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Gojo's POV:
I wait impatiently as my mug starts filling up with warm coffee. Considering the fact that this is a new coffee machine, I don't understand why it's so damn slow. I have the sudden urge to pick it up and smash it against the table. I heave out an annoyed sigh once the last of the coffee is in my mug. I pick up my hot mug and walk over to the opposite end of the teachers' lounge, away from most people, where I take a seat on the bright green couch that stands out against the magnolia-painted wall. There are a few teachers in here already; they're chatting amongst themselves with a cup of tea or coffee in one hand, and a granola bar or a low-calorie biscuit in the other. I have no interest in joining them. I'm far too tired and annoyed right now to even bother socialising and conversing with people today.
I suppose you could say that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I'm annoyed. I'm annoyed because of one person, and one person only: [Y/N] fucking [L/N].
It's safe to say that she has pissed me off—even though I have no right to be pissed off at her for moving on with a sexy Italian doctor. For the past twenty-four hours, that's all I've been hearing whenever she's with her friends; how obsessed she is with him, how good-looking he is, how doctors are known for being exceptionally good with their fingers. Sometimes I feel like she purposefully talks louder than normal just so the words can reach my ears. I wouldn't put it past her. I hate the fact that some of the other female colleagues egg her on—saying things that will make her even more excited for her upcoming date than she already is. Nobara is the worst when it comes to this, though. That little brat does it just to spite me. It's beginning to give me a headache because the last thing I want to fucking hear is how good he might be for her, and that's all I heard last night when [Y/N] was on the phone with her best friend Mayu. Our rooms are right next to each other and the walls are extremely thin, hence why I was able to overhear their entire conversation even though that was never my intention.
I'm aware I have my own date this Friday—but the truth is, I'm really not that interested in Tinder girl. Her name is Akane and she's the face of a famous Japanese perfume brand. I'll admit that she's a beautiful, brunette bombshell; tall, legs to die for, a centrefold-worthy body and curves that will make any man with a dick and a brain salivate like a ravenous dog—she's only a year younger than me, too. I'll reiterate again that Tinder girl is absolutely stunning, but the fact of the matter is, that if she ever stood next to [Y/N], Akane would simply blend into the wallpaper.
I'm drowning in my own jealousy when I suddenly hear light footsteps approach me—and then I feel the couch dip with someone's weight. I swivel my neck to meet whoever has decided they want to disturb me, and suddenly my day has gone from bad to even worse just like that.
It's Utahime.
I internally groan.
I'm not in the mood for her today. She really is the bane of my existence. If I could describe how I feel about her—it would be equivalent to the feeling of stubbing my toe against the corner of a table. It would be like wearing wet, soggy socks. It would be like stepping in gum. Or dog shit. That's how much she sucks.
