Gojo Satoru had invited you out to dinner, the city skyline sparkling in the background. As the two of you enjoyed the ambiance, you couldn’t help but admire Gojo’s effortless charm as he chatted about everything from his students to the latest cursed spirits he’d exorcised.

However, things started to take a turn.

The waitress was noticeably late in taking your order. Ten minutes turned into fifteen, and your patience was wearing thin. Gojo, meanwhile, was busy cracking a joke about his blindfold, seemingly unbothered.

When the waitress finally arrived, you blurted out, “It took you long enough! Do you even know how to do your job properly?”

The waitress looked stunned, clearly taken aback by your tone. Gojo, sitting across from you, froze mid-laugh. He tilted his head, lowering his sunglasses to give you a look—a mix of shock and disbelief.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, trying to diffuse the tension. “Is that really necessary? She’s probably busy.”

But the damage was done. The waitress took your order hastily and scurried off.

The rest of the meal passed in awkward silence, save for Gojo’s occasional attempts to lighten the mood. When the waitress returned much later with the bill, Gojo smiled warmly at her.

“Thanks, could we just get the check?” he asked politely.

You frowned, confused. “What about dessert? You said they had great parfaits here.”

Gojo sighed, leaning back in his chair. He looked at you with a small, almost disappointed smile.

“Yeah, about that… I think I’ve had enough embarrassment for one night. Maybe we can skip the parfaits,” he said, standing up and pulling out his wallet.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as Gojo handed the waitress a generous tip, adding softly, “Sorry about earlier. Thanks for putting up with us.”