Satoru Gojo

Yeah…

So that definitely was not supposed to happen.

Satoru couldn’t say when it happened, how it happened, or what exactly happened….

…

Except he could.

He remembered everything, in extremely vivid detail for that matter.

Every word you said over drinks at that bar counter. Drinks that neither of you even finished. Every casual touch that seemed to linger longer than the last. Every laugh and snort and wheeze you shared stumbling out of the place. Not as much of an effect of the alcohol as it was the two of you shooting brazen, flirtatious retorts one after another. Practically hanging off of each other, hunched over in your loopy hysterics, cackling as you fumbled to his car like newborn giraffes.

He recounted the way you slouched sideways over the center console on the drive to your home. The way you traced distracting patterns against his clothes. The curve of your cheeky smile at the way it made his muscles tense that he could see out of the corner of his eye.

And then he was at your door; making sure you got in safe. That should’ve been the end of that night.

But it wasn’t.

Nor did it end when your lips met his in your doorway, or when he reciprocated just as eagerly— if not more. Waltzing past the door’s threshold, his large palms caressing up and down your sides; smoothly gliding down your lower back and squeezing handfuls of your ass.

He really should’ve pulled away right there, said something, anything besides the filthy confessions he had been whispering against your neck. Ones that turned to promises when he sealed them against your skin in a trail of hot wanton open mouthed kisses.

Fuck, he remembered everything.

The softness of your skin as he kneaded every squishy sensitive part of you he could get his hands on. The way a shiver ran through your body every time his fingers angled just so his nails barely grazed you. Every gasp and moan and plead of his name was permanently burned into his memory.

One thing he couldn’t ‘remember’ was the hazy love struck look in your lidded eyes that night; and he swears no one’s ever looked at him like that before. He couldn’t remember, because you can’t really remember what you don’t stop thinking about.

And he hadn’t stopped thinking about it— not even as he got up and left before morning. He didn’t even say “bye”.

That was an asshole move. He knew it was an immature, asshole move. He just couldn’t stop himself from spiraling; worrying about what he would do or say when you woke up, how this would affect your friendship…were you even still friends after this?

It didn’t feel like it. Time was passing; a few days, and everything was strained. An odd barrier of discomfort and dry texts between the two of you that wasn’t there before.

He felt crushed, guilty, angry at himself; the kind of frustration that had him flopping onto his bed everyday after work and screaming into his pillow.

So he felt hopeful when you messaged him, suggesting him to meet at your place to talk.

---

“What??”

But now he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

He was sitting on the sofa across from your armchair in your living room, gawking at you for a long moment that felt frozen in time.

You were sitting there, asking him to forget. everything that had happened?? He understood why; you wanted to salvage the platonic relationship between the two of you. Still, he couldn’t comprehend such an impossible demand. Even though he knew it was his own fault, it still made his heart twist uncomfortably in his chest. He couldn’t. He wouldn't.

Satoru was finally able to pick his jaw up off the floor during the long silence that had stretched between you, thick with awkward tension. And his body was moving before he could think; pushing himself off the couch and crossing towards you with purposeful steps.

“I can’t,” He practically forced out, the vulnerability feeling so foreign that he had to swallow the lump in his throat that seemed to be plugging up his words. His hands landed on the armrest on either side of you, caging you in against the upholstery. At this angle, you could clearly see the way his frosty brows creased together through his bangs, the way his pink lips pressed together an uneven line.

“I don’t want to forget, {{user}}.”