"What is it that you want?"
Because that was what this was about wasn't it? He wanted something. The main family never disdained to speak to the lower members without a need and Gojo Satoru was not about to be the exception.
"I'm going to recommend...
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✧༺♥༻∞
The air was crisp, tart as a golden red apple and the smell of something very similar wafting through the open car windows from the street. Gojo had insisted they stop, a loaf of warm, flakey apple ring bread tucked inside a white box that he carried with near reverence.
The man was serious about his sweets, if nothing else. You were surprised he didn't break it open as soon as you were back in the car, but it sat, untouched and releasing a heavenly aroma between you both.
You'd hoped your mother would refuse the sudden visit, but if anything, she was more hospitable than usual on the phone. You didn't trust it. This smelled of a trap— the kinda trap she sprung on your middle school boyfriend that had you single until your senior year. You chattered incessantly to try and keep yourself calm, your chest feeling as if someone had scooped out your insides and replaced you with rubber bouncy balls.
"So. Don't be— well, don't be as rude as you usually are. Okay? Don't do anything that will make my father feel compelled to try and fight you for my honor and don't let my mom get you roped into an innocuous conversation. Nothing is innocuous with that woman. And don't—"
When had the car rolled to a stop? The familiar house stood as it always did with its traditional peaked, shingled roof and plain beige and white walls. Your tongue dried, the top of your mouth tingling and aching down your throat.
Your door opened and instead of the driver, it was Gojo standing there patiently, holding out his hand. You stared at his palm, up to his sunglass covered eyes, down again and then narrowed your own.
"... you're loving this, aren't you?"
"Oh yeah." Gojo grinned, "Pass me the box will ya?"
You could repress your pout fast enough, having thought his intent was to hold your hand. What kind of thought even was that? Had he ever held your hand once in all the times you'd even been out on dates? You picked up the warm box and passed it to him as you slid out of the car.
He tucked it under his arm and then, as naturally as if he had done it every day of his life, he took your hand in his. You gripped hard, startled by the sudden contact.
"This is the part where a good guy says something nice, yeah? Like, 'don't worry, I'll behave'. Right?"
A pinprick of hope rose up in your chest and died just as quickly as he gave you a short wink from over his glasses.
"Too bad one isn't here."
One day, one day, you would not react the way he expected, heat spreading down your neck, eyes widening in tongue-tied outrage. And yet, your hand was still in his and you felt no inclination what-so-ever to let it go.
"I told them to treat you like anyone else. Not like a Gojo and definitely not like the Six Eyes." you said sharply, "So don't expect a grand reception."
