Chapter Text
Saturday afternoons weren’t usually Satoru Gojo’s thing. He’d rather sleep in, grab something indulgent to eat, maybe waste hours scrolling on his phone, playing video games or hanging out with Suguru. But somehow, he’d ended up downtown, sunglasses on, wandering aimlessly through the shopping district.
And that’s when he saw you.
At first, he wasn’t even sure he was seeing it right. Gojo pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, rubbed at his eyes, and squinted again.
Yep. It was you.
He froze mid-step.
His assistant… looking like a normal person?
Okay, rude. You were a normal person, obviously. But this version of you- this was something he had never seen before.
No blazer. None of those oversized grandma cardigans or plain skirts you wore like armor at the office.
Instead, you were in a cropped sweater that showed just the faintest sliver of skin, baggy pants, and a trench coat thrown over your shoulders. Even your glasses matched the patchwork on your sweater. Your hair was loose, falling over your shoulders, softer, freer.
He had to admit- he was almost impressed. You looked… good.
There you were, clutching your handbag while you leaned over to sniff candles at a vendor’s stall, nose wrinkling, lips twitching as if you were holding back a smile.
Gojo’s chest tightened. He couldn’t reconcile it- this version of you, warm and unguarded, with the one who shuffled into his office every morning with binders bigger than her torso, lips pressed tight as if every word had to survive three checkpoints before leaving your mouth.
He wanted to go up and say something- anything. For once, he actually felt nervous. His hand twitched against his jacket as he tried to psyche himself up.
And then he saw him.
A man walked up behind you.
You turned, holding out the candle toward him with a grin, laughing at something he said. Scrunching your nose, you teased him and put the candle back down.
Gojo felt his pulse spike, a hot coil of something ugly curling in his stomach. A boyfriend? A friend? …A husband? No, that didn’t track, you didn’t wear a ring, and you’d never mentioned anything like that. Not that you would. Still, his heart thudded so loud it made him dizzy.
He instantly melted back into the crowd. He wasn’t spying, he told himself- just… observing.
And then the guy turned his head.
Gojo’s jaw nearly hit the ground.
Choso. Kamo.
What the actual fuck .
Was his assistant on a date with Choso ?
He should’ve marched up and said something snide, stirred the pot, teased you both until you snapped at him.
Normally, that would’ve been the fun play. But instead, his chest felt too tight, his palms too warm. He just… couldn’t.
Because the sight of you laughing at Choso’s emo one-liners while sniffing candles together was making him want to crawl out of his own skin.
Gross.
And then –oh no– Choso’s hand hovered at your waist. Gojo watched in horror as it finally settled around your shoulders. He gasped so loudly that people actually turned to look at him. He didn’t care.
All he could see was the way your shoulders hunched at the touch, the shy tilt of your head as you smiled at him.
Gojo’s stomach flipped.
Disgusting.
He couldn’t watch another second.
Gojo spun on his heel, nearly clipping some poor old man with his jacket as he shoved his way through the crowd. His pulse hammered in his throat, his mind a mess of curses and half-formed thoughts.
What the hell was that? What the actual hell was that?
Since when did he care who you spent your weekends with? Since when did it matter if you were laughing, smiling, tilting your head just so at someone else?
It shouldn’t.
You were his assistant.
That was it.
Not his type, not his problem, not his business.
Just the person who kept his schedule and corrected his spelling mistakes.
So why did his stomach churn like he’d swallowed glass when Choso Kamo put a hand on your shoulder?
He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets, sunglasses sliding back down over his eyes, jaw tight.
He hated this. Hated the thought of you with someone else. Hated that it was Choso, of all people– brooding, perpetually exhausted, zero sense of humor Choso. What the hell could you possibly find interesting about him?
Gojo scoffed out loud, earning another side-eye from a passerby. He didn’t care. The image was already seared into his brain: your shoulders curling, your soft laugh, the way you leaned in just a little.
He hated it. He hated that it mattered.
