Chapter Text
God damnit.
You glared at your reflection in the mirror, frustration bubbling as you wrestled with your hair. It had started as a bun, devolved into a ponytail, and somehow ended up as a chaotic mess of half-formed styles you couldn’t even name.
This was not how you’d planned to spend your day.
What was supposed to be a quiet, cozy day to yourself had been hijacked by your roommate’s very last-minute request for you to fill in her place at her internship.
You’d had it all planned out too—a cup of tea, some snacks, your headphones, and your laptop. Weekends were sacred. They were your only chance to unwind, to escape the mountain of work that had piled up since your semester began.
From your freshman year to sophomore year, your grades had been so-so. Junior year had been touch-and-go, with some classes dangerously close to failure, but you’d scraped by. Now, as a senior, you were juggling the demands of coursework and on-site clinicals, barely keeping your head above water.
You were determined to stay on track and finish your last year of university strong, but today? Today felt like another challenge you hadn’t signed up for.
Damn everything.
After what felt like an eternity of trial and error, you finally settled on a hairstyle you could live with. Just as you stepped back to admire your work, your door flew open, and in stumbled your roommate, Nobara.
“I prooooomise I’ll repay you,” she groaned, dragging out her words. Her voice was raspy, the telltale sign of too little sleep—or too much partying. She was wrapped in her favorite hot-pink blanket, the edges dragging along the floor as she leaned heavily against the doorframe. Her messy hair and dark circles made her look like she survived a war.
“Uh-huh,” you said, turning back to the mirror to give your hair one last tweak. “You said that the last three times I had to do something for you. Starting to think you just say it so I’ll stop having a grudge on you.”
“Nooo,” she whined dramatically, shuffling further into your room. “You know I worked my ass off to get a spot for this internship. Do you know how competitive it was? Blood, sweat, and tears, okay?”
“Was that before or after you decided to become a little too competitive when you were drinking with Maki?” you shot back, smirking at her reflection, “I warned you, she is literally bottomless.”
Nobara gasped, clutching her blanket like a wounded heroine in a soap opera. “excuse me for having a life!”
“A life that now requires me to haul my ass out of the house on my one free day. I’m honored, really.”
Nobara groaned, shuffling behind you like a zombie. “C’mon, you love me. Don’t even pretend you don’t.”
“I’m seriously reconsidering right now,” you muttered, grabbing your bag from the corner of the room.
“You wouldn’t dare. I’m too cute to hate,” she shot back, sticking out her tongue before flopping face-first onto your bed. “Anyway, you can’t complain too much. You’re doing a good deed . Think of all the karma points you’re racking up!”
“Oh yeah, because karma totally makes up for the fact that I’m wasting my precious day off babysitting you.” You slung your bag over your shoulder and glanced at her dramatically sprawled form.
She pointed a finger at you, her mouth opening as if to retort, but no words came out, instead she buried her face in your pillow. “Ugh, you’re so mean when you’re right,” she mumbled, her voice muffled.
You rolled your eyes, walking over to yank the pillow out from her face. “I’m not mean, I’m responsible—something you should try for once.”
“I am responsible! I got the internship, didn’t I?” she shot back, flipping onto her back and pouting at the ceiling.
“Yeah, and now I’m the one dragging myself to the city on my weekend off because you decided it was a good idea to go partying the night before,” you said, packing up some essentials in your bag.
“You’re doing it because you love me,” Nobara said with a weak grin, trying to charm her way out of your wrath.
“Because I’m too nice,” you corrected. “And you owe me for this. Big time.”
Nobara made a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Okay, fine. You’re my hero. You’re amazing. I’ll build a shrine in your honor.”
“Damn right you will,” you said, slinging the bag over your shoulder. As you headed for the door, you paused, turning back to look at her. “Oh, and take the medicine I left on the counter. It’ll help with your hangover.”
She raised a hand in a half-hearted salute. “Yes, Mom. Thanks for the pep talk.”
You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re welcome. Seriously, take the meds. And drink some water. And maybe consider not getting wasted right before a big day.”
“Duly noted,” she called after you as you left, her voice already fading as she likely drifted back into her half-asleep state.
