gabi

your yuu is him—yuuta. not yuji. you’re here for him, to see him, to smile at him and grab his hand and tug him along as he follows. but you’re staring at itadori fondly, and it’s starting to hurt just a little.

“well we can’t both be yuu,” itadori laughs good-naturedly, and if he wasn’t such a gentle soul, yuuta wonders if he’d hate the boy. but there’s no hating itadori yuji—he’s much too good deep in his soul to be hated. “i’ll leave you two alone then,” he hums, patting your head with a happy smile before he’s off.

the touch isn’t even to him, but yuuta feels his skin burn, prickling at every inch as his heart drops.

you turn to him, beaming as your arms nestle their way around his neck, and even if not enough, there’s still some comfort in the action.

“hi baby,” you murmur, pressing a soft peck to his jaw, “i was looking for you.”

and this is silly—this is small, and not that big of a deal, and not even your fault, but yuuta can’t help the doubts that slowly plague his mind. he can’t fight the voices that hunch over his back and whisper into his ear, drowning out the sound of your voice before you can make it all better.

“me?” he asks, and there’s an edge to his voice that almost says he doesn’t believe you. your brows furrow just a little, your hand sliding to cup his cheek and tilt his face to look at you better.

“yes you, silly,” you huff out a small laugh, “who else?”

yuuta wants to mutter that evidently, it could seem like a certain someone, but he doesn’t have the heart to ever be grouchy with you. so he swallows his insecurities, tries to bury them in the deepest of crevices in his mind so they won’t be dug up again—but it’s like he’s digging into concrete, and the ground is too tough, just won’t break to let him shove his feelings down.

“no one,” he mumbles, not meeting your eyes.

and if you decided one day that itadori yuji was the boy of your dreams, that he was the one who could paint your skies and hang the stars just how you’d like them, yuuta doesn’t think he’d be surprised. if itadori is a swirl of vivid shades, colors that could brighten your world and bring you to life—yuuta thinks he pales in comparison, dim hues muddled together that could never show you the world through scenery as breathtaking.

but then your thumb trails over his cheek, tracing the soft curve of his face before hooking under his chin and pulling his face a little closer. he settles for looking at your lips, not yet ready to meet your gaze.

“what’s wrong, baby? what’s got you so down, hmm?” your voice is concerned, a soft breath that rolls off your tongue and soothes over the aches, placating them so easily—but he’s left to wonder: how long?

how long can you keep up the facade that he’s enough for you to happily crave more and more of? how long can you keep looking him in the eyes and getting lost in their depths? how long before enough is simply not enough any longer?

he doesn’t voice his concerns. “nothing,” he shrugs instead. “what are you—”

“don’t say nothing,” you sigh quietly, and by now, your hand has wandered past his shoulder to bury into his hair, scratching at his scalp gently as you twirl the strands of dark locks around your fingers. “it can’t be nothing, you know. no one knows you better than me,” you say with a sense of pride in your voice.

there’s a small bit of hope in that—a small part of him that revels in the victory of knowing you’re prideful that you see past him and catch glimpses no one else can. so he lets himself be vulnerable with you—because even with his doubts, he’s still you’re kind, sweet, sensitive little yuuta.

“just…didn’t know you and itadori knew each other so well,” he finally mumbles. it’s silent for a moment, and yuuta starts to accept that maybe you’re going to say what he knows is inevitably coming after all.

anyone would love to know itadori yuji like that—why should you be an exception?

yuuta wishes it was before he fell so hopelessly for you, wishes it was before the sound of your laugh was a melody he knew by heart—it’d hurt less, it wouldn’t make his lip wobble the way it’s wobbling right now.

“oh, baby,” you chuckle, cupping his face with both your hands, squeezing them together as you pull his forehead to yours, “you don’t have to be jealous. he’s just yuji.”

you offer him a sweet smile and eyes full of light, and he offers you a teary-eyed tilt of his head in confusion.

“but—”

“but you’re yuuta. you’re my yuu,” you whisper against his mouth, breath fanning over his skin before you press a delicate peck onto his lips. it’s short, a little too quick for his liking, but it makes him shiver nonetheless. “and i love you, my pretty boy.”

one more peck to his lip, then two, and then you’re kissing him deeply, grabbing his hands and guiding them to your hips before your arms wrap around his neck once more. he pulls you closer on instinct, and even if yuuta sees himself a muddle of colors, he feels bright hues seep through your lips and color him new—and it’s enough.

he thinks it’s enough, even if just for now.

