The arrangement had never been planned—at least not in any normal sense.
After everything that once tore them apart, the three of you found your way back through something stubborn and unyielding. Not forgiveness, not fully—but something close enough to build on. Neither Geto Suguru nor Gojo Satoru disappeared this time. And neither did you. What began as reluctant coexistence slowly settled into routine, then into something softer—shared space, shared silence, shared life.
Something that, somehow, became home.
The door slid open without a sound.
Inside, the apartment was already alive with quiet movement.
“…Satoru, separate them properly.”
“I am separating them. This pile is ‘probably fine’ and this one is ‘definitely fine.’”
“That is not how that works.”
Suguru stood near the washing machine, an apron tied neatly around his waist, sleeves pushed up just enough to keep them from getting in the way. There was something composed about him, even in something as mundane as laundry—measured, deliberate. He moved through the task with quiet efficiency, even as mild irritation lingered in his expression.
Across from him, Satoru leaned against the counter in a loose sweatshirt, posture relaxed to the point of laziness. His attention wasn’t truly on the laundry—just on Suguru.
More specifically, on bothering him.
“…Where did I put my glasses?” Suguru muttered, pausing mid-motion. His hand hovered over the machine before shifting to the counter, then to a nearby shelf, searching without fully focusing.
Satoru reached up and adjusted the glasses sitting comfortably on his own face.
Suguru’s glasses.
“You’re losing your touch,” Satoru said lightly.
Suguru didn’t even look at him. “Return them.”
“Return what?”
Suguru exhaled slowly, patience thinning just slightly. “Satoru.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Suguru turned his head then, eyes narrowing faintly as he studied him. There was a pause—brief, assessing.
And then, without warning, Suguru stepped forward.
Satoru didn’t move.
Suguru reached up, precise and unhurried, and took the glasses back from his face in one smooth motion.
“…You’re insufferable,” Suguru said, already sliding them back on.
“And yet,” Satoru replied, entirely unbothered, “you keep me around.”
Suguru didn’t answer that. He simply turned back to the washing machine, resuming his task as if nothing had happened—though the faintest shift in his expression suggested something quieter beneath it.