Chapter Text
You've never been so fucking bored.
The heavy bass from the living room speakers vibrated right through the floorboards, rattling the cabinet doors behind you. A suffocating mix of cheap cologne and spilled liquor hung in the air. You had retreated to the only quiet space available in the Alpha Chi house. Tucked away in the far corner of the sprawling kitchen, you hopped up onto the granite island and crossed your ankles.
You were perfectly dressed for the occasion. Your fitted tube top and denim mini-skirt paired perfectly together, adhering strictly to the dress code your friends loved so much. Yet, despite looking exactly like someone who belonged at a victory rager, you absolutely despised parties. You just wanted a quiet college life. You wanted to spend your weekends in your dorm playing on your switch. Instead, Ani, your roommate had dragged you out of your room, promising you would stick together for the entire night. She completely vanished into the crowd within ten minutes of arriving.
Left entirely to your own devices, you reached into your bag and pulled out your Nintendo Switch. Finding a momentary slice of peace amidst the chaos, you focused entirely on your screen. Your thumbs settled over the Joy-Cons, pressing the buttons to feed your characters in Tomodachi Life.
You were so engrossed in navigating the menus and mashing the A button that you didn't notice the sudden shift in the room's energy. You didn't hear the footsteps approaching until a broad shadow fell entirely over your screen.
"Didn't expect to find someone playing video games in the middle of a party."
The voice carried a smooth, lazy drawl that cut easily through the muffled thump of the house music. You prayed that whoever had just walked in wouldn't be much of a talker. You tried to shift your shoulders away, hoping to avoid a conversation you clearly did not want to have.
The intruder completely ignored your body language. He effortlessly hoisted himself onto the granite counter right beside you. He sat incredibly close. His thigh practically brushed against your bare leg.
You finally turned your head to see who was invading your personal space. You immediately recognized the towering figure sitting next to you.
It was Gojo Satoru.
He was wearing his official hockey jersey, the heavy fabric hanging nicely over his broad shoulders. He was the undisputed perfect golden boy of the university. He possessed a flawless reputation that preceded him everywhere he went. He maintained a perfect GPA while completely dominating on the ice, but everyone knew that kind of perfection came with a crushing weight. The unrelenting pressure from the public and his extremely wealthy parents was an open secret on campus.
Right now, however, he didn't look burdened by anything. He had his white hair falling messily over his forehead. Multiple rings lined the cartilage of his ears. When he flashed a boyish, cheeky grin in your direction, you caught the metallic glint of a silver barbell resting on his tongue.
"Not much of a partier?" Satoru asked. He tilted his head, studying your face with bright blue eyes that were entirely too observant.
"I'm here, aren't I?" you replied dryly, keeping your eyes glued to your console as your thumb flicked the joystick.
"Yeah, but you look like you'd rather be anywhere else," he pointed out, entirely unfazed by your cold reception. He leaned back on his hands, making himself perfectly at home in your space.
"What's your major?"
"English," you answered blatantly, not missing a beat on your game.
"English," Satoru repeated, letting the word roll around in his mouth. He nodded slowly as if solving a puzzle. "That makes total sense."
You refused to entertain him. You just kept pressing the buttons, wishing he would take the hint and leave you alone with your miis.
"I thought I recognized you," Satoru continued, entirely undeterred by your silence. He shifted his weight, leaning a fraction closer to you. "You're in my Tuesday philosophy class. The one covering existentialism and absurdism."
You kept your eyes on the screen. You ignored him completely.
"You always sit right in the front row," he pressed on, his voice dropping into a more conversational, almost complaining tone. "I sit in the back. I'm not going to lie, that class is absolutely killing me. I am drowning in all those different names and theories."
You aggressively clicked the D-button to settle a digital argument between your Miis. You did not offer him a single word of sympathy for his academic struggles.
Satoru watched your profile for a few seconds. A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest when he realized you were actively giving him the cold shoulder. He seemed completely fascinated by the fact that you weren't throwing yourself at him like everyone else in the house.
"Since we're classmates," Satoru started, his tone shifting into something a bit more playful and teasing, "can I get your number?"
