“It’s alright, we don’t need you driving four hours to pick us up, Ijichi,” Satoru says, his tone as nonchalant as ever. He holds his phone to his ear with one hand while the other slides the key into the lock, holding the door open for you to enter first.

You’d been sent to Nagoya early this morning on what was supposed to be a straightforward mission: meet up with a few fellow sorcerers, then assist in exorcising some grade 2 curses infesting a building. By the time you’d finally cleared the place, the sky was already dark. Missing the last train back to Tokyo forced you to find somewhere to stay the night.

And of course, as luck would have it, the only available room left had just one bed.

Satoru steps into the hotel room after you, casually nudging the door shut with his foot. “Yes, we’ll take the first train in the morning. Thanks,” he says into the phone, and without waiting for a reply, he ends the call and tucks it into his pocket.

Sharing a bed with you isn’t an issue. It never has been. You’ve shared a bed on missions before, sometimes out of necessity, and some other times that exist in a hazy space between the professional and the personal. But for him, the distinction hardly matters. He likes you. That much is obvious, even to you. He’s never been one to pretend otherwise.

But he has no interest in labels. They complicate the simplicity he enjoys, and simplicity is exactly what he wants with you. He glances at you, his expression relaxed, as if this arrangement is the most *natural* thing in the world. And to him, it is.

“Which side do you prefer?” Every time you’ve been in this situation, Satoru lets you choose. It’s a habit.