#reply. ( shoko & satoru ) ( brazenlystrong )

[koseigu]

pocky day is a convenient holiday. business booms, and there's something else—that equally convenient excuse to kiss someone you've been possibly thinking about kissing ever since that stupid bakery contest.

shoko expected one or two offers, but not this one. and she is super fine with it. free sweets. she hates sweets.

the gesture does not go unnoticed, but it does go by without being commented on. mostly because she's too busy chasing the hint of blue peeking over dark sunglasses once they've both got a hold of the snack between their teeth. well ... mama didn't raise no chicken. she just hopes she won't bump into infinity on the way.

@brazenlystrong, continued from here

[koseigu]

she hadn't really planned on telling gojo about her plan this casually, or telling him at all. a letter, maybe, all those things that have gone unsaid that he may or may not have already known. yaga, the traitorous bastard, brings up having prepared her transcripts for the admissions office in front of him and then left them alone with her decision hanging heavy in the air.

"i'll need to focus, you know?"

bullshit excuse.

"...it's not like i'm needed for anything outside of the clinic. i told yaga he can call me if something comes up that can't be helped with standard care. and you're already busy. but i can call you too, if you want."

shoko sighs, lazily kicking at a rock.

"i might. i don't really want to have to explain everything to a roommate though."

and it's not like she has a lot of options considering the amount of sorcerers they have left.

"i guess we'll see."

@koseigu liked for a short starter.

“ For real, real? No contact? ” He squints, a frown etching on his features at the news about Shoko planning to withdraw for a while to focus on her major. “ At least tell me the name of the college. Are you gonna look for a roommate or something? ”

[koseigu]

henry miller needs brenda venus like sin, shoko ieiri needs satoru gojo like salvation.

wanting him comes in waves, ebbs and flows.

sometimes she can't stand the sight of him, perfect and outside of it all and so...happy, how does he seem to stay so happy? how can he be so cold and compassionate at the same time? so good as a teacher but bad as a friend, a lover? how can he be as bad at this as she is? isn't he supposed to be the best?

and then sometimes she needs him, like air or food or water or cursed energy—needs not only to feel infinity but to be drowning in his void, starry eyed and brain overwhelmed. she thinks too much as it is, always predicting the future, remembering the past, internalizing everything and it's made manifest in these moments of...brazenness. she needs someone else to be in control. she needs to give someone else the keys.

everyone gets bored at work, so everyone has their own way of dealing with it. timing matters, naturally, but it's important for one's sanity to seize these opportunities for any kind of mental or emotional stimulation. playing temptress, like variety itself, is the spice of life. shoko is the perfect example of how this kind of situation can be explored to it's fullest potential: with her reputation for dry humor, professionalism, and general detachment from things that are outside of her purview as healer of the living and handler of the dead. no one bats an eye if she leans over to whisper something to gojo, if she's speaking up at all it's likely something he should be hearing.

those observers wouldn't be wrong. hell, they'd go back to ignoring everything but themselves once they hear his response—the casual "in my office, on my desk."

satisfied for the moment, shoko settles again with the feeling of hot anticipation burning in her gut. it's been a while since they've been able to effectively release the steam valve, and it's clear by the way that he takes her hand and immediately begins giving those sinful sweet orders of his, that they're equally hungry.

it's a filthy kind of contradiction, the way he curls his fingers inside of her and calls her out for her being so endlessly fucking wet for him while at the same time reminding her the same thing she has known since that stupid contest—i will leave such an imprint on your heart that anyone you entertain after me will have to know me in order to understand you.

yeah. as unknowable of an entity as satoru gojo is, anyone else is going to have one hell of an uphill battle beating this.

@brazenlystrong, continued from here

[koseigu]

the moon is high in the sky, the sheets are sticking to her skin, she's still flushed. admitting her feelings was not the intention, but he'd commented that he could practically hear her thinking and then...

his response was both exactly what she wanted to hear and not what she wanted to hear at all.

shoko hides her face in his chest while pinching his side. her words, like her smile, are muffled against his skin.

"you know what? i take it back. feelings rescinded. love over."

