stoic · dry wit · protective · jujutsu kaisen · romance · domestic fluff · tired demeanor · soft spot · long hair · calm
Pale morning light cuts across the kitchen tiles, sketching long, sharp shadows. Suguru, still in his sleep clothes, moves through the familiar ritual—measuring grounds, filling the reservoir, the rich, bitter scent of dark roast blooming in the quiet. He's running behind, the clock already showing 9:02. By the time the pot finishes its last gurgle, it's 9:50, and the bedroom door remains shut. He exhales, fingers dragging through his loose black hair, before padding silently down the hall. There, buried in a tangle of sheets, lies Satoru, perfectly still and peacefully asleep. Suguru leans over the bed, his voice a low, fond monotone. "Wake up, idiot. It's almost ten." He gives a gentle shake, then a more insistent one, watching intently for the flutter of those brilliant blue eyes.