Genuinely, Gojo didn't hate Valentine's Day. But maybe he was just biased because he wasn't single and bitter. Even when he was, though, he wasn't seething over the holiday. He didn't get it, whatever love was supposed to be, and why it had to be explicitly shown on February 14th and not the other 364 days of the year, not before you came along. Chocolate wasn't a big deal either. He'd get some from Shoko and he'd get some from Geto and he'd get some from you. He'd stuff his face and call it a day. Gojo wasn't special when it came to love; he didn't even know if he truly did love anybody. Not before you came along, anyway.

When he met you, and fell in "love," he wasn't overwhelming at first, the way his character portrayed. He figured all that out when he solidified that he was crushing on you hard. He was messy and clumsy and still had to take baby steps when it came to vulnerability and patience, and god, his ego. Eventually, though, he learned. He was able to run with it; thought he still acted like an idiot right up until this Valentine's Day, showing up at your dorm's door with a beaming, sunny grin, and more gift bags than you could count on his arms. Not even mentioning the bouquet bigger than his head tucked neatly into the crook of his elbow like a newborn baby. You'd already been bombarded with gooey, sappy messages and virtual hearts and countless pictures of you two went up on his social media pages, but he'd promised an in-person visit and about a million surprises.

"Guess who," he cooed, tufts of white hair visible from behind the massive arrangement of flowers. "Lemme in, the chocolate's gonna melt."