Satoru Gojo

Satoru was a god amongst men, or at least he thought so.

It was undeniable that he had won the genetic lottery. He towered over his peers at a staggering one-hundred and ninety-two centimeters tall. He was lean, not to mention surprisingly athletic. The corded sinewy flexing under his fair skin as if he never had to work for it. His face was sharp and angular, with a well-defined jaw. His lips were thin and glossy, either stretched into a cocky grin, or a frustrated frown. His nose was narrow and long. His brows were thick and furrowed, his pristine, white bangs falling over them.

But the most compelling part of Satoru were his eyes. Big and squinted behind coke-bottle thick glasses. Icy shades of blues swirled in his irises, as if mocking the world with the good looks he had been granted with. His eyes were framed by snow white lashes, long and fluttering. His eyes glittered in the light, no matter how dim. It was as if his eyes were frozen over pools of water. They were truly the most compelling thing about his appearance, though it was hard to say the other parts of him weren’t compelling. Satoru was beautifully handsome, an angel in human flesh.

Everyone falls short somewhere. With the sole exception of Satoru Gojo, of course!

Satoru, for all his love of sugary treats, couldn’t seem to soften the blow of his words with sugar-coating. No, he was truly insufferable. It was everyone else’s fault that society was filled with “Chad’s” and “Stacy's" who couldn’t see what was truly special about an intelligent man like himself.

It was the sole reason Satoru’s friend group was no bigger than Suguru and Shoko. When Satoru wasn’t flaunting his status as a brainiac and studying like there was no tomorrow, he was hunched over his computer, with thirteen tabs of an absurd hentai, ai generated goon slop, and a Discord voice channel with his “kittens” crooning over their next Nitro subscription in exchange for mindless praise that barely registered anymore. When anyone did try to talk to Satoru, he brushed them off as if they were as entertaining as watching paint dry.

People were bland, he learned. The most fun he got out of anything was reminding whoever listened that he was always the smartest person in the room – he practically came out of the womb with a PhD.

As much as his friends criticized him, he never bothered to change. Why should he when he had the world at his every beck and call? He was to inherit his generational fortune, his family’s technology empire, and if it came to it, he could simply be put into an arranged marriage. Satoru had never had to want for anything, so why should he start now? Love was thrown at him freely, he had the only friends he’d really ever need, and money was never an issue.

It wasn’t until Shoko had introduced you to their small group that anything had changed. He understood fundamentally it was hormones and chemicals released by his brain in response to you, that it was simply a bodily response to intense attraction.

Yet it didn’t make his feelings any less intense. He remembered addressing you with detached boredom, yet it had felt as if his heart had jumped up and into his throat every time your gaze had met his. His palms grew clammy when you got too close. When your scent lingered his pants suddenly got too tight. You were an anomaly to him. It wasn’t as if Satoru didn’t have the option to date or screw anyone he wanted, he most certainly did. It simply just got boring too fast.

He initially had no plans to follow Suguru and Shoko out to the local fair that popped up. Carnivals, festivals, they were just cash grabs. The only part he paid any mind to was the overpriced funnel cakes they sold. Satoru had never felt the need to seek out adrenaline, like either of his friends. He had firmly explained he had an essay due soon (though, really the deadline for submissions wasn’t for another three weeks), and how he simply couldn't go. Not until Suguru brought up that you were tagging along.

His fingers sifted anxiously through his snowy white hair for seemingly the thousandth time. He snubbed the toe of his shoe against the concrete just outside the tickets booth, his sharp gaze anxiously searching through crowds of unfamiliar faces for you. While he had rode with Suguru, he knew you were coming along with Shoko and Utahime. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He had worn his nicest (read: cleanest) tee, with a pair of jeans, and a jacket he had doused with his cologne. Something clean, sharp. Ozone and Bergamont, uniquely him. Unsurprisingly, of course. It was a custom made cologne solely for the Gojo heir.

“Nervous?” Suguru’s deep purr pulled him from his thoughts. The ebony haired man stood beside him, casual, with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. It wasn’t as if he could exactly hide how he felt for you, at least not from Suguru. The man had always possessed a unique ability to see through people. It was unnerving, really. How easily he seemed to read those around him, with a deeply philosophical nature. Suguru effortlessly attracted people. Tall, broad, dark. He was handsome in a darker, more natural allure in comparison to Satoru. Cocky, but humble. The complete opposite of Satoru.

The white haired man’s nose wrinkled as he shot Suguru a scathing glare. “No,” He bit out. “There are far better places for me to be, like at home. Studying.” He muttered, adjusting the thick glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “Not hanging out with a bunch of thrill seekers who have nothing better to do.” Satoru muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. His heart rabbited in his chest as his sharp gaze searched the crowds for you again. As Suguru shook his head, Satoru’s jaw tightened. He had every intention of impressing you tonight.

“Here they come,” Suguru said, before Satoru could try and insult him again.

Satoru whipped his head around so fast that it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash. His gaze focused on the three approaching figures, Shoko and Uthaime stationed on either side of you, the three of you clearly caught in a conversation. He looked away, his jaw tightening as he tried to feign nonchalance. As he leaned back against the ticket booth, his face read ‘I’d rather be anywhere but here’. His throat tightened as he watched Suguru offer an easy going smile to Shoko, Utahime, and you. “Finally. We were only waiting six years.” He muttered under his breath, his white bangs falling over his sharp eyes.