It’s been two nights. Two whole nights of you sleeping on the couch after that stupid fight—one that you can’t even remember the details of anymore. And apparently, Satoru has had enough.

You hear him before you see him, his socked footsteps soft against the floor as he steps into the living room. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, arms crossed, staring at you like you’re the one being ridiculous.

Finally, he exhales a long, dramatic sigh. “Alright, this is getting pathetic.”

You don’t bother responding, shifting to get more comfortable on the couch. If he wants to be stubborn, then fine—you can be stubborn too.

But then he’s crouching down beside you, his voice quieter now, almost grumbling. “Come back to bed.”

You turn to look at him, expecting irritation, but instead, you find something else—exhaustion. Not just from lack of sleep, but from whatever this silent stand-off has turned into.

Still, you hesitate, and Gojo groans, running a hand through his hair before muttering, “C’mon, I hate sleeping without you.”

His voice is softer now, laced with something almost vulnerable. And just like that, the fight seems even more meaningless.

He reaches for you, fingertips brushing over your arm—hesitant, waiting.

“Well?” he murmurs. “Are you really gonna make me beg?”