“you were looking for me?” he asks breathlessly one more time as he pulls away, just to be sure. you watch as his eyes lighten a shade as you nod, smiling when his arms wrap impossibly tighter around you.

“of course, i was,” you press a kiss to his jaw, “who else?”

You roll onto your side and stare at the slice of sky beyond the glass. Two weeks ago, the window had felt like a wound. A taunt. Proof of everything you’d lost and could no longer reach. Now it simply feels like part of the room, part of the life you’ve stumbled into without ever deciding to live it.

You squeeze your eyes shut and exhale slowly through your nose.

You’re already my choice.

The words still sit heavy on your tongue, bittersweet even now, as you force yourself out from the comfort of your bed and down the stairs.

The house is quiet this morning, devoid of its usual clatter. The only sounds that reach your ears are the muted scrape of cutlery against a plate and the soft creak of the stairs under your feet. By the time you reach the bottom step, there’s a flutter low in your stomach— a fizzing, traitorous sensation that climbs up into your chest and trips up your pulse before you can tamp it back down.

You can’t remember the last time a man put this particular feeling in you. Not in months, maybe longer. And it’s ridiculous, to feel sixteen again over someone holding you hostage. But your body doesn’t seem to be concerned with logistics.

You smooth down your hair and step into the kitchen.

Rindou is already at the table.

It stops you for half a second, because it’s wrong— off-pattern. He’s not fiddling with the coffee machine, hair still damp from the shower, moving through the motions of making breakfast for both of you. He’s dressed, in a charcoal pinstripe suit with the jacket hung over the back of the chair beside him and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. His lavender hair is dry and pushed back from his face, the mullet tamed into something presentable. There’s a plate in front of him, mostly empty, and a phone in his hand that he’s scrolling through with his thumb.

He’s been up for a while. Long before you. Long enough to shower and dress and eat and settle into that chair like he’s been waiting out the clock. The realization lands strangely. He got up early. To avoid you, a small voice in the back of your head supplies, and you hate how quickly your chest tightens at the thought.

You wait for him to acknowledge you. For a glance, a grunt, the bare minimum ‘morning’ you’ve grown accustomed to during your time here.

It doesn’t come.

His eyes stay fixed on his phone, his jaw set and the air between you charged. It’s thick with everything left unsaid last night— with his hand on your face and the space between you closing and then, devastatingly, reopening. But he gives you nothing. Not even the courtesy of looking at you.

So that’s how it’s going to be.

Forcing yourself to move, you cross the floor to the coffee maker. There’s a carafe still half full, and you pour yourself a cup. The ritual of it steadies you— cream from the fridge, two spoonfuls of sugar, the spoon clinking against ceramic as you stir. You’d hardly consider yourself spoiled, but the fact that he didn’t make it for you this morning stings, the absence of that gesture louder than anything he could have said to your face.

There’s a pan on the stove— eggs and bacon, gone lukewarm, and a serving spoon congealed in grease. He didn’t make you a plate either.

So, you serve yourself in silence, scraping the last of the eggs onto a plate with two strips of bacon, and carry it to the table. You could sit anywhere, and while the wise decision would probably be the island in the middle of the kitchen, you choose the seat directly across from him. You refuse to let him pretend you aren’t there.

He doesn’t look up.

You eat a few bites, chewing quietly. The eggs are good, even cold, fluffy and seasoned just right. When you take a sip of your coffee, you watch him over the rim of your mug, and the set of his shoulders is a wall you’re not stupid enough to think you can climb.

You break the silence anyway. You’ve never been good at leaving a wound alone.

“How’d you sleep?”

He doesn’t look up. “Fine.”

You wait for more, but more doesn’t come. “...Just fine?”

“Yeah.”

That’s it. That’s all he gives you— two words and an almost inaudible sigh. He sets his phone down, picks up his fork, and finishes the last bite of his breakfast, clearly having decided that the easiest way to handle whatever happened between you is to pretend it didn’t.

