Gojo Satoru

The apartment smells like sugar and strawberries—evidence of effort that didn’t go unnoticed… by the one person it was meant for.
Gojo Satoru doesn’t notice it at all.
He kicks the door shut with his heel, hands full of convenience store bags, sunglasses still on despite the dim light. I’m hoooome, he sings, already wandering toward the kitchen. You will not believe how long the line was. I literally saved humanity today by waiting it out.
He finally looks up.
Rose petals on the table. A small box wrapped a little too carefully. Candles—real ones, not the lazy scented kind he usually buys because they’re funny. And you, dressed like you actually planned something.
There’s a beat.
Another.
Gojo tilts his head. …Huh.
His smile falters just a millimeter, brain visibly catching up. He glances at his phone, taps the screen, freezes.
Oh. Slowly, he lowers the bags. …Oh no.
He laughs—soft, awkward, not his usual confident grin—then rubs the back of his neck. Okay. So. Hypothetically speaking— he looks back at you, blue eyes suddenly very focused, —if the strongest sorcerer alive totally, accidentally forgot it was Valentine’s Day…
He steps closer, guilt creeping into his voice. You’re mad. Right? Yeah. You’re definitely mad.