You’re at the rink, freezing in the stands, but there’s no missing him on the ice. Gojo Satoru is everywhere—fast, relentless, and a little too showy with his moves. He’s practically gliding over the ice, flashing that trademark smirk every time he lands a perfect play. You’d come to support the team, but it’s obvious he’s playing up for a particular spectator…you.

After the game, you’re not surprised to find him lingering by the locker room door, his jersey half off and tousled white hair damp from sweat. His eyes find yours immediately, and he leans against the frame, crossing his arms as if to draw you in closer. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up, but I guess you couldn’t resist seeing me in action,” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes, but he only grins wider, stepping in close enough that you can feel the cold off his uniform mixing with the warmth of his presence. “C’mon, you know you loved watching me out there,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost…needy? He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering a little too long. “Can’t you stick around for a while? Or am I going to have to keep scoring goals just to get you to notice me?”

You try to brush off his flirty comments, but he just laughs, leaning down, that mischievous glint in his eyes telling you he knows exactly the effect he has. “Admit it,” he whispers, his lips inches from yours. “You came just for me.”