You shook your head as you closed the door behind you. Somehow, Nobara always managed to make your life chaotic—and strangely, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
─────────────
The drive to your destination was smoother than you’d expected, and as you approached the headquarters of the designer label, you couldn’t help but be impressed. The tall glass building towered over the surrounding structures, its sleek, modern design practically screaming prestige.
You arrived half an hour earlier than planned, and while part of you was grateful for the extra time, the other part was kicking yourself for not putting more thought into your outfit.
As you parked the car, you thought to yourself, why in the world had you thought wearing the outfit was okay to wear here ?
With a sigh, you pulled out the ID badge Nobara had handed you and scanned it at the security checkpoint. The doors unlocked with a soft beep, and you tucked the badge carefully back into your purse, mentally reminding yourself not to lose it.
The lobby was just as impressive as the exterior—spacious, with polished floors that reflected the sunlight streaming through the high glass windows. You moved to stand off to the side, scanning the room and taking in the other people milling about.
It didn’t take long to spot the other interns. Some were dressed to the nines in sharp suits, slicked-back hair, and an air of confidence that screamed they belonged here. Others had gone for bold, eclectic outfits that shouldn’t have worked but somehow looked effortlessly chic on them.
And then there was you.
You glanced down at your own outfit and felt a pang of regret. You didn’t own any designer clothes so you went with a simple lightweight cardigan, simple black slacks, and the gold earrings your grandmother had gifted you.
It wasn’t bad, per se, but in this room, it felt painfully plain. You couldn’t help but wish you’d raided Nobara’s closet before leaving—she always had the perfect pieces for moments like this.
As the thought settled, you straightened your posture and squared your shoulders.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting in the lobby, a polished-looking assistant stepped out from one of the sleek glass hallways and clapped her hands, instantly commanding everyone’s attention. “Alright, interns, follow me. The briefing is about to begin.”
You joined the crowd as they shuffled forward, keeping close to the middle of the group. As you walked, you glanced around, trying to gauge whether anyone seemed out of place—or if anyone would notice you were, in fact, a stand-in for Nobara. But as you scanned the sea of eager faces, it became obvious: there were simply too many interns for anyone to remember all of them. Nobara’s absence would go unnoticed.
“See? Totally fine,” you whispered under your breath, trying to convince yourself as much as affirming it.
The assistant led your group into a spacious conference room, the walls lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the room in natural light. The tables were arranged neatly, and at the front of the room stood a tall, impeccably dressed woman with an air of authority. You assumed she was the head of the fashion magazine Nobara had been raving about.
“Welcome, everyone,” she began, her voice smooth and commanding. “I know some of you are new here, so let me just say this: we demand excellence. This internship is not just about making coffee or filing papers. You’ll be working on real projects, with real stakes.”
“Today marks an exciting new chapter for the company,” she continued, her voice commanding yet smooth. “As many of you know, we’re launching a campaign in collaboration with our new ambassador. His talent and charm have made him one of the most recognizable faces in both the acting and fashion worlds.”
That last bit caused a ripple of excitement among the interns, a few even exchanging excited whispers. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
“Without further ado,” the woman continued, “I’m pleased to introduce our new brand ambassador: Gojo Satoru.”
The room practically exploded with murmurs. Some interns looked ready to faint, while others were visibly giddy with excitement. You, on the other hand, blinked in confusion.
Who the hell was Gojo Satoru?
The name rang a faint bell, but it didn’t elicit the same awe-struck reaction from you as it did from everyone else.
You leaned slightly toward the girl next to you, who was practically vibrating in her seat. “Uh, who’s Gojo Satoru?”
The girl blinked at you as if you’d just confessed to not knowing how to breathe. “ You don’t know who Gojo Satoru is? ” she hissed, her voice dripping with disbelief.
You shrugged, feeling a little awkward under her incredulous stare. “Should I?”
“Uh, yeah. He’s only one of the most famous actors and models in the world. People are obsessed with him—he’s got the looks, the talent, everything. ”
“Well, good for him, I guess,” you muttered, earning an eye-roll from your new acquaintance.
