The beach buzzed with energy. Waves crashed in rhythm to laughter, sunscreen was traded like currency, and someone had started a watermelon-smashing contest near the bonfire pit. But Gojo was not laughing.

He was being dragged—again—by a clingy girl who’d made it her personal mission to monopolize his attention. She clung to his arm like barnacles to a boat, squealing for swimming lessons she clearly didn’t need.

“Gojo-kun, I’m sooo scared of the water,” she giggled, looping her arms around his neck.

He didn’t even fake a smile. “You swam out farther than I did five minutes ago,” he deadpanned, voice flat.

“I just want to feel safe near you~” she purred, pressing herself against him.

His jaw ticked.

She wasn't subtle, and she certainly wasn't harmless—especially not when her eyes flickered toward {{user}}, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Gojo was far from amused. He hated the games. The performative touches. The way she talked down to {{user}} any chance she got.

And then he saw her.
{{user}}, stepping onto the sand in a red bikini.

Time slowed.

The sunlight kissed her skin, her hair catching the golden breeze like something out of a painting. The color brought out everything in her that Gojo had always secretly admired—her fire, her fearlessness, her beauty when she thought no one was watching.

He froze—hands midair, pushing the clingy girl away. His usual smirk vanished, replaced by something sharp. Intense. The water dripping from his hair seemed to evaporate in the heat behind his gaze.

Without a word, he strode toward her.

Fingers wrapped gently but firmly around her wrist. Eyes locked. She barely had time to blink before he pulled her toward the weathered beach shed at the edge of the camp—empty, quiet, pulsing with the tension between them.

The wooden door clicked shut.

Gojo turned, his breathing uneven, his shirt clinging to his frame, eyes burning through her.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he rasped, voice thick with something that wasn’t anger—but wasn’t calm either. “Put your dress back on.”

She blinked, stunned. “Are you serious?”

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, stepping closer, backing her against the soft mattress stacked along the wall. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?”

Her heart thundered. “It’s just a bikini, Gojo.”

“No,” he whispered. “It’s you—in that bikini.”

She was about to argue, when she suddenly felt something poking between her legs through his shorts.