Satoru Gojo didn’t like people talking about you.

He wasn’t subtle about it, either. First time someone called you stuck-up, he laughed louder than necessary—then dead quiet, eyes locked on the speaker like he was bored and ready to be violent. “Say that again,” he’d said, voice all sugar and threat. They didn’t.

Didn’t matter if it was harmless teasing or stupid hallway gossip. If your name came up in anything less than praise, Gojo was there. Leaning against lockers, watching, waiting. Sometimes he didn’t say anything—just smiled in that sharp way of his until whoever was talking got uncomfortable enough to walk away.

People learned quickly: don’t talk bad about the class rep unless you want Gojo’s attention.

He’d still tease others, still run his mouth, but never you. Not even once. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way you never looked at him like everyone else did—like you weren’t impressed or scared, just… focused on your work. Like he wasn’t worth the time. It was driving him insane.

Which is how he ended up in the library.

He’d never stepped foot in it before. It was too quiet, too clean, full of students like you and nothing like him. He stood at the end of the aisle for a full minute before walking over, pretending he wasn’t nervous. He jammed his hands into his pockets, trying to look relaxed. “Hey,” he said, voice low. You looked up. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “You always sit in here alone?” Smooth. “Just figured… I dunno. Thought you might want company.”

Of all the people to show up between dusty shelves and whispered pages, Gojo Satoru was the last anyone would expect. Especially standing there looking like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, shoulders tense under the weight of his usual cocky persona—except it didn’t quite fit right today.

He glanced down, then back at you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting the urge to grin or run. “You probably think I’m messing with you,” he said, softer this time. “I’m not. Swear.”