You open your mouth to push, but footsteps on the stairs cut you off. Ran appears a moment later, donning a similar suit with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the ink adorning his throat. His hair is swept back, but a few strands have escaped to frame his face, and he’s fastening a watch around his wrist as he walks, attention split between the clasp and the room.

“Good morning” he says to no one in particular. Then, to Rindou: “Is Sanzu still MIA?”

Rindou still doesn’t look up. “His bike’s still gone.”

Ran exhales through his teeth before dragging a hand down his face. “Mikey’s not going to be happy.”

“Mikey’s never happy,” Rindou responds flatly.

“You know what I mean.”

Rindou says nothing, which is its own kind of agreement.

You sit very still, the way you’ve learned to when the conversation turns to their work— quiet and unobtrusive, like a fly on the wall they tolerate but don’t quite trust.

Walking to the stove, Ran surveys the sad remains in the pan and makes a face. “You left me the dregs again. How charming.”

He pours what’s left onto a plate anyway and stands at the counter to eat, fork in one hand and his phone in the other. His eyes flick to you between bites, and his expression shifts.

“Don’t you look bright-eyed this morning,” he comments.

You don’t— you slept badly and you know it shows— but you don’t correct him.

“We’ll be out most of the day,” he continues around a mouthful of eggs. “Cleaning up after our wayward friend, among other things. Don’t expect us back until late.” His sets his fork down, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Which means you’ll have the place to yourself. Try not to throw any parties.”

“Who would I invite?” Your tone is dry.

His mouth curves. “Fair point. But remember, sweetheart— there are cameras. So be a good girl while we’re gone, hm? Don’t do anything you shouldn’t.”

Rindou scoffs.

It’s barely a sound— a derisive snort as he rises from the table and gathers his plate and utensils— but Ran catches it, and his head tilts with predatory interest, like a cat that’s heard a mouse in the wall.

“Have something to say, Rinnie?”

Rindou places his plate in the sink. “Just that you’re laying it on awfully thick this morning.”

Ran’s brow lifts. “Me?” He presses a ringed hand to his chest. “I’m being a gracious host. Forgive me for showing the lady a little warmth.” He pauses, and his smile sharpens. “Besides, I wasn’t the one who took her stargazing.”

Rindou goes still at the sink, and you feel your face go hot as a blush creeps up from your throat to your cheeks. You stare very intently at your coffee.

But Ran is enjoying himself far too much to stop. He saunters closer to you, nonchalantly picking a piece of lint off his sleeve. “Did he show you Cassiopeia? That’s his favor—”

“Ran.”

“What? I think it’s cute.”

Rindou’s glare isn’t even directed at you, and the hair on the back of your neck still rises. The muscle in his jaw pulses, and for a moment you think he might actually square up against his brother— but instead he grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and shrugs it on, every movement tight.

“We’re going to be late,” he says coldly. “Move.”

Ran sighs, the picture of long-suffering patience, and fishes a set of keys from his pocket. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, but he heads for the door all the same. 

Rindou follows without sparing you a second glance, and you sit there at the table with your cold eggs and your hot face.

At the door, Ran pauses and looks back over his shoulder.

“Oh— and if Sanzu does show up, tell him to call me.”

Then they’re gone.

You hear the beep of the alarm being armed, the thunk of the deadbolt sliding home, and the muffled crunch of gravel as a car pulls out of the driveway. And then the house settles into silence around you, vast and empty and entirely yours.

Alone. For the rest of the day.

—

The silence of the house, once they’re gone, is a living thing. You stand in the kitchen for a while after the car disappears down the street, just listening to it— the tick of the clock, the hum of the refrigerator, the absence of voices and footsteps and that constant low-grade awareness of being watched. You’ve been alone in this house before, in stolen pockets of an afternoon. But never like this. Never with the whole day stretching empty ahead of you and no one due back for hours.

You decide to make the most of it.

You take a shower.

Not one of the quick, perfunctory rinses you’ve been allowing yourself, but a long, indulgent soak under water hot enough to turn your skin pink. The bathroom fills with steam until the mirror fogs over and the world narrows to heat and water and the slow loosening of the knot that lives permanently between your shoulder blades.

For the first time in two weeks, you let yourself relax.

