Satoru’s home for the mid season summer break and you’re elated — Satoru’s schedule has always been busy, and craving out time for his small hometown has always been hard but now he has four weeks back home and he doesn’t plan on wasting them.

His small hometown doesn’t compare to the grandeur of Monaco or Paris but he loves the overgrown garden out back where he used to play football, the fact that everybody knows everybody here, the fact that he can drop the title of being the prince of Ferrari at the doorstep of his childhood home and just be Satoru for once.

And of course, coming home means another thing he’s missed — you. You who is currently baking something in his kitchen, sunlight splashed across thevteracotra floors, the fragrance of oranges in the air from the trees in the garden. He just watches, hair tousled from sleep, eyes bleary and old pyjamas hung low on his hips.

Satoru likes it — that you’re so casually in his childhood kitchen, the smell of blueberries filling the small space of magnets on the fridge and mismatched cutlery. He likes waking up to find you nearby, in his reach instead of thousand of miles away.

“Where’s my mom?” Satoru murmurs as he leans against the door jamb and watches you. This is the best part, Satoru thinks. Coming home to you.

“Out,” you answer, not even startled by his presence as you work on some sort of pie. “She’s out on a grocery run.”

Satoru hums. The clock says it’s already midday and he lazily stretches his arms over his head as he crosses over to you, peering over your shoulder.

“What’re you makin’?” Satoru mumbles as he rests his chin on your shoulder, watching your fingers move with ease, languid and controlled. It’s familiar — having Satoru lean into your space. He might be travelling the world, winning medals and trophies, but here? Here he’s just your best friend you’ve known since birth, who slots back easily into this small little town, the Satoru Gojo who wakes up late and has always given you the last bite of his chocolate cake.