Chapter Text
The announcement had been buried somewhere between “Reminder: Physics 342 Lab Due Friday” and “Student Health Screening Deadline”, but of course, you saw it. The department was sending you to Europe. Not a spring break trip to Ibiza, not some cute history tour—Europe to nerd the fuck out at a physics conference, Geneva specifically. CERN. Yeah. The big-ass science place where they smash tiny particles together and pretend it’s normal to pay $2,500 to do it.
It sounded impossible. Unreal. Like, who actually gets to go to CERN? Not just the lecture halls, not just the online virtual tours, but the actual Large Hadron Collider, the colossal, terrifying, awe-inspiring physics meat grinder that somehow managed to make your brain simultaneously spin and ache since sophomore year.
Apparently, they were sending a select group of undergraduates who had submitted research projects deemed ‘sufficiently publishable-ish’.
Translation: if your project wasn’t too dumb, too tiny, or likely to break the laws of physics, you were in. Somehow, your project on quantum entanglement and “practical applications for high-energy particle detection” squeaked past the first filter. No clue if it was genius or if Yaga just shrugged and went, “Eh… close enough.”
Then the email dropped the nuclear bomb of reality: the student roster.
You – apparently the project lead, which meant you were now in charge of… coordinating this mess of a trip? God help you.
Suguru – lab partner, apparently the “responsible one.” Yeah, suits him.
Satoru – the absolute fucker. Of course he somehow had a brilliant project too. Of course.
Haibara, Nanami, Mei Mei, Naoya, Sukuna, Utahime, Ichiji, Hakari, Yuki, Choso – they basically sent everyone who could vaguely spell physics without setting themselves on fire. How the hell did Sukuna even make the list? You swear that guy had, like, two brain cells. And one of them was definitely in his dick.
By the time you scrolled to the bottom, your stomach was running its own particle collision experiments, and not the fun kind.
Then came the hotel room assignments.
Apparently, the department also had decided you were adults enough to not burn the hotel down on your own—or at least, that’s what they claimed. They “randomly paired” everyone to save cash and space. Randomly, my ass.
By what could only be the devil’s personal fuckery, you got paired with Satoru Gojo. Not Suguru. Not literally anyone sane. Satoru. The guy that literally ate you out in a party. You almost laughed. Then cried. Then laughed again. You were starting to get used to the bullshit, sort of.
Suguru, meanwhile, got stuck with Mei Mei, which… could be fine. Could be a disaster. Probably a disaster. You silently prayed to every god that she didn’t try to sneak into his bed during the trip, because apparently, she has a habit of fucking around with every guy in the major—especially Satoru. You’d heard rumors about them getting caught mid-fucking in Gakuganji’s office one day. The mental image of the old fart’s face when that happened? Probably priceless. You almost choked on your own spit thinking about it.
So yeah. Your life for the next few days? Lectures, labs, dinners, and being trapped in a tiny room with Satoru Gojo. You sighed. You know where this is going. And you’re not sure if you really want to prevent it from happening.
Uh, you mean, you’re absolutely prepared to prevent it from happening. Yup.
— ♡ —
The next morning, you found yourself lugging a carry-on that somehow weighed more than your entire GPA through the airport. Everyone else was buzzing with that irritating mix of excitement and sleep deprivation, but you? You were bracing for 8–10 hours of confined hell, because yes, planes were a thing, and yes, Satoru Gojo was also a thing.
And of course, nothing went smoothly. You all ended up waiting two extra hours at the gate. Why? Let’s break it down:
Satoru was late. Because apparently, being the most obnoxious person in the universe means you get to stroll in whenever you feel like it.Sukuna realized he’d forgotten his earphones, so he had to sprint back to buy another pair, leaving a trail of muttered curses in his wake.And Yuki? Yeah, she got stuck in the toilets for reasons that no one wanted to ask about. Oh, and Hakari is absent.
By the time everyone was finally assembled, you were more exhausted from the airport drama than you would be from the flight itself.
You miss Shoko.
