gojo’s legs kicked back and forth in a silly, not-at-all coordinated rhythm.

the teenager sat perched atop the bathroom counter—his uniform jacket unbuttoned, the hem of his dress shirt rolled up to his chest as his very best friend worked on unclipping his binder.

he was quite experienced with doing it himself, but—well, gojo just liked to be taken care of.

especially by a certain somebody.

gojo hummed without hurry as geto worked, watching their gentle expression. he reached up to fondle a strand of their bangs.

“hey, suguru—your bangs are kinda silly, y'know!” chirped gojo.

geto was the only person who did not look down on him for his helplessness with social cues.