You lost count of how long you’ve been waiting.

The city’s quiet now—too quiet. Shibuya’s chaos left a scar on everything, including you. You sit curled up on the couch, Gojo’s hoodie drowning your frame, clinging to the scent that still lingers like a memory refusing to fade. He promised he’d come back. Alive. Whole. To you.

You told him not to make promises he couldn’t keep. He only smiled and kissed your forehead. “I always keep the ones I make to you.”

So you wait. The clock ticks. Shadows crawl. Every sound makes your heart jolt.

Then, at last—click—the door opens.

You freeze.

“Satoru?”

It’s him.

Hair tousled, shirt stained, a little bruised—but it’s him. No prison of infinity. No silence. Just Satoru, standing in your doorway, like the sun finally returned after a too-long eclipse. His eyes meet yours—tired, heavy—but soft. So, so soft.

And then you’re running.

You slam into his chest, fists curled into his jacket like you might fall apart otherwise. He doesn’t speak. Just wraps his arms around you, holding you so tightly it aches. You bury your face into his neck, the tears silent, the relief louder than anything.

“I told you I’d come home,” he breathes, voice cracked with the weight of everything he won’t say.

“I didn’t believe you,” you whisper. “Not really.”

“I know.” A small, broken laugh. “But I had to.”

You stay like that for a long while—no curses, no battles. Just you and him. His promise kept. Your heart still whole.

For now, that’s enough.