Chapter Text
accidentally is really a strong word, isn’t it?
satoru gojo doesn’t make “mistakes.” that one time he forgot to make lunch for both of the kids? well, that was a test of their survival skills. when he let a cursed spirit get away because he saw a new bakery down the street and had to try it? that was just for fun—he likes a little chase.
satoru doesn’t do things on accident, of course, because he lacks basically all faults—but he’s only human, okay?
there’s only so long one man can go sleeping next to the same person every night—suffocating said person with the entire weight of his body and being lulled to sleep by a strong heartbeat—before he accidentally gets a little bit confused.
and so, you’re standing in an aisle at a grocery store, staring at a collection of snacks and trying to discern what, exactly, tsumiki meant by “the blue sweet things.”
you’ve been there for about three minutes—satoru having gone to hide some impulse purchases, probably, or annoy a poor stock person—when a gentleman taps you on the shoulder.
you look lost, he says, but kindly—and oh, he’s got a name tag, the stores logo embedded on the front of his hat—how can he help?
so you reluctantly launch into a story about your nine-year-old daughter, and your daughter’s friend, who introduced her to some snack, which, apparently, until tsumiki can have again, she won’t be able to eat anything else.
she’s not being picky, you quote, just particular.
and it’s right when you’re laughing with this man, telling him about tsumiki’s puppy dog eyes and completely unhelpful descriptions, that satoru rounds the corner.
he’s already focused in on you, as always, so his eyes don’t have to do a lot of seeking. it takes one breath, a clarification of what he already knew, and he’s walking towards the both of you.
(though, having the strongest sorcerer of the modern age, blessed since birth, trained since a child, heading directly for you—target in mind—can’t really be classified as walking. running, maybe. teleporting ten meters in a matter of seconds. what bounds does satoru gojo know, after all?)
“there you are,” he says, in some sweet version of a strange man who’s been stalking you. which, honestly, he has. “i’ve been looking all over.”
satoru announces this basically into the back of your head, because he’s not even a step behind you.
he’s just appeared, suddenly, and you don’t even have the time to be shocked about it. no time to flinch, or tell him to stop scaring you like that.
and satoru has no regard for personal space, or respecting other people’s bubbles, but this is excessively close, even for him.
so immediately, you’re suspicious. but when aren’t you, around your curse of a co-parent?
“you ran away from me,” you say, trying to push him back with your elbow, giving him a side eye you hope he can feel.
“i get lost. who’s this?”
the man opens his mouth, already looking wildly uncomfortable. it is a bit bewildering to have a tall, strange blindfolded man stare at you like you’re a threat, you guess.
satoru really must be taking intimidation lessons from megumi.
you breathe out, nudging him again. “he was trying to help me find the treat tsumiki wanted.”
“oh, was he?” satoru says this completely pleasantly, but he’s not grinning. and, by this point, he’s made a wet spot on the back of your neck from breathing too hard.
he’s entirely too warm and far too strong to push away. honestly, satoru is a playbook for abusing one’s power.
at least you’re not completely, totally disgusted by him. at least.
you refrain from rolling your eyes. “yup. i think we narrowed it down to three or four options.”
the man smiles, taking a not-so-subtle step back. “there’s a popular brand that i—“
“i already know what tsumiki wants.”
you turn, irritation spiking. “what? no, you don’t, satoru, you already told—“
“thanks for trying to help my wife, though. we’ve got it.”
both of his hands come to rest on your shoulders, basically holding you to him while satoru probably places a hex on this poor man with his glare.
and you would laugh, honestly. you would cackle in satoru’s face and grab the attendant by the arm, leaving your fake husband—and his lies—behind without a second thought.
but you can’t. maybe you’ve lost your mind. maybe satoru’s just a little bit too close in this very moment—for thinking rational thoughts, at least.
“o-of course, have a…” the man begins to say, but he doesn’t even attempt to finish his sentence before he’s turning around, quickly exiting the isle before satoru can say anything else completely idiotic.
you shake his hands off, turning. “what are you doing?”
it’s like a switch has flipped because satoru immediately grins, looking as clueless and irritating as ever. “what? i’m just trying to shop.”
“you just scared that man off for no reason. and now i don’t even know which ones to get.”
“i’ll find them.”
“he could’ve found them if you weren’t glaring at him like an animal.”
satoru begins to trifle through the packages on the display, oh so oblivious. “we should just get one of each. tsumiki can share with her friends.”
“she doesn’t want all of them, satoru.”
“then i’ll eat the rest.”
“hey,” you say, pulling at his sleeve. “you called me your wife.”
satoru looks at you, tapping his chin. “oh, did i?”
“i told you to quit it with that.”
“oops,” he shrugs. “i must’ve gotten confused.”
“satoru.”
“what? sometimes my words get mixed up.”
“this is the sixth time this month.”
he sighs, tilting his head back in a display of agony. “working hard puts such a strain on my head.”
“you haven’t had work in a week.”
“a big strain. ginormous. lasts for years.”
“im serious,” you say, pulling at the hair sticking up from his blindfold. “i don’t want you to call me that.”
satoru’s mouth turns. “why not?”
“because it’s not true.”
he waves a hand, turning away once again. “a little white lie never hurt anyone.”
“i’ll hurt you if you keep doing that.”
“ooh,” he mock shivers. “that was scary. say it again.”
“satoru.”
“he was looking at you weird,” he relents, tapping on your head like you’re a small child he needs to console. satoru pouts, looking down at you. “and you had that little wrinkle on your face. i wanted to make sure he wasn’t bothering you.”
he says this so pathetically, faking a sort of sympathy he has obviously never felt. satoru then takes his thumb to smooth out the so-called wrinkle.
you slap his hand away. “you walked up from behind me,” you point out, incredulous, “and he wasn’t even looking at me. he was looking at the wall so he could help.”
satoru blinks at you. he whispers, very dryly, “you were laughing.”
“i was telling him what tsumiki said.”
“he was probably gathering information so he could follow you home. i saved you. you’re welcome.”
“are you kidding me?”
satoru grins. “don’t worry. i’d never let that happen.”
“he was like eighty years old. i don’t even think he could follow me out of this isle without needing to stop and catch his breath.”
“better safe than sorry,” he runs that very same thumb—the one you pushed away—down the side of your cheek. just to watch you shiver.
you take a breath in and will yourself not to react. “better go find someone to help us before i kick you.”
he just laughs. “okay, wifey. whatever you say.”
you scowl. “stop calling me that!”
“it was an accident,” satoru looks away, grinning. “jeez, i can’t even make one mistake with you.”