Sugar Rush

23

The morning sun cast a gentle glow through my curtains, signaling the beginning of a new day. As I reluctantly opened my eyes, the awareness of the impending school day settled in, accompanied by a heavy sigh that betrayed my annoyance. The soft warmth of my bed seemed to plead for just a few more moments of escape, but the certainty of the day's challenges pulled me into wakefulness.

I rolled over to check the time, hoping it was still early enough to find solace in the embrace of sleep. However, reality asserted itself, and I begrudgingly pushed back the covers, my irritation brewing beneath the surface. The anticipation of facing the day ahead mingled with the frustration that I couldn't avoid encountering the guy I couldn't stand.

Dragging myself out of bed, I navigated the familiar routine with a certain weariness, the thought of encountering him casting a shadow over my morning. The mirror reflected a face that mirrored my discontent—an expression marked by a subtle frown and a furrowed brow as if my features themselves protested the impending encounter.

The sound of the alarm clock was a relentless reminder of the approaching school day, and with each passing minute, my annoyance intensified. I reluctantly dressed, each article of clothing feeling like armor against the looming unpleasantness. The knot of irritation in my stomach tightened as I imagined the inevitable interactions with the guy I harbored such disdain for.

My attention from my thoughts were immediately turned towards the door. 

The sound of knuckles meeting the wood resonated through the air and for a brief moment, the door echoed. A gust of wind, dark and foreboding, erupted from the threshold as if the door itself exhaled a malevolent breath. The force was so potent that it swept the person back. The sound of the person stumbling, fighting against the unseen hand that pushed against them, their senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the supernatural backlash of the curse I had placed on the door before going to bed.

I slowly opened the door to see Geto with his hands in his pocket looking behind him to  Gojo standing there in shock. . His white hair, typically unruffled, fluttered in the unexpected gust of power, and his vibrant eyes widened with surprise.

As Gojo steadied himself, the air crackled with residual energy, echoing the intensity of the encounter. His gaze, now more focused and appraising, met the inscrutable gaze of the cursed door. Even someone as formidable as Gojo couldn't ignore the potent magic woven into the very fabric of the entrance.

"You cursed your door to prevent Gojo from even knocking," Geto chuckled, "I guess you should get the message Satoru."

With a wry smile that hinted at a mixture of amusement and intrigue, Gojo considered the challenge laid before him. 

I only rolled my eyes and sighed, "I take it you are here to escort me to class."

"Initially, it was only me," Suguru began, "But Gojo made it his mission to tag-a-long."

"Well, dogs do tend to be loyal to their faithful master and follow their lead."

"EXCUSE ME!" Gojo yelled offended by what I had just called him.

Yet, I only turned the corner and walked in the direction of where I knew Principal Yagi's energy was. It was quite pointless, to say the least, to have them escort me when he knew I could find him on my own but I guess it was understandable given he didn't know the extent of my powers and probably was relying on the bond between Geto and I. Fine then let's make something more public.

" Say Suguru, we should go on another date sometime soon," I casually stated.

Suguru in his usual fashion, exuded an air of casual charm. "I'd love to. It's not every day someone as intriguing as you ask me out."

"Heighten for .009 seconds,"  I thought listening intently to the sounds of pure pleasure to my ear. The sound of his tightening of his jaw, the subtle clenching of his fists as he grappled with a storm of conflicting feelings. The air crackled with a silent tension, and I could almost taste the bitterness of regret on the tip of my tongue but it was quickly masked by my lips curled upward ever so slightly, forming a subtle but unmistakable smile as I observed the visible and invisible signs of Gojo's unease.

My smile wasn't one of sadistic pleasure but rather a manifestation of the mental warfare I had waged and triumphed in. It was a knowing smile, a testament to my strategic prowess and the psychological edge I had gained over my opponent.

"You may be the strongest sorcerer Gojo-but it seems that you have one weakness."