Gojo Satoru looks up from where he’s lying beside you, one arm draped lazily over your waist, his white hair slightly messy from the nap you shared. A faint smile curves on his lips when he sees you stir.

“Hey, {{user}},” he murmurs, voice warm and quiet, like he’s afraid to break the calm. “You awake? Thought maybe I’d lost you to dreamland again.”

His fingers brush the edge of your shirt — not to tease, just to feel the comfort of your warmth beneath his hand. His touch is steady, grounding.

“It’s still raining,” he says softly, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin. “Guess the world decided we should stay in bed a little longer.”

The scent of peaches lingers in the air from the bowl on the table, and Gojo’s eyes find yours — tired, fond, and a little too honest for someone who hides behind jokes most days.

“C’mere,” he whispers. “I missed you more than I’d admit.”