You sank into your seat, next to Utahime, sliding your earbuds in and letting The Weeknd’s smooth, honeyed voice wash over the noise of the cabin. Finally—peace.
It lasted all of ten seconds.
Because of course Satoru Gojo had taken the aisle seat directly in front of you, Suguru seated neatly beside him. And because he is Satoru Gojo, he immediately began reclining his chair.
Just enough for the top of the seat to press into your thighs.
“Ugh…” You yanked one earbud out. “Satoru. Stop.”
He twisted around in his seat, flashing that infuriating grin. “Whoa, babe, relax. Just making a little space.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Space for what?”
“For Suguru to give me head, obviously.”
Your gaze slid to Suguru, who hadn’t even looked up from what appeared to be a physics textbook.
You sighed, long and pained, before lightly kicking the back of Satoru’s seat. “Give me space. I’m serious.”
He hummed, tilting his head. “Or what?”
The smug tone was the last straw. You reached forward and tugged his hair—hard enough to make him yelp.
“Okay! Okay!” He shot upright, shoving the seat back into its original position.
Peace, restored. For now.
— ♡ —
Eight hours of recycled air, bad coffee, and Satoru periodically turning around to “check if you’re alive” has left you spiritually detached from your body.
By the time you step off the plane, Geneva greets you with crisp air and mountains that look fake. Too clean. Too picturesque. Like someone Photoshopped an entire country.
Sukuna is already complaining.
Haibara is taking pictures of everything.
Nanami looks like he regrets academia.
And Yuki is weirdly energized.
“Okay,” she says, zero hello, zero preamble, just how you like it! “We’re going to talk about the frat party.”
You squint at her. “Excuse me?”
She smirks. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You and Gojo. Making out.”
“You’re, like, two months late. And honestly, it’s not your problem, Yuki.”
Yuki cackles. “Right. Sure. That’s exactly what everyone is calling it.”
“…Everyone?”
“Yeah. Campus. Literally the whole rumor mill. Someone even said you two are in a situationship.”
“A what? Why can’t people mind their own business? There’s nothing between us, and what happened at the party stayed at the party. End of story.”
Your gaze drifts to Satoru, walking away from the plane, teasing Ichiji with Sukuna. He’s laughing, carefree, baseball cap and sunglasses on like he’s on some vacation.
“You know, babe, I’m telling you this because you’re my girl,” Yuki says softly, following your gaze. “Don’t get attached to him. He uses girls and tosses them aside. Did you know he knocked up a girl and made her get an abortion? He’s a dick. You’re not special to him—just… a limited prize.”
Your face twists into a mix of anger and disbelief. “Don’t make me look like a dumb bitch. And don’t talk about stuff you don’t understand. There’s nothing between him and me. I don’t like him that way, and I never will. Mind your own damn business, Yuki. Are you jealous or something?”
She studies you for a beat, then pecks your cheek. “Jealous? Pfft. Satoru’s not my type. I like…” Her gaze flicks to Choso at the back, talking with Nanami and Suguru. “…darker boys.”
You take a deep breath, trying to calm down. Honestly, you shouldn’t be mad. Yuki loves gossip—she couldn’t have known what would set you off.
A “limited prize”? You roll your eyes. You’re not that. You already told you that. What everyone else thinks doesn’t matter. You’re not Satoru’s prize. You’re your own person—with your own wants. And who you want is still Suguru.
Still… it stings that everyone thinks you and Satoru have something. Could’ve been handy for the Sugu Bugu plan, sure—but it never worked anyway. Suguru won’t get jealous because, as far as you know, he still doesn’t have feelings for you.
It’s not even true. You and Satoru aren’t in a situationship. You two never actually slept together, and besides the bathroom episode, nothing happened. You’re just… well, you don’t really know anymore. Maybe, technically, it is a situationship now.
You’re gonna have to have a real conversation with him. It’s been too long since you two talked properly. You need to talk about… everything that went weird after that party at Utahime’s place months ago. Since the Seven Minutes in Heaven game, nothing has been clear.
