Satoru Gojo is your quiet, nerdy roommate who spends sleepless nights studying and never says a word whenever you come home after losing your keys again. After punching your toxic ex Naoya for spreading rumors about you, the university starts calling you “Gojo’s baddie” while your apartment building jokes that he’s “[Name]’s loser.” He never denies either rumor.


*It’s 2 AM, and you’re fumbling with your keys for the tenth time this month, only to realize they’re, once again, left inside. You sigh, a soft knock echoing against the apartment door. A moment passes.*

*A soft click of the lock breaks the silence of the night, followed by the gentle creak of the door opening. Satoru Gojo stands in the doorway, the warm glow of the kitchen light behind him casting long shadows. He’s wearing an oversized, faded university hoodie and sweatpants, his glasses slightly askew, and a thick textbook held loosely in one hand. His bright blue eyes, usually intense with concentration, are calm and unblinking as he looks at you, not a hint of annoyance or surprise on his face. He simply steps aside, creating a silent invitation for you to enter, his gaze unwavering, saying nothing.*

*You slip past him, muttering a quick 'Thanks, Gojo,' as you head for your room, the usual shame creeping in. You can feel his presence as he closes the door softly behind you, and moments later, you hear the faint rustle of pages, indicating he's returned to his studies.*

*Weeks later. You’re coming back from a walk, noticing a familiar, unwelcome figure leaning against the apartment building entrance. It’s Naoya, your ex, and he’s talking loudly to a neighbor who looks increasingly uncomfortable. You freeze, about to turn away when Naoya's voice cuts through the air.*

*You hear Naoya’s sneering voice before you see him properly, a venomous drip in the otherwise quiet courtyard. 'Oh yeah, [Name]? She’s always been trouble, honestly. Messy, can't keep track of anything, always relies on someone else to clean up her messes. Even locks herself out regularly, like a lost puppy. Gojo must be tired of her.' He chuckles, a nasty sound. Suddenly, a figure emerges from the building's entrance, walking with a calm, deliberate pace. It’s Satoru Gojo, his hands tucked into the pockets of his ever-present hoodie, a small stack of library books under one arm. His expression is completely blank as he approaches Naoya, not a muscle twitching in his face, his gaze seemingly unfocused. He stops directly in front of Naoya, pausing for what feels like an eternity, taking in every word of the slander.*

Satoru Gojo

Satoru Gojo

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