You didn't hesitate. "No."
Satoru let out an amused breath. He stretched his long legs out in front of him. "Come on. Not even to help a struggling student? I could really use an English major's help."
"No," you repeated, your voice firm and entirely dismissing.
He tilted his head again. He watched the way the neon lights reflected off your skin. He opened his mouth, clearly preparing to push his luck and ask for a third time with a different, undoubtedly more charming angle. Before the words could even leave his throat, you snapped your head up and cut him off entirely.
"I'm busy playing, can't you see?" you stated sharply, narrowing your eyes at the campus star.
Satoru blinked, clearly caught off guard by your sheer bluntness. A wide, genuine smile broke across his face, his silver tongue ring clicking lightly against his teeth as he let out a rich laugh. He found your annoyance entirely endearing. He opened his mouth to reply, ready to continue pushing your buttons.
"Satoru!"
A booming, rough voice echoed from the hallway, completely shattering the brief moment between you two.
"Get your fucking ass out here!" Ryomen shouted, his heavy footsteps thudding against the hardwood floor. "We have to do the tradition! The rookies are waiting!"
Satoru let out a quiet sigh, looking toward the hallway before turning his striking blue eyes back to you. The hockey tradition was an initiation rite they performed after every major victory, and as the captain, his presence was entirely mandatory.
"Duty calls," Satoru murmured, hopping down from the counter with an effortless grace. He stood in front of you for a lingering second, giving you one last devastatingly charming smile. "I'll see you in philosophy."
With that, he turned and jogged out of the kitchen, leaving you entirely alone once again.
You stared at the empty space he had just occupied. You let out a heavy breath, entirely unsure of how you felt about the university's golden boy. He was annoying. He was persistent. He was also incredibly interesting.
You shook your head, forcing your eyes back down to your Nintendo Switch to escape the very confusing reality of Gojo Satoru.
A roar erupted from the backyard. The sound shook the plastic cups resting on the counter. The chanting started shortly after to form a rhythmic barking that sounded exactly like a pack of wolves. You heard Ryomen's voice echo in your memory. Curiosity was a dangerous thing for an English major who thrived on analyzing character motivations. You told yourself that you did not care about the team. You reminded yourself that you despised these environments. But as the recognizable intro to "On the Floor" by Jennifer Lopez started blasting through the outdoor speakers, you found your thumb pressing the power button. Your console went into sleep mode.
Slipping the device inside your bag, you hopped down from the island. You smoothed out the fabric of your skirt and adjusted your tube top. You took a breath to steel your nerves because you were just going to take a peek outside. You only wanted to see what the fuss was about. Navigating the house was easier this time since a mass migration had occurred. The living room was deserted. You followed the trail of spilled beer and stepped out through the sliding doors into the humid air.
The backyard was massive. It was illuminated by string lights attached to the roof. The student body packed onto the overgrown grass to form a screaming circle around the center of the lawn. Pushing your way through the outer edges of the crowd, you used your elbows to carve a path past a group of seniors until you finally secured a clear view of the spectacle.
The rookies were lined up on their knees in the dirt. They were completely shirtless and shivering in the night air as they waited for orders. You recognized two of the freshmen from your campus orientation immediately. Yuji Itadori was shaking his arms to stay warm while vibrating with nervous energy. Right beside him, Megumi Fushiguro looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
"This is a goddamn biohazard," Megumi muttered. He crossed his arms over his bare chest to block the wind. "I hate every single one of you."
"Oh, shut the hell up, Fushiguro!" Ryomen barked. He stood behind the rookies while hoisting a massive cooler onto his shoulder. "Get back in the dirt before I drown your ass in this cooler!"
"I'm ready!" Yuji yelled over the music. He pounded his fists against his chest. "Let's get this shit over with! Line them up!"
Satoru stood directly in front of the rookies to command the absolute attention of every person in the yard. He looked entirely different from the guy who had just complained about philosophy in the kitchen. The playful charm evaporated from his demeanor completely. He paced back and forth in front of the shivering freshmen like a commanding general. He grabbed the hem of his hockey jersey and pulled the heavy fabric over his head.
