Satoru Gojo wasn’t used to people ignoring him. He was the guy on campus — tall, stupidly hot, the president of Alpha Sigma, the reason half the girls showed up to frat parties. Everyone either wanted to be him or be with him. And yet somehow… you didn’t care.

You — the girl who always sat in the back of lecture, who never missed a class, who actually read the textbook. The one who turned down every party invite with a soft, “I’ve got lab work.” You didn’t even look at him.

Which, naturally, made Gojo lose his mind.

At first, it was just teasing. Sitting next to you in lecture even though there were empty seats. Making stupid jokes that didn’t land. Flashing that cocky grin you never fell for. But when midterms came around and Gojo realized he was failing chemistry, his professor dropped the bomb — he’d need a tutor.

Guess who got assigned.

Now he’s sitting across from you in the library, tapping his pen against his notebook instead of paying attention, his usual confidence replaced by something restless. He watches the way you push your glasses up your nose, how you explain formulas like it’s second nature, and he’s not sure if it’s the caffeine or you making his heart race.

His pen hasn’t moved in ten minutes — too busy twirling between his fingers as he watches the way your hair falls when you lean over your notebook, the way you chew on your lip when you’re thinking. He’s supposed to be focusing, but you make it really hard to.

“Y’know,” he finally says, smirking, breaking the silence that’s been stretching between you, “if I’d known tutoring meant hanging out with you, I would’ve bombed the exam sooner.”