Chapter Text
The shower was as advertised—excellent water pressure, multiple shower heads that could be adjusted, and the water temperature was perfect once it was set. The bathroom had been stocked with high-quality products, and everything was meticulously clean. It was the kind of shower setup that invited you to take your time and actually relax rather than just quickly cleaning off.
The door she'd closed had a simple lock on it—nothing complicated, just a basic bathroom privacy lock—and the door itself was solid and well-fitted in its frame.
Noa looked at the bathroom door, the lock it had on it, before deciding that she needed to focus on her shower. Her anxiety was slowly creeping up & she need a distraction. She picked up one of the shampoo bottles and nearly bulked. It was an expensive brand, like really expensive. She gave a little laugh, "Ha, no wonder his dyed hair looks so good."
From the kitchen, Gojo's phone buzzed with Shoko's response:
"Yea, definitely a trauma response. Checking exits/locks is hypervigilance, common with PTSD. The fake smile is a protective mechanism—'I'm fine' performance to avoid vulnerability or questions. Why, what happened? Is something going on with one of the students??"
He stared at the text for a moment, his jaw tightening slightly. He typed back quickly:
"Nothing specific. Just noticed some things about a new friend. Thanks."
He set his phone down and continued with dinner prep, though his movements were more deliberate now, his mind clearly working through something. He pulled out ingredients for what looked like it was going to be a homemade curry—something warm, comforting, and substantial.
His enhanced hearing couldn't help but pick up her small laugh from the bathroom, and despite his concerns, it made him smile slightly. At least she was finding some amusement in something, even if it was just his expensive hair products.
About fifteen minutes later, there was a gentle knock on the bathroom door—not intrusive, just a soft tap.
"Hey, no rush or anything, but I'm making curry for dinner and wanted to check if you have any food allergies or things you really hate eating besides angel pasta and ground beef? Don't want to make something you can't stand." His voice was casual and warm through the door, giving her an easy out to either respond or ignore if she wasn't ready to engage yet.
Then, after a pause: "Also, yes, that shampoo is stupidly expensive. The benefits of having money and caring about my hair. You're welcome to use whatever you want in there—it's all fair game for guests."
His tone was light and teasing on that last part, clearly trying to keep things comfortable rather than making her feel scrutinized or pressured.
Her ears were bright red in embarrassment as she put on her clean clothes, "You seriously heard the dyed hair comment?! There's a literal wall of concrete between us, that's so unfair!" After a minute pause a quieter response was heard through the door, "And curry sounds good."
There's a warm, amused chuckle from the other side of the door, and she can practically hear the grin in his voice.
"I told you the Six Eyes come with some enhanced senses! Walls of concrete don't mean much when your sensory perception is cranked up to eleven. I try not to eavesdrop intentionally, but when someone says something in a normal speaking voice within my apartment, yeah, I'm probably going to catch it," His tone is teasing but not mocking—more like he finds her embarrassment endearing rather than something to actually make fun of.
"And for the record, my hair isn't dyed—this is natural. The white hair is a Gojo family trait that comes with the Six Eyes, has been since birth. So really, you were complimenting my genetics and my choice in expensive hair products, which I'll take as a win." There's a pause, and when he speaks again his voice is softer, more intimate. "But thank you. I'm glad you think it looks good."
Noa hears his footsteps moving away from the door, heading back toward the kitchen, but he calls back over his shoulder:"Curry it is then! Come out whenever you're ready—no pressure. I'll be in the kitchen doing my best impression of a responsible adult who can cook actual meals instead of just eating takeout and candy."
The sounds of cooking resume from the kitchen—the sizzle of something hitting a hot pan, the rhythmic sound of a knife on a cutting board, the general comfortable ambiance of someone who actually knows their way around a kitchen despite his earlier jokes about bachelor living.
His phone buzzes again on the counter with another text from Shoko: "Be careful. If they're showing trauma responses, pushing too hard too fast will make them shut down completely. Let the person come to you when they're ready."
He reads it and types back: "I know. I'm being gentle. Just worried."
He then refocuses on the curry, adding spices and adjusting heat, clearly putting effort into making something actually good rather than just edible.
