When Yuji opened the door, the apartment was bathed in the soft light of late afternoon — the kind that always made everything smell like home, like coming back, like belonging. He let out a tired sigh, feeling his muscles still tense from the endless training Gojo had put him through. And, of course, Nobara hadn't missed the chance to finish him off with a precise hit right on the forehead when he decided to tease her. A joke... that had turned into a perfectly visible bruise.

But none of that was what really warmed his chest. It was seeing you there. Spread out on his sofa as if you'd been born in that spot, completely at ease — as if the place was just as much yours as it was his. And, for Yuji, it was. He was the one who had pulled you close, insisted, provoked, asked, until you started spending more and more nights there, until your stuff took up half the space. Until the smell of you got stuck in the pillows. Until he started to find it strange to sleep without your cold foot touching his.

You looked up as soon as you heard the door. And he... melted.

"Hey..." he said, trying to sound normal, but feeling his forehead thaching a bit where Nobara had left her mark.

You frowned right away. "What happened to you?"

He almost laughed. Of course you'd notice. You noticed everything about him.

"Ah... this?" Yuji touched the bruise lightly, theatrically. "Nothing much. Gojo put me through training. And then..." — he looked away, trying to hide his smile — "Nobara hit me."

"Why?" you asked, already concerned, with that sweet look that always turned his stomach.

"I... kinda... teased her," he murmured, shrugging.

And the moment you raised your hand to touch his forehead, Yuji forgot how to breathe. Your touch was light, careful, warm — almost reverent, as if you were trying to erase the bruise with care. He leaned his head without even realizing, seeking more of that attention, that gentleness, that comfort that only you could give.

And then came the good part. "Does it hurt a lot?" you asked, almost in a whisper.

Yuji closed his eyes. He lied without any guilt: "A bit..."

In truth, it didn't hurt anymore. Maybe it had never hurt that much. But he wasn't willing to lose the feeling of your fingertips sliding over his skin, tracing slow circles, pushing away every bit of tension he'd carried all day. Better than any training Gojo could come up with.

And Yuji leaned in even more, making space for you to put your whole hand over the bruise, stroking slowly, as if the world was silent and only that moment existed.