And yet, as he walked away from the market, fists curling tighter in his pockets, he knew the truth he didn’t want to say out loud–
Something about you was getting under his skin.
And he couldn’t shake it.
••
Monday started wrong.
The second you walked in with your folders, you felt the shift. Gojo was already at his desk, long legs kicked up, scrolling through his phone with that blank, unreadable face. No grin. No teasing “good morning.” Just silence.
“Uh… the shipment reports you wanted are here,” you said, setting them down gently.
“Ok” he barely looked up. “You can leave now” tossing his phone down with a thud.
You left as quickly as he said that. Your palms sweaty as something in the air told you he was in a bad mood. You got the coffee right too still he wasn’t too happy about it.
The rest of the morning was more of the same. Every time you asked a question, he snapped with some cutting remark. When you reminded him of a call, he muttered “I know, I can read a clock.” Even when you tried a dry joke back at him, hoping to break the ice, he only gave you a pointed look and a flat: “Save the comedy routine for someone else, yeah?”
It wasn’t even 12 yet and you were already drained out. You were going through emails and fixing Gojo’s schedule until your phone rang.
You picked it up, pressing it to your ear.
“Come see for a sec,” Gojo’s voice snapped down the line, low and clipped, before the call ended.
Your stomach twisted. You set the receiver down carefully, grabbed your notepad out of habit, and made your way to his office- mind buzzing with a hundred what ifs .
“Yes, Mr. Gojo?” you said softly, standing in front of his desk.
His gaze was sharp, almost scorching. Without a word, he tossed a stack of papers across the desk, the corners slapping against the wood. “What the hell is this?”
You picked them up gingerly, eyes scanning the top page. “…These are the closing reports-”
“I can see that,” he snapped, voice slicing through yours, “but what the fuck is going on with those numbers? They’re all wrong. Everything is off. Nothing’s precise.”
You flinched at the sudden sharpness in his tone. Glancing down, you saw the messy red circles and scribbled numbers in the margins-his handwriting, harsh and impatient.
“I..I checked it properly-”
“Really?” He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head, the sarcasm cutting.
“This is what you’re doing at your desk? Slacking off when you’re needed the most? Is this what I’m paying you for?”
Your throat tightened. “I’m sorry, I can fix it-”
“Sorry won’t fix anything,” he cut in, voice rising. “Sorry won’t cover the inconvenience you’ve caused. Or the loss the company would’ve taken if this garbage went out.”
You lowered your head, unable to meet his piercing gaze, fingers trembling slightly against the paper.
“Do you even understand how careless this is?” His tone sharpened again. “Are you really that dumb when it comes to basic skills?”
“I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again,” you stuttered, blinking hard to keep your voice steady.
“Get out of my sight and fix it.” His attention had already snapped back to his laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard, mouse clicking between screens. “I marked everything. If I find another error, don’t bother coming back.”
Your heart pounded. You clutched the papers to your chest and hurried out, forcing your legs to carry you back to your desk.
The second you dropped into your chair, sweat prickled at your temples. You shoved the papers down, opened your computer with shaky fingers, and typed furiously-your pulse racing, lungs tight, mind a blur of numbers and panic.
But no matter how hard you tried to focus, Gojo’s words rang in your head, each sharper than the last.
Dumb.
Slacking off.
Garbage work.
You needed air. The way Gojo snapped at you today was not new but was something different, it was jarring. Especially considering how things had been between you two lately— almost like friends, sharing little jokes, easy banter. And then suddenly this… like the switch had flipped back to something colder, crueler.
You weren’t exactly sure what had pissed him off so much today,
why he was getting this mad at you,
but you didn’t have time to dwell. Your phone lit up with a message.
Choso: Still up for lunch?
You: Yes, of course. I’ll see you at the restaurant in five.
Last week, you had received a text from one of the interns, Yuji Itadori. He’d asked for your help on his new project- something similar to a story you’d worked on during your own internship.
