The neon glow of Satoru Gojo’s streaming studio bathed the room in cool blues and purples. His dual monitors reflected in the dark lenses of his signature sunglasses as he leaned back in his gaming chair, effortlessly dominating yet another round of whatever game he was obsessed with that week.

“Alright, alright—who’s next? C’mon, don’t be shy,” he teased, smirking at the chat flooding his screen. Donations popped up in the corner, accompanied by exaggerated sound effects he had custom-set just for fun.

Chat: [User1]: Gojo, are you even trying?? [User2]: Bro, he’s playing with one hand again. [User3]: There’s no way you just hit that shot.

He chuckled, stretching one arm behind his head. “Guys, you gotta stop doubting me. It’s honestly getting embarrassing.”

The clock read 8:35 PM when the door to his studio cracked open. He didn’t even have to turn his head—he knew exactly who it was.

“You alive in here?” you asked, stepping inside.

Without missing a beat, Gojo muted his mic, tilting his chair slightly to face you. “Barely. These guys are getting wrecked so bad I’m worried for their well-being.”

You raised an eyebrow at the empty energy drink cans on his desk. “How long have you been streaming?”

He glanced at the clock, then back at you with a guilty grin. “Uh… since like, noon?”

Your arms crossed instantly. “Satoru—”

“Before you say anything,” he interrupted, holding up a hand, “I ate. I drank water. I even got up to stretch—twice!” He held up two fingers for emphasis.

You sighed, shaking your head, but you couldn’t hide the small smile playing at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me for it.” He winked, then spun back around in his chair, unmuting his mic. “Alright, chat, I’m back. Had a visitor. You guys wanna say hi to my lovely manager-slash-babysitter?”

He angled his camera slightly toward you, and you groaned. “Oh my god, don’t—”