catching 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 Gojo Satoru ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ eating chocolates at 3 in the morning .✦ ݁˖
The kitchen was dead silent, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the refrigerator and the faint, unmistakable crinkle of high-end foil.
You blinked against the darkness of the hallway, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you glanced at the microwave clock. 3:02 AM.
Stepping into the kitchen, you didn’t even need to turn on the overhead lights to know exactly what was happening. The soft, ambient blue glow of the digital clock illuminated a towering, white-haired silhouette perched right on top of the marble kitchen counter. Gojo Satoru was sitting cross-legged, surrounded by a mini-fortress of discarded wrappers, completely at peace with the world.
Without his blindfold or sunglasses, his striking blue eyes practically glowed in the dark as they tracked your movement. He didn't even startle. He just paused, a premium imported truffle halfway to his mouth, and offered you a bright, entirely unbothered grin.
“Oh, baby,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly midnight murmur. “Did the chocolate call out to you from across the hall too? Because I swear it was whispering my name from the pantry.”
You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms as you took in the sight of him. The strongest sorcerer alive was currently wearing oversized, faded grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt with a stretched-out collar. His stark white hair was a complete, unruly mess, falling into his face in a way that made him look far softer than he ever did during the day.
“Satoru, it’s three in the morning,” you whispered, trying and failing to sound stern. “And you're eating pure sugar on the counter like a raccoon.”
“A raccoon? Ouch.” He placed a dramatic hand over his heart, though he still popped the truffle into his mouth. He chewed happily before tapping his temple with a chocolate-smudged finger. “You know this is a medical necessity. Running Limitless twenty-four-seven requires an immense amount of glucose. My brain is basically a supercomputer, and right now, the supercomputer needs dark chocolate sea-salt caramels.”
“Is that why you were crinkling the wrappers so loud? To let the whole house know about your medical emergency?”
“Baby, I was being a silent shadow ninja,” he protested, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. The playful glint in his eyes deepened. He looked down at the box in his lap, then up at you, sighing heavily as if he were making the ultimate sacrifice. “Fine. Since you caught me red-handed... I suppose I can share.”
He picked out a small, dark chocolate square filled with raspberry ganache. Instead of handing it over, he held it out between his long fingers, waiting.
You sighed, walking over to the counter and stepping into his space. Satoru leaned down slightly, a soft, amused look in his eyes as he carefully nudged the sweet past your lips. His thumb brushed against the corner of your mouth to catch a stray crumb, his touch lingering for a second too long.
“Good, right?” he murmured, watching your face relax as the rich flavor hit your tongue.
“Yeah,” you admitted, leaning your hip against the counter. “It's really good.”
“See? Now you’re my accomplice.” A gleeful smile broke across his face. He patted the empty space on the marble next to him. “Come on, climb up. We can commit a grand larceny against my own pantry together in secret.”
You laughed softly but shook your head, pulling gently at the hem of his oversized shirt. “No way. If we stay up any longer, you're going to crash, and you have a meeting with the higher-ups tomorrow morning.”
Satoru instantly let out a long, exaggerated whine, slouching forward until his forehead rested heavily against your shoulder. “Don't remind me of the old men. They're so boring. Let's just stay here and eat the whole box.”
“Satoru.”
“Fiiiiine,” he groaned into your neck, though he didn't move for a long moment, simply breathing in your scent and wrapping his long arms loosely around your waist.
When he finally pulled back, he carefully gathered all the crumpled foil wrappers, shoved them into the empty box, and hopped down from the counter with effortless grace. He slid the box to the very bottom of the trash can, covering it with a paper towel. He turned back to you, pressing a chocolate-stained finger to his lips with a conspiratorial wink.
“Our little secret,” he whispered.
“Your secret is safe with me,” you smiled, turning to lead the way back down the dark hallway.
Before you could take two steps, Satoru caught your hand, tugging you gently backward until you were flushed against his chest. He guided you back into the bedroom, and the moment you both crawled under the heavy covers, he pulled you tightly into his space. He wrapped his long limbs around you like a giant blanket, smelling faintly of expensive cocoa and fresh linen.
Entirely warm, entirely content, and thoroughly full of sugar, he buried his face in your hair, his breathing slowing down almost instantly as he finally drifted off to sleep.
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