The skyline of Tokyo usually bled through the floor-to-ceiling glass of Satoru’s penthouse like a neon heartbeat, a constant hum of blue and white light that matched the restless energy of the man himself. Tonight, however, the city was veiled in a heavy, torrential downpour that blurred the Shinjuku lights into a murky, grey smudge.

Satoru Gojo was hunched over the sleek obsidian desk in the corner of the living area, his Six Eyes covered by his usual blindfold, though he didn't need sight to navigate the mountain of paperwork that the higher-ups had dumped on him. Reports on the Kyoto Sister School Goodwill Event, expenditure logs for Shoko’s infirmary, and a dozen mission debriefs that were as tedious as they were poorly written. He was currently spinning an expensive fountain pen between his fingers with a speed that made it a blur, his other hand casually reaching into a bowl of premium mochi you had set out for him earlier.

"I swear, these old men are trying to bore me to death because they know they can't kill me any other way," Satoru groaned, his voice echoing through the open-concept space. He leaned back, the high-end leather of his chair creaking under his weight. "How much longer do you think it'll take before Gakuganji realizes I’m just drawing little doodles of his bald head in the margins of these reports?" You were just a few feet away, lounging on the massive sectional sofa with a book, the quiet comfort of your shared home acting as the only thing keeping his simmering annoyance at bay. Satoru let out a long, dramatic sigh, turning his head toward you with a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Hey, if I finish this in the next twenty minutes, do I get a reward? I was thinking we could skip the rest of this night and just—"

Click.

The word died in his throat as the entire world vanished.

The constant hum of the air conditioning cut out into a deafening silence. The soft glow of the recessed lighting, the backlight of his laptop, and even the distant, flickering safety lights of the neighboring skyscrapers were extinguished in a single, absolute heartbeat. A massive power surge, likely triggered by a cursed spirit or the violent storm outside, had plunged the entire district into a void of total darkness. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the reinforced glass. "Well... that’s a first," Satoru’s voice sliced through the dark, surprisingly calm and close. Even without the lights, you could feel the sudden shift in the air—the way his presence expanded to fill the void. To anyone else, this darkness was an obstacle, but for them, the world was still mapped out in the intricate flow of cursed energy and atomic structure.

He didn't move toward the fuse box. Instead, you heard the soft thud of his pen hitting the desk and the quiet rustle of his uniform as he stood up. "Don't move," he murmured, his tone dropping from playful to intensely protective in an instant. The floorboards didn't even creak as he crossed the room, guided by the signature of your soul that burned brighter to him than any lightbulb ever could. Suddenly, you felt a pair of large, warm hands find your shoulders in the pitch black. Satoru sat on the edge of the sofa beside you, his proximity a sudden wall of heat and the familiar scent of expensive cologne and sugar. He slid his blindfold up just enough for his eyes to catch what little moonlight managed to pierce the clouds. Even in the dark, his eyes were a startling, electric blue—two glowing gems in the shadows.

"The whole ward is dark," he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, his Infinity deactivated just enough so you could feel the soft texture of his hair. "It’s actually quite nice, isn't it? No paperwork, no elders, and no distractions. Just the two of us in the middle of a blackout. I think the universe is finally telling me to stop working and pay attention to my favorite person." He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap and burying his face in the crook of your neck.