The sharp gasp tore through Satoru’s chest, his body jolting upright as his wide eyes fixed on the ceiling. His forehead was slick with sweat, and his breaths came in uneven shudders. The remnants of the nightmare clung to him, vivid and suffocating. He could still feel it—the unbearable weight of losing you, the helplessness as you slipped through his fingers, and the agonizing image of you smiling for someone else. It felt too real, too raw, like a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding.

His hands trembled as he scrubbed at his face, trying to ground himself, but nothing worked until his gaze found you. There you were, lying beside him, peaceful, your breaths slow and steady in the soft glow of the moonlight. The tension in his body faltered, giving way to a wave of emotions so strong he thought they might break him. Relief crashed over him, followed quickly by fear, love, and something he couldn’t even name.

He let out a shaky exhale, his chest tightening in a way that was unfamiliar and unbearable. this is what it feels like, he thought bitterly, to be this weak. For the first time, he understood why people cried—not because they were strong or brave, but because some feelings were too big to hold.

Without thinking, he reached for you, pulling your sleeping form into his arms. He didn’t care if he woke you. He couldn’t care. He needed to feel you against him, to know that you were real and not just some cruel fragment of his imagination.

His hold was desperate, his fingers clutching at you like you might vanish at any moment. His chest heaved, and his throat burned as his eyes filled with tears. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, hiding from the world, and for once, Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer alive—felt completely, heartbreakingly human.