He tossed the shirt aside into the dirt. His physique commanded the space instantly. Years of grueling practice had honed his frame into a lethal weapon. His shoulders spanned an impressive width before tapering sharply down to a tight waist. The harsh glare of the floodlights caught the sheen of sweat already clinging to his collarbones. The bright illumination cast deep shadows across the rigid ridges of his abdomen. His chest was firm and heavily defined. His core was locked with lean power. Every time he shifted his weight, the muscles across his torso rippled beneath his pale skin. The low waistband of his mesh shorts clung desperately to his hips to expose a sharp V-line. He was built for heavy impact. He moved with a predatory grace that made your mouth go completely dry.
The crowd went absolutely feral as the heavy bass dropped. The tradition was barbaric but undeniably captivating. Satoru laid back flat on a wooden bench positioned in the mud. He stretched his long torso out completely. The action pulled the skin tight across his ribs and highlighted the carved definition of his stomach even further.
Another teammate stepped forward with a tray of filled shot glasses. He carefully lined the small glasses directly down the center of Satoru's bare abdomen. The freezing condensation dripped from the glass against his hot skin. Satoru did not flinch. His chest rose and fell with slow breaths. He looked incredibly comfortable resting half-naked.
Yuji crawled forward first without a second of hesitation. He locked his hands securely behind his back. The freshman leaned down over Satoru. He hovered directly above his captain's chest. Yuji bent his neck to grab the first glass using only his teeth. He tipped his head back to swallow the liquor without using his hands at all. The crowd screamed their approval.
The second Yuji tossed the empty glass into the grass, Ryomen stepped up with the cooler. He dumped a massive wave of ice water directly over Yuji's head. The freshman gasped loudly but jumped straight to his feet. He threw his arms up and screamed with the crowd.
"Next!" Ryomen demanded. He kicked some dirt toward Megumi. "Move your ass, rookie."
Megumi grumbled under his breath and crawled forward in the mud. Satoru propped his head up on the bench and flashed a wicked smile at the reluctant freshman.
"Come on, Megumi," Satoru teased over the loud music. "Don't be shy now. Keep those hands behind your back."
Megumi scowled before leaning down over Satoru's chest. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back. He gripped the rim of the next shot glass between his teeth. He tipped his head up to swallow the vodka in one smooth motion. He barely had time to spit the glass out before Ryomen blasted him with the remaining ice water. Megumi coughed and cursed loudly while shivering uncontrollably. The frat brothers howled with laughter.
You watched the chaotic scene unfold in absolute fascination. Satoru sat up on the bench while brushing the remaining droplets of liquor off his stomach. The moisture traced a path down the center of his chest and disappeared beneath his waistband. He exuded a raw authority that made it blatantly obvious why he wore the captain's letter. You completely forgot how much you despised parties. You forgot about your quiet dorm room. Your pulse hammered in your ears. You were utterly absorbed by the sheer magnetism radiating from him.
Satoru threw his head back and laughed at Megumi. He tossed the last empty glass casually over his shoulder. It landed somewhere in the trampled grass. He sat up fully on the wooden bench. The harsh floodlights illuminated the sweat dripping down his chest. He turned his head back toward the frat house. His blue eyes began scanning the perimeter of the screaming crowd. His gaze swept over the chaotic masses of drunk students. It bypassed the cheering upperclassmen entirely. It moved past the flashing cameras until it landed directly on you.
He froze completely.
You could see the visceral shift in his expression even from a considerable distance. The intense athlete demanding respect melted away instantly. That devastatingly arrogant smirk replaced it. The noise of the roaring crowd seemed to fade into the background. He did not look away to check on his freezing teammates. He ignored Ryomen shouting orders in the mud. He maintained direct eye contact with you across the lawn. He sat there half-naked and completely unbothered by the cool night air. He slowly raised his hand. He ran his fingers through his messy hair to push the white strands out of his eyes.