While everyone else seemed ready to faint at the thought of meeting Gojo Satoru, you couldn’t help but feel a little detached. Sure, it was cool to be part of something this big, but you weren’t here to fangirl. You were here to survive the day and make sure no one realized Nobara wasn’t around.
Still, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder what all the fuss was about.
The head of the magazine continued her announcement, her words sending another wave of excitement through the room.
“To make things even more special,” she said with a smile, “Mr. Gojo will be visiting the office later today to discuss ideas for our upcoming magazine issue. This is a unique opportunity for all of you to witness how we collaborate with someone of his caliber. Be prepared to bring your best ideas and energy.”
The room erupted again, this time with hushed whispers and quiet squeals. A few interns immediately began fussing over their outfits, adjusting collars, smoothing skirts, or muttering about how they should’ve worn something else.
“I knew I should’ve gone with the Gucci blazer,” one guy groaned, though his tailored suit looked like it cost more than your entire wardrobe.
“Do you think he’ll notice me if I don’t have my nails done?” someone else whispered, clutching her perfectly manicured hand as if it were a disaster.
You glanced down at your own outfit and resisted the urge to roll your eyes. These people were practically walking fashion advertisements, yet they still found flaws. Meanwhile, you were just praying no one noticed you enough to call out your entirely forgettable ensemble.
Before the interns could spiral into full-blown outfit crises, the head of the magazine clapped her hands to regain everyone’s attention. “Now, please proceed to your respective floors. You’ve all been assigned specific tasks for the day, and we’re counting on each of you to give it your all. Dismissed.”
The group began to disperse, filing out of the conference room in an organized but eager fashion. You hung back slightly, trying to make sure you didn’t lose track of where you were supposed to go.
Pulling out the small slip of paper Nobara had given you, you double-checked the details. Her floor, her desk, her assigned tasks—it was all written down meticulously. You stepped into the elevator with a cluster of other interns, pressing the button for Nobara’s floor and hoping you wouldn’t mess this up.
Floor six, desk 14C—that was where you needed to be.
As the elevator climbed, you silently rehearsed Nobara’s advice. Act like you belong. Smile, nod, but don’t say too much. Nobody will question you if you seem confident.
When you reached the sixth floor, you stepped out and scanned the rows of desks. The open office buzzed with quiet energy, the hum of keyboards and low voices filling the air. Finally, you spotted 14C, Nobara’s desk was impossible to miss—it was as flamboyant as she was. Decorated with colorful trinkets, miniature plants in hot pink pots, and a sparkly nameplate that read Kugisaki Nobara in bold gold letters, it stood out like a neon sign. There was even a small framed photo of you and her, making your grudge on her a lessen a little.
Settling into the chair, you took a deep breath. As long as you stuck to Nobara’s plan, no one would notice a thing.
Luckily for you, the desk was tucked away in the corner of the office, giving you just enough privacy to get through the day unnoticed. Taking in the organized chaos around you. Papers were neatly stacked, her computer was already logged in, and a motivational sticky note on the monitor read, “Slay every day, Nobara!”
Time passed slowly, and you found yourself slipping into the kind of lazy routine you had planned for your day off. Your phone became your best friend as you scrolled through social media, catching up on posts, news, and the occasional cat video. When that got boring, you opened a simple puzzle game and spent an embarrassingly long time trying to beat your high score.
The office buzzed with activity, but no one seemed particularly interested in the intern sitting quietly in the corner. Whenever someone walked by, though, you sprang into action, sitting up straighter and pretending to look busy. You’d click around on the computer, open a random document, or type furiously as if you were working on something crucial. Thankfully, no one seemed to pay much attention to you, too wrapped up in their own tasks to notice your half-hearted attempts at looking productive.
A man in a sharp suit passed by, his eyes briefly flicking in your direction. You quickly clicked a pen and scribbled something random, nodding as though you were deep in thought. He barely glanced at you before moving on, and you let out a small sigh of relief.
As the hours dragged on, you fell into a rhythm.
Doom scroll, play, pretend to work when someone passed by, repeat.
Occasionally, you overheard snippets of conversations about Gojo Satoru and his upcoming visit, most of which involved excitement and speculation about what he might wear or say.