@brazenlystrong, continued from here

[koseigu]

shoko's hair is getting longer. she's comfortable, you know? content to break her habit of chopping off the memories that linger in chocolate-colored strands. it almost makes her look younger. it certainly makes her feel that way. strange, the lightness that comes with allowing more of yourself to exist.

he allows her to take up space in a way that takes her a while to adjust to. even though the apartment is shared, she doesn't like to...spread herself too much. when they first started living together, it was for the sake of convenience, a central location between her school and tokyo jujutsu tech, spacious enough for the both of them, comfortable and clean and shared with someone she trusts deeply. her best friend. eventually, she gets used to it. she's confident enough to leave a book or two on the coffee table, hang up a picture, buy blankets and pillows that she likes for their big couch. they move around as though they were meant to be in each other's orbit, develop a quiet intimacy that she doesn't exactly jump to name but one that makes her feel warm in the same way it did while they were still students together.

they've seen each other in good moments and bad ones, bloody and grieving but also happy and relaxed. she recently saw a little more than she was expecting, but the sight was hardly unwelcome and the image has been sort of lingering in her mind ever since.

it really should mean nothing. like sharing a kiss to win a contest. or sharing a kiss just because. once or twice.

she kind of needs it to mean something.

the request is approached calmly, clinically, and is met with cheeky flirtation in return. it makes her feel bolder, hotter. when gojo has her hand right there on the twist keeping his towel around his waist, her heart stutters a bit and her fingers move without sparing a moment to think it through.

"good thing this isn't an accident, yeah?"

@brazenlystrong, continued from here

[koseigu]

it'll hit her later.

the whole thing, really. the days since halloween spent in a sleepless frenzy, managing the stressors of the games and the way that the higher ups used the opportunity to hold a culling of their own, the efforts to get families out. shoko spent the time she didn't have to actively heal someone in the morgue, preparing bodies to be cremated. she couldn't get to everyone, obviously. curses continued to spill out from the rot no matter how much damage their side managed to do. she slept a few hours a week, no more. anything else would be a waste of time.

it'll hit her later.

because of the way she's been running her perpetual engine, she has to ease herself back into what was once her "normal" schedule. only now it's not caffeine and sugar pills keeping her awake while her technique prevents her brain from dissolving into a thick and sticky mess, it's the fact that her brain won't shut the fuck up. she can't close her eyes without seeing bodies, can't scrub her skin clean enough for the smell to stop suffocating her. every time the phone rings it's the end, every time she looks at a scalpel it is already dripping with someone's blood.

it'll hit her later.

miraculously, there are more happy reunions than anyone ( especially shoko ) expected. miraculously, things seem to be on track to change for the better. miraculously, most of the ones that had died in the days and weeks following the shibuya incident were people that she didn't know very well. except for geto. yuki. choso, he'd been sweet. there was also the elder zenin, yaga. not to mention all of the close calls: nobara, ijichi, kusakabe, the lawyer, maki, yuta, megumi. is she forgetting someone? she probably is.

it'll hit her later.

and then, of course, the strongest—satoru gojo, sealed and unsealed, sets the date of his own death for convenience and gives the students and anyone left the chance to train for the fight that will shape the rest of reality. they don't really talk about much in that interim time, not about anything but the future. plan a has a plan b, plan b has a plan c, so on and so on and so on. her opinions don't really matter outside of healing the living and purifying the dead, and no one needs her to be a cunt so she keeps her fears and panic safely tucked in her lungs with billowing clouds of tarry smoke.

it'll hit her later.

all eyes are on the screens that mei has set up on the 24th, but all ears are on her when it comes to gojo's condition. shoko wants to ask when she became the fucking expert, because she knows him about as well as the rest of them do which is not at all, not really. she wants to ask why the fuck they're even doing this, why they waited, why they took the chance to get stronger when it gave sukuna the chance to do the same—and could he even get stronger at all? did anyone know anything concrete about him?

it'll hit her later.

he's dead. not quite, but mostly, and isn't that the same thing? he's dead, and she said he'd win so now she looks like an asshole. he said he wouldn't leave anyone alone and he lied, and she said that gojo would win and she lied. he made her a liar.

it'll hit her later.

he's awake. he says he wants to get married, so she might be dead. he says he wants to start a family, which means she's not dead she's just crazy. crazy is something she can work with, once she gets some rest. a little nap would be good. because now that satoru is back, her body tells itself that it's time for a hard reboot. not sleep as much as it is an update and restart.

it'll hit her later.

right now the only thing on her mind is love love love, the kind that's dripping off his fingers or pooling on the bed beneath them because he's filled her up so much that the angle gojo has her in causes it to spill back out again.

let it never be said he does anything halfway, on the battlefield or in the bedroom. let it never be said that he doesn't follow through when he sets his mind to something.

and honestly? it's kind of...sweet, in a filthy way. shoko doesn't have any family left, and satoru is not only committing to something beyond fake dates and friends with benefits. he's committing to them. to the very notion of their family.

it's enough to tip her over the edge again. the woman reflected is desired as she is, for who she is outside of a hospital setting.