You’d agreed to help, mostly because he seemed earnest and desperate.
He needed to include pictures and some statistics from his research, and asked if you could tag along with him on Sunday. He also mentioned that his older brother would swing by to assist for a bit. What you hadn’t expected, though, was that his older brother was Choso Kamo.
You’d been surprised at first- they looked nothing alike and had completely different personalities. Yet, despite the differences, it was clear they cared about each other deeply. The way they interacted was sweet, teasing and gentle in a way that made you smile without realizing it.
Choso, on the other hand, was not as surprised to see you there but happy nonetheless. He already knew you’d be helping Yuji, thanks to his little brother gushing endlessly about the CEO’s assistant who always seemed to be helping him. Choso didn’t want to miss the chance to finally meet you- without Gojo lurking around.
When he first saw you at that meeting-face scrunched in confusion as you tried to fix a presentation, cheeks red when Gojo teased you for being a little clumsy- he had thought you were undeniably cute. Your flustered, earnest energy had stuck with him, and he’d been keeping an eye out ever since.
So when Yuji introduced you two, Choso couldn’t resist. He asked for your number- you never reached out to him from the business card he gave you a while back- but somewhere in the conversation, you’d mentioned using scented candles to calm your nerves at home.
Naturally, he asked for your help picking some out.
Since yesterday, you’d been texting back and forth, finally agreeing to meet for lunch today- Yuji tagging along, of course.
The restaurant smelled of warm bread and faint spices, a comforting contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Yuji chattered quietly beside Choso, pointing out statistics and notes for his project, but you barely heard him. Your fork hovered halfway to your mouth, mind replaying the scene from this morning.
“Hey, are you okay? You haven’t touched your food since you got here? What’s wrong?” Choso’s eyes raked over your face as he furrowed his eyebrows gently rubbing your tensed shoulder
“I am okay, its just- its been a rough morning” You smiled weakly
“Yeah? Too much work or..?”
“It was…. Yeah too much work and I don’t know why it’s…” you traced the edge of your plate with your finger not knowing what to tell him
Choso reached over, resting a hand briefly on yours, gentle. “Hey… it’s okay. You’re working so hard, carrying so much responsibility. No wonder it gets to you. How about you eat something first? How will you manage the chaos with no food in your body-That can’t be good right?”
“Of course, I’ll finish my food,” you said, forcing a small smile, though your fingers fiddled with the edge of your plate. “I’m just… worried. I don’t know-” You chuckled nervously, words tripping over themselves, almost sliding into a rambling mess.
Choso’s hand gently touched your arm, his voice calm but firm as he spoke.
You stopped mid-sentence, meeting his steady gaze. Somehow, just hearing your name said like that made you pause, keeping you from tumbling into a spiral.
“You’re overthinking,” he said softly.
“Work is work. I get it. It can be stressful. But you shouldn’t be dragging your work life into your personal life. It’s not good for you. And don’t forget, you work at a company that actually makes access to mental healthcare easier. So… don’t let work stress take over your mental health.”
You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. His words were comforting, grounding, and for a moment, they helped you breathe easier.
You gave a small, tired smile. “Thanks… I just…I will ” You shook your head. The energy he gave you-soft reassurance, a little boost from seeing him care- helped, but it didn’t erase the knot in your chest. It couldn’t explain why a shift in his tone, in his attitude toward you, could unravel you so completely.
You tried,really. You wanted to step inside his office and ask why he was so upset today. You’d seen him in bad moods before, but never like this.
Snapping at you over little things, picking on you for no reason. It was like he was looking for a reaction, like he wanted you to apologize instead.
But you weren’t his babysitter. You were his assistant. He was a grown man who just refused to choose his words wisely.
Still… part of you was bothered that he was bothered.
All the effort he’d put into lowering his walls with you felt like it was about to go down the drain. Both of you were struggling, and words traveled fast around the office. Now everyone was whispering- saying it was only a matter of time before you got fired, or at least put on “temporary leave” until he found someone new.