“Do you think he’ll notice me?” one intern gushed as they walked by.
“Only if you stop acting like a lovesick puppy,” another replied with a laugh.
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at the dramatics. The hype around this guy was unreal, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. As far as you were concerned, he was just another celebrity with a pretty face.
The day stretched on, and you continued your charade, doing your best to look the part of a dedicated intern while secretly counting down the hours until you could go home.
You caved in and decided to finally look Gojo up.
When you were going to search up what he looked like, your phone buzzed from a notification from Nobara, her display name showing, which she put in herself.
fave baddie 🎀🩷
how ya holdin up??
was planning on ordering your fave for tonight
You
aww ur ordering my food for the first time
who r u and what did u do with nobara
fave baddie 🎀🩷
shut upp
no but srsly how r u doing
You
doin alright bored as fuck rn 😭😭
ion know how you find this entertaining
fave baddie 🎀🩷
well its cause ur not doing anything and i do actual work
its break rn so u can roam around for like thirty mins
You
kk talk to u later
Nobara hearted your reply, the little notification popping up on your screen.
Smiling faintly, you turned off your phone and slipped it into the pocket of your slacks. Stretching a bit, you decided it was time to find the bathroom. Sitting in one place for so long had left you feeling stiff and restless.
It took you about five minutes of aimless wandering before you finally caved and stopped one of the interns rushing past. “Hey, sorry—could you point me toward the bathrooms?”
They barely slowed down, jerking a thumb down the hallway. “Left, then right.”
“Thanks!” you called after them, heading in the direction they’d indicated.
When you reached the door marked “Women’s,” you were just about to push it open when, out of nowhere, someone collided with you, shoving you into the men’s bathroom.
“What the hell is your problem?!” you snapped, stumbling to regain your footing. You pushed the person away, locking eyes with them—or rather, with the dark sunglasses obscuring their face. “Are you blind or something?”
The man pulled back slightly, and for a brief moment, you caught a glimpse of his eyes as the sunglasses slid down his nose. They were striking—brilliantly blue and almost unnaturally captivating, like they held their own light. Combined with his white hair, effortlessly tousled and standing out even more under the harsh bathroom lights, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a magazine cover.
He adjusted his sunglasses casually and smirked. “Blind? Not quite. Though you’re the one who got in my way.”
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “ Your way? You literally shoved me into the wrong bathroom!”
“ You. Were in the way,” he said, pointing a finger at you then waving his hand dismissively. “Do you even know who I am?”
The question caught you off guard, and you narrowed your eyes at him. “Why should I?”
His smirk faltered slightly, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. “Wait… you don’t know who I am?”
“Nope.” You crossed your arms, leaning back against the sink. “Am I supposed to be impressed or something?”
He blinked, and then let out a short laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Wow. That’s a first. You’re either living under a rock or you’ve got nerves of steel.”
“Or,” you shot back, “I just don’t care.”
The man chuckled again, clearly amused by your lack of enthusiasm. “Fair enough. Anyway, since you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful.”
You gave him a skeptical look. “Useful? How?”
He pointed to the front of his button-down shirt, and you noticed, for the first time, a huge coffee stain spreading across the fabric. “Someone wasn’t paying attention and spilled their entire drink on me. And now, you are going to help me fix it.”
You stared at him, baffled. “You want me to fix your shirt? How, exactly? You think I carry a spare wardrobe around with me?”
“I don’t know, borrow one from someone, find a laundry service—figure it out,” he said with a dramatic shrug. “I can’t walk around looking like this.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “This whole situation sounds like something out of a bad romcom.”
“Well, you’re the one who got shoved into the wrong bathroom by a devilishly handsome stranger,” he teased, his smirk returning in full force.
“ Devilishly handsome? That’s generous,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.
He placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Ouch. That hurts, you know.”
You shook your head, already regretting your decision of leaving your desk. “Look, I’m not running around this office playing your personal stylist. Maybe try downstairs or, I don’t know, wear a jacket over it.”
“You’re no fun,” he said, leaning against the counter like he had all the time in the world.
“And you’re ridiculous, ” you shot back.
