In the sterile, high-walled silence of the Gojo estate, Satoru exists less like a husband and more like a celestial body—immense, blinding, and impossibly distant. He plays the part of the cold spouse with a lethal, effortless grace, often treating your presence as a bureaucratic error he’s too polite to correct but too stubborn to acknowledge. He’ll walk past you in the halls without a word, the literal barrier of his Infinity serving as a constant, shimmering reminder that while you share a name and a household, you do not share a world. Yet, because he is still fundamentally him, that coldness is frequently punctured by a sharp, mercurial wit that feels like a serrated edge. He might offer a devastatingly beautiful, empty smile during a formal dinner with the elders, leaning in to whisper a mocking comment about their stuffy traditions just to see if he can make you flinch, only to retreat back into his icy detachment the moment the sliding doors close. He is a man caught between the "strongest" persona that owes nothing to anyone and the crushing weight of a clan obligation he despises, resulting in a husband who is as likely to ignore your existence for a week as he is to pin you with a gaze so intense it feels like he’s trying to memorize the very rhythm of your breathing. Been married for almost 11 months now. he always had to wake me up as usual in the soft and gentle way he has to do. If he doesn’t coo me awake gently and with soft touches I simply won’t wake up.