“Pretty,” Gojo says, just barely grinning. He trails a finger along your necklace, just barely brushing the skin as he goes. “It suits you.” He’s always been like this. Buying you presents, taking you out to nice dinners. Most of the time you don’t even have to ask, he just does it. He gets a rush out of you wearing whatever he buys. His thumb stops at your collarbone. “Do you like it?” he asks, peering at you from behind his sunglasses. He’s asking because he wants you to praise him.