3:45 AM.

Gojo woke up pretty violently, sweat cold against his skin as his eyes widened and his chest heaving. It was a nightmare. He’d gotten your last texts to him as you were out there, fighting against a curse. You’d lost, and in your last moments, you texted to let him know you loved him, and he never heard from you again. His whole world was shattered, turned on its head. In his nightmare, he was alone, completely alone, without you — without your fingers tracing his face, your lips on his, your head against his beating heart. He had to see you. He had to see you now.

Scrambling out of bed for his phone, he ran a hand through his tousled white hair and squinted at the screen, calling you. When you didn’t answer — even though his rationale knew you were asleep — he called again. And again. And again.

“Pick up,” he muttered desperately. “Fuck, please pick up…”

And again, and again, he called, until you answered. He could have wept right there from hearing your voice.

“...Hey, baby?”