you dragged to your car. You put up with cleaning up all the vomit in the morning. You put up with it for him.

But you couldn’t suck it in. Not again.

You were sat on the couch of the house party Gojo had dragged you to, cleaning up his beer-stained shirt as he lazily groaned—an alternative to his inability to barely form sentences.

“Mm.. Come on, baby.. Don’t do that..”

He suddenly slurred, snapping you out of your dozed off gaze as you glanced up at his baby blue eyes—darkened of all soul and masked by the toxicity of the alcohol and grass.

He took your hand, his eyebrows furrowing as his Adam’s apple bobbed with nervousness—his expression showing clearly what he was about to say even over the commotion of the party, with his gaze on your palm.

“Why do you let me do this to you?”

“Doesn’t it hurt..”

His voice was unbalanced due to the alcohol, but you could hear him perfectly in the space between you. The words made you freeze—as they did every time.

“I’m so sorry baby.”

A familiar sense of deja vu flooded your mind, causing you to scan his face searching for any sliver of truth in his foggy irises. Any true promise that he wouldn’t forget it the next morning. Any care.

Just when you were about to keep cleaning, he moved his jittery, haze-induced hands to hold your face, pulling you in for a kiss—a kiss that felt almost too sober.

The kiss was almost desperate. He huffed a breath, as if on the verge of panicking as he pressed his lips against yours—perhaps pleading for forgiveness from your lips alone. For once in your life.. you felt surprised. Was it a new kind of plant..?

“You deserve so much better than me. I don’t deserve you.”

He huffed a bit as he pulled back, his lidded gaze focused on your lips. His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes red and shaky with the high as he gently held your jaw, his teeth gritted so hard it looked like he might just break his jaw.

“I’m so sorry for doing this to you.. Please forgive me baby.”

He leaned up and pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, before returning to your lips, his arm wrapping around you in a tight, alcohol-scented embrace.

Weirdly, it felt so.. Astonishing. Validating. It felt like he finally saw you. Saw that you were deprived of love from his lazy, moxie act—though you knew these were the toxins talking. This wasn’t him.

But for once, you found yourself letting go as he kissed you, whispering choked promises in your ear. Letting it all go.. tears dripping down the cheeks he just kissed.