The bathroom is stocked with toiletries Ran bought you— an impressive army of expensive products lined up along the edge of the tub, the kind you used to walk past in department stores and never let yourself splurge on. Shampoo that smells like lavender. A sugar scrub that smells like vanilla and leaves your skin impossibly soft. A razor that isn’t disposable, and a conditioner you’re pretty sure your hairdresser actually recommended once. 

You use all of it. 

You shave your legs carefully, the way you haven’t bothered to in weeks. You scrub yourself down until you’re silky and smooth and smell like a dessert.

It’s a small rebellion, this self-care. Or maybe it’s surrender. You can’t always tell the difference anymore. But standing under the spray with vanilla on your skin and lavender in your hair, you decide not to scrutinize it too closely. You’re allowed this. 

You’ve earned this much, haven’t you? A single morning of feeling human.

When you finally step out, wrapping yourself in a bright white towel that’s thick and plush, you almost feel like a functional person again.

You take your time in the bedroom, too. The clothes Ran bought you hang in the closet, and you pick through them with more attention than the act deserves before settling on a pleated skirt that falls just above your knees and a baby blue sweater. The cashmere is warm against your freshly-lotioned skin, and the fit is perfect.

There’s makeup as well, a tiny collection of essentials in a drawer you’ve barely touched. You sit on the counter in the bathroom and study your reflection. Twin bruises of bad sleep sit beneath your eyes, and you dab concealer over them, blending until they disappear. A little mascara. The lightest touch of something on your cheeks. And a chapstick that smells like cherries, slicked over your lips and leaving them faintly tinted and shining.

When you’re done, you stare at yourself for a long moment.

You look good. Rested, even, in a way you haven’t in weeks. The girl in the mirror could be anyone— someone with a normal life and a normal morning, getting ready for a normal day.

You wonder if Rindou would have looked at you longer this morning, if you’d been wearing this.

Shoving the thought away, you grab your book from your nightstand— the Camus novel you’ve slowly been working through— and descend the staircase, finding your way to the living room and making yourself comfortable on the couch. You curl up beneath a blanket with your soft clothes and soft skin, and you try to lose yourself in it the way you used to lose yourself in books, back when reading was an escape rather than a way to kill time.

Be a good girl, Ran had said.

And for about twenty minutes, you are.

But the silence of an empty house is a different kind of silence than the one you’re used to. It’s one filled with opportunity, buzzing beneath your skin and impossible to ignore. With every page you turn, it grows louder, refusing to leave:

You’re alone. Truly alone. For the first time in two weeks, no one is watching you.

Or— are they?

You glance around at the corners of the room.

Curiosity killed the cat. You know this, but you also know something else, something that’s been crystallizing in your mind ever since the rooftop, ever since you held a gun in your hands and didn’t use it, ever since you started waking up thinking about pretty purple eyes instead of escape routes: You cannot afford to lie dormant. 

You cannot simply close your eyes and hope this will all work out— hope that these men will decide to be kind and that being cooperative and good will keep you alive. That’s not survival; that’s just a slower kind of death.

You need knowledge. It’s the only currency you have in this house, and you’ve been letting it slip through your fingers, too frightened to reach for it.

But not today.

You close the book.

First, the cameras. If Ran was telling the truth— if there really are eyes hidden throughout the house— then you need to find them before you do anything else. 

You walk through the living room slowly, methodically, scanning the walls, the bookshelves, the light fixtures. You run your fingers along the underside of shelves and behind picture frames, pull books partway out and peer into the gaps behind them. You grab a chair from the kitchen and examine the smoke detector on the ceiling, the air vents, even the little decorative trinkets that dot the surfaces.

Nothing.

You move to the kitchen, checking the cabinets and repeating the process. You feel slightly insane doing it, paranoid and twitchy, but you keep going.

Still nothing.

You search the hallways next, scouring every nook and cranny, every seam in the molding. You check the entryway, the staircase, the little alcove with the coat hooks.

When you reach the front door, you stop. Your hand drifts to the handle without quite meaning to— the old instinct resurfacing, the one that used to scream at you every waking hour of those first few days. 

You try it, knowing it’s pointless. Locked. Deadbolted. The little keypad by the frame glows a steady, watchful red, and the thing that unsettles you isn’t that you can’t leave. It’s how faint the wanting has become— how the voice that used to scream now only murmurs, easy to ignore. 

