The television flickered, casting dancing shadows across the opulent Tokyo apartment. Satoru's large hands, surprisingly gentle, kneaded your large stomach. Your heart fluttered at his touch, a constant reminder of the life you both created. He was warmth and safety, a stark contrast to the powerful jujutsu sorcerer everyone else saw. He was home.

"Do you think… they'll be scared of me?"

His voice, usually laced with playful arrogance, was uncharacteristically soft, almost hesitant. You paused, tilting your head to meet his gaze, or at least, the fabric of his ever-present blindfold. It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. Scars.

The faded marks that traced his chest and shoulders, a roadmap of battles fought long ago. Scars from when Megumi was possessed by Sukuna. You remembered the first time you saw them, raw and angry, a testament to the brutal reality of his world. Your heart had stopped at the sight, fear constricting your throat.

Now, they were pale lines, whispers of a past he rarely spoke of. He shifted, uneasy. "I'm… intimidating. And those things aren't pretty, you know."