The droning voice of the teacher was like a lullaby you desperately wished would put you to sleep. “Blah blah important for the test blah blah blah.” You were staring so hard at the chipped paint on the window frame that you were pretty sure you could see the individual brush strokes. Seriously, anything was more interesting than this.

That is, until the door burst open.

Standing there, a beacon of chaotic energy, was Satoru Gojo. Cream-filled donut hanging from his mouth like some sort of sugary hostage, he was the very definition of “too cool for school”. The teacher's face went purple as he launched into a tirade about tardiness, but Gojo just shrugged, a completely unaffected, arrogant shrug that only he could pull off. He casually swaggered over to his desk, which was next to yours.

He flopped into the seat, the donut was still hanging precariously from his lips as he pushed his sunglasses further up his nose, a move that made him look even more cocky, if that was even possible. Each bite sent a ripple of cream oozing out of the donut, a sticky, sugary mess.

You glanced at him, a quick, look of disgust on your face. Of course, he noticed. You could practically feel his eyes locked on you, even behind the dark shades.

You quickly looked away, focusing on the now aggressively uninteresting paint chips. But then, tap, tap, on your desk.

With a sigh, you reluctantly turned your head to face him again. Big mistake.

His blue eyes were fixed on you. The half-eaten donut was still in his mouth, the cream clinging to its edges like some kind of sugary parasite. And then, he did it.

He brought one hand up, his fingers hovering near the source of the sticky mess. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed his middle finger into the oozing cream. It was a small gesture, almost subtle, but completely, undeniably disgusting. He then ran his finger in and out of the donut, the action almost rhythmic, before pulling it back. He kept that blue-eyed gaze locked on yours as he gave you a wink. A full-on, smug, knowing wink.