But that wasn’t the truth. No one knew that the problem wasn’t incompetence. It was that two grown adults didn’t know how to talk to each other. One wanted to ask what was wrong, while the other was busy coping with feelings the wrong way- lashing out instead of opening up.
What you needed was confrontation.
What you had was silence.
“Mr. Gojo, you have a phone call meeting in ten minutes, then the team-building conf-”
“I know. Just send me an email and I’ll take a look.” His eyes never left the computer screen.
You opened your mouth, closed it, then tried again. Before you could get a word out, his gaze cut to you, sharp, impatient. Your shoulders stiffened.
“What? Is there something else? Or are you waiting for an invitation to leave?”
Ouch.
“No, uh… I just… I wanted to tell you something.” You fiddled with the pen in your hand, shoe tapping nervously against the floor.
“Okay. What is it? I don’t have all day.” He leaned forward, arms crossing over his desk as if waiting for you to hurry up.
Your mind went blank. You weren’t his friend, so why did you care? He should be the one apologizing for being an ass. And yet, you had a feeling it was just stress. He’d been carrying too much lately, and you wanted to at least let him know he wasn’t alone.
“If you need anything, please let me know. Or if there’s anything else I can do to help, I’ll be at my desk. Don’t hesitate to call me.” You forced a polite smile and began to turn away.
“Right. That’s why I hired you, isn’t it?” His smile was sharp, poisonous. “Or are you trying to say I’m incapable of doing my job without you? I’m confused- please, enlighten me.”
Heat rushed up your neck. “No, that’s not what I meant, I just-”
“Just Get out of my office. Don’t come back unless I call you.”
You dropped your gaze to your shoes, swallowed hard, and left.
At your desk, you buried your head in your hands. “I’m such a loser,” you muttered, then rubbed at your eyes behind your glasses. “No. I’m not a loser. He’s just being a prick. What a brat.”
You huffed, trying to shake it off, and glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes until the team-building meeting. Your stomach knotted. You just prayed he’d be in a better mood by then- because you weren’t sure you could stand another round of this. You will talk to him, hold him accountable for his actions, but not today.
Not today.
The conference room was buzzing, energy high from the so-called “team building” workshop HR had insisted on. Everyone sat in a loose circle, tossing around ideas during a mock debate exercise.
You weren’t the type to speak up much during these things, but when Reina confidently pitched her view, you found yourself quietly interjecting.
“I think if we went with that strategy, we’d risk overextending the budget. A phased approach would be more sustainable in the long term.”
A few heads turned your way, surprised you’d spoken. Reina smiled thinly. “Well, that sounds safe, but if we move too slowly, competitors will eat us alive. Don’t you think that’s just… overly cautious?”
You tightened your grip on your notebook. “Cautious isn’t always bad. At least it’s precise-“
“That’s rich,” Gojo cut in suddenly, from where he lounged with his arms draped over the chair. His voice was light, but his smirk sharp. “Precise? Coming from you?”
Your stomach dropped. Heat rushed to your face as a couple of people shifted, glancing between you and him.
Gojo chuckled under his breath, tilting his head. “Honestly, I think Reina’s right. Playing it safe just sounds like being lazy in disguise. Isn’t that what you always do?”
The words stung like a slap. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Then someone else- one of the junior analysts- muttered just loud enough for the room to hear, “Yeah, guess that explains all her overtime. Takes three hours to do a one-hour job.”
The table erupted with laughter. Snickers, muffled chuckles, even Reina grinning behind her hand.
Everyone laughed.
Except you.
You stared down at your notebook, the lines of your scribbles blurring as your eyes burned. The room’s laughter rang hollow in your ears, but Gojo didn’t correct them, didn’t stop it. He just leaned back in his chair, lips curved in the faintest smirk, eyes hidden behind the fall of his hair.
And for the rest of the exercise, you didn’t say another word.