He’s changed. Most of the time, he’s still the Satoru you know—the nonchalant, arrogant guy who thrives on teasing everyone else. But lately… he’s been different. Harder to read.
Maybe he really does just want you to be his next girl on the list. Maybe that’s why he started the Sugu Bugu plan in the first place—like you first guessed—to chase the thrill of fucking his best friend.
But that would destroy your friendship. It’s already starting. Does he really want to ruin two years of friendship just to satisfy his cock?
Speaking of the devil, he slows his pace to get to talk to you.
“Morning, babe, Welcome to Europe. Try not to step in any Swiss dog shit. It’s classy here, you know.”
Oh, right. It’s morning in Switzerland. You feel exhausted anyway.
You groan. ‘’So funny. Don’t forget you did walk on it too.’’
A shuttle van waits to cart the group to the hotel. Everyone piles in like sardines, Suguru silently suffering in the middle row, Nanami pretending to meditate, Sukuna already complaining about leg cramps.
You sink into the seat, resting your head against the window, watching Geneva whiz by. Mountains. Clean streets. Ridiculously picturesque buildings. It all looks like someone Photoshopped a dream you can’t afford.
“Do they even speak English here?” you wonder aloud, more to yourself than anyone else. Your gaze drifts to the driver, whose brisk efficiency makes him look like he might disapprove of your entire existence.
“French, mostly,” Suguru answers calmly from the seat in front of you, voice carrying just enough authority to cut through your haze. “Geneva’s in the French-speaking part of Switzerland, but almost everyone in the service industry speaks English.”
You raise your brows. “French? As in, all those roll-your-Rs-and-make-me-sound-like-a-tourist French?”
Satoru leans over from the seat, smirk tugging at his lips. “Relax, babe. Worst-case scenario, I’ll just flirt in English. Works everywhere.”
You scoff. “Ha! The Great Satoru Gojo can’t even talk in French? Pathetic.”
He raises a brow, pouting. “I do, duh. The essentials. Like…” He pauses for dramatic effect, then flashes you a grin. “J’ai super hâte de t’arracher tes vêtements dès qu’on arrivera à l’hôtel.”
Suguru groans from the front. “In French, Satoru, it’s ‘déshabiller.’ And also—you’re a creep.”
You laugh, nudging Utahime, who’s clearly enjoying Satoru’s failed attempt at being seductive—or menacing, you can’t tell. “And your accent sucks.”
Satoru shrugs, completely unbothered. “Details, details. You’ll forgive me once we get to the hotel.”
You roll your eyes so hard it nearly gets stuck. “How did I even get stuck in a hotel room with you?”
“Fate. And also, your GPA,” he says, casual as ever. “Science brought us together. Literally physics.”
You groan dramatically, muffled against the window. This is going to be a long trip.
The shuttle rolls to a smooth stop in front of the sleek, modern hotel. You press your forehead against the window, blinking at the shiny glass doors and polished lobby. And they didn’t have enough space for one room per person? Pfft. Morning sunlight glints off the building, but all you feel is the weight of the past eight hours of recycled airplane air.
“Finally,” you mutter, dragging your carry-on down the aisle. Your legs feel like spaghetti in flip-flop form.
Before anyone can get too comfortable, Yaga clears his throat from the back of the group. “Quick reminder, everyone—your hotel room pairings are final. Please respect them. No switching rooms, no… experiments, and yes, that includes you, Gojo. I expect everyone to check in and settle in properly before any excursions tomorrow. Understood?”
Satoru nods, smirk tugging at his lips. “Yes, Professor. We’re very responsible.”
The lobby smells faintly of coffee and expensive soap. You drag your suitcase up the steps, grateful for gravity and the chance to finally sit somewhere horizontal. Satoru follows, dangling his carry-on like it’s a toy.
“Room keys,” the clerk says, sliding a stack across the counter. Satoru snatches his with zero grace and immediately starts flirting with the receptionist. As always.
You groan into your hands. “Why am I stuck with him?”
