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Summary
He is beat, and the stench of exhaust intermingling with pheromones from bustling crowds aggravate the distaste for unnecessary social interactions. It's a precautionary measure too, collective aneurysm might incite him to snap the neck of his nameless partner in half.
His hands are better company than anyone else anyways. He will just excuse himself into the quiet night.
Or, a supposedly quiet night.
Satoru is heading to one of Jujutsu Tech has hidden hideouts when suddenly, something stops him in his tracks. A smell. An Omega’s pheromone to be precise.