She peaked over at the bathroom door when she was done changing, looking toward entry way where she guessed the kitchen was based on sounds. A small grin found it's way to her face as the next words she uttered she said them knowing full well Gojo could hear them.
"I bet that enhanced hearing is going to be a pain when you have teenagers someday."
After she had found the hamper in the bathroom for dirty laundry, she entered the apartment hallway. She had on a light blue two piece lounge set with shorts & an oversized shirt. When she entered the kitchen she found Gojo plating the curry and setting them at the kitchen isle chairs.
She blinked in surprise, "Wow, that looks really good. Most pretty boys I know don't know how to cook. Color me impressed haha".
He was in the process of carefully plating the curry when she walked in. When she made the 'pretty boy' comment, he glances up at her with an amused expression, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners with laughter. He caught her earlier comment about teenagers too, the smirk still lingering on his face.
"First of all, 'pretty boy' is both accurate and slightly offensive in the most entertaining way possible, so I'm choosing to take it as a compliment." He shrugs casually, the comment amusing him more than anything "Second, I learned to cook because I got tired of eating overpriced restaurant food and instant ramen, and it turns out I'm decently good at it when I put in the effort." He slides a nicely plated dish of curry and rice across the kitchen island toward Noa, the presentation restaurant-quality with the curry carefully ladled beside fluffy white rice, garnished with what looks like fresh herbs.
He picks up his own plate and walks around the island to sit on the stool next to her rather than across, close enough that she can feel his presence but not invasively so. "And as for the enhanced hearing with teenagers comment—you're pretty much spot on, it's going to be a total nightmare. Can you imagine trying to give a teenager privacy when you can hear everything they're doing from three rooms away? I'd have to invest in really good noise-canceling headphones and a lot of willful ignorance."
He picks up his fork and takes a bite of the curry, watching her with those striking blue eyes to gauge her reaction when she tries it, "Though...I have to say, you coming out here in comfortable clothes with your hair still damp from the shower is......nice. You look really cute and relaxed, and it's taking some effort not to comment on it in ways that would probably be too suggestive."
She blinks, her eyes widening slightly in surprise as the rest of her face maintains neutrality. When the hell did the roles flip? She thought she was the one who was being flirtatious with him, not the other way around.
He says it casually, almost like he's commenting on the weather, but there's a definite glimmer of heat in his gaze when it tracks over Noa's appearance—the oversized shirt, the shorts, the general comfortable casualness of her post-shower state. "But I'm behaving myself because you need food and rest, not me being inappropriate. So instead I'll just say you clean up nice and leave it at that."
She laughs, his casualness right after commenting on her being cute turning her face beet as she runs a hand through her hair nervously. She answers him quietly, "Thanks haha. I guess I'm glad I look cute in these, they're my favorite pair."
He takes another bite of curry, then adds with that characteristic playful tone: "So how's the food? Did I earn my 'pretty boy who can actually cook' credentials, or do I need to try harder to impress you?"
She turns to the plate in front of her, the red in her face dimming slightly, slowly enjoying the food as he talks, "Mhm. You're certified pretty boy who can cook, because this is amazing."
His eyes light up with pleasure at the compliment about the food, and there's something almost boyishly happy in his expression—like despite all his power and confidence, getting praised for something as simple as cooking well actually means something to him. He watches her, an elated feeling taking over him seeing her enjoy something he made.
"I'm glad you like it. There's plenty more if you want seconds—I made way too much as usual because I can never figure out portion control when I'm cooking for more than just myself." He takes another bite of his own curry, then turns slightly on his stool to face her more directly, his long legs stretched out casually.
He's quiet for a moment, just eating his dinner, before he speaks again in a softer, more careful tone: "So I noticed something earlier, and I want to address it gently because I don't want you to feel like I'm interrogating you or overstepping. But I saw you checking the door handles multiple times, and then you gave me a smile that seemed a bit practiced." He sets his fork down and turns his full attention to her, his expression serious but kind.
"I'm not going to push you to talk about anything you're not ready to discuss, but I want you to know that you're safe here. If you need something or have some sort of ritual at night to feel comfortable, that's completely okay—I won't be offended or think it's weird. And if there's something specific that would help you feel more secure here, just tell me and I'll make it happen."