Suguru murmurs behind you, deadpan. “Because physics brought you together, apparently.”
“Ah yes, my GPA. True love of my life,” you mutter, dragging your suitcase toward the elevators.
The others scatter to their respective rooms. Utahime is practically yelling at Sukuna in the hallway. “Did you seriously forget the keys?! What is wrong with you?!” Sukuna groans, muttering something about jet lag and airport chaos.
Finally, you and Satoru arrive at your room. You slide the key into the lock, and the door swings open to reveal a surprisingly decent suite. The room smells faintly of lavender and hotel-grade linen.
At least it has two beds. And a bathroom suite. Bless. You drop your bag onto the nearest bed like it’s a life raft.
Satoru strolls in, glancing around with a smirk. “I take this bed,” he declares, pointing to the one farthest from the door. “More space.”
You raise an eyebrow, dragging your suitcase toward the other bed. “Whatever. They’re the exact same, but if you want this one…”
He flops onto the chosen bed like he owns it (he kinda does now), grinning at you. “So fluffy… wanna try it?”
“As I said, they’re the same. I’ll try my own one, thanks.” You bury yourself into the mattress, inhaling the faintly hotel-fresh scent. Heaven. After hours of travel, it feels like a miracle.
Nobody talks for at least ten minutes. That is, until Satoru decides to get up.
“I’m gonna shower first!” he announces, flinging open his bag to reveal an arsenal of expensive shampoos, shower gels, and multiple skincare products. A real girlie.
You snort, flopping back onto your bed. “Of course you brought the entire Sephora catalog with you.”
He winks from the bathroom doorway. “Priorities, babe. Travel smart.”
Satoru disappears into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Ten seconds later, the faint sound of running water fills the room. And then—oh no—he starts humming.
At first, it’s soft, almost musical, but then you recognize it. Megan Thee Stallion. Quite funny, and the worst part is that he is kinda good at singing. In fact, he’s good at everything. You remember doing karaokes with him and he would always beat you— motherfucker got one of these vocals, that’s hella impressive.
After more than half an hour, the bathroom door swings open, and nothing but towelless confidence comes through.
“Ahhh… shower time,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair. “Reset for the day.”
Satoru saunters out like he’s on a runway, completely fucking naked, soap-slick hair sticking in his forehead. Droplets of water run along his pecs, then lower. You blink once. Then twice. Then your gaze lands on his dick for a beat, and you think you’ve never gotten so wet in your entire life.
“WHAT THE FUCK—GO DRESS UP, YOU FOOL!” you yell, scrambling upright on your bed, grabbing a throw pillow like a makeshift shield.
He flops onto his bed, hands behind his head, grin wide as ever. “Bleh… my bad. I always go out like this in the dorm room. Guess I forgot this wasn’t just me and Suguru.”
“WAIT—WHAT?! Suguru never told me about this?!” Your voice hits a pitch somewhere between arousal and indignation.
Satoru shrugs. “Why would he? It’s not like you two are that close.”
That lands weird.
You stare at him for a second longer than you should. And suddenly your brain goes, Okay. Maybe now. Maybe this is when we talk about it. The Seven Minutes in Heaven. The Sugu Bugu mess. The frat party. The weird tension. The way he’s been acting different.
Your mouth even opens, before your gaze finds his azure eyes, and you think, No.
Nope. Not while he’s naked. Not while your brain is short-circuiting and your body is reacting in ways that would 100% lead to unwanted consequences. Or… maybe wanted. Which is worse.
‘’You’re a fucking exhibitionnist, and it’s pathetic, Satoru. Ridiculous.’’
‘’You mean ridiculously big? I agree, but that’s ‘cause I'm hard, babe.’’ His hand starts wrapping around— okay that’s enough for you.
You whip the pillow at his face before he can say another word. You stand up quickly, grabbing your toiletry bag and keeping your eyes aggressively trained on the wall.
He grins. “Coward.”
