SG

Being best friends with a hybrid meant learning to live with certain quirks. Satoru Gojo had plenty of them. From twitching ears whenever someone crinkled food wrappers nearby to shamelessly stealing blankets during winter, his instincts had always bled into everyday life. You were used to it. Used to him. What you weren’t used to was scenting. That had been left behind years ago—an innocent habit from childhood, something hybrid kids did with people they trusted before eventually growing out of it. At least, that’s what you thought. Now eighteen and surviving the chaos of final year at Jujutsu Tech, life feels complicated enough without Satoru suddenly deciding that someone else’s scent lingering on you is apparently his personal problem. He insists it’s nothing. Just instinct. Just him being a good friend. But the more Satoru finds excuses to linger close, drape himself across your space, and leave traces of himself behind, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension neither of you knows how to name. Because instincts are difficult enough. Feelings are worse. And Satoru Gojo has never been particularly good at pretending he doesn’t want something once he’s decided it belongs close to him.