You take your hand off the handle and go back to looking for cameras. You look until your neck aches from craning and your eyes blur from squinting. And you find nothing. Not a single camera. Not a single lens, or wire, or even a measly blinking light.

You stand in the hallway, hands on your hips, and frown.

Maybe Ran lied. It’s not out of the question. It could’ve been a bluff, a leash made of nothing but the suggestion of surveillance. A way to keep you in line without spending a yen on the hardware. It’s exactly the kind of psychological warefare he’d find amusing.

But even as you think it, you know it doesn’t matter. If you haven’t found the cameras by now, you’re not going to find them in the time you have left. You can keep tearing the house apart looking for something that may or may not exist, or you can use the remaining hours you’ve been given.

Fuck it.

You climb the stairs.

You’ve always kept to your room and the shared common spaces, a model prisoner moving through the parts of the house you’re permitted and never reaching for the parts you’re not. But today you reach.

You start with Rindou’s room, wrapping your hand around the doorknob and twisting only to find it locked.

Of course it is. Truly, you would’ve been flabbergasted if it wasn’t. 

You circle around to try the bathroom, since it connects your bedrooms, but it doesn’t budge either. The bastard locked that one too. Thorough, even in this.

Sanzu’s room is next, across the hall. You don’t expect much— and you don’t want to find Sanzu himself, who could theoretically reappear at any moment— but you try the knob anyway.

Locked again.

Then, Ran’s office— the room with the heavy wooden door you’ve never been allowed past, the room where his voice drops to that cold, clipped register through the walls. You don’t even bother getting your hopes up as you try it.

It’s locked, naturally.

You let out a frustrated breath, starting to think the whole expedition is a bust. Every door that matters is probably sealed against you, and you’ll have nothing to show for your nerve but a racing heart and a guilty conscience.

But there’s one more. Ran’s bedroom.

It’s tucked at the end of the hall beside his office, and you almost skip it, certain it’ll be locked like the rest. But you try the handle anyway, just for peace of mind.

It turns, and the door swings open.

Blinking rapidly, you stand in the doorway, hardly believing your luck.

Ran’s bedroom is larger than yours, and nicer, but it shares the same fundamental quality as the rest of the house: it’s beautiful yet impersonal, the bones of a luxury hotel suite dressed up to look lived-in. A safehouse, after all, is still a safehouse. 

The bed is enormous, made up in slate-gray linens. There’s a sitting area near the window, a leather armchair, and a small square table. Thankfully, the heavy, blackout curtains have been pulled back to let light in, and you glance over a dresser, a nightstand, a wardrobe that takes up most of one wall.

But where the bones are anonymous, the contents are pure Ran.

Because Ran, you’ve learned, is a man who likes things. 

The top of the dresser is cluttered with them— colorful bottles of cologne, a tray of silver rings and chains, a glass box with a dozen watches nestled in velvet. There’s a throw tossed over the armchair. There’s a pair of loafers by the door, butter-soft and clearly costly.

You step inside, easing the door shut behind you, and your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat.

You slide open his wardrobe first, and it’s exactly what you expected— a row of suits in dark, rich fabrics, organized by some system you can’t decipher. Saint Laurent. Tom Ford. Dolce & Gabbana. Names you recognize from the magazines you used to flip through on your lunch breaks. Silk shirts. A drawer of folded ties in jewel tones. Everything immaculate, everything worth a fortune.

You close it carefully and move to the dresser.

This feels more like trespassing, somehow. Opening the bottom drawer, there are socks and boxer briefs, neatly folded, and the second drawer is more of the same. The third one is filled with accessories— cufflinks, tie clips, and a small pouch of what look like very real diamonds. You don’t touch those.

The nightstand is next. You crouch beside it and slide the small drawer open. There’s a charging cable, a pair of reading glasses you’ve never seen him wear, and a bottle of lube. Nothing useful. You close it.

And then you notice the top of the nightstand.

There’s a stack of magazines there— glossy fashion ones, the kind with impossibly thin models and perfume samples tucked between the pages.

But it’s the thing sitting on top of the stack that catches your eye.

A folder. Plain and unlabeled. Manila, slightly worn at the corners, the kind of nondescript thing that could hold anything or nothing at all. It’s sitting there in the open, as if it were just another magazine— as if its owner never imagined anyone would be in this room to find it.

You stare at it as if it might lunge up and bite you.

