Satoru Gojo

You’ve known Satoru Gojo for years. Not personally—no one really does—but it’s impossible to attend the same school without noticing him.

He’s the tall boy who always sits at the back of the classroom, white hair perpetually messy like he’s just rolled out of bed. His uniform is never quite right, his glasses sometimes slipping down his nose while he scribbles notes that no one else understands.

To most students, he’s just that weird anime nerd. The quiet, socially awkward guy who spends too much time online and mutters about video game lore under his breath.

Rumors have a way of sticking to people like him, too. Some say he watches 'questionable' stuff, whatever that means. Others claim he’s a total shut-in outside of school. No one actually knows if any of it is true, but the gossip spread fast enough that it didn’t really matter. Once a reputation like that forms, it’s hard to shake.

Whatever the truth is, most people decided long ago that keeping their distance from Satoru is easier than trying to understand him.

So that’s what everyone does.

He eats lunch alone at the far end of the courtyard benches, quietly picking at whatever he brought from home while groups of louder students fill the space around him. In class discussions, his hand sometimes lifts like he wants to say something, only for it to slowly lower again when no one calls on him. When he does speak, it’s usually too enthusiastic or too detailed, and the room goes quiet in that awkward way that makes someone realize they’ve talked a little too long.

Sometimes he’ll laugh softly at his own joke when no one else does.

Sometimes he pretends he didn’t hear the whispers when people walk past his desk.

And sometimes, when the teacher pairs students up for group work, you can see the brief flicker of hesitation on everyone’s faces before someone reluctantly slides into the seat beside him.

It’s subtle things like that. Small, quiet reminders that Satoru exists just a little bit outside of everyone else’s world.

What most people don’t realize is that Satoru isn’t actually creepy or strange at all. Just.. awkward. Painfully awkward. Quiet in the wrong moments, overly enthusiastic in the wrong conversations.

The kind of person who lights up when someone asks about his interests, only for the conversation to die because no one else knows what he’s talking about.

The kind of person who starts explaining something with bright, excited eyes... then slowly trails off when he realizes no one is really listening.

The kind of person who clearly, painfully, just wants someone to talk to.

Which makes what happens one afternoon incredibly unfortunate. Because you are about as far from Satoru Gojo as a person can get.

You’re the golden girl of the school—the one people admire, the one teachers trust, the one who always seems to have a circle of friends around her. Your reputation is spotless, your social life thriving, and if someone asked students to describe you in one word, it would probably be perfect.

But that reputation hides a secret you guard very carefully. Behind closed doors, away from school and curious classmates, you’re a massive nerd.

Not casually interested, no. You’re the kind of fan who spends hours deep in lore forums, who stays up too late playing horror games with the lights off just for the atmosphere, who quietly collects figurines and merch from your favorite franchises. Your bedroom shelves would absolutely betray you if anyone from school ever saw them.

Which is why you’re careful. Or... at least you were.

Because one afternoon after school, while wandering through a small game shop in the mall, your attention drifts toward the collectibles shelf.

Rows of horror game merchandise stare back at you—posters, artbooks, figurines—and before you can stop yourself, your hand reaches out to pick up a detailed figure of pyramid head from silent hill 2.

You’re turning the box in your hands, quietly admiring the craftsmanship, when a small, sharp gasp comes from somewhere behind you.

Not a loud one. More like the sound someone makes when they suddenly spot something exciting.

Your stomach drops. Slowly—very slowly—you turn your head. And immediately wish the floor would swallow you whole.

Standing a few steps away in the same aisle is Satoru Gojo. Of all people.

He’s frozen mid-step, a game case from resident evil clutched loosely in his hand. His bright blue eyes are wide behind his glasses, like he’s just witnessed something miraculous.

His gaze drops to the figure in your hands. Then back to your face.

Neither of you say a word. But the understanding hits instantly. He knows. And worse—you know that he knows.

For a moment, Satoru just stares, processing the situation like his brain is buffering. Then something surprising happens. Instead of laughing or making some embarrassing comment, his expression softens into a small, almost shy smile… like he’s just discovered the most unexpected secret in the world.

You panic, and without another word, you hurriedly place the figure back on the shelf and exit the aisle at a speed that is definitely not suspicious at all.

Surely he’ll forget. Surely he won’t bring it up. Surely.

A couple of days pass.

The memory starts to fade, replaced by the normal rhythm of school again. Between classes, the hallway buzzes with conversation, lockers slamming and students weaving through the crowd. You’re standing near your classroom door with a few friends, laughing about something someone said while you wait for the teacher to arrive.

Then a quiet voice appears behind you. "...hi."

You turn your head. Satoru Gojo is standing there.

Up close, he looks exactly how you’d expect—the slightly crooked glasses, the messy white hair that somehow still looks soft rather than unkempt, his uniform neat but worn in that absent-minded way. A stray thread hangs from his sleeve where he probably forgot to trim it. One hand rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck while he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

He looks nervous.

Your friends stare at him like he’s wandered into the wrong conversation.

But Satoru isn’t looking at them. He’s looking at you.

"...I didn’t know you liked silent hill," he says softly, almost hesitant. "The figure you were holding the other day was pyramid head, right? The sculpt on that one’s actually really accurate compared to the game model."

Your entire body locks up. Your friends glance between the two of you, confused.

And Satoru—completely oblivious to the social catastrophe currently unfolding—suddenly brightens. His shoulders lift slightly, his eyes lighting up with the kind of quiet excitement someone gets when they think they might finally have something in common with another person.

Like he’s been waiting a long time to talk to someone about this.

"Um," he continues, pushing his glasses up with a small, hopeful smile, "do you.. wanna talk about it sometime?"

He notices the looks on your friends’ faces—the confusion, the subtle judgment—and it’s like something in him falters. His shoulders draw in slightly, the small spark of excitement in his eyes dimming as he instinctively shrinks back into himself.

"Sorry…" he starts, quieter now, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve as his gaze dips somewhere past you instead of meeting your eyes. "I thought it might be easier, talking to someone who already likes the same things."