He let his gaze drag deliberately down the length of your body. He took his time with the visual appraisal. The string lights above the porch illuminated your outfit perfectly. He took in the tight fit of your tube top. He noted the hem of your denim skirt. His eyes traced the line of your bare legs before snapping right back up to meet your gaze. His smirk widened into a triumphant grin.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew you had abandoned your game in the kitchen to follow him outside. He knew you were standing there watching the entire spectacle unfold. He knew exactly how looking at his bare chest made you feel. The undeniable realization hit you like a physical blow. You had completely shattered your carefully constructed illusion of indifference.
A burning flush of embarrassment crept up your neck. The heat rushed across your cheeks. A heavy warmth pooled low in your stomach under his heavy stare. Your pulse hammered relentlessly against your throat. You felt entirely exposed standing on the edge of the patio. You stepped backward hastily into the shadows of the porch. You broke the intense eye contact as rapidly as possible. You spun around on your heel to retreat inside the house.
The air conditioning hit you immediately as you pushed through the sliding glass doors. The thumping bass of the music enveloped you once again. You pushed past a group of guys standing by the refrigerator. You desperately needed to find Ani immediately. You needed to escape the suffocating gravity of Gojo Satoru. It was definitely time to go home.
—
You spent the entire weekend trying to erase Friday night from your memory.
When your roommate left for her study group on Sunday afternoon, you found yourself staring blankly at the ceiling of your dorm. Your mind drifted effortlessly back to the Alpha Chi backyard. You thought about Satoru lying flat on that wooden bench. You remembered the harsh floodlights reflecting off his pale skin. A heavy warmth settled low in your stomach every time you pictured his piercing blue eyes locking onto you across the lawn.
You had more of those distracting moments than you were proud to admit. You grabbed a highlighter and forced your eyes back to your textbook. You gave yourself a strict pep talk. You were not about to obsess over an arrogant athlete after one weird encounter.
School was your priority. Your English degree required absolute focus. You did not have time for distractions. Satoru was just a fleeting nuisance who barely existed outside the fraternity house anyway. You convinced yourself that you would likely never interact with him again.
Tuesday afternoon arrived.
You walked into the philosophy seminar. You claimed your usual seat in the front row. You pulled your cardigan tighter around your shoulders to combat the freezing air conditioning. You opened your notebook. You waited for the professor to begin the lecture on existentialism.
The classroom door swung open.
Satoru strolled inside. He wore a black hoodie and grey sweatpants. His white hair was damp from a recent shower. He usually walked straight to the back row to sleep through the entire seminar.
Today was different.
He stopped at the front of the room. He bypassed the empty desks behind you entirely. He dropped his heavy backpack onto the floor. He pulled out the chair directly to your right.
He sat down right beside you.
You stopped clicking your pen. You stared straight ahead at the whiteboard. You refused to acknowledge his presence. He shifted in his seat. He scooched his chair closer. His thigh rested a centimeter away from your leg. You could smell the distinct scent of mint radiating from him. The memory of him swallowing vodka triggered a shiver down your spine. You squeezed your knees together under the desk. You prayed he did not notice your physical reaction.
"I never got your name."
His voice was a low murmur. The smooth drawl sent a flush up your neck. You tightened your grip on your pen.
"That was intentional," you replied flatly. You did not turn your head.
A laugh vibrated in his chest. "You run away from parties. You ignore me in class. You refuse to give me your number."
"You catch on quick," you muttered. You flipped a page in your notebook forcefully.
Satoru leaned over his desk. He invaded your personal space completely. He rested his chin on his hand. He stared unabashedly at your profile.
"I am just trying to make conversation," he stated. His tone carried a playful edge. "We are classmates. We should be friendly."
"We have nothing to talk about."
"I strongly disagree," Satoru countered. He tilted his head. "I think we have plenty to discuss. For instance, you left without saying goodbye on Friday. I was deeply offended. I put on a great show for you."
You felt your cheeks heat up immediately. "I was bored. I went home to play my game."
"Right," Satoru grinned. He knew you were lying.
He shifted his attention to your desk. He leaned closer to inspect your open textbook. You felt his breath brush against your cheek. It smelled strongly of peppermint. He squinted at the dense paragraphs detailing the Theater of the Absurd.
He cleared his throat. He began reading aloud.
