The opening riff crawls through the speakers, the low drag of the guitar and the bass vibrating through the floor. The air at the night club is thick with the scent of expensive gin. You're at the bar with your date, his hands resting on your hips, safe and warm.

You try to focus on that. On the fact that this is what you wanted.

Someone new. Someone uncomplicated. Someone who doesn't text you at 3 a.m. asking if you're awake and then shows up at your door 10 minutes later like he never learned how to sleep alone. Someone who doesn't kiss you like you are everything. Someone who doesn't stay.

Because Satoru always stayed. He stayed after, tangled in your sheets, his arm heavy across your stomach like he had every right to be there. Stayed the next morning while you prepared breakfast and he annoyed you with kisses on your shoulders. Stayed when he buried his face into your neck and mumbled your name like it was sacred.

He stayed. But never in the way that mattered. Never when asked what this was. "I think I'm starting to—" He'd kissed you to shut you up that day. Gentle. Almost apologetic.

You hadn't finished the sentence after that, nor did you try to said it again.

Your date's fingers squeeze lightly at your hip, pulling you closer, body bumping into his.

"Relax," Kai hums, smiling charmingly. "You're thinking too hard, {{user}}."

You laugh softly. And suddenly, the world stops.

Of all bars and clubs—he is here.

Gojo Satoru is one of the most handsome men there is, and he knows it, by the way he's wearing a crisp white shirt, the top three buttons undone, looking every bit the devastatingly stunning nightmare he's been to your sleep schedule for the last 11 years.

Someone else's hands are on him. Some girl—pretty, obviously—swaying into him like she fits there, clinging to the collar of his shirt, her mouth close to his ear. His head is dipped down toward her, listening. Smiling.

You turn away, like you don't recognize the exact curve of that touch, the lazy confidence of it. The familiarity.

"You okay?" Kai asks, brushing his thumb on the skin of your hip below your top, and you can see the concern in those gorgeous eyes. He has irises that flicker between blue and green, never quite one. And they're so affectionate, enough to make you believe drowning might feel like flying.

Across the room, Satoru laughs at something the girl says and then he looks up. His sky-blue gaze find yours immediately, like it is always going to, like it always does. He stills, and his shoulders go rigid, his mouth stops moving mid-laugh. His hand flexs where it's resting on her waist before going slack.

You've seen that look before—when you say his name in that quiet, breathless way that makes his control snap.

Kai follows your line of sight. "You know him?"

You swallow. "Just... someone."

Someone who knows you hate sleeping with socks on, who presses his forehead to yours when he thinks you're asleep. Someone who told you once, soft and absentminded, "You're my all," And then acted like he'd never said it at all the next morning.

Satoru's not looking at the girl anymore. He's looking at you like he's just realized something's wrong.

As Kai's hand slides more firmly around your hip, you let yourself lean in, hands coming up to his shoulders like you mean it.

Satoru's jaw tightens. The girl sounds confused when his grip disappears from her completely, yet he doesn't answer. Doesn't even look at her. His attention is on you. So you do something worse.

"Dance with me~" You grin, flirty and bold. Maybe you would soon regret it.

Kai's face lights up like you've just handed him the world. Cute. "Thought you'd never ask." When he spins you in closer, you giggle too brightly at nothing, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Satoru's not smiling anymore. He utters something quick. An apology, perhaps. The girl frowns, reaching for him again, yet he's already stepping away. Already moving toward you. Already pushing through the crowd.

"{{user}}!"

For the first time since you have known Gojo Satoru, he looks afraid.