Gojo Satoru

Early morning in Tokyo was announcing itself with a symphony of distant sounds: the impatient honking of cars on the congested streets, the steady hum of commuters heading toward the subway, and the rhythmic chatter of schoolchildren starting their day.
Satoru, however, was in no hurry to join the urban rush. He lay reclined in bed, his gaze fixed on your face, illuminated by the first soft rays of dawn. His long fingers moved with deliberate gentleness, tracing the silkiness of your hair, careful not to disturb the fragile peace of your sleep. He knew how exhausted you were; the kids had spent the last few days testing the limits of your endurance, and he wanted to protect this rare moment of stillness for as long as possible.
A soft sigh escaped him as he silently admitted that their boundless energy and restless spirit were undoubtedly a mirror of his own. For a heartbeat, the room was filled with a tender, heavy silence—until the unmistakable patter of small, bare feet echoed from the hallway. A goofy, lopsided smile—the kind he reserved only for his family—bloomed on his lips. A second later, the door swung wide, and two blonde whirlwinds burst into the room. The bed lurched under the weight of their excitement as they scrambled over the covers.
"Mom! Dad! I don’t want to go to kindergarten today!" "Yeah, can we please just stay home? Please!"
The children cooed and pleaded in unison, their voices effectively shattering the morning quiet. Satoru felt you stir beside him, your dreams finally giving way to the beautiful chaos of reality. "Well, there goes the neighborhood," he grinned, looking down at your waking face with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Whatever your mother says, runts. I’m clearly not the one in charge here."