sincerelysatoru

[sincerelysatoru]

Satoru was late.

This shouldn’t have come as a shock. As much as you loved your husband—adored him with every fiber of your being—you had long since accepted that Satoru Gojo was hopeless when it came to managing his time. 

But this morning, when you were tucked into the warm sheets of your shared bed, still half-asleep, Satoru had kissed you awake, lips brushing over your forehead, cheeks, and jaw, whispering promises against your skin.

“I’ve missed too much time with my wife,” he’d murmured, voice thick with affection. “I promise I’ll be home early. Don’t miss me too much, 'kay?"

You had believed him. Of course you had. 

Now, it was well past dinner time, and there was still no sign of your husband anywhere. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of your overly expensive penthouse, the sky was swallowed in a violet-black haze and the city was beginning to come to life. Neon lights flickered off restaurant signs, car headlights illuminated the dark roads, and the occasional office building still glowed on the top floors.

You found yourself pacing, wandering back and forth to the windows, squinting down at the streets below as if you could somehow spot your husband's familiar white hair through the blur of the city. Of course, it was useless.

So, you settled for sending him a quick text. 

Then a phone call.

Then…maybe sending another text.

And definitely calling a few more times.

You even tried FaceTiming him once, just for good measure.

With every unanswered ring and message that went unanswered, the knot in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter. What if something had gone wrong? What if he was hurt? What if–

No. 

You shoved the pessimistic thoughts down, pressing a hand to your elevated heartbeat as if you could physically smooth away the sharp edges of your nagging thoughts. He was Satoru Gojo. The strongest sorcerer alive. Nothing could happen to him…right?

But no matter how often you reminded yourself of that, the worry was still gnawing at the corners of your mind, whispering terrible little possibilities. Because, for all his strength, Satoru was still human. And you knew how cruel and unforgiving his job could be. 

The minutes ticked by. Eventually, you climbed back into bed, curling up on the side that Satoru always sprawled on after a long day. The cold stretch of sheets was unbearable without his warmth and his limbs lying in every direction. You breathed in the faint scent of him, something you usually found solace in, but sleep still wouldn't come. 

With a heavy sigh, you grabbed your phone, still empty of a reply from Satoru, and wandered out to the living room once more. You grabbed the comfiest blanket you have and curled up on the couch, the soft glow of the TV illuminating the room, and hoped for a distraction from the anxious spiral you found yourself falling down. No matter how hard you tried to focus on the screen, your mind wandered back to him. Back to his smile, his laugh, his careless, infuriating charm.

You didn't hear the door unlock.

It wasn't until you heard the shuffle of footsteps, the low, off-key hum of Satoru singing something under his breath that you shot up, nearly tripping on the blanket tangled around your legs as you stumbled towards the door.

And there he was. 

Satoru, stripping off his jacket, white hair gleaming even in the dim light, sunglasses perched on his nose, arms overloaded with…gift bags?

“Hi, baby!” he chirped, flashing a grin so bright it rivaled the city lights outside. “Miss me?”

He pecked you on the top of your head as he moved past. You stood frozen, following him silently as he wandered to the living room, humming happily as if he didn't have a care in the world. 

“Satoru,” you finally whispered, voice thin and trembling. 

He turned, beaming at you with that same irreverent, dazzling joy he always carried when looking at you. “Happy 500th day of being married!”

You stared at your husband. He stared back, grin as bright as the moon.

Your mouth opened, then closed again. “That’s…not a real anniversary.”

“It is to me,” he said proudly, unloading his haul for you to see. “I got your favorite food. You know, from the place across town? And then I saw this florist booth, but they didn’t have your favorite flowers, so I went to a different one, and then I passed this little shop and saw the cutest plushie that I knew you’d love. I also got your favorite chocolates, snacks, and— oh! Hold on—”

He rummaged through the bags and pulled out a small velvet box, flipping it open with his signature dramatic flair. Inside lay a delicate bracelet glittering even in the dim lights. Attached was a small blue charm, shimmering almost the same shade of blue as his eyes (although the charm was nowhere near as beautiful).

“You always say my eyes are your favorite color,” he murmured softly.

For a long moment, all you could do was stare at him. This man, this ridiculous, infuriating, devastating man, who kept you worrying as he was out buying more gifts than you needed for some minuscule milestone in your marriage. 

“Satoru Gojo,” you breathed, stepping forward until you could press yourself into his chest, fist curling weakly into the fabric of his shirt. “You are an idiot. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

His arms folded around you easily, as if they were simply meant to rest there. He drew you in with a warmth that was so achingly familiar that it made your throat tighten. He was here.

“I promise,” he whispered against your hair, lips grazing your temple with a softness that made your heart ache. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

And despite yourself, despite the lingering panic still ghosting through your bones, you let yourself melt into his embrace, into the scent of him, the warmth, the beat of his heart under your ear.

Because no matter how late Satoru Gojo was… He was always, always, worth waiting for.

[sincerelysatoru]

gojo

[sincerelysatoru]

still intact