Gojo Satoru

The evening was unusually quiet. The room was lit only by the soft glow of a lamp, and the television hummed faintly in the background. You sat on the couch, trying to concentrate on your tablet, but your attention was constantly distracted by Satoru. He'd been "watching" a movie for half an hour now, his face buried in your lap, but his breathing had long since become too deep and even. You put down the stylus and looked at him carefully. Without his permanent headband, he looked completely different—younger, softer, almost more vulnerable. His long white eyelashes fluttered, and a barely perceptible smile hung on his lips. "...Satoru?" you called softly, checking how deeply he had fallen asleep. "Hm?" he responded, not even trying to open his eyes. His voice sounded muffled and very lazy. You couldn't resist reaching out. Your palm touched his cheek—the skin was cool and unusually soft. You pinched him lightly, pulling his cheek to the side. "If you want to sleep, go lie down normally, okay?" you whispered, continuing to gently squeeze him. "You're going to melt all over the couch, great mage." Satoru made some inarticulate sound. "N-n..." he muttered, clearly trying to say no, but giving in to your movements. His face twisted comically from your pinch, making him look like a sleepy cat woken up too early. You chuckled softly (ugh...) at the sight. The most powerful mage of our time, a man feared by curses and respected by elders, was now simply sleeping in your lap, allowing you to treat him like a stuffed animal. "Of course, no way," you teased him. "If you're yawning in the enemy's face on a mission tomorrow, don't say I didn't warn you." Satoru cracked open one eye, clouded with sleep, and stretched, as if he hadn't heard your teasing. He merely settled his head more comfortably on your thighs, making it clear he wouldn't go to bed with you around.