This is it, you think. Everything up to now— the subtle snooping around, the trying of doors and windows— those are the sort of things they might expect, might even forgive with a roll of their eyes. 

But this is something else. This is the kind of curiosity that gets people killed.

You pick it up anyway.

The first page is a list. It takes you a moment to understand what you’re looking at. Names arranged in a column with job titles beside them and numbers beside those— large numbers, sums of money, with dates. As you read, the bottom drops out of your stomach.

Hideo Maruyama — City Council, Roppongi District. ¥10 million, 24/1/14. ¥15 million, 24/2/14. ¥10 million, 25/8/28.

Det. Supt. Kenji Aoki — Tokyo Metropolitan Police, Organized Crime Division. More figures. More dates. 

Yuna Ishikawa — Public Prosecutor's Office. 

Takeda — Customs, Tokyo Port.

Sato — Tax Bureau. 

On and on, a column that runs the length of the entire page and onto the next, name after name after name. Councilmen. Police officers. Prosecutors and customs officials. Bureaucrats whose titles you only vaguely recognize from news broadcasts. At least three dozen of them. A whole apparatus of supposedly respectable people, each one with numbers and dates beside their name.

A payroll.

You’re holding a payroll.

This is who they own. This is the machinery of Tokyo, bought and paid for and filed away in a manila folder on a nightstand. The customs official who waves their shipments through the port. The detective who loses the paperwork. The prosecutor who declines to press charges. The councilman who makes sure the right permits get approved and the wrong questions never get asked.

You understand, suddenly and completely, why no one has come for you. Why there’s been no rescue, no investigation. You understand why the men who took you move through the world with such confidence. It isn’t arrogance. It’s true: they are untouchable, in the most literal sense— they own the people whose job it is to touch them. The police you might have run to are on this list. The prosecutor who would charge them. There is no authority above them to appeal to, because they’ve already bought it out. 

The thought is so overwhelmingly suffocating that you have to set the page down for a second just to breathe.

Warily, you start to sift through the rest of the folder. Behind the payroll are files. One for each name, you realize— or for some of them, the important ones. And these are not payments. These are insurance.

The first is Detective Superintendent Aoki. There’s a photograph clipped to the inside, and you turn it over and immediately wish you hadn’t. It’s a crime scene— or the aftermath of one. A woman’s bloody body and a face you recognize from the photo on the page: Aoki himself, caught in the frame, a knife in his hands. You don’t understand the full story, and you don’t want to. 

The implication is enough: We have you. We can end you whenever we like. 

You turn it face down with shaking fingers.

The next file is for Maruyama, the councilman. He’s pictured in several photographs that were very clearly never meant to be seen, in compromising arrangements with people who are very clearly not his wife. You flip past them quickly, your face hot with rising nausea. 

Some of the files hold financial records, evidence of embezzlement, of accounts that don’t add up. Some hold photographs of things that turn your stomach— violence, captured and catalogued and saved for a rainy day. Leverage, all of it. A blackmail file for the officials on payroll, so that even if the money ever stopped flowing, the silence never would.

You read through all of it.

You don’t mean to— you mean to skim, to get the jist of things and put it away— but you can’t stop. It’s like watching a car accident. Page after page, file after file, the full and terrible intricacies of how this organization holds an entire city in its fist. By the time you reach the end, there’s a sour taste at the back of your throat.

This is what they are. Not just three men in a house. 

Not just Ran’s charismatic charm and Rindou’s cold shoulder and Sanzu’s unpredictable mania. This is a criminal organization with the city’s officials in its pocket.

And you are inside it— not adjacent to it, not a bystander peering in— inside. 

You’ve been eating breakfast with these men. Pouring their coffee and setting their table, cooking them dinner. You nearly let one of them kiss you last night. The sheer scale of what they are makes your own situation feel suddenly, vertiginously small— a single miniscule cog caught in a machine this large. 

They could make you disappear as easily as they made a prosecutor look the other way, and no one with the power to care would even know to ask.

You sit there on the edge of the bed for a while, the open folder in your lap and your heart hammering against your ribcage.

And then you do the only sensible thing you can. You close it.