"ahhh, fahh—'toru, i can't—"

breathe, think, speak any more than a few words sandwiched between whimpers and moans.

it'll hit her later. all of it. she'll have to process the trauma and mourn the people she lost and join him in complete retirement. she'll have to quit smoking, cut back on the drinking. she'll have to deal with the weight of expectation, the reality that she's going to be a mother and a wife without any idea how to be either of those things. for now, she's content to be adrift just like this.

@brazenlystrong continued from here

[koseigu]

his presence is impossible to ignore, especially when it's focused instead of a coincidence or happenstance. when it seems that todo has also decided to focus elsewhere, shoko takes a few cross-steps over other outstretched legs and plates of snacks.

"hey, fancy meeting you here."

her knees groan as she sits down, and once she's comfortable she closes her eyes and focuses her cursed energy in order to relieve the ache. "you need something? or were you just missing our sparkling repartee?"

@brazenlystrong, continued from here

[koseigu]

the guy was, admittedly, kind of cute. in a...maybe i have a teensie little crush on my sometimes-pretend-boyfriend and i probably shouldn't way.

had gojo not been there shoko might have indulged him for a few days in order to see if it was viable. had gojo not been there it would have likely ended the same way, with her watching him walk way because of the intervention ( conscious or not ) of her best friend. it's not the smartest idea, surely the pair of them can't just fake-date until they're adults with actual jobs and homes. surely gojo, as the six eyes, would have approximately 500 prospects for marriage from every eager family with a drop of cursed energy in their bloodline.

of course there was always the option if it becoming real, but she tries not to indulge that idea too much.

her face is illuminated haphazardly, flashing from the machines being the only real thing that keeps her visible in the low light of the arcade. the subtle use of her technique is enough to keep the color from her face, though it does nothing to hide her teasing smirk.

"damn," she shrugs, taking a few steps towards the racing games she likes. "i was kind of hoping you were."

@brazenlystrong, continued from here

[koseigu]

it's not entirely clear whether or not they share some kind of psychic connection, or if shoko's just delusional—but it's kind of, like...she can feel his pain, the way he experiences it, how long the sharpness lingers.

the entire lake turns over & now YOU & ME are floating faceup.

really it's just that she's overworked herself to the point where everything is hurting and she doesn't want to expend energy on herself if and when satoru needs more healing.

"just doing my job," the only part of it that's ever actually mattered, digging my fingers into your heart and squeezing it until it remembers how to beat on it's own. "you're the one that we should be thanking." she reaches out and laces her fingers into his, though her touch is as icy as the grave. he's warmer now. he's getting warmer because he's still alive.

"don't push yourself too much. if you die again i'll have to bring you back just to kill you myself."

it's the closest she can get to i love you, idiot without crying. the closest she can get to i said you'd win and you almost made me a liar.

Like waking from a dream—a dream filled with the sound of his own heartbeat. Еvery breath he takes now is a reminder that he has been teetering on the edge. His entire body feels like it is made of lead, muscles tense and sore. The heart monitor beeps steadily beside him, an almost mocking reminder that he has narrowly avoided the afterlife.

Satoru blinks, trying to adjust to the dim light, his usually sharp vision blurred slightly as his Six Eyes come into focus, able to perceive everything and anything. He attempts to sit up, but a sharp, stabbing pain courses through him. He slumps back into the bed, albeit without making a sound. Ah, so this is what feels like to be alive, still.

“ Almost died, ” he murmurs, a glimmer of his usual confidence in his voice. “ Keyword. ” His throat rasps as he tries to find his usual playful tone.

