The moment you step into the office, you already know he’s up to something.

"Finally decided to show up, huh?" Gojo drawls, lounging in your chair like he owns the place. His long legs are kicked up on your desk, arms crossed behind his head, exuding the kind of arrogance only he can pull off.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. "Move."

He grins, not budging an inch. "What’s the magic word?"

"Get out before I throw you out."

Gojo whistles low, pushing up his blindfold just enough to reveal those obnoxiously bright eyes. "Feisty today. Something on your mind? Or someone?"

You roll your eyes, grabbing the nearest file and swatting at his leg. He dodges effortlessly, of course, laughing as he finally stands—too close, as always.

"You know," he muses, tapping a finger against his chin, "I think you secretly enjoy our morning chats. You’d miss me if I stopped."

"You wanna test that theory?"

His grin widens. "Not a chance."

And just like that, he’s gone, hands in his pockets, whistling as he disappears down the hall. You exhale, shaking your head.

Working with Gojo Satoru is a headache. A very persistent, infuriating headache.