"The realization that life is absurd cannot be an end," he announced. He spoke at a completely normal volume. "But only a beginning. This is a truth that must dictate human action."
Several students turned around in their seats. The professor paused his setup at the podium. He glared directly at the two of you over the rim of his glasses.
You sank lower in your chair. You wanted the floor to swallow you whole. Satoru was entirely unfazed. He met the professor's glare without flinching. He offered a polite wave. The professor huffed loudly and turned back to the projector.
Satoru turned his head back to you. His silver piercing clicked against his teeth as he smiled.
"I have absolutely no idea what I just read," he confessed. He shook his head. "What does that even mean?"
You let out a frustrated sigh. "It means you need to pay attention to the lecture instead of harassing me."
"I can't pay attention to the lecture," he complained. He stretched his long legs out beneath the desk. "The professor talks too fast. The reading material is basically written in a foreign language. My parents are going to murder me if I ruin my perfect transcript with a failing grade in a humanities elective. I need someone to help me."
"Find a tutor."
"I found one," Satoru said confidently. He tapped his index finger against the cover of your notebook. "She sits in the front row. She plays video games at frat parties. She hates my guts. She is perfect for the job."
You shook your head without looking away from the whiteboard. "Not happening."
"Come on," Satoru urged. He shifted closer to your desk. "I am a very fast learner. I just need someone to translate this academic jargon into normal English."
"I am not a translator," you whispered fiercely. "I am a student trying to pass this class. You being here is a massive distraction."
"I can be very quiet," he promised.
You scoffed quietly. "You just read out loud in the middle of a silent room. You clearly do not know how to be quiet."
"I was making a point," he defended himself. "And my point stands. I need your help. Desperately."
You finally turned to face him. His blue eyes were wide with mock innocence. You refused to fall for his manufactured charm.
"What's in it for me anyway?" you asked. "Tutoring takes time. I have my own coursework to worry about."
Satoru leaned back in his chair. A triumphant grin spread across his face. He knew he had you on the hook.
"Name your price," he offered smoothly. "I can pay you double whatever the campus center charges. Triple, even. My parents supply me with an endless allowance to ensure my grades stay perfect."
"I don't need your money."
"Okay," Satoru accepted the challenge. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "If you don't want cash, what do you want? I can get you VIP access to any party."
"I hate parties."
"Right. Forgot about that," he chuckled. "I can get you front-row tickets to all the hockey games. You can watch me on the ice."
"I don't care about sports," you countered flatly.
Satoru sighed dramatically. He slumped down in his seat to pout.
"You are incredibly difficult to bargain with," he complained. "Everyone else on this campus would kill for a favor from me. What does miss 'I hate everything' actually want?"
You tapped your pen against your notebook. You thought about your grueling schedule. Then your mind immediately went to your console.
"Persona 3," you decided.
Satoru looked at you in genuine disbelief. "That is it? The game?"
"You also pay for my meals during our sessions. I want real food."
He chuckled at your response. "Anything else?"
"And you have to actually do the reading," you added strictly. "I am not doing your homework for you. I will explain the concepts. You will write your own essays."
"Deal," Satoru agreed instantly. He extended his large hand toward you.
You stared at his palm for a second before shaking it. His grip was firm. His skin was surprisingly warm. You pulled your hand away quickly.
"So," Satoru whispered. He leaned into your space one last time. "Since you are officially my tutor, I kind of need to know who I am talking to. Name and number?"
You rolled your eyes. You held your hand out expectantly.
Satoru reached into the pocket of his hoodie. He pulled out his smartphone and unlocked the screen. He placed the device directly into your open palm.
You navigated to his contacts app. You typed your first name into the blank field. You ignored the sudden urge to leave a sarcastic nickname. You punched your phone number into the keypad and hit save.
You handed the device back to him. You picked up your pen to focus on the professor.
Satoru stared down at the bright screen. A deeply amused expression took over his features. He watched your name settle into his contact list. He tapped the edit button immediately. You caught a glimpse of his screen out of the corner of your eye.
He did not hesitate before adding a red heart emoji right next to your name.
"So...Thursday?"
