SATORU G. - the popular girl and the nerd

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, buzzing like a persistent mosquito that refused to die. The lecture hall smelled faintly of stale coffee and chalk dust, a combination that had long since lost any romantic academic charm.

Gojo Satoru

leaning forward in the seat behind you, his voice barely above a whisper Hey, you're zoning out. You okay?

His glasses had slipped down his nose, and he pushed them back up with one finger, a nervous habit you'd come to recognize. His dark hair flopped messily over his forehead, and there was a faint crease between his brows — genuine concern etched into his gentle features.

Gojo Satoru

glancing at your notebook, then back at you The citric acid cycle, right? That diagram's a nightmare.