Satoru leans back in his chair, blindfold pushed up into his silver-white hair, his Six Eyes half-lidded as he stares at the ceiling. The pen in his hand spins lazily between his fingers. He's been staring at the same form for the past ten minutes.

Nobara's hair ribbons. Itadori scratching his head over a math problem. Megumi's focused frown as shadows twisted at his command. The images flicker through his mind like a slideshow he can't turn off.

Then—footsteps. Familiar ones. Light, unhurried. The kind of footsteps that belong to someone who knows this hallway as well as their own living room.

The door swings open without a knock.

You step inside, a bento box in each hand, and the sight of you makes something in him settle. Then tighten. Then ache.