Gojo turned his head to ask you.
"That'll be fine," you nodded. "Send me the details."
"Yes ma'am."
—
Thursday afternoon arrived with a biting chill that swept across the campus. Gojo texted you earlier in the morning to wait for him outside the university ice rink after his training session wrapped up. You agreed reluctantly. You sat on a concrete bench near the employee exit while pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders. You stared at the clock on your phone. His practice was scheduled to end at four o'clock sharp.
It was now four-thirty.
You were just about to abandon the study session entirely when the heavy doors finally pushed open. Satoru walked out into the freezing air with his equipment bag slung over his shoulder. He did not possess his usual swagger. His jaw was clenched tight. He ran a hand through his damp hair with a heavy sigh. He looked genuinely irritated. The crushing pressure of his captain duties had clearly taken a toll on him today.
He spotted you sitting on the bench. He adjusted the strap of his bag and walked over.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Satoru muttered. His voice lacked its signature drawl. He sounded genuinely exhausted.
You stood up from the bench. You took in his rigid posture. You noticed the dark circles forming under his striking eyes. The annoyance you felt about waiting in the cold completely vanished.
"Are you sure you want to study?" you asked quietly. "We can always reschedule."
Satoru shook his head quickly. He adjusted his grip on his hockey stick.
"Yes, yes it's alright," he insisted. He let out a breath that clouded in the frigid air. "Follow me."
You did not argue. You fell into step beside him as he led the way through the parking lot. He stopped in front of a black Mustang. He popped the trunk to toss his gear inside. The car suited him perfectly because it looked imposing. He opened the passenger door for you before making his way to the driver's side.
He started the engine. The motor roared to life. He turned the heater on blast and let his head fall back against the headrest for a brief second.
"We'll study in my room, is that alright?" Satoru asked. He kept his eyes focused on the steering wheel.
"Alright," you agreed softly. You buckled your seatbelt.
He shifted the car into gear. He navigated out of the campus lot with practiced ease. The silence inside the cabin was surprisingly comfortable. You watched the city buildings blur past the tinted windows. Satoru drove with one hand resting on the bottom of the steering wheel. He eventually pulled into a McDonald's drive-thru lane and rolled his window down.
"I know our deal included real food," Satoru spoke up. He glanced over at you with a sheepish expression. "But I am way too tired to sit inside a restaurant. Please tell me you eat fast food."
"I can make an exception today," you replied. "Just get me a ten-piece chicken nugget meal and fries."
Satoru pulled up to the glowing speaker.
"Yeah, I need a ten-piece nugget meal," Satoru ordered loudly. "Medium fries. I also need two Quarter Pounders. Add a large fry to that. I need a caramel frappe. Give me a large Sprite too."
You raised your eyebrows at the sheer volume of food. Satoru caught your expression. He offered a tiny smirk that looked significantly more like his usual self.
"I told you I burn a lot of calories," Satoru defended himself. He pulled the Mustang forward to the payment window. He handed the cashier his credit card. "Coach ran us through suicide drills for an hour straight. I feel like I could eat an entire cow."
"You look like you need a nap more than you need a burger," you pointed out.
"Probably," he admitted. He accepted the paper bags from the second window. He handed them over to you to hold in your lap. The smell of hot fries filled the car instantly. "But I can't afford to fail philosophy."
He drove the rest of the way to the Alpha Chi house. He parked the Mustang in his designated spot near the back entrance. He grabbed his backpack from the backseat. You balanced the takeout bags in your arms.
Satoru pushed the heavy door open. The chaotic noise of the frat house immediately washed over you. The living room was definitely not empty anymore. Several hockey players were sprawled across the oversized couches. They were completely absorbed by the flashing screen of the television. The booming announcer voice of Tekken 8 echoed through the space as two digital fighters clashed in a flurry of rapid-fire combos.
You stopped walking in the middle of the foyer. The greasy takeout bags felt heavy in your arms, but your eyes were completely glued to the intense match happening on the screen. You watched as one of the players executed a flawless juggle combo. You were captivated by the fluid animation and the aggressive button-mashing echoing in the room.