You both stood there for a moment in an uncomfortable silence, trying to figure out what to do next. Neither of you had a clear plan, but you knew the situation wasn’t going to fix itself.
"This is a mess," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. He glanced down at his stained shirt, his expression briefly shifting to one of annoyance.
You sighed, considering your options. Then an idea hit you. "Look, it’s clear we’re not going to get anywhere with this, so how about this: I’ll lend you my cardigan. And I’ll go get you a new shirt.” You began to slide it off your shoulders, carefully taking it off and holding it out toward him, leaving you in just a black tank top.
You didn’t have anything better to do anyway.
He gave you a skeptical look, raising an eyebrow. “Wear your cardigan? That’s your solution? It’s... stupid.”
You crossed your arms, not backing down. “It’s not stupid. You can call it a fashion statement ,” you countered. “Trust me, it’ll look good.”
He snorted, clearly not convinced, but he shrugged. "Fashion statement, huh? Well, I’m game. Let’s see what you’ve got."
With that, without any warning, he shamelessly unbuttoned his shirt off, revealing his toned chest. You froze, your eyes widening for a split second before you quickly averted your gaze. Your heart beat faster than you’d care to admit.
"Hey, no peeking," he said, sounding far too entertained by your discomfort as he casually tossed his shirt aside.
You nodded quickly, focusing on the floor, trying to ignore the awkwardness of the situation. “I’m not looking, I swear.”
He didn’t seem to care. In fact, it was as if he knew it was putting you on edge. Grinning, he slipped his arms into your cardigan, pulling it on. The material stretched snugly around his body, clinging to his form a little more than you expected. The cardigan, which had been a loose fit for you, now hugged his torso in a way that accentuated his muscles and even revealed a hint of his lower stomach.
It was almost skin-tight on him, but somehow... he made it work. There was something about the way he wore it that made you question your own fashion choices.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” He said, spinning around in a mock runway pose, showing off the cardigan as if it were a designer piece. “This... this works.”
You were caught between rolling your eyes and laughing. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, glancing around nervously, hoping no one had come into the bathroom to witness this bizarre situation.
“Come on, admit it. I’m pulling it off. This cardigan fits me better than you,” he said, his voice dripping with smug confidence.
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get too comfortable in it. I’m getting you a new shirt,” you muttered, trying to focus on your original task.
He raised a hand lazily, as if waving away any further protests. “Alright, alright. But seriously, you’re helping me out here. I guess I owe you one.”
You didn’t respond, instead turning toward the bathroom door. “Let’s just go get you a new shirt before the whole office gets suspicious why there is a woman in the men’s bathroom.”
As you both made your way toward the bathroom door, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, his gaze scanning you briefly before stopping at your black tank top. He raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Hold on,” he said, his voice playful. “You’re just gonna walk around like that?”
Your face flushed slightly, realizing your outfit wasn’t exactly impressive either. “Well, I’m not here to impress anyone.”
He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I get it, I get it. But hey—” He paused, as if a lightbulb went off in his head. “If you’re helping me, I guess I could help you too.”
Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Without missing a beat, he grabbed his stained shirt and held it out to you. “Here. You can wear this."
You blinked, surprised. “Your stained shirt? Are you serious?”
“Why not?” he said with a shrug. “You said it’s all about the fashion statement, right? This is the ultimate fashion statement. It’s a work of art, coffee stain and all.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but his grin was too contagious. Despite your reluctance, you grabbed the shirt. "Fine. But this is ridiculous.”
He smirked. “Exactly. Let’s make it work.”
You gave him a sideways look, not sure how this would go. But somehow, he made it happen. He helped you get into his oversized shirt, guiding you on how to roll up the sleeves, tuck in the hem, and style it like it was a purposeful design rather than a last-minute fix. The shirt hung loosely on you, obviously too big, but with his guidance, it looked... intentional. The coffee stain, instead of being a mess, was positioned just so it added an oddly artistic flair.
“I’m telling you, you’re going to start a trend,” he said, admiring his work. “You could be the first person to make oversized, coffee-stained shirts cool.”
You sighed, rolling your eyes but secretly amused by how effortlessly he pulled it off. "I can't believe I’m actually going along with this."