He reaches out slowly and gently touches her wrist, his fingers warm against her soft skin. "You don't have to pretend to be okay if you're not. Not with me. I'd rather you be honest about struggling than perform being fine, you know?"
She pauses for a minute before turning to look at him from the side. Her expression is a mix of scared & guarded," I wanna say I can't believe you noticed that, but knowing what I know now about your six eyes I should have guess you'd notice haha. Umm yea, so I have an issue with door locks if they're not there, and I noticed the guest room didn't have one. But it's okay I can manage while I'm here. I'm a guest in your home & you don't need to change it for me, I promise."
His expression shifts immediately at her words—not to pity, which would probably make her more uncomfortable, but to something more protective and determined. His hand is still resting gently on her wrist, his thumb brushing against the pulse point in a soothing gesture that he probably doesn't even realize he's doing.
"Okay, first of all, stop with the 'I'm a guest so I don't want to be an inconvenience' thing. Yes, you're staying in my home, but that means your comfort and safety are my responsibility, and I take that seriously." His voice is firm but not harsh, more like he's stating an undebatable fact. "If you need a lock on the door to feel safe sleeping here, then we're getting a lock on the door. That's non-negotiable."
He pulls out his phone with his free hand, already scrolling through something. "I can have someone come install a proper privacy lock tomorrow morning, but for tonight..."He pauses, clearly thinking, then his expression brightens slightly. "For tonight, I can move some furniture to wedge against the door if that would help, or there's a door stopper alarm in my emergency supplies that makes a loud noise if someone tries to open the door. It's meant for hotel rooms but it'll work just as well here."
He sets his phone down and turns to fully face her, his blue eyes intense and completely focused on the girl in front of him."Noa, I need you to hear this—whatever happened to make you need locks on doors, whatever made you check those handles multiple times, that's valid. Your need to feel safe isn't an inconvenience or something you should apologize for. It's a reasonable response to something that clearly wasn't okay, and anyone who makes you feel bad about having trauma responses can fight me."
There's actual anger in his voice on that last part—not directed at her, but at whatever or whoever caused her to develop those responses in the first place."So we're installing a lock tomorrow, and for tonight we're figuring out what would make you feel secure enough to actually sleep. Deal?"
She glanced down at her plate, too embarrassed that she's the reason this issue got brought up and that he's changing his home for her to face him, "O-okay. Deal."
He notices immediately how she glanced away, the embarrassment written clearly across her face, and he gently squeezes her wrist once before letting go, giving Noa back her physical space. His voice softens considerably, losing that protective intensity and becoming more gentle.
"Hey, look at me for a second?" He waits until she turns back toward him before continuing, his expression sincere and lacking any judgment. "You didn't cause anything. You're not a burden. Installing a lock is literally a fifteen-minute job that costs maybe twenty dollars and makes you feel safe in a place where you should feel safe. That's not you being difficult or high-maintenance—that's basic hospitality and human decency."
He picks his fork back up and nudges Noa's plate slightly toward her with a small smile. "Now eat your curry before it gets cold, because I didn't spend forty minutes making it just to have this conversation ruin your appetite. We can talk about the door security stuff after dinner, okay? No rush, no pressure."
He deliberately goes back to eating his own food, giving her an out from the emotional intensity of the conversation. After a few bites, he shifts to a lighter topic, clearly trying to ease the tension. "So tell me something—what's your actual favorite food? Not just what you eat regularly, but like if you could have anything right now, what would it be?"
His tone is casual , and it's obvious he's trying to redirect the conversation to something less heavy while still keeping her engaged. The way he does it is smooth and natural, almost like he's had a lot of practice helping people navigate difficult emotional terrain.
His phone buzzes on the counter again—probably Shoko checking in—but he ignores it completely, his attention focused entirely on the girl sitting next to him.
She hums, the vibration going through the spoon pressed on her lips, "Hmmm, honestly? I really love Korean hot pot. It's one of my favorite things to eat after an exam or on cold days."
After a couple minutes she's finished eating, placing the spoon down on the plate.