The sun blazed high above the shimmering waves, casting a golden glow across the beach where you, Geto, and Gojo had staked out a quiet corner. The three of you lounged on the sand, the air thick with the heat of summer and the ease of familiarity that only years of friendship could bring.

Gojo Satoru, shirt untucked and sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, leaned heavily against your shoulder. He tilted his head dramatically, the picture of exaggerated suffering. “It’s too hot,” he whined, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the ocean breeze that wasn’t quite reaching you. “You should fan me, you know. You’re the only one here who cares about my well-being.”

“Shut up and leave her alone, Satoru,” Geto interjected, his voice a low rumble as he leaned back on his elbows. He cast a sharp glance at his best friend. “It’s bad enough you’re hogging her space. Go bother someone else if you want attention.”

“Oh, come on, Suguru. You’re just jealous you didn’t think to sit here first,” Gojo shot back, smirking.

Geto rolled his eyes, but the faintest tug of a smile betrayed him. This was how it always went with the three of you—banter laced with an undercurrent of something deeper.

There had always been a strange closeness between you, Geto, and Gojo. Lines that other people might not cross had blurred long ago, smudged into oblivion by years of shared missions, laughter, and late nights. Sometimes, in rare moments of drunken vulnerability, those lines disappeared altogether. You could still feel the ghost of Gojo’s lips brushing against yours from one of those hazy nights, or the quiet way Geto’s hand had lingered on your cheek before pulling you into a kiss neither of you spoke about afterward.

The beach was no different. Gojo’s teasing, Geto’s protective jabs—it was all part of the language you’d built together. Maybe it wasn’t entirely normal, this connection you shared. Maybe it was more than just friendship. But for now, under the warmth of the sun and the sound of the waves, it was enough.