His fingers drift to his lower chest, sensing the tight bandages wrapped around his torso. Underneath, there is now a dull throb of pain compared to earlier, the kind that comes from something being torn apart and then stitched back together. “ All thanks to you, ” he says quietly, a tad more seriously this time. He makes a second attempt to wiggle himself up. A little inconvenient Sukuna had managed to slash him right where his upper body folds. And not to mention his ribs and vital organs would need to be properly attached to avoid improper healing. Satoru wonders how did Shoko do all of this, all by herself. Truly a miracle.

[koseigu]

independent & private multimuse sideblog, showcasing original and canon characters from jujutsu kaisen & more

featured muses: shoko ieiri, ryomen sukuna

nsft content, occasional gore, & dark themes ahead est. 2024, written by tsari (29, they / them) all follows / likes / asks will come from taliaromanova pinned graphic by @rubiisources icon and header art by jkoonana_ & crumplstiltskin ♡︎

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[koseigu]

shoko forces herself to swallow the genuine surprise at his near-instantaneous approach, the uncomfortable feeling settling in her gut that she hasn't been given any time to prepare herself for actually having to speak past a casual greeting. she left at the end of their second year, didn't bother calling or writing since he was already busy with two orphans and his own career prospects. if she'd had her way, she'd be somewhere else right now.

"the bandages are new. did the glasses stop working as effectively?"

she dives into clinician mode, paging doctor ieiri, cheeks rosy under the heat of his gaze despite the barrier between them. the cloth barrier. infinity is another thing entirely.

asking how he's been seems pointless, and she's not prepared to talk about how she's been either. "do you have classes today?"

As Gojo strolls around campus, the warm sun illuminates his path. Each step echoes his journey, hard-earned physical training, honing new fighting techniques. And also, his relentless dedication to looking after Megumi and Tsumiki. Earning his teaching diploma had taken time, but he had done it with a wink and a smile. In reality, he doesn't need the piece of paper to prove his worth as the strongest sorcerer. It is just to add an extra feather to his already impressive cap.

As he makes his way through the pathways of the school, he spots Shoko on the staircase kicking off her heels. He pauses for a moment, taking in the sight of her.

He raises a hand in greeting. “ Yo! ” His voice rings out with that familiar, carefree tone. It feels good to see an old friend again, and he can't help but feel a rush of nostalgia mixed with excitement at the unexpected reunion.

How long has it been? He lost count of the years. Gojo sits down beside her, his long legs easily spreading over a couple of stairs due to his height. He turns to look at her. His infrared vision can solely provide the hazy silhouette of Shoko's figure, outlined by varying degrees of intensity—brighter areas indicating heat, cooler patches signifying less activity. However, this doesn't mean he can't make out the finer details. Perhaps the features on her face are reduced to a blurred amalgamation of glowing contours, obscuring any individual characteristics. He definitely wouldn't mistake the shape of her sweet facial features, though. Has she grown her hair out?  He can see it flow down past her shoulders.

“ Long time no see, Shoko, ” he adds.

[koseigu]

it has to be a dream.

early on, when he first laid eyes on the most dangerous sorcerer the world will ever know, he was immediately smitten. 

thing is, the threat he poses to sukuna is very different than the threat he poses to anyone else.

if gojo were to turn on humanity, he would be unstoppable. more untouchable than he already is.

if gojo were to turn on him...

no. he won't let this become a nightmare. the time spent moping without him was nightmare enough.  how fucking pathetic is that?

getting out of his own head is easy, which is good because he's starting to think he might be having a heart attack from the brush of his lips alone. but something is also wrong. as satoru kneels next to him, hovers over him, all he can do is ask why is this divine being lowering himself for a kiss when i could just—

so he does.

he tightens his abdominal muscles and sits up enough to close what little gap remained between their faces.

     "i love fighting you," he mumbles, allowing the words themselves to keep the kiss moving. "i hate fighting with you. let's not do that again."

sukuna can't breathe.

or, rather, he can—he just doesn't want to. breathing might ruin this, speaking might ruin it, moving at all might shatter the whole thing like an incomplete domain. fuck it, he'll stay like this forever just to feel the warmth of satoru's breath on the skin not covered by the white a-shirt he threw on before collapsing to try and sleep.

neither of them speak, just stay there in the little bubble of right that is this reunion. eventually, though, he moves. because he has to look at gojo, make sure he's not dreaming. and maybe it's a terrible bullshit idea but he's just buzzing from that brief moment of contact. with as little effort as possible, sukuna rolls onto his side and tugs his silent companion into an already crowded twin bed—just to keep him close now that he has him back. the next potential misstep in this already dangerous slackline routine is to lean in enough that their foreheads are almost touching to apologize for...suffocating him too much. should have backed off. should actually back off before apologizing for not backing off. should kiss him. should apologize for thinking about it so much. should ask him out on a proper date. should figure out what the fuck a proper date even is. should say something, say literally anything instead of staring like the protagonist of a romance novel with so much pathetic yearning in his eyes that it's enough to make him sick.

