Gojo tried not to look at you.

He failed every time.

His blue eyes drifted back on instinct alone, lashes fluttering slow and stupid it as if his brain couldn’t keep up with how fast his heart reacted.

It was embarrassing. He knew it was. But something about you pulled at him in a way he didn’t know how to fight.

You were loud in the best way. Warm. Bright. The kind of person people leaned toward without realizing they were moving.

Outgoing, sharp, funny—so loved it almost hurt to watch. If someone didn’t like you, it was obvious they were the problem. Crazy. Boring. Jealous.

He believed that with his whole chest. To him, you were… right. 
Soft when it mattered. Firm when it mattered. Like you knew how to exist without apologizing for it. He admired that quietly, obsessively, from his desk two rows back.

He thought about asking you out for weeks. The idea lived in his head like a song on repeat—never loud, never gone. Just looping. He rehearsed sentences during lectures he barely heard. Wrote them down in the margins of his notes, crossed them out, rewrote them. Tried notes. Tried timing it perfectly.

Every attempt slipped through his fingers. There was always someone around you. Friends, laughter, movement. You were never alone long enough for him to work up the nerve. By the time class ended, you were usually gone—swept away before he could even stand.

Today, though… today felt different.

Class dragged. His knee bounced under the desk. He didn’t hear half of what the professor said. His pulse was loud in his ears, hands slightly clammy as he stared at the clock.

Five minutes.
Three.
One.

When dismissal finally came, he froze. Students filed out, voices overlapping, chairs scraping. He stayed seated, shoulders tense, watching as the crowd around you thinned. His chance. His only one.

Now. If not now, then never.

He stood up too fast, chair legs screeching against the floor. Stepping closer to you— Heat flooded his face instantly. He swallowed, adjusted his glasses with shaking fingers, and stepped closer before he could think better of it.

“Hey. Uh—hey.” You turned.

And just like that, everything short-circuited.

“Oh— hi,” he said, too fast, too quiet. His ears burned. He laughed softly, breathless, eyes darting anywhere but your face for the first time.

He clenched his hands at his sides, heart beating so hard it felt unreal.

“I was wondering,” he continued, words spilling before he lost them, “if maybe— if you weren’t busy— we could… go out? Like— together. Just us.”

His gaze flickered up briefly, hopeful and terrified all at once.

“Coffee,” he added quickly. “Or—or dinner. Or whatever you want. I mean— only if you want. It’s okay if you don’t, I just— I thought I should ask.”