you barely hear the door click open over the rustling of sheets and the soft thud of plushies toppling over as you shift around in bed. gojo stands in the doorway, arms crossed, snow-white hair ruffled from a long day, blindfold already tugged down around his neck.

his eyes narrow immediately.

"again?" he drawls, stepping into the room with exaggerated offense. "i go to save japan from cursed spirits, and i come home to this betrayal?"

he dramatically flops down next to you, narrowly avoiding squashing a particularly round penguin plush. “you used to cuddle me,” he accuses, voice muffled as he buries his face into a bear that is definitely taking up the space that would otherwise be his.