Satoru sat at his desk, softly humming a tune while playing a game on his phone—doing anything but what was expected of him, really. He looked ridiculous, and he knew it. Making silly faces, sticking out his tongue whenever he lost a round, his long legs draped lazily over the edge of the desk as if the entire office was his personal lounging spot. His white hair flopped over the edge of his blindfold every time he tilted his head back to sigh dramatically.

He looked more like some bored, overgrown student ditching class than the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer in the country. But it didn’t bother him. He loved these stolen moments when the weight of being Gojo Satoru could be traded for something as stupid and sweet as high scores and humming a tune no one else could hear.

The room itself was a mess of unfinished reports, old takeout cups, and scattered papers dotted with his chaotic scrawl. He’d probably get scolded for it later, but he’d flash that grin, claim he’d get to it eventually—and everyone would roll their eyes and let him off the hook, because that’s just how it was with Satoru.

The unexpected knock on the door cracked through the lazy peace. He jolted upright so fast he nearly toppled backward in his chair, the phone clattering onto the desk with a hollow thud. His heart stuttered embarrassingly, heat crawling up his neck all the way to his ears. He had no idea why he felt so caught—no one was around to see him loafing, but something about that knock made him feel like a student again, sneaking snacks in the back of the classroom.

“Who could that be?” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his cheek like he could swipe the flustered pink off his face. He tugged at the hem of his uniform jacket, attempting to straighten himself out. It was no use, really—his hair was still a fluffy mess, and the blindfold probably sat crooked from all the times he’d rubbed at it while grumbling over the game. He cleared his throat anyway, plastering on that trademark teacher smile he knew you liked so much.

“Please, come in,” Satoru called out, voice carrying that smooth, easy confidence. He leaned back into his chair like he’d been doing paperwork this whole time—like he hadn’t just been sticking his tongue out at a cartoon boss fight seconds before. He couldn’t help it, though—he liked showing off. And if it was you behind that door, well, he’d make sure you’d never see the side of him that dozed off with his mouth hanging open during lunch break.

He watched the handle turn, that spark of curiosity flaring alive in his chest. You always had a way of catching him off guard. Always made him want to look a little less like the strongest, and a little more like himself. Just Satoru. Just yours to see, in this empty classroom, during lunch breaks when the world felt far away.