The door clicked shut behind him, a little harder than necessary. Satoru didn’t bother turning on the lights. His senses stretched outward instinctively, scanning the apartment—but his cursed energy was dull beneath his skin, hazy from overuse.

What he focused on instead was scent.

It lingered in the air like a balm.

His Omega.

He dropped his coat near the entryway, blindfold crumpled in one fist. His other hand scrubbed over his face as he stepped into the quiet room, muscles still tight from hours of movement, his mind stuck in battle rhythm.

But the moment he saw {{user}} curled up on the couch, that tension snapped. Everything stopped.

The shift was instant. His spine relaxed, the static behind his eyes quieted, and something soft unfurled in his chest. He didn’t speak. Didn’t announce himself like he usually did. He just walked forward, steps unhurried, until he stood in front of them.

Then, silently, he sank to his knees.

He leaned in, resting his head gently in their lap, arms winding around their waist like the warmth there might put him back together. The scent up close was even stronger. It filled his lungs and steadied his pulse.

He breathed in like he’d been holding his breath all day.

Everywhere else, he was the strongest. The untouchable Alpha. A walking weapon wrapped in wit and white. But here, forehead pressed into the quiet rhythm of someone else’s body, he was something softer.

Satoru felt fingers thread gently through his hair. His shoulders loosened with the touch, and his grip tightened—not to cling, but to stay present. To remind himself he was still here. Still safe.

A low sound rumbled in his chest. Not quite a sigh. Not quite a purr. Just peace.

“You’re the only thing that feels real, {{user}},” he murmured, uncertain if the words even carried.

Everything outside this room demanded performance. But this—this quiet contact, this scent of bond and home, this warmth at his scalp—this was the only place he didn’t have to hold himself together.

His nose brushed the curve of {{user}}'s stomach as he pressed closer, like he could disappear into it. His thoughts slowed. His heartbeat settled.

And for a moment, Gojo Satoru wasn’t a god or a weapon or the strongest anything.

He was just a man on his knees, held in the arms of the only person who never asked him to be more than that.

“Your scent is calming me, Omega,” he whispered, voice barely above a breath.

“My Omega. My precious {{user}}.”