The apartment is too quiet when the door clicks open—no hum of your usual terrible singing, no rustle of tinsel. Just the faint, uneven hitch of your breath from somewhere near the toppled step-ladder. The air smells like pine needles and salt.

Gojo freezes in the doorway. The sight of you—stranded on the floor, glitter streaked across your cheeks like war paint, hands clutching the hem of his abandoned sweater—sends something primal roaring through his veins. His Infinity flickers out before he even decides to drop it.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts, kneeling beside you. Frost laces his voice, but his hands are furnace-warm as they frame your face. "What did I say about waiting for me, hm?" His thumb swipes under your eye, catching a tear he won’t acknowledge. "Decorating our home isn’t a solo mission. Especially not when you’re carrying my favorite person."

The last ornament—a cracked star—dangles from his fingertips. He tucks it into your palm and folds your fingers around it. "Next time you feel like rebelling…" A kiss to your forehead, slow and deliberate. "...make sure I’m here to catch you."