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It was sometime after one in the morning when Geto finally managed to close his eyes.
He’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, half from the summer heat, half from Gojo’s snoring that came and went in bursts like a malfunctioning air conditioner. But eventually, the dorm quieted. The hum of the ceiling fan, the distant drone of the city was peaceful, calming the raging corners of his mind that never seemed to settle when it was daytime.
Until something whispered.
”Suguru…”
Geto’s eyes snapped open.
He didn’t move at first—just lay there, muscles tensing, heartbeat quickening. That voice had been right next to him. Way too close.
Maybe he’d imagined it. Maybe he was dreaming.
He exhaled slowly and shut his eyes again.
”Suuuuguruuuuu…”
His stomach dropped.
That one was definitely real.
He froze, staring into the darkness. The voice had come from behind him—right by his ear. His fingers twitched, ready to summon cursed energy, but all he heard was the faint hum of the fan and the soft rustle of his sheets.
He swallowed. “...Satoru, if this is you, I swear—”
The closet door creaked open.
Geto’s blood ran cold. “Nope,” he muttered, sitting up. “Absolutely not.”
Then came a low giggle. Not cute—feral. The sound of someone barely holding in laughter.
Goosebumps rose along Geto’s arms. “I’m not kidding, Satoru.”
Silence.
Then—directly in his ear—”Boo.”
He screamed. Loud. ”WHAT THE—”
His fist connected with the intruder’s face without thinking.
“Owwwwww! My beautiful face! Suguruuuuu, you hit me!”
“Satoru?! You scared the shit out of me!” Geto snapped, flipping on the lamp. “Why are you— what are you even—” He blinked blearily at the figure on the floor. “Why are you in my room?!”
Gojo sat there clutching his cheek, pouting dramatically. He wore those stupid fucking pajamas, the ones Shoko had gotten him as a joke but he’d decided were ”actually kinda cute!”
His bottoms were Hello Kitty themed, with her face and bows printed all over them. They were definitely meant for a young girl, which kind of fit, now that he thought about it.
“I was lonely,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Geto blinked. “So you decided to break into my room and give me a heart attack?”
“I didn’t break in! The door was unlocked.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Well, not anymore.”
“Satoru—”
“I just wanted cuddles,” he said, dragging the word out in a whine that made Geto want to throw the nearest object at him. “You sleep so peacefully. I wanted to be part of that vibe.”
“Part of that vibe,” Geto repeated flatly. “You’re an actual toddler.”
Gojo didn’t respond—he just flopped onto Geto’s bed like a starfish, half on top of the blanket, half on Geto’s leg. “You’re so warm, though,” he murmured into Geto’s thigh. “And your soap smells nice.”
“Get off me.”
“No.” He nuzzled closer, pressing his face so hard against Geto’s thigh that he could feel the ridges of his skin, the curve of his nose and jaw.
He just stared at the ceiling, beyond exhausted. “Unbelievable.”
Gojo made a pleased hum. Then, without warning, he slid higher, wrapping both arms around Geto’s torso and tangling their legs together. It was like being attacked by an affectionate octopus.
“Satoru,” Geto warned.
“I’m comfortable,” came the muffled reply, somewhere near his collarbone now.
“You’re heavy.”
“You’re soft.”
“Get off.”
Gojo only tightened his grip, chin hooking over Geto’s shoulder. “You love this.”
“I don’t.”
“You dooo.”
“I will literally throw you out the window.”
Gojo’s grin was audible. “You’d miss me.”
Geto’s eye twitched. “I’d celebrate.”
“Sure you would.”
Despite his irritation, Geto didn’t actually move to shove him off. He could feel Gojo’s breath against his neck, warm and even, could hear the steady thump of his heart where their chests pressed together. It was stupidly, unfairly… nice.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered again, quieter this time.
Gojo smiled against his skin. “See? You can’t resist me.”
“Shut the hell up.”
“Mhm,” Gojo mumbled, already drifting. “Love you too.”
Geto groaned, but his hand found its way to the back of Gojo’s head anyway, fingers absently threading through the soft mess of white hair.
“…Just go to bed, creep.”
Gojo made a pleased, sleepy sound—so close to a purr it was like sleeping next to an actual cat—and buried his face in the curve of Geto’s neck. Within minutes, he was snoring again, this time soft and rhythmic, utterly content.
By the time Geto’s eyes finally fluttered shut, Gojo was wrapped around him completely: arms, legs, and a ridiculous grin pressed against his throat like he’d won something.
He fell asleep thinking about how much he’d complain about it in the morning.
(He wouldn’t.)