The Strongest | ɢᴏᴊᴏ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ

Chapter 14

Gojo must be doing this on purpose. I can't imagine any other reason why the hell he's still inside the dressing room, still trying on dress shirts that all look exactly the same. He's come out four times now, every time wearing an apparently different shirt, but I couldn't tell the difference. They were all white and had long sleeves. What more is there to it? When I told him that, of course, he lost his mind and started to argue with me about the quality of the fabric and the stitching and whatever. I stopped listening after he said "hemline" for the third time.

When he comes out again, he's finally wearing a shirt I can tell apart from the others. It's light blue and matches his eyes. It's the one I picked for him earlier when we were looking through the store. Or rather he was looking; I was only following him.

"You're only picking white and black," I said, eyeing the shirts hanging over his arm.

"It suits me the best," he replied and picked another identical white shirt off the rack.

My eyes fell on the light blue one, and I held it up. "Try this one," I said. When he gave me a frown, I added, "I think blue would suit you too."

So he's trying it on. Gojo turns his back to me so he can look at himself in the mirror as he tucks the shirt into his pants, and my eyes unwillingly sweep down to his ass. It looks good in those pants he's trying on. I'd love to -

"What do you think?" he interrupts my thoughts.

I tear my eyes away from his lower area as he starts to turn around to me, and my face heats up again. He almost could have caught me looking at his -

"It's too tight, isn't it?" Gojo asks.

I blink, then focus on the shirt he wants me to comment on. "It's fine," I say. "Nice color."

He frowns and purses his lips the way he always does when he's unhappy with what I'm saying because he usually can't rely on his eyes to convey expression. "I'm not asking about the color," he snaps. "I'm asking if it's too tight."

To be honest, I'm not sure if it's just perfectly tight enough. It fits perfectly around his shoulders, his biceps, his chest... and it highlights his slutty waist when he tucks it in like that. I narrow my eyes at him because he's so annoyingly attractive that it makes me hate him so much more. Because I will never be able to long for him without having to live with his personality as well.

"No, Gojo, it's not too tight," I snarl back. "It's fine."

"Fine?" He grunts, then turns back to the mirror. "What about the pants, then? Are they fine, too?"

My stupid face heats up again, and I reach for the glass of water the employee handed me once I sat down, because of course Gojo goes shopping in stores where they hand you water and champagne.

"Yes, the pants are..." I'm looking for the right word. Fine just barely covers it. Fine doesn't even come close to describing the pants. Because they're... well, they're... "-great."

His eyebrows lift over the rims of his sunglasses as he turns back around. I empty my water and occupy my hands and eyes with carefully setting the glass aside again.

"Well," he says, "I'll take both, then."

I nod without looking at him. "You do that."

Only when the curtains are closed again do my eyes dare to look back. I really didn't need to see him like this. I didn't. I... I can't stop thinking about it. His ass in those pants, his bare chest this morning, the moment between us last night, and the words he said to me during dinner. And once the thought comes, I also can't stop smiling. It stays there firmly in place on my lips even though my cheeks already hurt. Even when Gojo slides the curtain open, dressed in his own clothes again, I bite my lower lip but the smile won't leave.