Restraining Order Arc

Restraining Order Arc

What Satoru’s doing right now could be called many things. “Protecting you from afar,” if we want to romanticize it. “Watching over you in case something happens,” if we’re being generous.

Or, the fucking fact: stalking.

Yeah. He’s stalking you. Again.

This is after the talk last night. Geto and Shoko had sat him down like two exhausted divorced parents, telling him to “let it go” and “stop tracking her.”

He swore he’d stop. Swore he’d move on. Swore on his limited edition Dior sunglasses. Then he drove up to some mountain like a fake spiritual influencer, prayed to Buddha, left a ¥10,000 note and two strawberry Pockys as an offering, and declared he was reborn.

Cut to: him sitting in his car three blocks from your apartment right now, with binoculars and a hot latte. Again.

He’s been through this cycle so many times, his therapist got so sick of him and she quit. So naturally, he got a new therapist. And started over like a glitchy sim. Telling the same tragic little story with the same unhinged flair:

“I saw her at a bus stop. I was late from work. It was raining. She looked like she hated her life. And boom. I was in love. So I started... you know. Looking out for her.”

Which sounds normal until he clarifies that by “looking out” he means memorizing your routine, rescuing you from imaginary dangers, and once accidentally following you into a bookstore and hiding behind a shelf of cookbooks because “he didn’t want to seem weird.”

And he keeps expecting the therapist to gasp like, “Wow, the heart wants what it wants!” But no. Every time it’s the same concerned nod. The same scribbling on a notepad.

After the bookstore incident (which technically wasn't stalking because it was a public space and he was just... browsing), Gojo tells himself he’s going to chill.

He even writes it down in his Notes app: “No more lurking. Be normal. Play it cool.” Then immediately follows that with: “But what if she gets mugged????”

So naturally, he ups the delusion.

Now he’s in full prep mode. Surveillance. Casual disguises. A hat. Bright white that has “HOTTER THAN YOUR BOYFRIEND” stitch on it in glitter thread, but technically still a disguise.

He followed you into a grocery store, pretending to shop while nervously narrating to himself like he’s starring in a low-budget spy movie:

“Target is in aisle 3. Repeat, aisle 3. Looking at—oat milk? Classy. She’s health-conscious. Maybe lactose-intolerant. God, she’s perfect.”

He grabs a basket, puts in five cucumbers he doesn’t need, two packs of gum, and a single lemon. He does not need a lemon. He just saw you pick one up, and it felt right.

You spend 10 minutes comparing two brands of cereal. He spends those same 10 minutes fake-texting on his phone and staring at a can of beans like it holds all the answers to his tragic love life.

At one point, he gets too close. You glance his way. Eye contact. Panic.

He gasps. Loudly. Drops the lemon. The thought of “Oh no, she’s seen me in my natural habitat,” and literally ducks behind a shelf of protein bars. Smooth.

You leave. He follows five minutes later, pretending to be on a very serious call with “his lawyer” about “emotional damages from a horror movie.”

Back in his car, he breathes like he just ran a marathon. Sits in silence. Then says out loud to absolutely no one:

“It’s not stalking. It’s destiny prep.”

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Location: Gojo’s Stupidly Huge Penthouse Time: 3:47 PM, Monday Event: Intervention #3 of the week (yes it’s Monday)

Gojo's penthouse door slams open with all the grace of a wrecking ball, and in storms Geto, holding a six-pack of beer and a bag of sour cream chips like they’re his most prized possessions. Shoko follows behind, sunglasses perched on her nose and a vape dangling from her lips, exhaling the kind of smoke that screams “spiritually done.”

Geto slams the door shut behind him. "WE'RE BACK. AGAIN," he announces, like he’s been doing this for years.

Shoko doesn’t even look up as she walks past him, inhaling from the vape. "This place still smells like delusion and cologne," she mutters, taking her usual spot on the couch with a deep, soul-crushing sigh.

Gojo, who’s been doing some extremely important work on his couch, hastily shoves something under the cushions. He glancing over his shoulder with the nervous energy of a man who’s been caught red-handed.

"Satoru. Be honest. How many times did you ‘accidentally’ bump into her this week?" she demands, already knowing the answer.

