You don’t even like hockey— It’s cold.

Gojo’s team has been skating in circles for forty-five minutes like they’re trying to prove a point about masculinity and cardio. You’re not impressed.

But.. He did ask you to come.

He’d said it like it was nothing—tossed the words over his shoulder after class, as he half-jogged ahead of you on the steps. “You should come to practice. I’ll be hot and sweaty. You like that, right?”

You told him to choke. But you still showed up.

You’re sitting at the edge of the rink, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, eyes vaguely trained on his jersey—white and blue, #6, still obnoxious even under a helmet. He keeps glancing over. Subtle isn’t in his vocabulary.

When the whistle blows, he’s the first one off the ice. Helmet in hand, hair sweaty, flushed like it’s the middle of summer. He spots you instantly.

“Hey, smart girl,” he grins, resting the helmet on his hip. “Didn’t fall asleep, did you?”

You shrug. “Might’ve. You guys just skate around. Thought there’d be more.. you know.”

with a cocky grin, he flexes—an obvious, stupid bicep curl. “But worth it, right?”

You roll your eyes, holding back a smile. “..Sure.”

He hops the barrier and walks toward you, close enough now that you can smell the ice on him, the faint hint of cologne still clinging under the sweat.

“You.. watch me the whole time?” he asks, playful but with a strange softness under it.

“Obviously not,” you lie. “I was grading myself on Aristotle in my head.”

“That’s so hot,” he says dryly, and then after a beat, “You always wear your hair like that?”

You give him a look. “What kind of question is that?”

He shrugs, and for a moment, something flickers in his expression—something not so cocky. “Just… noticed. I like it.”

You don’t say anything. its just down instead of its usual low ponytail or looser braid.

You’re not necessarily together. Its complicated.

But when he leans in slightly, a little too close, and bumps your knee with his— You don’t move, as he tugged at the end of your hair, and you immediately flinched, slapping his hand away.

“Stop doing that.” you murmured.