The toy he shared was taken or lost? Oh well, he’d get a new one. A friend wins a competition over him? Ah, he’ll just try harder next time. He didn’t understand people who were envious of things and people. He wasn’t that type of guy.

So, to say Geto is floored at the all-consuming possessiveness and jealousy that fills him from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers when Gojo tells him that he has a /date/ is an understatement.

It’s so overwhelming that Geto just starts deluding himself into thinking it was a joke. But it couldn’t be /real/. Gojo, his best friend, didn’t have a date. “You’re what?” Geto asks, disbelief in his tone.

“I’m going on a date.” Gojo sounds so nonchalant about it that it has Geto feeling queasy. Any minute now, Gojo will start laughing. Because it’s a joke. “You. A date?” Gojo had never been on a date before. Geto was 99.99% sure about that. Gojo told him everything.

There wasn’t a single thing Geto didn’t know about his best friend. When Gojo finally gives up on the bit, Geto will tell him this joke really wasn’t funny. “Is that hard to believe?” Geto didn't answer out loud, but it was ‘yes.’

Not because Gojo wasn’t the most beautiful thing Geto had ever seen in his life. It was just... Yeah, this had to be a joke. “With who?” He asks instead. He keeps his voice even, but the shake of his hands was easily noticeable if Gojo looked down.

He clenches his fingers into a fist, but it doesn’t stop the tremble. “Minamoto Hayato. He’s in my computer science class.” A guy (Geto doesn’t know him, but he kind of wants him dead). Geto didn’t know Gojo liked guys.

Gojo had never been interested in anyone, really. All through the years they’ve known each other, Gojo has never dated anyone. Didn’t even act like he /wanted/ to. There were plenty of love confessions from cute girls back in high school. Gojo turned them down every time.

Really, Geto didn’t try to think about Gojo liking anyone because it made him want to curl up into a ball and stay there for several days. “You’re quiet.” Gojo remarks, eyeing Geto with a look he can’t really place. Geto is still holding onto this all being some kind of joke.

A seriously unfunny joke that has Geto feeling a type of way he never had before. “When?” He asks. Gojo grabbed his switch and plopped himself on Geto’s bed. He’s fully dressed in Geto’s clothes. A nice feeling of satisfaction rises inside Geto’s stomach, replacing the nausea.

He preferred it when Gojo wore his clothes. When Gojo was in his bed. His. His. His. “Friday evening.” Gojo mindlessly answers, focused on his game. Geto frowns. This was a very elaborate joke. Gojo gestures to him then pats the bed next to him.

“Come pet my hair, it helps me concentrate,” Gojo orders. Geto obeys immediately. He climbs onto his bed to perch next to Gojo. The other man pauses his game momentarily to situate himself to lay his head on Geto’s thigh. Fingers find soft strands of unruly, white hair and twist-

into it to tug softly at the tangles. Gojo relaxes into him like he was meant to be there. And he is. Gojo Satoru was meant to fit perfectly with Geto Suguru. It was like it was written in the stars. They were best friends for a reason.

Gojo un-pauses his game and gets back to it, leaving Geto to pet his hair and mull silently over this ridiculous elaborate joke that Gojo was playing on him. The joke that the more he thinks about it, the more it starts feeling like it wasn’t a joke.

That’s when his stomach starts sinking again and the jealousy and possessiveness rear their ugly heads once again inside of him. The hand that didn’t have fingers threaded through Gojo’s hair moved to his stomach. Fingers splay out on the expanse of Gojo’s toned stomach;

the hand slides slightly down to the abdomen before pressing down with enough pressure to pull a soft noise from Gojo. The-white haired man doesn’t turn his attention from his game and Geto presses down again, pulling another noise from the man below him.

This one was almost a whimper and if Geto were a cat, he’d be purring with how content he was with it. He looks down to Gojo, who is fully focused on the screen of his switch. He has his pink tongue cutely poking out in concentration.

Geto wants to bite it just to see what noise Gojo would make. It would be so easy to tip Gojo’s head back and dip down to do just that. Geto refrains, just like he did with every urge like that he had. Instead he focused on this ‘Minamoto Hayato’ that Gojo had a date with.

He didn’t know this guy, but he already knew that he wasn’t good enough for Gojo. Just for the fact that he needs someone perfect for him, a person that could finish his sentences and tell what he was thinking and read his moods.

Minamoto wouldn’t know that Gojo needed to sleep with a bottle of water next to the bed because he always wakes up thirsty. Or that he likes hovering when someone is cooking, plastering himself on their back and hooking his chin on their shoulder to ask dumb questions-

as he steals ingredients to pop into his mouth. Or that Gojo’s eyes are sensitive so the glasses he wears aren’t because he’s being pretentious, he needs them because too much light hurts his eyes. Sure, this guy could learn all of this, but it wasn’t good enough.

Gojo needed someone that already did. Someone like Geto. Even in the hypothetical sense that Minamoto was an exact copy, Geto still wouldn't be okay with Gojo dating him. Gojo would start spending time with Minamoto. Time that should be Geto’s time.

They were so used to spending every minute together... Geto didn’t want to stop. And if they got together... Minamoto would touch Gojo. Hold him. Kiss him. They’d have sex. Geto’s hand involuntarily flexes in Gojo’s hair, tightening his fingers and tugging on white tresses.

Gojo makes a noise again. A soft, distressed whimper. Geto’s fingers relax, and he pets the spot apologetically. He murmurs a ‘sorry.’ Gojo’s blue eyes flick up to him for a moment and the other grins before turning back to his game. +

Geto stares down at him and imagines Minamoto in his place. Gojo is in Minamoto’s bed, in his clothes. With his head in his lap as Minamoto runs his fingers through Gojo’s hair and rests a hand on his abdomen with an urge to go... just a bit /lower/-

No. No. This isn’t for anyone else besides Geto. No one else deserved Gojo like he did. Geto didn’t want to /share/ him. Geto didn’t want Gojo to look elsewhere.

He wanted all of his attention and time. He couldn’t stand the thought of someone else touching Gojo, giving him affection. Thinking about it, Geto wants to press bruises into Gojo’s skin with his fingertips...

Maybe suck one into the side of his throat so everyone would know. Gojo Satoru was Geto Suguru’s. And with that conclusion... Gojo wasn’t going on that date. Geto is going to make sure of it.

Geto was the type of person to plan. He’d always made an itinerary when he and Gojo went on vacation. When they went grocery shopping, it was always with a detailed list. It made him feel in control.

Gojo didn’t mind it, always seeming like he preferred to let Geto take the reins. It’s one of the reasons they were so perfect together. Geto and Gojo just worked so well.