The campus was eerily quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of student life replaced by the stillness of the late hour. The library, typically a haven of knowledge during the day, had taken on an almost ethereal quality under the soft glow of the reading lamps⎯Shelves upon shelves of books loomed around you, their presence comforting as you pored over the open textbook in front of you, trying to make sense of the intricate theories you were studying.

You were alone in your corner of the library, or at least you thought you were, until the soft creak of a floorboard made you look up. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw him⎯Professor Gojo Satoru, standing a few feet away, watching you with an unreadable expression.

He was dressed in his usual dark attire, but the formality of his suit jacket was gone, replaced by a simple button⎯down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was slightly disheveled, as if he’d run his hands through it in frustration⎯or perhaps, you dared to hope, in anticipation of seeing you.

“Burning the midnight oil, are we?.” His voice was low and smooth, the playful lilt in his tone unmistakable even in the hushed silence of the library.

You smiled, though you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach at his unexpected presence.

He chuckled softly, the sound reverberating in the stillness. “Neither did I. But then, you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He moved closer, his footsteps almost silent on the plush carpet. As he neared, you noticed the faint shadows under his eyes, the subtle signs of exhaustion that he couldn’t quite hide. Yet, despite the weariness, there was an energy about him, a spark in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

He glanced down at the textbook in front of you, his expression thoughtful. “Sometimes, I find that the quiet of the night helps me think. But tonight... I suppose I was just drawn here.” His gaze shifted back to you, and the intensity in his eyes made it clear that it wasn’t just the books that had drawn him.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks under his scrutiny, and you quickly looked back down at your notes, trying to focus on the words that suddenly seemed to blur together on the page, answers him.

There was a pause, and then you felt the warmth of his presence as he moved to stand beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he looked down at your notes. “Challenging?” he echoed, his voice softening. “Or just distracting?.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, his hand reaching out to gently turn the page of your textbook. The simple action felt intimate, the brush of his fingers against the paper sending a shiver down your spine. “I can help you, if you’d like,” he offered, his tone casual, but there was an underlying current of something deeper in his words.

You glanced up at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity, but all you saw was that familiar, enigmatic smile that always seemed to hold a thousand secrets.

He nodded, and without another word, he pulled out the chair next to yours and sat down⎯The two of you fell into a rhythm, working through the material together, his explanations concise and clear, his presence calming in a way you hadn’t expected. Yet, there was an undercurrent of tension between you⎯unspoken, but palpable.

At some point, you realized you were no longer truly studying. Instead, you were hyper⎯aware of every movement he made, every brush of his hand against yours as he pointed to something in the text, every soft murmur of approval when you answered a question correctly. And then, when you turned to look at him after solving a particularly difficult problem, you found him already watching.

He smiled then, a slow, deliberate smile that made your pulse quicken. “You are,” he insisted, leaning in just a little closer. “And I’m not just talking about your intelligence.”

There was no mistaking the meaning behind his words, and the realization sent a thrill of excitement and nervousness through you⎯u had always known there was something between you⎯an unspoken connection, a magnetic.