Gojo, without missing a beat, raises an eyebrow. "Define ‘bump into.’ Like, physical contact? Because technically—"

"Oh my GOD," Geto groans, cutting him off. He marches over and pulls out the glittery blue diary that Gojo definitely didn’t hide well enough. It falls open to a page titled, “Coughing in Sync — Is She My Soulmate?”

Shoko's eye twitches. "NOPE."

Geto slaps the diary shut and waves it around like a battle flag. "BURN IT. LIGHT IT ON FIRE."

Gojo goes on the defensive, clutching the diary to his chest like it's his firstborn child. "It’s art," he insists, his voice serious. "You people are just afraid of vulnerability."

Shoko, deadpan, turns to Geto. "No. We’re afraid of you catching a felony charge, Gojo."

Geto cracks open a beer, clearly done with this conversation. "You’re spiraling, dude. You haven’t eaten a real meal in like three days."

Shoko, taking a slow drag from her vape, adds, "You left a Post-It on the fridge that said, ‘Love feeds me now.’"

Gojo doesn’t even flinch. He just starts dramatically pacing the floor in his ridiculously expensive designer socks. "You don’t get it," he begins, voice lowering into a deep, almost tragic tone.

"There’s just something about her. The way she ties her hair. The way she—she—chooses tomatoes so carefully. She’s delicate. Methodical. A Virgo, probably."

Shoko, not missing a beat, snaps, "You googled her zodiac sign again, didn’t you."

Gojo looks at her, all soft and vulnerable. "...and her moon."

Geto, staring at him in disbelief, exhales sharply. "Bro. We are LEASHING you. You’re grounded. From the outside world."

Shoko’s eyes narrow. "And if I see you in another wig at her grocery store, I’m calling the police myself."

Gojo falls to the floor in one dramatic swoop, arms flailing. "I’m just watching over her..." His voice is almost like he’s about to break into tears.

Shoko doesn’t even look at him, instead texting on her phone. "Like Batman if Batman had unresolved abandonment issues and a Pinterest board titled ‘Future Wife.’"

Geto clinks his beer can in a mock toast. "You need help."

Gojo, not missing a beat, grins. "I have help. You two. My best friends."

Shoko glances at him over the top of her sunglasses. "We’re not helping. We’re preventing."

Geto leans back in his chair with a sigh. "We are the fence between you and a restraining order."

A long, tense silence fills the room.

Gojo takes a sip of Geto’s beer, cringing slightly at the taste. He mutters, barely audible, "She sneezed twice yesterday. I was worried." His tone is so serious it’s almost tragic. "So I lit incense."

"I’m scheduling the exorcism." Shoko exhale too exhausted.

::::::::::bonus:::::::

EXCLUSIVE LOOK INTO: SATORU GOJO’S PRIVATE DIARY

DO NOT READ. SERIOUSLY. I WILL KNOW. (...Unless you’re her. Hi.)

March 1st, 1:03 AM She bought the cinnamon granola again. Third time this month. I Googled if that has a deeper meaning. Apparently cinnamon symbolizes warmth and protection. So basically... she’s screaming my name through cereal. God, she’s so subtle. I love her mind.

March 3rd, 11:47 PM I saw her jaywalk. I was about to shout “be careful, love of my life!!” But then I remembered boundaries. So I whispered it into my scarf. That counts as self-restraint.

March 6th, 2:21 AM I dreamed about her again. We were in IKEA. She asked me to hold a lamp. I woke up crying. What does it mean???

March 9th, 4:06 PM She wore a blue hoodie today. Baby blue. Innocent. Casual. A little oversized. I wrote a poem about it:

Baby blue hoodie Engulfs my heart like soft clouds She has pockets. Damn.

March 11th, 12:59 AM Geto read one of my entries and said “this is illegal in 17 states.” He doesn't get it. He’s in love with logic. I’m in love with her.

March 13th, 8:34 PM Shoko threatened to burn my journal. She called it “romanticized surveillance literature.” So rude.

He flips the page dramatically, clicks his glitter gel pen, and titles the next entry: “Operation: Accidental Dog Park Encounter”

He doesn’t own a dog.

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i'm not joking he is the type to break into your apartment just to rearrange your fridge for better feng shui and then leave a sticky note saying 'love you'

this was brought to you by my scorpio moon.... what is your moon sign?????