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Since when did Gojo own an apartment in Kyoto, you aren't sure.
His income from his teaching position and missions should be enough for a second residence's down payment, and given his frequent work-related visits to the city, his choice to purchase real estate in the area isn't surprising either.
What does bewilder you, however, is the affluent neighborhood where he dwelled.
It's one where your cropped top and mom jeans made you a clear outsider compared to the business people on their way home from dinners and drinks, all wrapped in tailored suits.
As Gojo asked over call, you step into his apartment lobby at ten in the evening, taking the elevator to the twenty-ninth floor, approaching the only entrance on that level.
You sigh.
During the entire trip to his apartment, your mind has concocted how you would seek your revenge the moment you see Gojo.
Slap him across the face? Perhaps that's too tame.
What would suit him better is if you karate chop his nuts off as a final warning to never mess with you again.
Numerous ideas have been strategized with frustration and malice, yet when the door opens three knocks later, you only crane your neck upward for your angered gaze to meet Gojo's more impish one.
Draped in a matching set of purple fleece pajamas, this Gojo is drastically different from the annoying manchild you're used to: relaxed, collected, amiable.
Heck, he looks like a man who actually has his life together, but he is still an eyesore for you nonetheless.
One forearm leans on the door frame as he lowers his head, the bangs on his forehead now dangling over his diamond-like eyes.
The right corner of his lips lifts upward. "Oh, Barbie's finally here."
"You know, Satoru, I'd like you more if you kept your mouth shut."
He chuckled with a glass of scotch pressed at his lips. As though he takes your words to heart, he says no more as he turns around and disappears into the darkened halls of his condo.
