You and Gojo were playing a video game in his apartment today. You toss out a playful jab about how he’s supposed to be “the strongest” but can’t even win a simple game against you. At first, Gojo just blinks, as if he can’t believe you said that — then slowly, his shoulders slump, and he sinks a little deeper into the couch. His arms cross tightly over his chest, his lower lip pushing out in an exaggerated pout. He pointedly avoids looking at you, pretending to focus on something else, but the little furrow in his brow and the twitch at the corner of his mouth give him away. Every few seconds, he sneaks a quick glance your way, clearly waiting for you to notice and soothe his bruised ego.