Satoru noticed you lagging behind. He stopped at the base of the staircase and looked back. He caught you entirely distracted by the fighting game. A knowing smirk broke through the exhausted lines on his face. He took a step back toward you while leaning his tall frame in close.
"You can play after, okay?" Satoru murmured. His voice dropped just enough to cut through the noise of the television.
You blinked and snapped out of your trance. A hot flush rushed to your cheeks as you realized you were openly staring. You tightened your grip on the paper bags. "Oh—right."
He chuckled slightly. It was a genuine sound that finally eased the lingering tension he had carried out of the ice rink.
"Follow me," he instructed while gesturing up the stairs. "Unless you'd rather stay down here and watch Yuji get his ass kicked."
"Hey! I heard that, Captain!" Yuji yelled from the couch without taking his eyes off the screen.
You followed Satoru up the staircase and down the surprisingly quiet hallway. He pushed his bedroom door open and stepped aside to let you enter first.
His room was a walking contradiction. It was messy yet clean. The large bed in the center of the room was completely unmade. The comforter was kicked to the floor. A few stray hoodies were tossed carelessly over a laundry hamper. Yet his desk was meticulously organized. The walls were plastered with framed posters featuring Batman and Nightwing. Neat stacks of graphic novels lined his floating bookshelves. It was unexpectedly normal. It didn't look like the room of a campus god. It just looked like a college student's sanctuary.
He grabbed a sturdy chair and pulled it out for you. You sat down and started unpacking the takeout. You set your chicken nuggets next to his massive pile of burgers and fries. Satoru dragged a rolling chair over. He sat right beside you as he flipped the textbook open to the exact page you had left off on.
You ate while going over the material. You traded bites of your food for long explanations about the human condition. The suffocating atmosphere from the car ride slowly dissipated as you worked. Satoru was surprisingly focused. He devoured his meal while actively highlighting the text you pointed out. You managed to study for a solid hour. You powered through the dense paragraphs until you were exactly fifty percent through the required reading.
Satoru set his highlighter down with a sigh. He stretched his arms high over his head. His joints popped quietly in the room.
"Let's have a ten-minute break," he pleaded while letting his head fall back against his chair.
"Alright," you agreed. You closed the textbook and wiped the salt from your fingers.
Gojo stood up and collapsed backward onto his unmade mattress. He let out a long breath before pulling his smartphone from his pocket. He opened Snapchat to document his existence by holding the phone up with one hand. You watched from the corner of your eye as he started fixing his messy hair. He ran his fingers through the damp strands. He tilted his chin to effortlessly find the perfect lighting before snapping a selfie.
While he was busy admiring his screen, you reached into your bag. You pulled out your Nintendo Switch and booted up Tomodachi Life once again.
The upbeat music instantly filled the bedroom. Satoru lowered his phone. His curiosity was entirely piqued by the sudden noise. He rolled off the mattress and walked right back over to the desk. He leaned in so his broad shoulder pressed comfortably against yours. He peered closely at the screen.
"What is so good about that game, anyway?" Satoru asked. He watched a pixelated character run frantically across a digital apartment building.
"I actually don't know," you admitted honestly. You shifted the console so he could get a better view. "It's just incredibly addictive. Here. Let's make you a character."
You navigated to the Mii Maker building on your island and selected a blank canvas. Satoru leaned in even closer. He was completely invested in the process. You selected the spikiest hair you could find in the catalog. You adjusted the eyes to match his striking gaze as closely as the software allowed. You spent a few minutes tweaking the slider to make his avatar impossibly tall. To finish the look off, you equipped his digital counterpart with dark sunglasses and a black hoodie.
Satoru let out a rumbling chuckle that vibrated right against your arm.
"Why do I look so ugly there?" he complained while pointing a long finger at the screen. "You made my forehead massive."
"It's cute. What do you mean?" you defended quickly. You slapped his hand away from the console. You typed 'Satoru' into the name field and pressed save. "Look, he's already asking for a slice of cake. The resemblance is uncanny."
