Chapter Text
Suguru Geto could command a room with a simple wave, a small smirk, people stopping to stare and whisper practically every time he passed by.
You once overheard some girls joking in class that he was hot enough to melt ice with a single look. Okay, it wasn't that witty, but they weren't wrong either. Just a hint of his warmth, one corner of his lips curling up the tiniest bit higher than the other, and he'd thawed out your heart too.
There was only a single day it was ever directed at you. A handful of seconds.
You'd bumped into him in the hall, the notebook in your hands hitting the ground when you stumbled, and he stopped to help you gather your papers. His fingers grazed against yours for a split second, your eyes snapping nervously up to his face just to find that faint smirk. You stuttered out a sorry out of surprise but he chuckled and shrugged it off. One of his friends pulled him away before you could say anything else.
Two minutes and you were instantly and irrevocably crushing on someone who would never feel the same.
It was still probably the nicest interaction you had with any of your fellow college classmates since you transferred here.
The next time he saw you two months later?
He acted like you didn't exist.
That was just your normal though.
People only wanted to talk to you for two things. What was in your bag or your body.
Someone had started a rumor your second week there about your family being rich, that they had used their connections to get you a scholarship. That you were just some prissy princess who thought you were better than the rest of the school.
It didn't matter what was true. It only mattered what people thought the truth was.
Girls thought you were standoffish. Guys thought you were stuck-up. All your attempts to make friends had failed. Turned into a shitty joke every time you started to trust someone.
It'd been three fucking years. Graduation was only a few months away.
All you wanted was to make some memories that weren't bitter and brutal. To go to a party without feeling completely pitiful. To go on dates and get drunk.
But even you could admit this was probably definitely a terrible idea.
Geto only glanced up at you with bored eyes when you sat across from him in the library. His bag was tossed on the empty seat beside him, no one else around in the tucked-away corner. He didn't even say anything, only briefly arching a brow before looking back down at his book.
"Uh, hi," You whispered, fiddling with the hem of your skirt and barely managing to meet his eyes.
"Hey," He muttered, not looking up.
"I'm-"
"I know who you are," He sighed, turning the page. He already seemed annoyed, but it wasn't like you'd ever done anything other than exist in his proximity before.
"Oh," You breathed, biting down on your lip.
God, this was fucking awkward.
"Do you need something?" He asked, finally glancing up when he realized you weren't getting up and going away.
"This is going to sound weird. But could you, um, pretend to be my boyfriend?" You asked, chewing on your cheek as you spat out your embarrassing plea. What did it matter if he went and told everyone else? You were already a laughingstock. "I'll pay you."
He chuckled at you, dark and mocking. His eyes narrowed into a glare, searing through your fragile feelings.
It was hard to act like it didn't hurt.
"What? You wanna buy me too?" He scoffed.
"It's not like that," You protested, nails digging into your palm under the table as you pouted. "It's just, I meant-"
"Maybe we don't all have as much money as you, but some of us have morals," Geto murmured, obviously offended.
You couldn't exactly defend yourself when technically, you were kind of asking him to be an escort.
"Just hear me out, okay?" You asked, voice small, shrinking back into yourself.
"You think I'd stoop so low just from some cash?" He grunted, about to turn away before you caught the edge of his sleeve.
"Five hundred a date. Extra if you walk me to my classes," You fumbled to get the offer out.
"What?"
"Please," You breathed.
You just wanted a fucking friend.
Everyone already liked him. Why was it so hard go get someone to like you?
"I'm not asking for you to kiss me or anything like that," You muttered. "Just hold my hand in the hall and take me to a party or two."
He didn't reply.
Just stared at you like you were speaking another language. His face frozen in what you hoped was confusion instead of condemnation.
You pulled out a sticky note from your purse, grabbing a glitter pen and scrawling your number on it before sticking it on the table in front of him, terrified if you just held it out, he wouldn't take it. You'd rather get hit by a bus than be the first girl whose number he rejected.
"Call me if you're interested."
Geto wasn't interested.
Seriously.
Who the fuck asks a stranger something like that?