You put it back— carefully, exactly as you found it. You stand and survey the room, retrace your steps in your mind. The wardrobe, closed. The drawers, shut. The nightstand drawer, pushed flush. You smooth the spot on the bed where you sat, erasing the impression of your weight from the covers. Standing in the doorway, you look back and check it against the picture in your memory, making sure everything is precisely where it was when you walked in.

Then, you ease the door shut behind you and let out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding for an hour.

In the living room, you take stock of yourself.

Your hands are mostly steady, the nausea has faded to a dull unease, and beneath it all, a startling sense of accomplishment.

You took a risk today, and it paid off. You’ve learned something tangible— something they don’t want you to know, something that matters, even if you don’t yet know how. You’re not just surviving. You’re playing the game.

The information sits in your chest like a coal, burning warm and dangerous. You don’t know what you’ll do with it, or if you’ll ever be able to do anything with it at all. The knowledge that the whole city is bought is hardly a comfort— if anything, it should crush whatever hope you had left. But it doesn’t feel like crushing. It feels like clarity. Like for the first time, you can see the actual shape of the cage you’re trapped inside, instead of just its shadow.

There’s wine in the kitchen, a small cabinet stocked with bottles you wouldn’t know how to choose between. They’ve offered you alcohol before— Ran, mostly, holding out a glass with that disarming smile, you look like you could use one— and you’ve declined every time, always deciding it’d be better to keep your wits about you. 

But you’re alone now, and you finally feel like you’ve earned the right to let go of the rope you’ve been white-knuckling.

You pick a bottle at random— a red with a label you don’t bother to read, and you pour yourself a sizable glass. The first sip is rich and tannic, warming you from the inside out. Content with your choice, you carry both the glass and the bottle to the living room and curl up on the couch with your book. 

The sunlight streaming in through the windows goes from white to gold to gray as afternoon fades into evening.

You finish your first glass of wine and pour a second somewhere along the way, the warmth of it loosening the remaining tension in your body until you’re just as soft on the inside as you are on the outside. A pleasant haze settles over you, and you sink into the couch with your book open against your knees. 

You don’t read much of it, mostly sitting with your thoughts, turning the day over and over— the folder, the names, the photographs, the unexpected thrill of having done something forbidden and gotten away with it.

You don’t notice how late it’s gotten until headlights sweep across the wall.

Twin beams slice through the dark before they die, the low purr of an engine cutting out in the driveway. There’s the chirp of the alarm disarming, the heavy clunk of the deadbolt, and the front door swings open on its hinges.

You instinctively straighten, setting your glass down on the coffee table. 

Rindou comes in first, and he looks weary in a way this morning’s crisp suit no longer disguises— his tie gone, collar open, jacket slung over his shoulder by a hooked finger.

His eyes find you on the couch, and for the first time since the rooftop, he actually looks. They rake over you, taking in the skirt and the sweater, the makeup, the loose, clean fall of your hair. Something flits across his face, there and gone before you get a good look, but a crack in the blankness he’s been wearing nonetheless.

His jaw tightens, and he drags his gaze away before climbing the stairs without a word. A moment later, you hear his door click shut.

“Don’t take it personally.” Ran’s voice draws your attention back to the doorway. He’s shrugging out of his suit jacket and draping it over the back of an armchair. “He’s been in a mood all day. Business always finds a way of souring it.” He loosens his tie next, dragging it free from his collar and flicking open the top two buttons of his dress shirt. “Me? I find it invigorating.”

“Did Sanzu ever turn up?” you ask.

Ran shakes his head. “Still in the wind, but he’ll show up eventually. He always does.” He waves a hand dismissively, silver rings catching the lamplight. “Better not to dwell on it. He’s not nearly as interesting as my evening’s shaping up to be.”

His eyes drop to the empty glass of wine on the table. “Kenzo Estate, 2018. Good taste.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” you admit.

“Beginner’s luck.” He holds up a finger, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with another glass. “Most people assume the one with the flashiest label is the best. You, however, went for one that actually tastes good.”

Picking up the bottle, he proceeds to fill both glasses before sinking onto the couch beside you. Then, he hands you your glass and taps the rim of his against it with a soft clink. “Good instincts, doll.”

You hum, taking a sip to cover the warmth crawling up your neck.

“You look lovely tonight, by the way.” His gaze drifts over you, slow and appreciative. “Almost relaxed. It’s a good look on you.”

You raise a brow. “The wine?”

