Chapter Text
The cool Tokyo air pulled a shiver from you as you fell into a slight jog, trying to make it from one class to another. Professor Sato was quite particular regarding punctuality—as were you. You always prided yourself on being early for Organic Chemistry, your favorite subject. Research had always fascinated you, and you spent hours after class prepping for lab work, dreaming of one day contributing something real to the world of medical science. If it weren't for the bus that had nearly ended your life, you'd have been setting up your supplies at your station by now. But alas, you were a mile away, one hand fumbling to simultaneously clutch your bag and cleavage—a failed attempt at limiting the number of flying… items… on you—and the other flattening your skirt every twelve seconds as you tried to avoid looking like an idiot.
To be fair, it truly wasn't your fault. You were walking, making perfect time, because you're you, and then, out of nowhere, a bus came flying down the street—surely too fast for such a heavy vehicle—knocking you on your ass. You'd made a poor attempt at moving out of the way, but your reflexes were rather subpar. Just when you'd thought your life was over, a man who resembled something of an angel clasped his warm hand around your bicep, yanking you back. You looked up at the man, a look of fear frozen on your face as you acknowledged how close you'd been to grasping hands with death.
"You should watch where you're going," the man says, a look of amusement and concern swirling on his handsome features as he pulls his glasses off to get a closer look at you. You had yet another near-death experience as you gazed into the—breathtaking—eyes of what you would now call your guardian angel.
"Yeah…" you mumbled breathlessly as you found yourself lost in the stare of who you'd later learn to be Gojo Satoru. His scent was delicious, and you found that this made you dizzier than the fall itself. It was sweet and clean, expensive too. You tore your eyes from his and took in the rest of his outfit.
Yeah.
Definitely expensive.
After a quick once-over and some more formalities, he'd set off, mumbling something about how he couldn't be late to Mr… Sata? Suzuki? Something like that. If you weren't so caught up in everything holy that was that gorgeous being, maybe you'd have caught his words better.
Now, besides meeting such a beautiful man, which should be excuse enough to miss the entire class, you were so late because you'd had to turn around and tend to the horrible road rash you'd gotten all along the back of your thighs. Not to mention a cough drop or two for the forming, sweet-tasting ache in your throat.
You'd assumed it was because you'd decided to wear a skirt and a mere sweater in near sixty-degree weather, brushing off your roommate Shoko when she told you that you'd be sick the second you set foot outside.
An "I told you so" was surely due for you when you crossed the threshold into your campus apartment.
You'd spent thirty minutes getting lectured by her as she tended to your oozing wounds, deeming it good practice for her medical exams. You were sure it was just an excuse to yap your ear off. Later, she'd urged you out the door, forcing a jacket onto your shoulders, the pocket full of cough drops.
So here you were, your thighs bandaged, the white already staining with whatever odd liquid made its way from your skin, a jacket—completely disrupting the cohesion of your outfit, by the way—tugging uncomfortably at the fabric of your cardigan, and your hair blowing in the wind, finding its way into your lip gloss every five seconds.
— — —
You'd burst into the classroom, feeling as awkward as ever as the lesson continued. Your face grew warm despite the harsh chill that had settled into your bones half a mile back. Was it too late to turn around? Half the lesson was over anyway, and you knew the majority of the material. You looked around a bit—taking in all the eyes that were on you. Yeah, you should leave. Just get notes from the pretty boy with white hair and blue eyes, who was so focused on what your professor had written on the board. You double-take, your eyes nearly bulging out of your skull. Was that… your "guardian angel"?! Since when was he in this class? Your chest aches, dull. And your saliva tastes sweet—like the flowers you used to shove in your mouth as a child, sure that if you ate enough cherry blossoms, you’d escape the hell that was the homemade salad bar your mother insisted on. And God, the air that you breathed felt clean and clear, but the wheezing cough that you’d let out was anything but.
Shame coursing its way through your body as your arm shoots up to cover your mouth, you make your way to your seat, the very front of the class. Your stomach settles in embarrassment as you stare at the clock. You'd never been this late to anything in your life. Well, nothing but your birthdate—you came three days mature. You remembered being younger and teasing your past self, because you couldn't imagine being so late to such an important eve—
Oh…
Quick callback. Remember when I said typically, you'd be setting up your supplies a little earlier?
Yeah…
You're an early bird. You and punctuality go way back. Way back, like, thirty minutes early to class. Way back, like, you're the first student in the room; therefore, you've never seen GA—"Guardian Angel" because it was becoming too much to say as you ramble off in your thoughts. Anyway, with you being minutes early every day since the start of the semester, coupled with the fact that you were in the very first row, leaving him at least five rows behind you, you'd never get to see him. Curse you for being such a scholar.
You were the girl who was always thirty minutes early. The girl who never missed a beat—nor an assignment or exam. But as you sat in your usual seat—wincing at the hot, throbbing pain that shot through your legs—you found yourself more invested in GA than you were in Mr. Sato's lesson. As you recalled his glowing blue eyes and abnormally white hair that flew in the wind like something out of an anime, you had but one thought in your mind. You'd have a thousand near-death experiences if it meant that you'd get to stare into those eyes each and every time.