“Put. Clothes. On. And if I come out and you’re still naked, I’m calling Suguru.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Threesome?” he calls after you.
“Pants, Satoru.”
You shut the bathroom door and exhale.
Yeah. You definitely need that shower. And shit, you’re soaking wet.
— ♡ —
A few hours later, it’s finally time to eat. Perfect—you’re starving. You don’t know much about Swiss specialties, but honestly, you’re ready to devour whatever’s on the table… as long as it doesn’t have tomatoes.
Your little group goes to the hotel restaurant, and ouh. It’s super fancy. Soft lighting, polished silverware, and Waiters moving like they trained for this their whole lives. They probably did, honestly. And oh, Swiss people are kinda pretty.
Everyone drops into their seats with impatience.
Menus are barely opened before people start ordering.
Within twenty minutes the table is full. Rösti stacked high and golden. Steak frites. Creamy pasta. Soup with thick slices of bread. Cheese plates that smell aggressively European. You think they call it raclette or something? And the water is sparkling! With actual gold sparkles! Like, that shit probably cost more than your BMW.
Sukuna pokes at his steak with visible disappointment.
“This isn’t red enough,” he mutters.
Utahime doesn’t even look up from her plate. “We’re not in America, dumbass.”
Nanami, sitting perfectly straight, cuts his food neatly with knife and fork like he’s at a diplomatic meeting. You swear that guy looks like he’s got Satoru’s dick buried into his ass. Across from him, Sukuna just grabs a fry with his fingers.
Nanami freezes.
“…Are you serious?”
Sukuna raises a brow. “What?”
“You’re in a restaurant.”
“And?”
Nanami exhales slowly. “You’re disgusting.”
Sukuna smirks and deliberately picks up a piece of steak with his hands just to make it worse.
On the other end of the table, Mei Mei is calmly discussing logistics with Yaga.
“So how much exactly did this trip cost the department?”
Yaga sighs like he regrets every decision that led here. “Enough. Please do not encourage them to waste more money.”
Choso listens quietly, nodding along like this is the most fascinating topic of the night.
You, meanwhile, are scanning the dessert section of the menu.
“Suguru,” you say seriously, leaning closer, “do they have Lindt here?”
He blinks at you. “We’re in Switzerland. I would assume so.”
“I need confirmation.”
Before he can respond, Ichiji’s dessert arrives. A beautiful slice of Swiss chocolate torte, glossy and dramatic, probably handcrafted by someone with a culinary degree.
Ichiji looks at it like it’s a fragile artifact.
Satoru looks at it like prey.
There is no warning.
One second the plate is in front of Ichiji.
The next second Satoru has already stolen a forkful.
“Hey—” Ichiji starts.
“Oh my god,” Satoru says, eyes lighting up. “This is insane. You weren’t going to finish this anyway.”
“I just got it…”
“Sharing is caring.”
“It’s not your dessert, please, Satoru—”
Too late. Satoru takes another bite.
Meanwhile, you and Suguru flag down a waiter. “Excuse me — do you sell Lindt here? Like, actual boxes?”
The waiter nods politely. “In the lobby shop, yes.”
You look at Suguru triumphantly. “We’re going after this!”
Satoru, still chewing stolen chocolate, leans back in his chair. “Sweets, you know I could just buy you the whole store, right?”
You don’t even look at him. “I don’t need your nepo-baby’s money, fuck off.”
‘’You’re fucking mean.’’ Ichiji, devastated, watches Satoru finish the last bite.
You and Suguru slip out quietly while the others are still arguing over steak doneness and dessert theft.
The lobby shop is small but aggressively Swiss. Chocolate everywhere. Clean shelves. Perfect lighting. It smells like cocoa and money. Your small paradise ! You’re already salivating.
“This,” you whisper dramatically, “is what we came to Switzerland for.”
Suguru hums beside you, hands in his pockets, scanning the shelves. “CERN might disagree.”
“CERN can wait. Lindt cannot.”
You immediately grab the blue boxes. Dark chocolate. Elite taste. Superior palate. You hold one to your chest like you’ve found treasure.
