Before the Punchline Lands

Gojo Satoru: "Then stop fighting it. I'm right here, Rikki — I've been right here."

Frustrated, Rikki presses her hands against Gojo's chest. "Do you know why I've been fighting it? Ive explained this to you before." She asks quietly.

Rikki's hands press flat against Gojo's chest — not pushing him away, not pulling him in, just grounding herself against something solid while the tears track quietly down her face. The fabric of his shirt bunches slightly under her palms and he goes absolutely still beneath her touch, his thumb still curved at her cheekbone, letting her say it. Behind her, Choso lifts his head from his bow and just watches, jaw tight with something he won't name. Megumi's hand finds the doorframe — not leaving, not entering, just holding on.

Gojo Satoru: "Yeah. You said you were scared of what happens when the show ends and the cameras turn off and it stops being a game — and I'm still here, and that terrifies you more than any of it."

"No, thats... not right at all." Rikki's face contorts. "Do you remember what I told you about my sister, about the money - the ratings?"

The name — her sister — lands in the room like something dropped from a great height, and Gojo's face does something she's never seen it do: it just stops. The performance, the composure, the careful architecture of every deflection he's ever run — all of it halts, because he knows exactly what she's talking about, and she can see the moment he realizes he got it wrong. His thumb doesn't move from her cheekbone but his eyes track down for just a second, involuntary, like a man absorbing a hit he walked right into. From the doorway, Megumi's hand tightens on the frame.

Gojo Satoru: "The ratings. The — if you leave before the finale, the payout drops and she doesn't get the surgery covered."

Gojo Satoru: "Rikki. I just said it back wrong. I know why you're scared. I've always known."

"Yeah." Rikki looks to the side. "Do you think im lying to you?" She confronts him.

The question lands flat and quiet — do you think I'm lying to you — and Rikki turns her face to the side as she says it, which is somehow worse than if she'd said it straight to his eyes. Gojo's thumb goes still against her cheekbone. The ambient glow catches the wet track on her face, and he stares at the side of her jaw for a long moment, something working in his throat — not a swallow, something harder than that. In the doorway, Choso's hands have dropped to his sides and he's looking at the floor now, giving them the only privacy the room allows; Megumi hasn't moved an inch, but his grip on the doorframe has loosened, like he stopped bracing and started just... witnessing.

Gojo Satoru: "No. I think you're terrified — and I got the shape of it wrong, and that's on me."

"You did." Rikki takes a deep breath. "I think we need to start doing this the right way." The tears begin to flow faster as she holds back sobs. "I left a date because I was summoned to find you, and you should have seen the look on Yuji's face. It was like I gutted him. I cant just come to you at the drop of a hat. You arent the only person here." Shebgrips onto his shoulders, tears falling to table ground as she gently sobs.

The sobs come in quiet waves — not dramatic, not performed, just the real thing — and Rikki's grip on his shoulders tightens as she says it: Yuji's face, the date she left, the look. Tears hit the floor between them like small admissions, and Gojo's hand finally drops from her cheek, both of his coming up to cover hers where they press into his shoulders — not pulling her in, not managing her, just holding her hands in place so she knows he's here and not going anywhere. In the hallway, Choso lifts his head and goes very still, jaw working once and stopping. Megumi steps back from the doorframe by half a step — not leaving, just giving the room more air — and his eyes move to the floor with the specific quality of someone who understands exactly what it costs to say a thing like that out loud.

Gojo Satoru: "You're right. I called you and you came and I didn't think about what you were leaving behind to do it — and that's on me, Rikki, not on you."

That admission broke Rikki completely down. She presses her head against his chest, in full ugly-cry mode. It hurt, letting others down. Others she cares so much about. She grips onto him tighter, as if to ask him to please not leave her.

The sob breaks out of her all at once — not pretty, not controlled, the full ugly-cry kind that she's been holding back for three days — and she presses her face into Gojo's chest like she's trying to disappear into it. His arms come up around her without hesitation, no calculation in it, no performance, just both hands spreading across her back and holding on while her shoulders shake. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't try to fix it. He just stands there and takes the weight of her, his chin coming down to rest against the top of her head, his grip tightening by one small degree when she clutches harder — yes, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere — answered entirely through his hands. In the hallway mouth, Choso exhales quietly through his nose and looks away, giving her the only privacy he can; Megumi doesn't move, but he closes his eyes for exactly one second, jaw working once.

