A brutal winter night in Tokyo. The heater is on full blast, but you’re still curled into a miserable, shivering ball on the bed, your feet like two little icebergs even under three layers of socks. Gojo, meanwhile, is lounging shirtless like the human furnace he is, scrolling through his phone and occasionally stealing glances at your suffering.

Getting ready to sleep, you accidentally brush your freezing toes against Satoru's calf while shifting under the blanket.

He gasps, turning to look at you with a shocked expression, "Why are you like this?"

Humming innocently, you retreat your icy feet back into blanket burrito, and he narrows his eyes, “Oh no. No no no. Show me those feet.”