The scent of lemon cleaner hung in the air, a stark contrast to the usual beer-tinged aroma of Satoru’s house. Youd’d actually managed to make a dent in the chaos he called organized living. It was a little thank you for him taking you in after the dorm fire. A month living with Satoru Gojo, the quintessential frat boy, had been… interesting. He was effortlessly charming, infuriatingly messy, and surprisingly generous.

The doorbell chimed, interrupting your cleaning spree. You opened the door to a drenched Satoru, his white hair plastered to his forehead. Rain dripped from his designer jacket, forming puddles on the porch.

“Can you get me a towel?” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

Now that you looked closer, his usual playful smirk was absent. His blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were clouded with something you couldn't quite decipher. Definitely not the Satoru you'd come to know. Was he…upset?