Satoru Gojo

You’ve started to suspect that the convenience store lights are messing with you on purpose.

Every night at exactly 10PM, there’s always one light that starts flickering. Not in a steady blink, but in a twitchy, seizure-like way, like it’s using its last dying breath of electricity to stay alive just to spite you. You’ve reported it three times, the technician came twice, and the conclusion was: “It’s still lighting up.”

You’re still alive too, just barely.

Eight-hour night shifts. No sitting, no lying down, no catching your breath. The second you clock in, you become shelf stocker, cashier, janitor, smile robot, and the last fragile illusion that maybe society hasn’t given up on itself.

2AM aunties who secretly switch price tags. 3AM randos who use your bathroom without buying anything and then complain there’s no toilet paper. 4AM drunk dudes who come in just to tell you your smile isn’t sincere enough… And then there’s the type that walks in with junk food, takes ten minutes to choose a cigarette brand, and twenty more minutes telling you all about their breakup, yet somehow you’re still expected to smile through it all.

But it’s hard to find a job these days, so you deal with it and pretend to cherish it. Job descriptions are insane to the point of comedy. When you’re young, they want experience. When you have experience, they want you young. (Maybe the only way to survive is to start your early childhood education in programming and market analysis so that by the time you graduate, you can calmly tell HR: “yeah well, I have twenty years of experience. I’m twenty-four.”)

So here you are, standing on a sticky floor tile, staring at a prepackaged meal in the fridge that’s about to expire but still proudly displayed. You silently pray for it to explode and take you with it, heaven, hell, you don’t give a fuck. Sometimes you space out, staring at the black-and-white footage from the security camera. Not for any reason. Just wondering if, after enough time, you’ll become part of the store too. Like the freezer. Like the fridge. Like that damn flickering light.

---

Gojo Satoru’s been kind of anxious lately. He noticed the new employee at his usual convenience store is kinda cute.

It’s not that you’re drop-dead gorgeous. It’s the way you say “Welcome” like you’re deeply offended to be of service, that’s what he can’t get out of his head.

Don’t be fooled by his height, which practically grazes the ceiling. Or the fact that even with thick-rimmed glasses he’s stupidly good-looking. Girls look at him all the time. But Gojo? He’s terrible at flirting. Every day he walks into that store, rehearsing what he wants to say. And every time, the second you look up and hit him with a “Need a bag?”, it’s like his brain hits a brick wall. Everything vanishes. He just stands there, awkwardly taking the change and pretending to browse bottled water, wet wipes, and random newspapers like a complete idiot.

But hey! If he keeps showing up, maybe you’ll remember him, right?

---

You do remember him. Honestly, it’d be harder not to, because he’s just…weird. If that’s the right word.

He always shows up between 11PM and 1AM, pretending to browse, but his eyes wander like he’s lost on a map. You tense up the second he enters. He’s not scary, exactly, but his presence is just so loud.

The weirder part? He doesn’t leave.

After paying, he just stands near the shelves, watching you. Not occasional glances. Just full-on, intense staring. Like you’re a test he can’t figure out. You even start to wonder if he’s planning to rob the place. Maybe memorizing your face to follow you after your shift.

You tried being polite to lighten the mood. But the second you smiled at him, he flinched like he got electrocuted. Fumbled at the register, dropped all his change everywhere.

You seriously started reviewing the process of calling the cops—but what would you even say? That a hot guy bought nail clippers, lube, and a single discounted eggplant, and made too much eye contact?

So you just smiled more politely, rang him up faster, and tried harder to look like a soul-crushed cashier instead of the imaginary girlfriend he’s been simping over for three years.

---

Satoru spent fifteen minutes practicing in front of the mirror today.

He refuses to be that guy again, the silent idiot who just nods and smiles like a creep. He’s a grown man. He has a brain. He has courage. He even washed his hair, wore an unwrinkled white shirt, sprayed cologne. He told himself: “Today, I’m going to say something. Anything.”

He walks into the store. You’re at the counter, looking tired and—somehow—still pretty. He grabs a random bottle of water and sets it down. His palms are already soaked with sweat. You scan the bottle, ask, “Cash or card?”

Satoru fumbles his wallet open and pays in cash. When he hands it over, his fingers brush against yours and he feels like he’s been struck by lightning. Full body short circuit. Brain completely crashes. He opens his mouth, ready to say the line he rehearsed. Lips move. No sound.

You glance up, confused. He panics. Completely.

Come on, Gojo. Say something. Anything. Weather. Air quality. Favorite boba flavor. Literally anything. He just needs a way out. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the shelf behind you...rows of condoms.

His mouth moves one second faster than his brain.

“You know... I use XXL condoms.”