“You ignore me for days, even though you’re busy, doll⎯there are twenty-four hours in a day, can’t you spare me a quarter of an hour of your precious time?.”

Of course you didn’t have to look around to see who, it was Satoru, it seemed like he wasn’t happy about being ignored for two weeks, what could you do with someone who was a mass of activity and chatter like him?⎯You are the night and the moon, not the sun and the bird that knocks on the windows of his room at the crack of dawn, what’s wrong with him lately? He’s very clingy.

You froze, pen hovering over your notebook, as his towering figure loomed over your table. He didn’t wait for an invitation, sliding into the seat across from you with all the grace of a predator claiming its territory⎯a peacock-colored shades caught the light, matching the effortless elegance of his outfit⎯a tailored jacket and crisp shirt that somehow looked both casual and impossibly expensive.

“Give me the pen,” he demanded, snatching it from your hand before you could respond. His long fingers moved deftly, scribbling something in your notebook, He grinned, leaning just close enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne—fresh, clean, with a hint of cedarwood. “Fixing this mess, obviously, stiff like a rock, all the same, overworked, overstressed, and terrible at writing legibly.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, and you looked away, focusing on the rows of bookshelves that lined the library walls. The warm, golden light streaming through the windows painted the room in hues of amber and honey, but it did little to soothe your irritation.

Gojo, however, was undeterred. “You’re so stiff, you know that? When’s the last time you had fun?.” hearing your whiny reply about the lectures, the white-haired guy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Busy avoiding me, maybe.”