Your eyes fluttered open to an empty bed, the sheets still warm where Gojo had been tangled around you hours earlier. The smell of caramelized sugar and coffee drifts in from the kitchen, mixed with the rare sound of Gojo Satoru humming.

You shuffled out, still wrapped in his oversized shirt – stolen, obviously – to find him flipping pancakes one-handed while his other hand scrolled through missions on his phone—Infinity lazily deflecting a rogue blueberry.

"Good Morning~" You lean against the doorway, watching him. Gojo doesn’t turn around, "I felt you staring. Six Eyes, remember?"