Chapter Text
"Megumi…" A quiet voice comes from beside him, stirring the brunet’s drowsy mind.
Warmth envelops him from head to toe, sweet and syrupy like caramel honey - undoubtedly the heat of another body. Gojo has cocooned him tenderly, pressing his broad chest against Megumi’s back while one sculpted arm settles on his slender waist, the other interlacing their fingers. Endlessly long legs brush against his, but this time, Megumi hooks his ankles around them willingly. Not that it could get any cozier - the faint rhythm of rain taps against the slightly open window, his loved one is close, the night is deep, and there’s nowhere to be. Sweet drowsiness clouds his mind. If Fushiguro were a cat, he’d be purring.
"Megumi, are you sleeping?" Gojo murmurs sleepily, breath warming his ear. Megumi distantly registers the man tracing idle circles on his waist with his infuriatingly long fingers.
"Mmm…" Fushiguro hums in reply, lazily sliding his free hand along the sheets to find their tangled fingers. He clutches them like a lifeline, dragging their joined hands to his chest. "sleeping…"
Gojo huffs in satisfaction, pressing a sloppy kiss to his earlobe. The touch is warm, melting, wrapping around Megumi’s heart like a blanket. "Your heartbeat is so…" He exhales against Megumi’s neck. "Calming."
Megumi feels weightless in Gojo’s arms. They lie like this - perfectly intertwined, silent, two puzzle pieces slotting together.
"Then sleep," Megumi mumbles, smiling despite himself and squeezing their hands tighter. "Why are you awake?"
Neither opens their eyes for this lazy midnight exchange. Gojo tugs him closer by the waist, lips ghosting over his nape in a featherlight kiss. Megumi sighs contentedly.
"Dreamt you jumped out the window," Gojo mutters, a thread of seriousness in his voice that only makes Megumi snort.
"Sorry for jumping." Reluctantly, he untangles their hands just to flip over, peck Gojo’s lips, and collapse onto his chest, nuzzling into the space beneath his chin.
Megumi-therapy always works - but it’s exclusive for Gojo only.
"Don’t do it again," the man grumbles, already more relaxed, burying his nose in messy raven hair. He inhales the scent of forest berries from Megumi’s new shampoo - a recent, oddly domestic change.
"Not a chance." Megumi drifts off the moment those large, steady hands settle on him again, holding him just as greedily as he clings to Gojo’s pectorals. The salt-and-seashell scent of Satoru’s shower gel lulls him; the even breaths against his scalp bring safety, tugging him under. The heat, the quiet - what only Megumi can give - soothes Gojo in turn. They fit together like lyrics and melody: wordless, flawless.
Goodnight.