"you look like shit again."

okay. so poetry comes later. maybe he'll appreciate the little callback to their first real conversation. or maybe he's forgotten that detail because he doesn't keep a mental catalogue of every little thing they'e ever said or done.

"i'm sorry." for maybe, possibly, definitely contributing to the fact that you look like this. "and, uh—i missed you. for what it's worth."

[koseigu]

half agony, half hope.

she's cremated more sorcerers than she's ever known. she repairs their broken bodies as much as possible, does what she can to either play a favorite song or read a section of a favorite book. she sits with the younger ones, the students, just to let them know that she's not going to forget their sacrifice even if the ones that led them to the gallows will. talking to the dead is easy, but she does not make things about her. there is no afterlife, she knows. but she also knows that curses can manifest from the littlest thing.

there's a lingering voice in the back of her head, always suguru, whispers that there's still a chance she'll need to do the same to satoru, that she should just lay down in there with him. don't you want to be together again? won't you miss us? we won't wait for you forever—

gojo's voice cuts through the choking fog, rouses her from that sleep-that-is-not-sleep. in the time he takes to come back to reality, she's moved him off the autopsy table and into a bed in the clinic, made camp in the chair by it's side.

they both have dried blood on them still. his is...everywhere. hers is concentrated on her lab coat, under her nose, her hands. shoko has not moved more than two feet away from him since he was deposited in front of her by ui-ui.

"not long enough," her voice is lower than normal, dry throat mixed with exhaustion. "considering you pretty much died." she leans forward a little bit, hair falling in front of her face. "hey back."

The cool, solid surface is surprisingly comfortable against Gojo's weary body. He blinks slowly, his surroundings fading into a blur as he's overwhelmed by a tide of exhaustion. Each breath becomes slower, deepr, as he drifts into the depths of slumber. A sense of peace that he has long thought to be unattainable.

Gojo has grown accustomed to the relentless grind of sleepless nights, often only managing a mere three hours of fitful sleep. But now, the weariness feels different, as though his brain has decided that this is enough physical exertion for him and shuts him off. This is not a simple nap; It is an escape.

Five hours stretch ahead of him, a luxury he has never truly known. Darkness welcomed behind eyelids, the silence wrapped around him like a warm cocoon. And for the first time in his life, Satoru embraces the gift of rest without guilt or worry. Everything else—his students will handle. He is sure of it. He has no fears.

Gojo's eyelids flutter as he awakes, delicate white lashes brushing against his skin like soft feathers. For a moment, his mind struggles to reconcile his dreams' hazy remnants with the stark reality surrounding him. He lets the light filter in and takes a moment to gather his thoughts. His gaze falls to the side, where he finds Shoko still seated beside him. He's grateful that she hasn't left. The familiar setting of the surgical room, the sterile equipment, and the faint beeping of monitors slowly come into focus, solidifying the reality he briefly forgot.

“ Hey. ” His voice is raspy from disuse. “ How long was I sleep? ” The question slips from his lips, a mix of disbelief and curiosity. He can't shake the feeling that this moment is almost surreal. He needs confirmation that he is indeed awake, that he has made it through the storm.

[koseigu]

to be the singular focus in the crystal mirror of gojo's eyes is as overwhelming as one might expect it to be, even though she's been caught with some intensity in his gaze one or two times before this. the game should merely be a bit cheeky fun, but now it feels like more of a test of will than a test of speed.

but shoko is a professional smoker, though the more time she spends around gojo the less she actually indulges because the smell bothers him, this kind of thing is as easy as blowing perfect smoke rings or tying cherry stems with her mouth closed. her tongue peeks out briefly, parting his lips so she can take the last piece of biscuit into her own mouth.

"i win."

