𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫 | 𝐒. 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 ✔️

Chapter XXIV

To think that I would ever be stuck inside a damn closet—the smallest closet ever—with Gojo. All because of a stupid game.

My back presses against the splintery wooden panel, forcing us way too close for comfort.

I can feel his breath, warm against my face, and no matter how much I try to shift or twist, there's just no room. I press my hands firmly against my sides, willing myself not to accidentally touch him.

Our bodies are basically mushed together, and I'm doing everything in my power to keep my hands from accidentally brushing against him.

"This is stupid," I mutter, my voice strained as I turn my head to the side, trying to create even an inch of space between us. It's no use.

I turn my head slightly to avoid his gaze, but it's impossible to ignore the heat radiating off him—or the way my stupid heart is racing.

"You're the one who agreed to play," he quips, his tone far too smug for someone in such an awkward position. "Don't blame me for your bad decisions, Y/n."

I glare up at him—or at least try to. It's hard when he's towering over me like this. "I didn't know this was part of the deal!"

He smirks, leaning in just a fraction closer, as if testing my limits. "Seven minutes in heaven?" he teases. "Come on, you've seen movies. You knew what you were signing up for."

He laughs softly, the sound low and warm, and I hate the way it makes something in my stomach flutter. "You're so dramatic."

"Says the guy who hasn't stopped smirking since we got shoved in here."

"I'm just enjoying the moment," he says with a shrug, though it's so cramped that his hand brushes against my thigh. I stiffen instantly, and his eyes flicker down to my face, his grin widening.

"Relax," he says, his voice dropping slightly, and it's almost... soft. Too soft.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Easy for you to say," I snap, trying to distract myself from the way my heart is beating too fast. "You're not the one being suffocated by someone twice your size."

"Twice your size?" he repeats, feigning offense. "Are you calling me fat?"

"I'm calling you huge," I retort, narrowing my eyes at him.

"That's not the insult you think it is," he replies, his grin turning cocky again.

My heart's pounding now, and I can't tell if it's from irritation or... something else. It's so infuriating, the way he always knows exactly how to push my buttons.

Except this time, it doesn't just feel like irritation. It's worse—because part of me doesn't hate this.

I hate that I don't hate it.

I hate how his closeness makes my breath hitch, how his stupid grin makes my stomach flip. And the worst part? Some ridiculous, traitorous part of me is actually enjoying this.

No. Stop. Get it together.

I clear my throat, desperately trying to shift the mood. "Can this nightmare just end already?" I mutter, glaring at the door like I can will it to open.

He doesn't answer right away, and when I glance at him, I realize he's staring at me. Not in his usual cocky way, but something softer—almost like he's studying me.

My face heats up even more. "What?" I snap, my voice sharper than I intended.

"Nothing," he says, but his voice is quieter now, and there's a flicker of something in his expression I can't quite place.