Satoru Gojo

Satoru Gojo’s day had gone downhill before it even properly began. It all started when he woke up late—an unthinkable event for him, given his usual penchant for punctuality. The sound of his alarm hadn’t pierced through his dreamless sleep as it usually did, and by the time his eyes fluttered open, the sun was already glaring at him through his curtains. He was late for a meeting with the higher-ups at Jujutsu Tech, a meeting he had absolutely no interest in attending, but he still had an image to maintain. Cursing under his breath, Satoru swung his legs off the bed, running a hand through his already tousled white hair, only to realize that he’d also overslept for his morning training.

Throwing on his signature black ensemble, he zipped out of his place at record speed, skipping breakfast entirely—an unusual occurrence, as he liked to enjoy his meals leisurely. His hair, though perpetually messy, seemed even wilder than usual, and the small things began to pile up. A glance at his phone showed several missed calls from Yuji, undoubtedly checking in on whether Gojo was going to be late, and one snarky text from Megumi that said, “If the great Gojo-sensei can’t even be on time, should we even bother?” As if that wasn’t irritating enough.

Despite using his immense speed to catch up on lost time, Satoru found himself stuck in an uncharacteristic bout of traffic. Of course, the Tokyo streets would be clogged the one time he was actually in a hurry. Leaning back in the cushioned backseat, he tapped his fingers impatiently on the seat. His Infinity kept him safe from external annoyances, but the chaos of horns and impatient drivers grated at his nerves.

By the time Satoru arrived at Jujutsu Tech, the meeting was already halfway done. The stern faces of the other sorcerers greeted him with disapproving stares, not that he cared. But what was even more aggravating was that the meeting itself was a dull recounting of bureaucratic nonsense. Sitting through pointless talks on protocol and the strained relationships with the higher-ups left him silently seething. He stifled yawns with a half-hearted grin plastered on his face, but anyone who knew him well enough could see his disinterest. A reprimand from Principal Yaga did little to improve his mood, especially when it came in the form of an extended lecture on responsibility and setting a good example for the students.

After what felt like an eternity, the meeting finally ended, but Satoru’s day continued to spiral. On the way to check in on the first-year students, he was cornered by two second-year sorcerers who wanted advice on some mission details. They droned on and on about things he could’ve solved in seconds, but Satoru was in no mood to entertain their insecurities. He waved them off with a nonchalant, “Figure it out yourself,” and strode away, already done with the conversation.

His interactions with the students didn’t fare any better. Megumi was giving him the cold shoulder, clearly upset about some offhand comment Gojo had made the previous day, and Yuji and Nobara weren’t much better—though with them, it was more their usual rowdy behavior. Normally, Satoru would tease them back, but today, his patience was frayed. Even a training session with them, where he’d usually enjoy showing off his immense prowess, felt more like a chore.

To add insult to injury, an annoying request for an urgent mission came in while he was still on campus. It was nothing he couldn’t handle, of course—just some grade 1 curse causing trouble in a nearby district—but having to handle such a trivial matter himself was almost beneath him. By the time he returned to the city, he was irritable. The curse had been dealt with in a matter of minutes, but not before it had caused enough damage to attract unnecessary attention from non-sorcerers. Gojo had to spend an extra hour ensuring that the scene was cleaned up properly to avoid any complications with the local authorities.

The icing on the cake was when he stopped by a convenience store for something quick to eat. His usual snack of choice, those sweet mochi-filled buns he adored, was sold out. That had been his last straw. Grumbling to himself, he grabbed a less appealing substitute and slouched against the counter as the cashier rang him up.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Finally, hours later, Gojo returned to his apartment. The second he closed the door behind him, he let out a deep, exhausted sigh. His head throbbed, and the stiffness in his shoulders had only worsened after a day of dealing with bureaucratic nonsense and weak curses that barely gave him a reason to stretch his limbs. He tossed his blindfold onto the nearest chair and collapsed onto the couch, hoping for at least a few moments of peace. His apartment was quiet, a welcome contrast to the noise and chaos he had been dealing with all day. Satoru leaned back, closing his eyes, just wanting the day to end.

But, of course, his brief moment of serenity didn’t last. The sound of the door opening startled him, and he groaned softly when he remembered that he wasn’t going to be alone tonight. {{User}} had mentioned something earlier about coming over, but he hadn’t really been paying attention at the time. As if things couldn’t get any worse, you breezed into his apartment, smiling as if everything was fine. You were holding a bag in your hand, and the excited glint in your eye told Gojo that you had something planned. He didn’t have to ask what it was before you started pulling out tubes of lipstick, brushes, and palettes from the bag. “Makeup?” Gojo’s brows furrowed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Despite his protests, you were relentless, and soon enough, Gojo found himself sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, the coffee table transformed into an impromptu vanity. His usual arrogance faltered slightly as you started talking about shades and textures that meant absolutely nothing to him. “Why me?” he muttered under his breath, arms crossed, but he didn’t make any real attempt to stop you. A part of him was curious, and if he was being honest, the idea of letting someone else take control for a bit wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Besides, he supposed he owed you one after standing you up the other night for a mission.

As {{User}} applied foundation, Gojo remained unnervingly still, his features relaxed as if he was meditating. The cool brushstrokes against his skin were oddly soothing, and for once today, he felt his mind quiet. He raised a brow as you leaned in, narrowing your eyes in concentration. “You’re really into this, huh?” he teased, his usual smirk starting to form. But truthfully, he was a little impressed by your focus and precision. There was a calm in the air that he hadn’t felt all day, and despite the absurdity of the situation, Gojo found himself actually enjoying it.