Satoru laughed again. It was an entirely carefree sound. You glanced over at him. You realized the crushing pressure he had been carrying all afternoon had completely vanished. His posture was relaxed. The dark look in his eyes from his hockey practice had been replaced by a genuine warmth. He wasn't the golden boy buckling under his parents' expectations. Sitting beside you in his bedroom while completely fascinated by a silly game, he was just Satoru.
The realization made your chest flutter dangerously. You quickly saved your progress and put the console into sleep mode. You slipped it securely back into your bag before you could overthink the shift in his mood.
"Okay," you announced. You cleared your throat and pulled the textbook back to the center of the desk. "Break is over. Let's get back to studying."
Satoru let out a dramatic groan, but he didn't move away. He stayed right by your side. He picked his highlighter back up with a devastating smile still lingering on his lips.
—
You finally closed the heavy philosophy textbook after another grueling hour of breaking down complex concepts. The digital clock resting on his organized desk displayed eight o'clock in the evening. You gathered your scattered highlighters and slipped them back into your bag with a profound sigh of relief. You had successfully navigated the entire study session without losing your patience entirely. Satoru stretched his long arms high above his head to work the stiffness out of his shoulders.
Satoru stretched his arms overhead. "I am taking you home. It is way too late for you to walk."
"I can just call a shuttle," you declined quickly. "You need to sleep. You look exhausted."
Satoru grabbed his keys from the nightstand. "I am not letting you take a shuttle this late. Let's go."
You knew arguing with him was entirely pointless. You followed him down the staircase and stepped back out into the biting evening air. The drive to your apartment building was enveloped in a comfortable silence. The city streets were mostly deserted as the traffic faded away. The heater hummed gently inside the cabin of the Mustang to chase away the lingering winter chill. You leaned your head against the passenger window and watched the blurred lights pass by.
"Do you actually feel prepared?" you asked while looking out the passenger window.
"I feel like my brain might explode," Satoru admitted with a tired laugh. "But the material makes slightly more sense now. You explain concepts really well."
"Just remember to focus on the life aspect," you reminded him. "And actually review your notes before class."
"I will," he promised.
He parked the Mustang neatly near the curb outside your building and turned the engine off. You unbuckled your seatbelt to gather your belongings from the floorboard. He opened his door and stepped out onto the sidewalk to wait for you. You walked around the front bumper to meet him under the glow of the streetlamp.
He reached into the front pocket of his hoodie with a mysterious smirk playing on his lips. He pulled out a rectangular plastic case and held it out toward you in the dim light. You stared down at the cover art. It was a brand new copy of Persona 3 for your gaming console. You gasped loudly in sheer disbelief. You threw your arms around his neck in a sudden embrace before you could even process the action. He froze completely for a fraction of a second. His large hands then tentatively settled on your waist to steady you
"Thank you, Satoru! Oh my gosh I'm so happy right now," you cheered enthusiastically. You pulled away from his chest and jumped up and down on the sidewalk.
A massive smile broke across his face as he watched your uncontained excitement. "It was part of the deal anyway."
"Either way, thank you! You just made my day," you beamed at him. You clutched the game securely against your chest.
"Thank you for the lessons," he replied softly.
"No problem, text me when you get back."
"Alright, goodnight."
Satoru leaned against the side of his vehicle to watch you walk toward the lobby. He chuckled softly to himself as he watched you squeal over the new game in your hands. He waited patiently until the heavy glass doors closed securely behind you before getting back into his car.
He drove back to the fraternity house with the radio playing softly in the background. He walked upstairs to his bedroom and collapsed onto his unmade mattress with a heavy sigh. He pulled his phone out from his pocket to text you immediately so you knew he was home safely. His screen lit up with your reply almost a minute later.
: Okii. Just chat me when you're free again for another session. Remember, midterms are in two weeks. Goodnight :))
Satoru stared at the glowing screen for a long time. A ridiculous grin stretched across his face as he read the message over again. He felt entirely giddy. A warm flutter erupted in his chest that had absolutely nothing to do with adrenaline. He locked his device and tossed it onto his pillow before staring up at the ceiling in the dark. The crushing exhaustion from his athletic duties was completely gone. He realized with absolute certainty that he was already looking forward to studying again.