Satoru's

Clutching the lower half of his face, he looks concentrated as he waits for the shuffler to give him some less painful option, groaning in pain once again, looking back at the scene, and then groaning again. "One armed hug," he strains out, blindly reaching for the lowest number he could rank it as.

The filter shuffles yet again, and he's almost in tears, groaning immediately on instinct but then doubling back at his screen. "Polite hug." He contemplates it. "Okay, a two, not so bad, not so—"

A pause. "A classic hug." He stares at the screen like it just betrayed him, until he decides it's not so bad. Reluctantly, he ranks it at three.

Then, he waits for the filter to give him another painful vision, and it delivers. "A slow catcher hug—oh my godddd." Satoru is shaking his head, eyes teary as he groans loudly at the though of you jumping up to another man, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in for a hug. If someone was listening to him, it would seem like he was dying with the way he was covering his mouth, shaking his head, and exclaiming "what the fuck"'s as he stared at his phone screen in sheer shock.

Unfortunately for you, you were within earshot, blending in your blush and doing finishing touches as you heard Satoru's shrieks coming in from the living room. He seemed to be on the edge of tears, and worriedly, you set down your brush and rushed to where his sobs were coming from.

And there he was: in fetal position, phone on the floor as he shook his head as if in shock. "Baby," you hurried to him, grabbing his face so you could figure out what was making him so distressed.

He didn't seem to be injured as he meets your eyes, upset. "I can't do this bruh," he laments while turning to be on his back and rubbing his eyes. You just look at him confused.

"Do what?"

He turns, and pauses. Scans you in your champagne dress for the fancy place he was taking you and the way you did your makeup so sultry. It's just for him, but after the events of that Tiktok—that's now stopped filming—all he feels is petty jealousy because other guys can see you like this.

Out of nowhere, he declares, "I can fight."

You blink. "What?"

"I can fight," he repeats, nodding emphatically as if trying to convince himself. Then, after a beat: "Why do I have such a pretty girlfriend?" He groans again, throwing his arm over his eyes. "Baby, why do you look so good right now?"

While he does this, you inspect him for any signs of injuries or things that could've caused him this much distress. Finding none and used to his theatrics, you sigh and pat his cheek. "I’m going to finish getting ready," you say, deciding he’s not in mortal peril after all.

As you return to your vanity, Satoru calls after you, still sulking. "Just so you know, I ranked the polite hug at two. Because I love you. And I can fight."

"Good to know, Satoru."

“Something like that,” you mumble, not wanting to give him the entire story. Twisting the cap off the bottle,  you take a sip, hoping he’ll just leave you alone, but instead, he leans against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable.

“So,” he says, tilting his head, “I heard through the grapevine that you had a run-in with that Spider-Man guy this week.”

That makes you pause mid-gulp of water, instead of coughing a bit as you try to swallow it down without basically drowning in Kirkland Signature Natural Spring Water. You’ve only told, like three people outside of Kento and Iori, so you’re confused why he knows this information, but you continue on regardless. The memory of Spider-Man swinging in to save you flashes through your mind, and you can’t help but smile softly to yourself. “It was amazing. He’s—he’s incredible, honestly. The way he just swooped in and handled everything? So fast, so precise. He’s like a real-life superhero.”

You’re basically gushing to him, and you realize that a bit too late as you look at his face to gauge his reaction. He’s looking at you with a newfound interest, albeit a bit too conflicted to fully tease you about it when he says, “Sounds like you’re smitten.”

“Maybe I am,” you admit, laughing. “I mean, who wouldn’t be? He’s brave, he’s kind, and he doesn’t even stick around for the credit. It’s like he’s this selfless, untouchable figure.” You also kind of want to give him a sloppy toppy for saving you like that, but you spare Gojo the details. 

“Untouchable, huh?” Gojo echoes, his tone turning a bit wry and…jealous? “Sounds like someone’s got a crush.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and you think Gojo can tell with the way you’re heating up and bashfully looking at the ground. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, leaning closer, “if that’s your type, you might want to raise your standards. Superheroes are overrated.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what, you’re not?”

He grins, that infuriatingly charming grin that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and laugh. “I’m better. I’m real.” He then puts his hands on the counter behind you, caging you between them until your knees are lightly brushing, and suddenly his face is so close that small little breaths from his nose are fanning across your face. “I can prove that to you.”

And you hate your body for being so…reactive and enthusiastic to his smooth-talking, face flushing. Despite that, you try to put on an air of nonchalance. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Really?” he teases. His hand leaves the marble counter to hover at your hip, his hand subconsciously tracing your curves an inch above your skin. The motion, firm but tentative as if he’s waiting for you to give him the green light, makes you shiver as you subconsciously move your hips to finally have the skin-to-skin contact. And your skin sings in happiness as he draws circles into the area right below your skirt, even momentarily dipping just below, to which you realize that he’s treading very close to your panties, since your skirt’s really short.

"Yea," you basically sigh, hating yourself for how breathy your voice sounds.

It seems to have an effect on Gojo because his eyes darken as he murmurs, "Wastin' your time on that Spiderman guy."

Maybe it's the fact that it's late (you've been getting sub four hours of sleep this past week) or the lights in this humid frat bring a heady air, but all academic-rivalry-overshadowed-woman-in-stem history between you and Gojo disappears in your brain as you rake your eyes up and down his torso and then look at him through your lashes. "Who should I spend my time on instead?"