Despite being the head of the clan, Satoru doesn’t come home to his clan grounds often. Not unless his presence was strictly necessary, he avoids the Gojo clan grounds, the neutral, earthy tones, the smell of cedar wood and jasmine in the air, the way the traditional architecture is leached of all warmth and personality.

It’s too formal there, too rigid and cold and yet Satoru finds himself among the tatami mats and perfectly groomed shrubbery. A clan meeting that taxed his patience for bullshit, forced calmness as his cousins and uncles disputed over something he had little interest in. Hours of listening to them has left him impatient and frustrated, because he could be doing something much more productive elsewhere.

Still Satoru has three more days until he can leave and go back to Tokyo, back to his apartment, back to Jujutsu Tech and away from his pompous, arrogant clansmen. So he’s grateful to find the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine when he enters his quarters, grand and ostentatious like the rest of the grounds, the sound of water trickling from his bathroom. He crosses over the tatami mats, passing his neat futon and finds you preparing the bath for him.

You were a mystery to Satoru — a puzzle he could never quite figure out. You’ve been serving the Gojo clan since he was a kid and he was fairly sure you were around the same age if not a little younger than him. He watches as you silently and efficiently prepare the bath, the traditional tub filled with steaming warm water and oils, the steam curling in the air and making Satoru’s hair dampen ever so slightly.

“You don’t have to do that y’know,” Satoru muses as he watches you, leaning against the door frame.

You were an enigma — you didn’t suck up to him or appear afraid of him, more of a mysterious third thing and Satoru’s always been too curious for his own good. He wonders why you serve his clan, whether you hate them or even him, whether there’s more to than meets the eye.

“I’m more than capable of preparing my own baths.”