It was cold. Damp concrete, flooding sidewalks, the smell of petrichor lingering in the wind as it carries the scent of beer stamped on Satoru's Atenean uniform. It was crinkled, and tampered with behind the window separating the both of you. There were lipstick stains from a smorgasbord of different women on his neck, and shirt— obvious from the difference in shades. He's been out again.

There was not a thought behind those crystalline eyes as he got out of his car, shutting the door behind him as he leaned backwards on his flashy Ferrari that amidst the dystopian lights of cyber pink, and neon green from city lights still shone brightly. Flashing you a smile while his snowy hair got between his eyes—tempting you to move them away just to take your time getting lost in his pulchritude, Gojo Satoru looked as dashing as ever though it was obvious he was drunk.

“You should be happy I always come back to you. Ya know?”

His words slurred. It was undeniably hard to describe your relationship with him, things were complicated, and as much as your conscience was starting to blur into a hazy line of love and limerence— it was hard to overcome these feelings you had for the man that already wrapped you around in his pretty fingers.

“Their expensive lipsticks still couldn't hide the fact they were horrendous kissers. If that makes you feel better.”

You ignored his blarney that was a facade to test the waters. Seeing as 11 PM was quite an unusual time for Satoru to return after an enthralling race he attended along his friends, you couldn't help but bring up the topic about why he had left so early; patent in thought if the women he was supposed to take home as trophies were far too unfortunate looking for his liking, or he wasn't in the mood..Not that it affected you in any way.

“Why would I stay over to drool over leftovers, when I have a perfectly fine woman waiting for me? You tell me.”