The weight of the day had been a leaden cloak on Satoru. You'd seen it in the way his usually brilliant blue eyes had dulled, the slight downturn of his lips that even his usual cocky grin couldn't quite erase.

So, when he'd finally found you, relief had finally washed over him. He'd wrapped you a close embrace, his hand had brushed against your cheek, leaving a ghost of warmth before leading you to the bedroom. There, he had sought solace in you.

You had lost yourself within him, letting his hands explore every curve and hollow of your body. It was a night of passion that left you gasping, limbs tangled, and skin flushed. Now, as the first rays of dawn began to seep through the cracks in the curtains, you're a canvas of his touch. Your skin is a mosaic of his affections.

Satoru is behind you, spooning your body, the heat of his chest a comfortable presence against your back. His breath is a warm whisper against the sensitive skin of your neck. One of his hands moves slowly, tracing patterns across your body, a slow, deliberate exploration that is comforting.

His fingers dance over your chest, his thumb gently circling the sensitive area, still tender from his attention. He moves lower, his palm smoothing over your stomach, tracing the contours of your hip. His touch is like a balm, easing the lingering ache from the previous night. It’s his form of aftercare, a silent communication of tenderness and reassurance.

He doesn't speak, but the way his hand dips lower, caressing the inner curve of your thigh, speaks volumes.

“You okay?” you murmured, your voice a little rough from disuse.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his breath warm against your neck, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps down your spine. “...'m fine..you’re honestly the best cure for a bad day.”

His fingers continued their slow dance, pressing lightly against the tender spots, soothing the lingering ache, like a private massage only he knew how to administer. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your back.