What? Did you pity him? Think he was so pathetic he'd go around worshipping the ground you walked on just for a paycheck? Humiliate himself to make you look good?
"Latest hookup? Or future one?" Gojo laughed, picking up the pink sticky note stuck to his nightstand and squinting at your sloppy scribble. Geto figured for someone who seemed to stick your nose up at everything, you'd at least have neater handwriting.
"Neither," Geto scoffed, taking it back from him.
But for some reason, he didn't toss it. He balled it up in his palm, the sticky side itching his skin, but he just dropped it back on the scratched wood veneer.
"Sure," Gojo drawled, smirking like he thought Geto was being humble or avoiding bragging about the newest girl in his bed.
He'd never hear the fucking end of it if Gojo knew you basically propositioned him to be your personal boytoy.
Geto wasn't the kind of guy to take stock in rumors. Not one to listen to bullshit or play a game of telephone until the truth was twisted into fiction.
But you were always alone, sitting by yourself in class or walking with your head held high, heels clicking against the floor that cost more than his part-time job made in months. Refusing to look down at everyone below you, dressed like you were going to a soiree and yet never attending a single fucking party he'd ever been to.
Drinking out of red solo cups and taking shots was probably just another thing you were too good for.
Gojo might be rich too, but he'd still play beer pong and eat two-day old microwaved leftovers with a plastic fork.
"Have you bought your plane ticket yet?" Gojo casually asked, rummaging through the rest of his nightstand, picking at books and loose papers.
"Not yet," Geto shrugged, swallowing the uncomfortable anxiety scratching at his skin.
He couldn't afford them, actually.
Gojo would pay if he knew, but his pride kept preventing him from asking. Even if he worked doubles at his part-time job, or picked up a second one, he still couldn't cover the tickets and expenses for the trip Gojo wanted to take with all their friends to celebrate graduation.
He still needed to save up enough for a deposit and rent for a new apartment since he'd be kicked from student housing soon. And probably at least a mattress so he wouldn't be sleeping on the floor. You know, some food so he wouldn't starve would also be nice.
And who knew how long it'd take him to find an actually decent job after college? His professors had recommended him to a few companies, but it wasn't like Gojo who'd pretty much automatically start working at his family's company the second he got his degree.
"I'm buying mine today, want me to just get yours too and you can pay me back later?" Gojo offered, pulling out an old Polaroid of them drunk at some frat part and chuckling before shoving it back in with the rest of the stuff.
"Nah," Geto grimaced. "It's fine."
"Are you su-"
"Yeah, yeah, I've got it," He grumbled, glancing back at that stupid sticky note.
Fuck.
He shouldn't.
Really, if he had any fucking self-worth, he'd just text you to go fuck yourself before blocking your number.
But he did have bills to pay. Places he wanted to go. People he'd actually like to take on dates. If you meant what you said, a few outings would easily cover his expenses.
All he'd have to do was suck it up and put on a satisfying performance for you for his problems to be solved.
He'd just have to swallow his fucking pride and hit send.
Still, it was ten times harder to say as much to your face and have you slide him an envelope across the table.
"I know people don't really like me that much," You freely admitted, carefully brushing back a styled strand of hair and looking up at him with surprisingly anxious eyes. You spoke softer than he imagined, more airy. Like it'd soften the blow to his ego. "So thank you for doing this."
"Yeah," Geto grunted, glancing around the small cafe you picked out, his pastry untouched in front of him despite how tantalizing and tasty it actually looked. You had ordered it for him before he even arrived.
"I, um, made this," You swallowed hard, biting your lip raw as you slid a neatly organized and numbered list over.
He skimmed over it, scrutinizing and struggling to read your handwriting. A handful of date ideas, all places his friends frequented. Parties. Requests. Payment listed next to each.
An itemized receipt perhaps.
Things he'd have to do for you.
"If you there's something you don't-"
"It's fine," Geto insisted, sliding it back to you.
It was honestly even more money than he thought it'd be. If he was going to sell out, at least he'd be well paid for it.
"O-okay," You stammered.
If he didn't know what he knew, he might think you were cute. Shy even.
