。𝕿𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝕴𝐍 𝕻𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒、ᵍᵒʲᵒ ˢᵃᵗᵒʳᵘ 💋 ¡!

𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻

The exclusive gala had been the talk of the city for weeks, a glamorous affair bringing together the biggest names in the industry. Gojo and [Y/N] had received their invitations with a mix of excitement and dread—after all, the media had only just started to cool down after their recent public interview, where they had both firmly denied any romantic involvement.

Yet here they were, stepping into a grand ballroom that seemed pulled from a fairy tale. The marble floors gleamed under chandeliers that sparkled like constellations, and velvet curtains framed the towering windows. The air buzzed with laughter and conversations, but the tension was palpable, especially with so many eyes subtly following their every move.

Nakahara had given them a stern warning before they entered. “Please,” he had pleaded, rubbing his temples, “keep things professional. We can’t afford another scandal.”

But the moment they walked in, Gojo’s natural charm took over. He greeted everyone effortlessly, his smile dazzling and his confidence unwavering. [Y/N] stayed close by, trying her best to keep up and not be overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it all. Yet every now and then, her gaze drifted toward the balcony doors, longing for a moment of quiet away from the scrutiny.

Gojo noticed. “Wanna get out of here?” he asked, his voice low and full of mischief.

[Y/N] didn’t have to think twice. “Yes, please.”

He gently took her hand, guiding her through the crowd and towards the balcony. The cool night air hit her face, a welcome relief from the heat and noise inside. The balcony overlooked the dazzling cityscape, the Eiffel Tower standing proud against the night sky, its lights glittering.

[Y/N] leaned on the railing, taking a deep breath. “This is so much better.”

Gojo stood beside her, his presence almost overwhelming. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Sometimes it’s nice to step away from the chaos.”

She glanced at him. His expression had softened, the usual mask of confidence replaced by something almost vulnerable. The tension between them thickened, unspoken words hanging in the air.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “The spotlight, the constant attention?”

Gojo looked at her, his gaze searching. “All the time,” he admitted. “But I guess I’m used to pretending it doesn’t bother me.”

[Y/N] felt her heart ache at the honesty in his voice. She shifted closer, drawn to the rare glimpse of the man behind the model. “You don’t have to pretend right now.”

A silence settled between them, one that was heavy with something she couldn’t quite define. Gojo reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingered, fingers brushing her cheek, and [Y/N] felt her breath catch.

“Being here,” he said softly, his eyes locked onto hers, “with you... It feels different. Like everything else fades away.”

Her heart raced, and she wasn’t sure if it was the Parisian air, the way the city lights danced in his eyes, or the fact that he was leaning in, closing the space between them.

“Gojo...” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Call me Satoru,” he murmured, his lips so close she could feel the warmth of his breath.

The world seemed to stand still, the distant sounds of the gala fading into the background. In that moment, there was only him and the way he made her feel—like she was standing on the edge of something thrilling and terrifying all at once.

And then he kissed her. It was soft at first, a hesitant brush of lips that sent a jolt of electricity through her veins. But when she didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, his hand cradling her face, the other resting on her waist. The night felt endless, the city below sparkling in a silent celebration of their stolen moment.

When they finally pulled back, both of them were breathless, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and something that felt dangerously close to longing.

“Satoru,” [Y/N] whispered, a smile breaking through her shock. “We’re definitely giving them something to talk about now.”

He laughed, the sound low and genuine. “Let them talk,” he said, his forehead resting against hers. “As long as I’m here with you, I don’t care.”

But before they could lose themselves in the moment again, Nakahara burst onto the balcony, looking frazzled. “What are you two doing? Everyone’s looking for you—wait, did you just...?”

Gojo didn’t bother moving away, his arm staying securely around [Y/N]. “Don’t worry about it, Nakahara,” he said, grinning. “We’re just making headlines.”

Nakahara threw his hands up in exasperation. “Right after that interview denying everything? Are you two trying to make my job impossible?!”

Gojo’s grin only widened. “Relax, Nakahara. We’re just adding some excitement to your day.”