The two of them lean toward each other, eyes locked. The Pocky stick is getting shorter, and the tension in the air is palpable—if only because Gojo is being annoyingly competitive. Simultaneously, he isn’t just biting down on the treat just to win it. He’s got a few ideas in mind that he could use as a tactic. Right now, the process is slow, cautious.

He brings a hand up to raise his glasses just enough, revealing a flicker of striking blue, an impossibly bright hue that stands out against the rest of his face. They radiate an energy that’s at once both otherworldly and dangerously captivating. Now, they have Shoko in their glossy reflection.

He takes another bite, moving closer, just a breath away from her lips. His own curl into a little smirk.

[koseigu]

shoko doesn't have a therapist. she really should get one. if satoru survives this, and she survives by extension, she'll get one. maybe they'll go together. maybe they'll do everything together. ...all that lost time.

—i would write it so much better next time, i'd let you fuck me at 19, i'd let you fuck me again at 21, i'd let you do it all, i'd make you want me so much more. at the end of the world we are dancing, i have already forgiven you in this one.

five more minutes is more like five more hours before she feels she can pull back some of the cascading tsunami of cursed energy and make it more of a regular strength wave. she's been in and out of sleep, her body fighting anything longer than a few minutes of rest so that she can ensure gojo heals during his.

she, too, does not know what is happening outside of the confines of the morgue. she, too, does not care.

he is the only priority and it's about time. she should have said something sooner, or done something earlier. even if he had rejected her feelings, he'd at least know they were there.

"your heart is beating on it's own."

the words are muttered into his body, sealed with the brush of her lips in the only facsimile of a kiss she has the strength for.

"please stay too stubborn to die, 'toru."

His mind is swimming in a surreal haze. The fluorescent lights above him blur into soft orbs, glowing like the fabled lights that beckon souls towards the afterlife. It feels otherworldly, the line between life and death so thin it might as well not exist. Yet, something, someone, is anchoring him, binding him to this world—Shoko.

His consciousness drifts like a fog rolling over a still lake, but the steady weight on his chest is undeniable. His eyes fixate on Shoko’s hand, her delicate touch applying reverse cursed technique to his heart, urging it to beat. Her hand feels as light as a feather, but the weight of her efforts is heavier than any burden he’s carried before. He lies still, utterly motionless, as his own body fights to keep itself alive alongside her necessary push. Each breath he takes is a quiet battle, his lungs filling, deflating, his heart responding to the careful rhythm she’s set.

Thoughts of death swirl in his mind, not with fear, but with acceptance. He realizes how close he came, and part of him wonders what it might have been like if he had slipped away. It wouldn't have been the worst thing—his students would carry on his legacy, paving their own paths. He would’ve found solace in that. But then, Shoko is here, pouring every ounce of her fortitude into keeping him alive. He can’t leave, not when she’s fought so hard to bring him back. Her presence is both a comfort and a reminder: he's not alone in this.

So, he stays there, breathing softly, aware of every fragile second that passes. Every breath is borrowed time, but it's his own now, thanks to her. He doesn’t move, letting Shoko work, letting his body stabilize. There's no rush—he has time now. Time to heal, time to reflect, and time to live.

What is everybody else doing right now? He wonders. But he doesn’t rush to know. Neither does he care enough to ask if they managed to overpower Sukuna or not. Satoru couldn't fathom that he would be saved. He would’ve expected to be left on the cold ground, forgotten. He doesn’t ache with that thought, however. He doesn't pay heed to what may happen to his body when he dies. Everyone’s had enough of Gojo Satoru, right? There should be someone new, someone stronger than him to take over. He’s done what was needed of him so his part was played out, finished.

He doesn’t protest, neither is he relieved. He’s just present—in a neutral state. His cerulean gaze is staring at the ceiling as he swallows the blood that has trickled down his throat. A taste of iron indicates his taste buds are functioning still. So strange to sense things, to feel the cool air around his lying form, to see, to touch. He was never under this much physical pressure in his life. And he is unsure if he will survive this another time.

His muscles lack their usual strength after engaged in strenuous activity in battle, leaving him slightly drained and unsteady. The fatality of his injury slows down his recovery process but it’s reassuring that Shoko tells him she has all the time for him.

Only the muscles on his mouth raise into a tiny smile as he rests his eyes closed for a moment. Five more minutes… Even if he falls asleep, his heartbeat would let her know he’s still there.