2:33am [ wc ~900 ]
you remember the first time you woke up to itâto those bright blue eyes piercing through the darkness of your room, pinning you in place. all the foggy bleariness of having just woken up was wiped clean out of your eyes. you stared back.
you didn't scream. you couldn't scream. you were frozen for all of one startling, shock-infused second before you actually woke up and registeredâit was just satoru. of course, itâs just satoru.
you settled down again. sighing a long, weary sigh, you poked him in the side. he let you. "stop being a creep."
"i'm not being a creep." his tone was light. you could hear the smile lifting up his voice.
you've already closed your eyes again, blindly grabbing for the edge of the comforter, all the while feeling the way your movements are outlined in the dark. "you're being a creep." you tug it over your lips. then, beneath the fabric, you mutter, "watching me in my sleep..."
(you werenât awake for it, butâ
there was a slump in his shoulders when he got home that night. a long, long sigh stretched itself out as he tilted his head back, hassled by phantom cricks. he shut the door behind him. he canât ever really get tired, not with his rct at work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 4 weeks a month... his mind was always fresh and new and functioning. but fuck.
sometimes that was the problem; one that could never get fixed. never should get fixed, and never ever would. his sigh stretches all the way from the front door to all the way down the hall.
he doesnât know how many cursesâ heads he sent flying today. he doesnât really care. he couldnât care less for it, or for the higher ups yabbering in his ears, or for the pile of paperwork on his desk. and gojoâs perfectly healthy, fresh and new and functioning, but his head throbs anyway and he thinks itâs time for him to send his own head flying. his eyes hurt even with the damn blackout blindfold.
but when he gets to the door to your room, he tugs it down. his eyes land on you, automatic like heâs fixed his eyes on you 24/7 the same way his rct worked around the clock. then he scans your surroundings, changes out of his clothes if only for your voice in his mind pissed off and scowling at the thought of day clothes anywhere near the bed (âthey havenât touched anythingââ/âchange.â), and slides into bed next to you. he doesnât bother slipping under the covers. he doesnât think heâs gonna sleep tonight. he doesnât care for it.
he watches you, the ebb and flow of your cursed energy, all the little fluctuations that are so much more alive in his eyes now that heâs close to you, close enough to really see you. he watches how your chest expands and contracts, how you turn a little in your sleep, how you shift closer to the warmth of another body. to him.
âit was routine.)
his eyes haven't left you once.
you feel the weight, sixfold, blanketing over your half-asleep figure. it's not unlike the comforter you've settled under. maybe itâs just a little heavier, a little more secure.
"i prefer the term monitoring," he hummed. you know he could go on and on, talking about surveilling the night for potential threats and you never know what could happen (not like the unpredictability of danger is a concern for him butâyouâre not him) and about curses in closets. he doesn't do that tonight.
"same thing," you mutter, words buried beneath the sheets.
"were you scared?"
no, he's not talking about curses in closets tonight.
âno,â you hum, eyes closed. you turn your back to him, getting comfortable. then, ânever of you.â
itâs so quiet, stuffed beneath the blankets, caught in the dark of nightâalmost quiet enough for him to miss. but he canât, not when itâs just you two in the space of this room. when itâs only you in front of him. he doesnât answer. just breathes.
ââŚget some sleep, satoru.â
you feel it when he huffsâbarely catch his amused little âhah.â
he slips under the covers anyway, snaking an arm around your waist.
then heâs tucking his face against the back of your neck, and youâd almost say it was eager if he wasnât being so gentle. he breathes you inâactually touches you, feels you after however-long of just watching, of drowning himself in your essence in the way that came most naturally.
his infinity wraps around you, just another blanket to add on the list. it was a strange sensationâsomething like a thin layer of air pressed just between you and the rest of the world. it was like a film cast over you, or a sort of pressure. it was oddly cold the first time youâd felt it, that untouchable space between you and the rest of the worldâexcept for satoru. and then, it wasnât that cold at all.
actually, heâs quite warm right now.
like this, it was just you and satoru in his own little bubble. he presses his forehead to the back of your neck, feeling your pulse, counting each beat. he feels your back against his chest, how your breathing evens and steadies out, how your heart expands and contracts again when he shifts a little closer to you. he breathes in time with youâstill, his heartâs beating just a fraction faster. he huffs. how unfair of you.
he closes his eyes.
expanding on whatever i said here
















