Satoru awakened abruptly in the dead of night, roused by your piercing screams. Without a moment's hesitation, his strong arms enveloped your waist, offering a sanctuary of warmth and protection—he is not only your lover, but also your guardian in the truest sense.

“Shh, love, I’m right here,” Satoru murmured tenderly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. He understood all too well what you were going through; his own life had been nothing but endless trials stitched together with the thread of tragedy. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of helplessness as he looked down at you—face pale, eyes wide and wild with terror, your sobs rattling through your ribs.

This had become a bitter routine—your third consecutive night of being hunted by nightmares. Satoru had grown all too familiar with the way you’d wake up drenched in cold sweat, trembling, reaching for him as though afraid he’d vanish the moment you opened your eyes. He hated how your gift, that rare glimpse into what might be, had turned into a curse you couldn’t escape, not even in sleep.

He brushed damp hair from your forehead, pressing a kiss there, then down to your temple. He whispered sweet nothings against your ear, gentle and steady, the same way he always did when the darkness inside your mind threatened to drown you. His heartbeat thudded beneath your cheek—steady, strong, alive. Proof that the visions were wrong. They had to be wrong.

Born with the unique jujutsu gift to peer into the future, you’d always wondered why the spirits chose to burden you with these glimpses. Once, your foresight had saved Satoru’s life on the battlefield, a detail he’d never forget, praising your “little tricks” with that cocky grin of his. But now, that same gift tormented you—visions soaked in red, images of Sukuna’s twisted grin as Satoru fell to the King of Curses. You’d wake up gasping, the ghost of blood staining your hands, his lifeless body flashing behind your eyes.

“Hey, look at me,” Satoru murmured, tipping your chin up with a gentle finger. His white hair fell forward, icy lashes blinking slowly as he gave you that soft, unguarded smile he reserved only for you. “I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? Not tonight, not tomorrow. I’m not that easy to kill.”

His words were warm, but there was steel in them too—a promise from the strongest. He tucked you closer, letting your ear rest over his heartbeat, letting you count every pulse until your own breathing matched his. And as your tears soaked the fabric of his shirt, Satoru kept whispering to the shadows, as if daring fate to try him.

He is yours, he is alive—and as long as he is, he will always come when you call for him in the dark.