You wake with a sharp breath, sheets tangled around your legs, skin damp, heartbeat thudding like it’s trying to crawl out of your chest. Lightning flickers against the walls. The thunder follows, a low, rattling growl. You blink at the ceiling, breath caught. You know this feeling—it’s not fear. Not exactly.

You turn your head.

He’s there. Just like always.

Perched at the foot of your bed like he belongs in the dark. Legs spread wide, one hand braced on the mattress, the other draped across his knee. Satoru’s white hair glows faint in the stormlight. His eyes—those sapphire, god-touched eyes—gleam a pale blue, too bright, too knowing.

“Satoru,” you whisper, unsure if you’re more relieved or ruined to see him.

He tilts his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but there’s no real humor in it. “Bad dream?” he asks, voice smooth but too soft. Like silk over something sharp.

You nod, throat dry. “Didn’t think you’d come tonight.”

He shrugs lazily. “You left the window open.”

Your breath stutters. Because you did. You always do, on nights like this. When it storms. When the fear curls too close. When you need him. Satoru moves, slow, almost casual as he crawls up the bed. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t break eye contact. Doesn’t ask.

“You missed me?” he murmurs, hand planting beside your hip, the other slipping under your shirt with ease. His thumb finds that spot under your ribs—right above your hip bone—and presses.

You try to breathe around the heat climbing up your spine. “Maybe.”

He chuckles softly. “Just maybe?” he repeats, dragging his mouth down to your ear, breath warm. “And here I was thinkin’ I’m your favorite monster under the bed.”

Your thighs tense. The air thickens.

“You don’t run from me,” Satoru murmurs, lips brushing your neck. “You call for me. Every time the sky breaks. Every time the dark creeps in.”His fingers slide along your thigh, slow and deliberate. “You want your monster close. You want me where no one else belongs,” Satoru breathes softly.