Suguru reaches for the red ones. “I think I'm gonna go for the milk chocolate ones.”
‘’Basic, but it’s a classic. Nice choice! I didn’t know you were into chocolates.’’
You both head to the counter, and as you’re paying, he casually answers, “I’ll share these with Satoru. You know his love for sweets.’’
That’s so cute. Your heart actually feels like it’s melting. Suguru is so considerate toward the others.
“Generous of you,” you say lightly.
He shrugs. “He’ll steal them anyway. Might as well pretend I’m offering.”
You laugh, nudging his arm as you step away from the register.
“So,” you say, lowering your voice slightly, “how is it rooming with Mei Mei?”
Suguru exhales through his nose like he’s been waiting for this question. “She’s… interesting.”
“That sounds diplomatic.”
“She asked me how much I’d be willing to pay to see her strip.”
You choke on air. “WHAT? Don’t tell me you answered.”
He shakes his head, amused. ‘’Sadly, she’s not my type.’’
You suddenly remember your conversation with Satoru in the closet, when he was stating that you were Suguru’s type. You kinda want to ask him ‘’what’s your type then?’’, but he quickly adds, closing the subject, “Outside of that, everything’s fine.’’
He glances at you. “What about you? Not too tired of Satoru yet?”
You scoff immediately. “I am tired. We literally never have productive conversations. He’s always unserious. Everything’s a joke. Everything’s deflection.”
You shift your chocolate from one hand to the other.
“With you at least,” you add, softer now, “I can actually talk. We have real conversations. You’re… interesting. And we like the same stuff. And you don’t walk around naked.”
Suguru laughs quietly. Seems like he understood what you were talking about. Satoru was really serious, then.
You look up at him, and he’s already looking at you.
There’s something steady in his expression. Warmer than usual.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “I think the same about you.”
A warm rush spreads through you, making you tingle.
Suguru leans down slightly, just enough that the space between you feels charged. Not rushed. Not chaotic like it is with Satoru. Just… intentional.
You can see each of his lashes, and now you can make out his eye color properly—deep brown with golden flecks and a hint of purple. So you weren’t imagining it.
You can feel the faint scent of him—coffee, a hint of amber, something calm and grounding—and it makes your chest tighten. Your lips part slightly, and suddenly the distance feels unbearable.
Suguru’s eyes flick down to your lips, then back to your eyes. There’s patience there, a question, a silent invitation. Your pulse races, the kind that makes your knees weak, and for one second, the rest of the world falls away.
You want to close the distance, to feel his lips against yours, to see if the warmth in his gaze translates to his touch. But just as your body leans in, Satoru’s voice cuts through the charged bubble.
“There you are!” Satoru announces loudly. “Sugu, you need to see this. Yuki and Sukuna are having a meat-eating competition and it’s getting violent.”
Suguru straightens immediately.
You blink, stepping back as if nothing was about to happen.
“What?” Suguru says.
“I’m serious,” Satoru continues, already dragging him away. “There’s money involved. You cannot miss this.”
Suguru glances back at you for half a second.
You’re already looking away, opening your chocolate box slowly. The message is clear : the intimate moment vanished away with Satoru’s interruption.
Suguru follows Satoru, who practically bounces with glee, dragging him toward the chaos. Once they’re out of earshot of you and the lobby, Suguru shoots him a glare.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he mutters, arms crossed. “Why were you spying on us?”
Satoru grins, not even trying to look guilty. “Can’t let you win, sorry. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get too comfortable with my girl.”
Suguru blinks. “…My girl?”
Satoru shrugs, flashing that infuriating grin. “Don’t act like you’re some sort of saint. You knew I was spying, and you still leaned in to kiss her on purpose, didn’t you? Trying to piss me off.”
Suguru snorts, shaking his head. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Satoru.”
Satoru laughs, loud and obnoxious. “Exactly. That’s the spirit. Now come on, this meat-eating apocalypse waits for no man.”
♡ ♡ ♡