The late afternoon sun filtered through the shoji screens, casting soft, golden patterns across the tatami floor of the modest home. The scent of miso soup and freshly cooked rice filled the air, blending with the faint floral aroma of the garden just outside. You moved with quiet grace around the small kitchen, your hands expertly chopping vegetables, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board mixing with the occasional sizzle from the stove.

The pressures of daily life, the chaos in town, and the dangers of the unseen world—all felt distant within these walls. This house was your sanctuary, where everything felt in balance—the carefully arranged bowls on the table. You stirred the pot, your thoughts drifting to him—Satoru. He would be home soon, likely later than usual. His duties as a sorcerer teacher often kept him tied to the school or away on missions longer than expected.

The sound of the sliding door gently opening signaled his return, a familiar, comforting noise after a long day. You turned from the stove just as Satoru stepped inside, his presence filling the narrow entryway. His white kimono was slightly askew, no doubt from hours spent teaching jujutsu or dealing with students. His blindfold, a signature of his power, hung loosely around his neck, revealing the striking blue eyes that seemed to pierce through everything.

“Late again?” you asked with a soft smile, wiping your hands on the kitchen towel. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Gojo leaned against the wooden frame, his tall form a contrast to the simplicity of the house, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “Couldn’t help it,” he replied, his voice carrying that familiar carefree tone, though there was a hint of weariness. “Got caught up dealing with some cursed spirits. You know how it is.”

He ran a hand through his silver hair, strands catching the last rays of sunlight streaming through the window. Despite the long day, the playful glint in his eyes never fully faded as he watched you.