Quota of frat culture
synopsis: everyone on campus seems to have an opinion about Satoru Gojo. frat president. genius. untouchable. you just think he’s irritating. but between late-night study sessions and quiet moments away from the noise, you start to see a different side of him, one no one else seems to notice.
pairings: frat!gojoxuninterested!reader
wc: 1.4k
a/n: um. yeah. so they’re both a little stupid right now 💔 anyways thank you for all the love, i promise i’m not trying to hurt you (maybe a little)
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chapter 5
you walk into the lecture hall and take the seat beside him.
like it's the most natural thing in the world.
like nothing between you has been tilting off-center lately.
it's been the setup for weeks now—
ever since the professor made everyone sit with their assigned partners.
it used to feel simple.
predictable.
automatic.
until today.
today it feels...
different.
you keep your gaze on your notebook as you drop into the chair, your bag sliding off your shoulder.
he's already there.
of course, he is.
he glances over when you sit.
just a flick of his eyes.
"...hey."
"hey."
your voice doesn't waver.
you don't look at him long—just enough to acknowledge him before you retreat back to your notes.
a second of silence follows.
not tense.
just...deliberate.
like both of you can feel the shift, but neither is naming it.
his pen taps once against your desk.
then stops.
"...get any sleep?" he asks, light, casual.
you lift a shoulder.
"a little."
"you don't look like you did."
you let out a quiet breath—half a laugh, half a sigh.
"thanks."
"just being honest."
his tone is easy.
too easy.
you don't answer.
you don't give him anything to work with.
and that—
that shift—
happens again.
small.
but there.
the lecture still hasn't started.
people are drifting in, settling, murmuring to each other.
chairs scrape. backpack drops.
you pretend to skim your notes—
not absorbing a single word.
just... giving your hands something to do.
your pen taps the page.
once. twice.
then quiet.
there's movement near the front.
you don't pay attention at first—just another student walking in
but then,
you notice the way the room shifts.
barely.
like people are making space without being asked.
like they know exactly who just arrived.
you glance up.
and yeah.
makes sense.
ryomen sukuna.
he doesn't hurry.
doesn't slow down either.
just walks like he already knows where he's going.
where he intends to end up.
his eyes sweep the room—
not wandering.
not curious.
searching.
until they find you.
and stay.
your stomach dips.
just a little.
you look back down, pretending you didn't see.
pretending you weren't just—
seen.
"...you know him?" gojo murmurs beside you.
you keep your eyes on your notebook.
"...no."
a beat
"...you're looking," he says.
you exhale through your nose.
"so are you."
that gets the smallest reaction, barely there—
but it disappears fast.
because by then—
sukuna's already reached you.
he doesn't pause in the aisle.
doesn't hover.
he just pulls out the empty chair from the row in front of you,
turns it around,
and sits.
backwards.
like this is normal.
like he belongs here.
like the entire room isn't watching.
you can see out of the corner of your eye that your roommate goes rigid.
"...yo," sukuna says.
your pen freezes mid-stroke.
you look up.
"...hi."
smooth.
real smooth.
he studies you for a moment.
not awkward.
just...focused.
"you're in this class every time, right?"
"yeah."
"thought so."
a small pause.
then—
"i'm sukuna."
you tell him your name.
he repeats it once.
like he's testing out how it sounds.
you become painfully aware that gojo is right there.
right beside you.
silent.
listening.
not interrupting.
"there's a party tonight," sukuna says, folding his arms over the back of the chair.
relaxed.
comfortable.
"you should come."
there it is.
you hesitate.
"...i don't really go to those."
"then start," he says easily.
like it's not even a question.
like it's already been decided.
your fingers tighten around your pen.
"i'll think about it."
his gaze lingers a moment longer.
then he nods.
"do that."
a split second passes before—
"let me get your number."
your breath catches.
barely.
you glance at your phone.
then at him.
you don't even know why you pause.
maybe because—
you can feel it.
the tension beside you.
thicker now.
quieter.
waiting.
you don't look at gojo.
"okay," you say.
you hand over your phone.
sukuna takes it without hesitation, enters something, and hands it back.
