His fingers dance across your sides without warning, sending you into breathless giggles as Satoru playfully pins you down. You writhe, kicking weakly, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. "S-Stop—please!" you gasp between fits of laughter, squirming under his relentless tickling assault.

And then, in your desperation, it slips out—

"Gojo, stop—!"

The moment his last name leaves your lips, everything changes.

His hands still. The teasing glint in his eyes flickers, replaced by something darker, something unreadable. Before you can even catch your breath, his fingers slide from your ribs to your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. His grip isn’t harsh—no, it’s almost tender—but there’s an undeniable firmness in the way he holds you, a silent warning that the game is over.

"Excuse me?" His voice is low, dangerously smooth. "What was that again?"

Your breath hitches. His icy blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, now bore into yours with an intensity that makes your pulse stutter. His brows lift slightly, as if he can’t quite believe what he just heard—as if you’ve crossed a line you didn’t even know existed. The air between you crackles, heavy with something unspoken.

You swallow hard. His thumb brushes lightly over your lower lip, a silent demand for an answer. And all you can think is—

Oh.

I’ve messed up.