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 avoided.

Satoru sat awkwardly sprawled across the corner couch like wanted to be anywhere else, legs haphazardly placed under a table while a half-empty red cup rested loosely in his hand. His glasses were pushed up into his hair now as he was taking a break from the strobes, pale strands messy from the humidity and from several wandering hands throughout the night, and the sleeves of his jacket were shoved up to his elbows. People drifted around him constantly, walking past and brushing against him as if he was nothing more than an inconveniently placed traffic cone in the road, but none of it really held his attention for long.

His focus wandered nervously across the room instead, detached in the way it always was during parties like this. Satoru hated attention, hated noise, hated being at the center of things, but after so many years of being dragged to these things by his party animal twin, things 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 hot one his brother always dragged around everywhere like a lost puppy. The one who laughed at the dumbest jokes, smoked pot in the bathroom stalls, and the one who radiated in this environment like a damn sunflower facing a discoball. Satoru still remembered the first time he met them properly as he stood awkwardly in his kitchen after school while Satoshi introduced them, clutching a backpack to their chest while refusing to fully look them 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 me or don’t spread your dorkness.

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 cute little laugh had become something he could recognize instantly in a crowded room, he had stayed away and kept his distance.

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, unadultered worry 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 crying 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 glasses 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 forward slightly on 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 confidence in their expression caught him off guard more than the words themselves. Satoru had seen plenty of drunk confessions before—hell, he'd watched hundreds happen to his brother—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.”

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.