"Let's get one thing straight though," Geto grimaced. You sat up straighter in your seat, manicured nails tapping the table. "I don't like you either."
"Your total is $8.42."
You nodded, hair falling in your face when you tried to rummage through your purse for your wallet. All you were trying to buy was a couple of energy drinks, something to help you stay up to study and finish the last of your assignments. Throwing on some sweatpants and a hoodie, hiding yourself in something loose and dull so you wouldn't run the risk of acknowledging someone you knew before heading to the closest convenience store. It wasn't like you'd ever even seen anyone from your school there, but the universe had a knack for playing cruel pranks on you.
Lip gloss, mascara, napkins, tampons, a few loose cents clinked around as you shoved stuff aside trying to find it. A few receipts crumpled that you really should've thrown away weeks ago. But no wallet.
Shit. Had you left it back at your apartment?
You had it at breakfast. You'd given Geto all the cash you had then.
But you'd been upset by the time you went home and kicked your heels off, tossing your bag on your coffee table and crying for a few minutes before trying to make yourself feel better with some online shopping.
Was it still there?
"I'm sorry, I think I left my wallet at home," You murmured, face heating up and flustered. The guy in line behind you scoffed, probably irritated that he had to wait for nothing. "I'll put these back."
Someone tossed a wrinkled ten dollar bill on the counter with a huff.
"I've got it," A guy grunted.
You glanced over your shoulder, blinking back surprise. "You really don't have-"
"I said I've got it," He grumbled, scowling at you.
You were even more stunned to realize you recognized him. And then excruciatingly embarrassed.
He was paying you back.
You'd run into him here a few months ago. Except, uh, he was soaking wet from the rain and scraping together change to buy one of those gross pre-made sandwiches that just looked like it'd give you food poisoning.
Honestly?
You sorta thought he was homeless for a few seconds.
Long enough that you just dropped some extra cash on the counter and told him you'd pay before he scoffed at you he had more than enough to cover it. You pretty quickly realized he wasn't homeless. He was heavily tatted, actually handsome in the rough sort of way, all sharp and blunt, hard features and harsh edges under his hoodie and dark jeans. But it still ended up in an argument where the cashier just took your money so he didn't have to count his change and get both of you out of the store.
"I don't like owing people," You murmured, but he moved his body so you couldn't squeeze past him, brute forcing his way into taking over the transaction.
"Me neither."
He thrusted one of the energy drinks into your hand, stealing the other one for himself. Or, you guessed, it wasn't actually stealing when he paid for it. Still holding the receipt and another one of those awful sandwiches you supposed hadn't killed him yet against his broad chest.
"You know, you're gonna like, get a tapeworm or something from that," You commented, pointing at what was probably three-day old deli meat.
"Yeah? You volunteering to make me one?" He wryly commented, cocking his head to your side.
"I'm just saying," You rolled your eyes.
He studied your face for a second, frowning at you as if it was personally offensive.
You were having terrible luck with guys today.
"Do you need a job or something?" He asked, one pierced brow arched as he looked over your baggy clothes and messy purse, half-used makeup containers and receipts stuffed inside it.
"What?" You scrunched your nose up, squinting at him. Okay, maybe you looked rough today, but still. No one had ever asked you that. "Making you sandwiches?"
That was the future your parents had planned. Arranging a marriage with the son of some other rich asshole where your degree would collect dust and you'd be stuck making sandwiches and babies for a man who'd never appreciate it.
"My receptionist quit today," He grunted. "Need a new one."
"Why are you asking me?" You heard yourself ask, brain not fully functioning without the much-needed caffeine.
"I feel like it," He shrugged.
You blinked at him, the cold from your drink starting to make your hand go numb when he dug out a business card from his pocket. He put it in your pocket, the warmth from his hand lingering through your fabric even after he pulled it back out.
He left before you could give him an answer.
You ended up staring at the embossed lettering in the driver's seat of your car under the dim yellow streetlights. It was for a tattoo shop, the kind of place your family would kill you for stepping foot in. His number was listed along with a list of services he offered, along with his social media. Not that you had any of your own. Then there was his name. Stamped in bold and bright red.
Ryomen Sukuna.