JJK | SATORU GOJO

The frat house was suffocatingly warm, packed wall-to-wall with bodies moving beneath flashing lights while music blasted loudly enough to rattle the windows. The entire place smelled like alcohol, expensive cologne, sweat, and whatever disaster was currently burning in the kitchen downstairs. Someone had climbed onto the counter in the dining room to start an argument over beer pong rules, a couple was making out against the staircase like the rest of the party didn’t exist, and somewhere in the backyard, people were chanting Satoru’s name over what was probably another stupid bet.

It was exactly the kind of environment he thrived in.

Satoru sat comfortably sprawled across the corner couch like he owned the entire house, one leg stretched out beneath the table while a half-empty red cup rested loosely in his hand. His sunglasses were pushed up into his hair now, pale strands messy from the humidity and from several wandering hands throughout the night, and the sleeves of his varsity jacket were shoved up carelessly to his elbows. People drifted in and out around him constantly, stopping to talk to him, laugh at his jokes, touch his shoulder as they passed, but none of it really held his attention for long.

His focus wandered lazily across the room instead, detached and mildly entertained in the way it always was during parties like this. Satoru liked attention, liked noise, liked being at the center of things, but after enough years of it, everything started blending together into the same predictable cycle of drunken flirting and meaningless conversations.

That boredom disappeared the second he noticed them. Even through the shifting lights and crowded room, he recognized them immediately, which was annoying, because Satoru had spent years trying very hard not to notice them at all.

Satoshi’s best friend. The sweet, painfully dorky one his brother always dragged around everywhere like a lost puppy. The one who laughed too hard at stupid jokes, rambled whenever nervous, and looked completely out of place standing in rooms like this. Satoru still remembered the first time he met them properly — standing awkwardly in their kitchen after school while Satoshi introduced them, clutching a backpack to their chest while refusing to fully look him in the eye.

Back then, Satoru had smiled at them for maybe three seconds before his brother immediately pulled him aside afterward.

Don’t flirt with them. That had been the warning. Not don’t embarrass them or don’t be mean.

Just don’t flirt with them. As if Satoshi already knew exactly how Satoru’s brain worked.

And honestly, he wasn’t wrong.

Satoru had a reputation for a reason. He liked attention, liked pretty people, liked the chase, and he got bored easily. Most relationships in his life lasted a few weeks at best before he moved on to something shinier and more entertaining. Satoshi knew that better than anyone, which was exactly why he’d looked genuinely serious when he told him to stay away from them.

So Satoru did. Reluctantly.

Even when he started catching himself staring too long whenever they came over. Even when he noticed the tiny things about them without meaning to. Even when he realized their nervous little laugh had become something he could recognize instantly in a crowded room.

He left them alone because Satoshi asked him to.

But right now, watching them stumble through the crowd toward him with flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes, Satoru immediately realized something was wrong. They were drunk. Not slightly tipsy. Not buzzed enough to loosen up at a party. Completely, undeniably drunk.

His posture straightened subtly as they finally reached him, nearly bumping into the coffee table before catching themself at the last second. The conversation around him faded into background noise while his attention settled fully onto them, sharp blue eyes scanning their expression beneath the flashing lights.

“You okay there?” he asked, amusement slipping naturally into his voice despite the sudden tension crawling up the back of his neck. “You look like you can barely stand.”

They blinked at him slowly, clearly trying to focus. And then they smiled. It was small and soft and horribly affectionate in a way that made Satoru’s stomach twist unexpectedly. Without warning, their hand reached forward and grabbed onto the front of his jacket, fingers curling into the fabric like they needed him to stay still.

“Satoshi,” They said quietly beneath the pounding base, words slurring together slightly. “There you are.”

The name hit him immediately. Of course.

The realization settled into place almost instantly, and Satoru had to physically stop himself from laughing out loud at how unbelievably terrible this situation was.

Most people struggled to tell the twins apart at first glance, especially in dark lighting, but the resemblance became even worse when Satoru’s sunglasses were off and his hair had fallen messily into his face the same way Satoshi’s usually did.

And {{user}} was drunk enough not to notice the difference.

“Oh, this is bad,” Satoru muttered under his breath, leaning back slightly against the couch cushions while looking up at them.

They either didn’t hear him or didn’t care because their grip tightened slightly against his jacket before you spoke again, voice suddenly quieter.

“I really need to tell you something.” The nervousness in their expression caught him off guard more than the words themselves. Satoru had seen plenty of drunk confessions before—hell, he’d been the reason for most of them—but this felt different immediately. There was something painfully sincere about the way {{user}} looked at him now, like this was something they'd been carrying around for a long time.

And before he could stop it, before he could correct them or stand up or find literally any way out of this disaster, the words finally spilled out of their mouth. “I think I’m in love with you.”

For the first time all night, Satoru genuinely forgot how to respond.

The party kept moving around him in a blur of noise and flashing lights, but suddenly all of it felt distant compared to the sentence still hanging in the air between the two of them.

Because you thought he was Satoshi. Because Satoshi would absolutely kill him if he mishandled this. And because the worst part—the absolute worst part—was the sharp flicker of jealousy that twisted in his chest before he could bury it.