Before you could say anything more, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his demeanor shifted, no longer playful but professional. “Crap. The meeting’s soon,” he muttered, looking back at you. “You’ll have to go by yourself.”
“Wait—what? Go by myself?” You furrowed your brow, confused.
He waved a hand, already reaching into his pocket. “Don’t worry about it. Here.”
He pulled out a sleek, black credit card, holding it out to you like it was the key to a treasure chest. “It’s on me. Get me something nice while you're at it—just make it quick. I don’t have time to shop today, but I trust you’ll make the right choice."
Your eyes widened. The card gleamed under the bathroom lights, clearly one of those ultra-exclusive, ridiculously expensive credit cards. You hesitated, eyeing him carefully. “You sure about this?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand dismissively, as if the card was no big deal. “You’ll do fine. I’m trusting you to make it work—just don’t take too long, alright? I don’t want to keep my assistant waiting.”
You took the card from him, still unsure how you felt about walking into a store and buying him something. “Alright. I’ll be quick.”
He flashed you a wide grin, the playful glint in his eye returning. “Good. You’ve got this. And hey, when I get back, I’ll be sure to thank you for making me look good.”
You couldn't help but laugh. “You’re already doing that all on your own.”
Before you could step out of the bathroom, he stopped you one last time, pulling out his phone. “Wait a second,” he said, his tone unusually casual.
“What now?” you asked, slightly exasperated but still curious.
He smirked, handing you his phone with a new contact screen open. “My number. You know, in case you get lost or need to send me options for the shirt.”
You stared at the phone, then back at him. “You’re giving me your number? Just like that?”
“What can I say?” he replied with a shrug. “I’m generous like that. Plus, it’s not every day I find someone who doesn’t immediately recognize me.”
You rolled your eyes but took the phone, quickly typing in your number and handing it back. “Fine. But don’t expect me to text you for anything other than this shirt business.”
“Sure, sure,” he said, grinning as he tucked his phone away. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”
You muttered something under your breath about his ego and left the bathroom, heading toward the elevator. As the doors slid open, you stepped inside, smoothing down the oversized shirt he’d styled for you. It still smelled faintly of coffee but also had a subtle, clean scent that you figured was his cologne.
The elevator stopped a few floors down, and two interns stepped in, engrossed in their conversation. You leaned against the wall, keeping your head down, but their voices carried clearly in the small space.
“Can you believe it? I spilled coffee on Gojo Satoru ,” one of them said, her tone filled with regret and panic.
The other gasped. “ The Gojo Satoru? Are you serious? What happened?”
“I wasn’t even looking where I was going! I turned the corner, and boom—coffee all over him. He just looked at me and smiled, but you could tell he was annoyed. I think I ruined my chance with him.”
“Your chance ? Girl, he’s way out of our league.”
“I know, but still... Ugh, my love life is over. He’ll never look at me the same way again.”
You furrowed your brow, the name sounding vaguely familiar. It tickled the back of your mind, but you couldn’t place it. Your thoughts drifted to the man you’d just been talking to—the one who shamelessly stripped in front of you and was now parading around the office in your cardigan like it was the height of fashion.
The pieces started clicking into place through your thick skull. The white hair. The sunglasses. That stupid charming smile.
You straightened up, your eyes widening as realization hit you like a ton of bricks.
“ Wait a second... ” you muttered under your breath, staring at your reflection in the polished elevator doors.
The Gojo Satoru. The one everyone in the office couldn’t stop buzzing about. The one who was apparently famous for both his looks and his acting career. The one who was supposed to be the new ambassador for the label.
You slapped your forehead. How had you not connected the dots sooner? You’d just spent the past twenty minutes bantering with him, handing him your cardigan, and you wearing his shirt.
The elevator dinged at your floor, and you stepped out, dazed and trying to process the revelation. “Oh my god,” you muttered, half in disbelief, half in embarrassment.
It all made sense now.
He knew you had no idea who he was, and he’d been thoroughly enjoying it.
You couldn’t decide whether to laugh or bury yourself in a hole. But one thing was certain: the day was only going to get stranger from here.