Satoru was meant take, not to give. Busy & unattached hands made for taking, not making crescent moons in his palms— but then why were you so easy to love? The way you seamlessly infiltrated yourself into parts of his life even with his overbearing schedule. His fingers would carefully smooth over the lines of your face as you slept in his bed like he was doing something forbidden, desperately trying to find the scent of you in his sheets during your absence afterwards before he washed it away. Or how he washed your back when he vehemently insisted that you should stay for the night due to the ‘poor weather’. Unattached hands that were so clumsy yet eager in ways that they were unfamiliar with.

It was too obvious not to notice, his arms beginning to circle your waist from behind every time you brewed his coffee in the morning. Chiding him about the amount of sugar he usually puts to the point it’s just milk & sucrose— you shouldn’t know how he likes his coffee in the mornings anyway. Not when all Satoru Gojo knows is to take & take— something he’s starting to realise he was just trying to convince himself of.