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2005
There are very few instances in an individual's life where they would be asked who the most important part of their life is. You never expected to be on the receiving end of such question yet however rare or nonsensical, at the bottom of your heart, you always knew which name would leave your lips if you were ever asked.
Two words, five syllables:
Gojo Satoru.
The overpowered white-haired teenager, no matter how childish and insufferable he could be, was your sole pillar of support through the wretched years you have spent on this world. He was more of a brother than any of your siblings could ever be and more of a guardian than any of your clan elders perceive themselves to be. From aiding scraped knees to ice cream nights, he made sure he was there for you.
Gojo Satoru was the closest thing you had to a family.
Hence, your mind went in total haywire at the unexpected words a certain brown-haired girl began bombarding you with.
Shoko Ieri had a sly smirk carved on every single crevice of her adorable face. With her hands clutching both ends of your wooden table, she leaned closer to you, eager to receive non-existent information from you.
"So, spill."
"W-what?"
The utter confusion visible on your face was not enough so she chose to push through. After all the weeks you have spent together, you have no idea where in the world she had come up with such an absurd notion. Gojo had very much explained who you were to him and that was as an important friend, that's all.
You two were only friends who happened to stick together. Honestly, considering the possibility of you two dating already felt illegal.
Shoko insists that she doesn't buy it.
"How long have you and Satoru been dating?" her eyes were blazing with excitement. "Two years? Three years? Was it love at first slap? Why are you keeping it a secret?"
"T-Toru and I a–"
"Damn. Suguru, did you hear what she called Satoru? It always gets me. Every time. They're so adorable!"
"Geez–"
As Geto was about to side with you, he was interrupted by the alleged boyfriend who summoned himself in the middle of the room. He always loved a good entrance. His fingertips touched his forehead, his elbows arched like a museum statue.