The cursor blinked on your screen, mocking you. Line after line of numbers blurred together, and you could barely keep track of what you were even fixing anymore. Your eyes stung, not just from the long hours, but from holding back all the sharp words you’d swallowed down today.
The soft click-clack of heels echoed down the empty hall. You didn’t look up at first, too focused on pretending you were absorbed in your work. But then her voice slid through the quiet like a knife.
“Wow. Still here? You’re usually one if the first to leave” Reina leaned on the side of your cubicle wall, arms folded, lips curved in that polished smile that always dripped more venom than sweetness. “Not surprising, though. Guess someone has to stay behind and fix their own mistakes.”
You froze, fingers tightening on your pen.
Her eyes flicked to your stack of files. “Oh! wait. That’s not even your department, is it?” She tilted her head, smirking. “Figures. Overcompensating, huh? Can’t blame you. After today, I’d be desperate to prove I belong too.”
Your throat felt tight, but you forced your expression to stay neutral, blank, professional.
Don’t let her see.
Don’t let her have that satisfaction.
Reina gave a little laugh, too loud in the quiet office. “Anyway. Don’t stay too late, or you’ll really start looking pathetic.”
And then she was gone, heels clicking away until the sound disappeared entirely.
The silence that followed was deafening. You tried to keep typing, tried to shove the pen across the page, but your hands were shaking too hard. The words blurred again, but not from exhaustion this time.
You pressed your palms to your eyes, but the tears slipped through anyway.
Hot, humiliating, unstoppable.
You ducked your head, shoulders curling in, desperate to keep even the empty office from seeing you unravel.
You hated this.
Hated that she got to walk away smiling, hated that Gojo had humiliated you in front of everyone earlier, hated that you had no one to blame but yourself for still sitting here, cleaning up work that wasn’t yours.
You hated most of all how small you felt in that moment.
So you let yourself cry quietly at your desk, muffling the sound in your sleeve, until the tears ebbed out and all that was left was the hollow throb of anger and shame.
The office was dead quiet. Only the low hum of his computer fan and the faint glow of the city lights bleeding in through the windows kept him company.
Gojo leaned back in his chair, spinning slowly side to side, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t moved in nearly twenty minutes, the paperwork on his desk abandoned.
He knew he’d been too harsh. Way too harsh.
The image of your face from earlier-
the way you flinched when his voice snapped, the way your shoulders had stiffened in front of the whole team when he cut you down ,replayed over and over in his head, like a bad video on loop.
And the worst part? He couldn’t even tell himself you deserved it.
You didn’t.
So why the hell had he done it?
He rubbed his temple, grimacing. He could come up with excuses- he was stressed, the quarterly reports were a nightmare, Reina had baited the room, something.
But the truth sat heavier: he was lashing out at you for something you didn’t even know he’d seen.
That little moment at the market. You smiling at someone else. You leaning in, laughing in a way he hadn’t realized he was greedy for until he saw it wasn’t for him.
It had clawed at him, raw and ugly, and instead of handling it like a rational adult, he’d… what? Torched you in front of everyone?
Gojo groaned, dragging his palms over his face. “You’re such an idiot,” he muttered to himself, voice muffled behind his hands.
Apologize.
He should apologize.
The word tasted foreign, bitter. Gojo Satoru didn’t apologize—not to board members, not to rivals, not even to his closest friends when he stepped out of line. But the idea of leaving things the way they were? Letting you carry that weight on your own? For some reason, that felt even worse.
His eyes drifted to the faint sliver of light coming from under his office door. Your slumped figure showed faintly through the frosted glass, a hazy outline bent over the desk.You were still out there, typing away, even after everything. Even after he’d shredded you.
Guilt pressed down harder.
He tapped his pen against the desk, restless. He should call you in. He should say something. He should..
Gojo sighed, leaning back again, staring at the ceiling like it held the answer. For the first time in years, he wasn’t sure what the right move was.
And that unsettled him more than anything.