Gojo Satoru: "I've got you. You don't have to hold any of that right now."

She sobs begin to lessen, and Rikki calms herself with shaky breaths, pulling away to take some deep breaths. "Are there any tissues anywhere?" She wonders, her eyes puffy and entire face a little red from the crying fit

The sobs slow in waves — one big shudder, then shorter ones, then just the ragged inhale-exhale of someone coming back to the surface. Rikki pulls back from Gojo's chest by inches, blinking against the low light, her face flushed and swollen in the specific way that means she cried all the way down and not halfway. She drags the back of her hand across her cheek, then seems to remember where she is — cameras, villa, eight witnesses, overcast night — and the question comes out half-mortified and half-laughing through her nose.

Gojo Satoru: "Yeah, hold on."

Choso: "There's a whole box on the kitchen counter — I'll grab it."

"Until the show is over, we see each other on my terms and my terms only. No interruptions. Is that something you can do?" Rikki is firm, but there's still a sadness in her voice. She looks up at him, devastated by how unfair it all was.

Choso reappears from the kitchen doorway with a fistful of tissues held out like an offering, quiet enough not to break the moment, and sets them on the cushion beside Rikki before stepping back without a word. She takes one, presses it to her face, and then looks back up at Gojo — and what she says lands soft and devastated and completely immovable all at once, the kind of sentence that only gets said by someone who has already decided. His hands go very still on her arms. He doesn't look away. Somewhere behind him, in the hallway, Megumi exhales once through his nose and goes still — and the rest of the room holds the same breath.

Gojo Satoru: "Yeah. I can do that."

"Let's spend one last night together before the terms go into effect. I want to show you how much I mean it." She decides, looking up into his eyes.

Something shifts in Gojo's expression — not the performance, not the charm, just him, raw and quiet in the low light, looking at Rikki like she's the only solid thing in the room. His hands move from her arms to her face without asking, both palms cradling her jaw the way he did when this whole night cracked open, and his thumbs brush the last dried tracks from her cheeks in two slow arcs. In the kitchen doorway, Choso turns away and walks quietly back toward the counter, giving them the room; Megumi uncurls his grip from the hallway wall and disappears into the dark of the corridor without a word — the specific retreat of someone who understands exactly what they're witnessing and respects it too much to stay.

Gojo Satoru: "One night. On your terms. I'll follow your lead all the way to the end of it."

Rikki takes his hand, leads him into the villa, and slowly walks up to her room. She opens the door, leads him in, and closes it behind them.

She takes his hand from her face and stands, and he rises with her without a word — not performing, not reaching for a line, just following the pull of her grip through the quiet villa. The hallway is dim, the stairs soft underfoot, and when she pushes open the door to her room and steps inside, she turns back only long enough to make sure he's still there before she lets the door fall shut behind them with a small, final click. The overcast sky presses pale through the curtains, and the room is very still, and for once, neither of them reaches for something to say.

Gojo Satoru: "You know I'm going to be very well-behaved on your terms starting tomorrow."

"Good. Tonight doesn't count." She pushes him down on the bed and leans in to kiss him, long and slow.

She pushes him down by his chest with both hands — not rough, not a question — and he goes, the mattress dipping under his weight, his eyes never leaving her face. She leans in and kisses him slow and deliberate, the kind that has no destination, no performance, just the long warm press of it filling the whole room. His hands come up to her waist and stay there, holding without gripping, like he's trying to prove he can follow without steering — and for once in his life, he manages it.

Gojo Satoru: "Tonight doesn't count. Got it. I can work with that."

Rikki steps back from Gojo for a moment and begins to undress. "You have permission this time to look, by the way." She tosses her clothes aside, bare in front of him

The pale light through the curtains catches her in full as she steps back — unhurried, deliberate, nothing to hide and nowhere to look away from. Gojo goes very still on the bed, which is the most honest thing he's done all week; he doesn't look away, doesn't reach, doesn't say the first thing that comes to mind — just watches her with the kind of attention that has no performance left in it. The overcast night presses quiet against the window, and the room holds around the two of them like a held breath.

Gojo Satoru: "Yeah. I'm looking."

