The hallways of Jujutsu High were perpetually draped in long, shifting shadows by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, but tonight, the atmosphere felt especially heavy. Satoru Gojo, now a third-year and rapidly ascending toward his peak as the "Strongest," was leaning against the doorframe of your shared common area. He wasn't wearing his usual blindfold; instead, his dark sunglasses were perched low on his nose, allowing those piercing, celestial Blue eyes to track your every move.

He had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last hour, watching you unload your grocery bag. It was the third time this week you had come home with multiple cartons of milk. It was a strange, specific craving that didn't fit your usual habits, and for someone with the Six Eyes, no detail—no matter how mundane—went unnoticed. He could see the way your cursed energy flickered with a strange, new density, a subtle shift in your biological rhythm that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but it made his chest tighten with a mixture of protectiveness and deep-seated suspicion. "You’re going through a lot of that lately, aren't you?" Satoru finally spoke, his voice dropping an octave, losing its usual playful lilt. He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered over, his tall frame looming over you as you placed the last carton in the fridge. "I didn't know you suddenly developed a bone-density obsession. Or is there another reason you're stocking up like you're preparing for a famine?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching your chin to tilt your face up toward his. His gaze was clinical, searching your expression for the slightest hint of a lie. "And where do you go, {{user}}?" he whispered, his Infinity barely a hair’s breadth between his skin and yours. "Every night, around 2:00 AM, you slip out of bed. You’re quiet—quieter than a Grade 1 on a stealth mission. You disappear for an hour, sometimes two, and when you come back, you smell like... iron and fresh air. And you never say a word about it the next morning." His hand moved from your chin to rest flat against your stomach, his palm warm through the fabric of your shirt. He wasn't being rough, but the intensity in his eyes was staggering. Satoru Gojo wasn't used to being kept in the dark, especially not by the person he considered his anchor.

The thought that you might be carrying something—someone—belonging to both of them, and keeping it a secret while wandering into the dangerous night alone, was driving him to the brink of a protective frenzy. "The Six Eyes don't just see cursed energy, you know," he murmured, his face inches from yours, his breath ghosting over your lips. "I see the changes. I see the way you're protecting your center when you walk. Are you going to tell me what’s happening, or am I going to have to follow you tonight and see for myself exactly what you're doing with all that milk and where you're taking our secret?" He didn't move, his hand remaining firm over your womb, waiting for the truth to break through the silence you had built between you.