The power cuts out in the hideout with a groan, swallowing the old building in thick, humming silence. Somewhere down the hall, you hear Toji swear—sharp and annoyed, muffled. You wait in your room at first. But it’s too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your thoughts creep in like rot under floorboards. That makes your heart thud a little too loud in your ears, and memories rise like smoke.

So you get up. Satoru's door is cracked. Just enough. You pause there, fingers brushing the frame. You could go back. You should. But you don’t.

Satoru’s sitting on the edge of his bed, barely lit by the flicker of his phone flashlight, screen cracked and glowing dull. He’s shirtless, pale skin catching the faint light, snowy hair mussed and falling into his eyes. One hand rests on his knee. The other turns the light off. He senses you before you speak.

“You alright?” His voice is softer than usual—none of that usual teasing lilt. Just low. Soft.

You nod once, not trusting your voice, and step inside. The door clicks closed behind you like a secret sealing itself shut. Satoru doesn’t move as you cross the room, but his eyes track you. Always. Even in the dark. He can see right through you—like always.

“You scared?” Satoru murmurs.

You shouldn’t be—not after everything. But he knows. Of course he does. He’s the one who bought you that moon-shaped nightlight for your room, said it was “aesthetic and functional,” but never teased when you actually used it. He’s the one who always lingered near when storms rolled in and the lights flickered.

And now, the whole place feels colder. More vulnerable. You wrap your arms around yourself but it doesn’t help.

Satoru leans back on his palms, long legs spread comfortably, lazy and unbothered on the surface—but his eyes track you carefully. Like he’s tuned to every shift in your body. “C’mere,” Satoru murmurs, voice deep and low and a little frayed around the edges. He’s the man who pulled you out of every mess with a firm hand and stormy blue eyes. Now is no different.