"Talk to me, Satoru. Just say.... something." Rikki stands nude in front of him, all of the sudden wondering if this was too much too fast

Gojo doesn't look away. He doesn't reach. He just breathes — slow and deliberate, the way a person breathes when they're choosing not to let their hands do the thinking. The pale overcast light through the curtains catches the line of his jaw, the very careful way he is holding himself still on the edge of the bed, and the silence stretches one beat past comfort before he finally opens his mouth. The doubt on Rikki's face is real — that flicker of too much, too fast — and somehow he clocks it the instant it crosses her, because his expression shifts: the last atom of performance dissolves, and what he looks like instead is just a person, quietly wrecked, trying to find words that are actually the right ones.

Gojo Satoru: "You're the most terrifying thing I've ever seen. And I mean that as the highest possible compliment."

Rikki makes her way over to the bed, climbing up next to Gojo. "Still scared?" She asks

Rikki crosses the room without rushing — there's nowhere else to be — and climbs onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping under her weight, close enough that her shoulder nearly touches his. The overcast night presses pale and even through the curtains, no shadows to hide in, just the low warm dark of the room. She turns her face toward his and asks it plainly, like it's the only question left.

Gojo Satoru: "Terrified. Completely. Absolutely. Yeah."

She hesitantly reaches for the ends of his shirt, looking at him as if to ask for permission to take it off

Rikki's fingers find the hem of his shirt — tentative, barely there, like she's asking a question she hasn't put into words yet. She looks up at him instead of pulling, and the pause stretches: not awkward, but weighted, the kind of silence that needs an answer. Gojo goes very still. He watches her hands, then her face, and something in his expression shifts from terrified to something quieter, more deliberate — like a man making a choice he already knows he won't regret.

Gojo Satoru: "Yeah. Go ahead."

She lifts his shirt over his head, setting it gently on the other side of the bed. She then reaches for his pants, beginning to unbutton, unzip, and remove. But before she does, she asks,"is this too much too fast?" Better to say it out loud

Rikki lifts his shirt smooth and slow, the fabric whispering over his shoulders, and sets it folded on the far side of the bed — careful, like she means it. Her hands drop to his waistband and pause there, fingers resting on the button without moving, and she looks up at him in the low dim light and asks the question out loud. The room holds the question between them like a breath it isn't sure yet whether to release.

Gojo Satoru: "No. But I think you already know that — and I think that's exactly why you said it out loud."

Rikki removes his pants, then underwear, then hovers above him, the moonlight cascading on their bodies in the most beautiful way. "What are you thinking right now?" She asks, as she gently begins to run her fingers through his hair with one hand, and toy with his chest with the other.

The overcast moonlight finds them through the gap in the curtains — pale, diffuse, the kind of light that softens every edge — and Rikki settles above him like she belongs there, her fingers threading slow through his hair, her other hand tracing absent circles against his sternum. Gojo goes very still beneath her, the way still water is still — full of everything, moving nothing. He watches her face for a long moment before he answers, and when he does, his voice comes out quieter than anything she's heard from him in six days.

Gojo Satoru: "I'm thinking — I don't know how to do this without performing it. And I'm doing it anyway."

"Well, I think in this case, thats kind of the idea." Rikki smiles as she lays down across his body, beginning to kiss his neck.

Rikki's lips find the curve of his neck and she can feel him go completely, utterly still — not the practiced stillness of a man managing himself, but the stillness of someone who has genuinely run out of moves and stopped pretending that's a problem. His hands come up slowly, one settling at the small of her back like it belongs there, one sliding into her hair — unhurried, no performance in it anywhere. The moonlight catches the line of her spine and the pale overcast dark holds the room soft and close around them, and for the first time in six days, Satoru Gojo says absolutely nothing, and it is the most honest thing he has ever done.

Gojo Satoru: "Yeah. That's exactly the idea."

🌙 say his name — just that, nothing else

Rikki's lips pause at the curve of his neck — not pulling back, just stilling — and she says it into his skin, quiet as a breath: Satoru. Just that. The room doesn't move. His hands, one at her back and one threaded through her hair, tighten by a single degree — not urgency, just acknowledgment, the way a person holds something they are suddenly aware they could lose. The pale overcast light through the curtain gap finds the line of her shoulder and the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his chest beneath her.

Gojo Satoru: "Say it again."

Rikki boldly reaches a hand down, searching between his legs. In no time, finds what she's looking for and begins to gently stroke him. "Satoru..." she whispers breathlessly again.