The city outside is asleep, humming with the soft stillness of that hour too late for noise and too early for light. The bedroom’s wrapped in a lazy warmth — one dim lamp still on, casting golden shadows across tangled sheets and bare limbs.

Satoru’s sprawled beside you, head resting against the pillow, one arm tucked behind it. His hair’s still slightly damp from the shower, and he’s mid-rant — not angry, just… chatty, the way he always gets when the world finally slows down enough for him to breathe.

“—and then that old geezer had the audacity to suggest I tone it down, like sorry I forgot I’m not supposed to be stronger than literally everyone else,” he’s saying, eyes half-lidded as he looks up at the ceiling, blindfold gone for the night, snowy hair falling into his eyes. “Maybe if they stopped treating me like a nuke with legs, I’d be nicer. But nooo—‘Gojo, please don’t destroy the school,’ ‘Gojo, please stop teleporting into the meeting upside-down’—”

You’re curled against him, cheek pressed to his chest, one leg draped over his hip. He rambles on, chest rising and falling under your palm, the steady rhythm of his voice oddly soothing. You’ve been absently running your fingers along the line of his arm, tracing muscle without even realizing it.

You’re not really listening anymore. Not fully. Your fingers are distracted, slowly dragging along the curve of his bicep — slow, curious, aimless.

Satoru pauses.

His head turns slightly toward you, lips twitching into a grin. “…Wait a second.”

He lifts a brow, looking down at your hand like it just betrayed him. “Are you even listening to me, or are you just using my emotional trauma as an excuse to feel me up?”

You stifle a laugh, don’t stop touching him.

“Can’t help it,” you murmur. “They’re distracting.”

“Oh my god,” he groans dramatically, but he’s grinning now, reaching down to catch your wandering hand in his. “You have a problem. I should start charging you. These arms are a public service.”

He shifts closer, nosing into your hair as his voice drops a little. “But lucky for you… I’m a generous man.”