"i'll text you."
simple.
confident.
like he already knows you'll respond.
then he stands, pushes the chair back into place, and walks off.
just like that.
you don't breathe right again until he's gone.
your phone feels heavier now.
like it means something.
like something shifted.
you set it down carefully.
"...so,"
gojo's voice cuts in.
low.
similar to the tone he has only when he's speaking to his father.
you glance at him.
"...so?"
he's staring straight ahead.
not at you.
"you're just giving your number out now."
there's an edge to it.
soft.
but sharp enough to feel.
you feel it immediately.
you lean back a little.
"it's just a number."
a pause.
his jaw tightens.
barely.
"...right."
and yeah—
he definitely is not fine with it.
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you end up going.
obviously.
your roommate doesn't even pretend to give you a choice.
"you're coming," she declares, halfway into her outfit already.
"it'll be fun."
"it'll be loud."
"exactly."
you tug at your sleeve, exhaling.
"i don't even know why i said i'd think about it."
"because you wanted to go."
"... no, i didn't."
she pauses, looks at you.
"... or because you wanted someone to see you there."
you freeze.
just a second.
then scoff.
"you're reaching."
she only smiles—like she's not reaching at all.
the party is—
a lot.
music pounding through the floor.
bodies everywhere.
heat.
noise.
movement.
you regret it instantly.
"relax," your roommate laughs, catching your wrist.
"we literally just walked in."
"i know," you mutter.
"that's the issue."
she rolls her eyes and drags you deeper into the crowd.
your gaze sweeps the room without permission.
once.
twice.
no sign of him.
you ignore the way that hits.
immediatley.
nope. not doing that.
"you came."
you turn.
sukuna.
of course.
he steps in closer, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
"i said i'd think about it."
"and you made the right call."
you don't respond to that.
"...it's crowded," you say instead.
"it is."
he leans in slightly.
"we can go somewhere quieter."
your chest tightens—not because of him, but because the offer feels too much, too soon.
you shake your head.
"i'm fine."
his eyes linger, then he nods.
"your choice."
and then—
you see him.
across the room.
satoru gojo.
leaning against the wall, drink in hand, surrounded by people, laughing like he owns the place.
but his eyes—
aren't on them.
they're on you.
on sukuna.
on the space between you.
his jaw ticks.
once.
tight.
you feel it anyway.
something in your chest pulls.
hard.
"...excuse me," you say abruptly.
and you're moving.
pushing toward the crowd.
toward him.
he notices instantly.
his attention snaps to you, sharp and focused, everything else falling away.
you stop in front of him.
closer than you meant to be.
closer than you should be.
"...didn't think you were the party type," he says.
light.
too light.
you breathe out. "i'm not."
"could've fooled me."
his gaze flicks past you.
you don't need to look.
you know exactly who he's watching.
"...what's that supposed to mean?"
he shrugs, takes a sip.
"nothing."
you let out a breath.
"you're terrible at lying."
his eyes cut back to yours—sharper now.
"i'm not lying."
"then say what you mean."
the air tightens.
his jaw clenches.
"...why him?"
your breath stutters.
"...what?"
"sukuna," he says, quieter. "why him?"
you stare at him.
"i'm not with him..."
"looked like it."
your chest twists.
"why do you care?"
it slips out.
too fast.
too honest.
it lands between you—heavy, real.
he freezes.
just for a second.
like you hit something he didn't want touched.
then,
"i don't."
too quick.
too smooth.
there it is.
the wall.
your expression drops.
barely.
"...right."
you step back.
the space feels necessary.
"it's not a whole thing—so you don't get a say," you say softly.
and that—
that hits him.
you see it.
clear as day.
his fingers tighten around his cup.
but he doesn't stop you.
doesn't correct himself.
doesn't say anything that matters.
so you turn.
and walk away.
again.
but this time—
it lands differently.
he watches you go.
doesn't move.
doesn't call after you.
but something in your chest,
twists.
sharp.
unwelcome.
he drags a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.
"...it's not a whole thing," he mutters.
but his eyes follow the path you disappeared into.
and he knows,
that's a lie.
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taglist: @superstaargirl, @ddaenggorlll, @superfragalisticexpialidocious, @nyjafushigiro
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a/n: sukuna showing up was self-indulgent idc i love that man 😭
