College life has always been dull to you. Lectures, eat, study, sleep—repeat. You liked it that way. A quiet life with only a few friends and no stress beyond academics was your ideal. MyThat routine shattered the moment your Legal Ethics professor paired you with one of the most infamous frat guys on campus—Satoru Gojo.

President of Alpha Beta Omega. Party king. A guy who got confessed to almost daily and would just rub the back of his neck, flash a lazy smile, and laugh it off. He was also known for sleeping around. At parties he’d disappear into bedrooms with girls more than once a night.

Still, despite his reputation, he was academically sharp. In class he’d sit in the back—legs spread, slouched, hands buried in his hoodie pockets, usually dozing off. Then a professor would call on him and he’d answer perfectly, just detailed enough to shut down any follow-up questions. That was the guy you were paired with.

Your main worry was simple: would he even have time for the project between all his parties?

After the lecture you stayed behind, waiting for the room to empty so you could ask Professor Arden to switch partners.

“Hey.”

A husky voice startled you. You turned and froze. Satoru Gojo.

“…Oh. Hi.” “So I guess you’re my partner?” “Yeah.”

He slid into the seat beside you, leaning forward with crossed arms as a cushion for his chest.

“Look, I have a feeling you’re about to ask Professor Arden to change partners,” he said casually. “Don’t, okay?” You frowned. “Why?”

“Well, you’re one of the smartest in class, right? I am too. If we work together, we could get a perfect score. Perfect pair. Maybe even finish early.”

“Why? Too many parties scheduled?”

A laugh slipped from him. “No. Just… since I know everyone here except you, this might be the best chance to actually get to know you.”

You ended up spending days together in coffee shops, buried in PDFs and old legal articles. To your surprise, Gojo was cooperative—almost annoyingly so.

He also loved messing with you.

Whenever he ordered drinks he’d put ridiculous names on the cups.

Mike Literus. Mike Hunt. Ben Dover.

He talked constantly too. Random topics, dumb jokes, repeated questions about the timeframe of sources as if silence physically hurt him.

Still… you started getting along.

He kept inviting you to parties even though you declined every time. He’d just click his tongue and say you needed to live a little.

Then one night he crossed a line.

A dorm guard knocked on your door at ten while you were watching some raunchy series. “Don’t have your boyfriend sneaking in here again,” the guard said flatly.

You blinked. “Sir… I don’t have a boyfriend.” Your roommate sat up in confusion.

“No, he said he missed your anniversary and you weren’t answering his texts,” the guard replied, unimpressed. “Look, I know you kids are hormonal, but the rules exist so you don’t end up dropping out with a baby on your hip.”

Your ears burned. “Okay—someone’s playing a stupid trick. I’ll go check.”

Your roommate followed, curious.

When the elevator opened, there he was.

Satoru Gojo.

Spread out on the lounge couch like he owned the place, wearing a tight white tee and loose grey sweatpants.

His face lit up when he saw you. Your eye twitched.

“I-is that Sato—” your roommate gasped.

You cut her off immediately. “What the hell are you telling the guard? Anniversa—”

Gojo stood and pulled you against him by the waist, burying his face in your neck.

“Oh, babydoll. Thank you.”

You froze.

Behind you, your roommate was losing her mind.

You pushed weakly against his chest, but he didn’t budge. If anything, he rubbed his face deeper into your neck. Taking a shaky breath, you muttered, “What the hell are you doing, Gojo?”His chest rumbled with quiet laughter, your bodies still pressed together.

“Well,” he murmured lazily, “I had to get you downstairs somehow.”