“The ease. For two weeks, I’ve watched you tiptoe around this house like you’re waiting for the floor to give out, shoulders up to your ears.” Two lithe fingers trace along the curve of your shoulder, feather-light, and you feel it everywhere. “All but flinching whenever someone walked past you. And now look at you. Glass of wine in hand, curled up on the couch like you own it. It suits you far better than the fear did.”

“Well… thank you,” you say, the words coming out softer than you intended. “I figured I’d earned it.”

“Oh?” He drapes his arm along the back of the couch, and his fingertips find a strand of hair at your temple, twirling it around. “And what exactly did you do to earn it?”

“Not much, really.” The lie comes easily, smoothed over by the alcohol. You take another sip to sell it. “Took a nice, long shower and gave myself some much needed TLC. It was quiet. Peaceful.” 

You glance up at him through your lashes, emboldened by the heat in your chest and the way his gaze is still fixed on you. “You should leave me unsupervised more often.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“And here I was certain you couldn’t stand it here.”

“I can’t stand present company. The plumbing, though? Five stars.”

“Was that a joke?” Ran lifts a brow. “I didn’t think you had any in you.”

You continue to trade barbs, falling into easy conversation. After a few minutes, your glass has gone low again, and he reaches for the bottle, refilling it until the crimson liquid laps near the rim.

“You know,” you say, mock-serious. “A girl might start to think you’re trying to get her drunk.”

His mouth curves. “Absolutely not. Though, I am a little wounded.”

You blink. “Wounded?”

“Two weeks of me offering you a drink, and you turned your nose up every time.” He clicks his tongue. “Then the moment I’m out of the house, you help yourself to my cellar.”

“I did not,” you insist, and the corners of your mouth tip up despite yourself. “I was perfectly sober… until I wasn’t. If you want to get technical, it was past five o’clock. That has to count for something.”

“If we’re getting technical? You’re telling me you earned a drink because you took a seven-hour shower?”

“Oh my god, no! I told you— TLC. Tender. Loving. Care.”

“Which entails…?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would. Indulge me, doll.”

You roll your eyes. “For starters, I tried out all the skincare products you got me. Every single one. The scrub was heavenly. The shea butter too; it smells amazing.”

“It does,” he agrees readily, catching your wrist as you set your glass down on the table. He turns it gently to bring the inside of it to his nose and inhales deeply enough that you feel the brush of his breath against your skin. “Mmm. I’ve always loved vanilla.”

Your heart stutters. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm, cherry as well.” His eyes lower to your lips, and you have to consciously work not to bite at them. Can he smell your chapstick too?

“Your choice of products makes sense now.”

“It should.” Lilac hues lift back up to yours as he traces idle circles over your pulse point. “I merely chose the best. It’s what any excellent host would do.”

“You’re a kidnapper.”

“I’m an excellent host who happens to kidnap,” he corrects you. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

That earns him a laugh, as morbid as the joke is. “You’re trouble, that’s what you are.”

“I beg to differ. I’ve been on my best behavior, unlike someone else.”

“Now, that’s not true.” Your voice lacks conviction, too breathless to sound convincing. “I’ve been as good as gold. Practically a saint.”

His smile curves wider, and he leans in, closing the last of the distance only for your breath to catch in your throat, lashes dipping as every nerve in your body anticipates the press of his mouth against yours—

But he veers past your lips at the last second, his cheek grazing yours until his mouth comes to rest against the shell of your ear. When he speaks, his voice is as smooth as honey. 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

It takes you a second to process what he’s said. The wine has dulled your edges, blurring the words together into jibberish— and then the meaning catches up to you all at once, cold and jarring, like ice water down your spine.

You go rigid.

“What?” The question comes out thin. You pull back enough to look at him properly, and his expression hasn’t changed— still that charming smile, his eyes warm and amused. 

It’s the warmth that frightens you. There’s no anger in them, no accusation. Just a knowing smile, like he’s letting you in on a secret the two of you already share.

“Come now, let’s not play dumb.” When you only stare at him, he sighs. “The cameras, darling. You spent such a long time looking for them, standing on chairs and running your hands along the walls. Truth be told, I found it incredibly endearing.”

You can feel the blood drain from your face, the wine curdling in your stomach.

“You didn’t find them because you weren’t meant to,” he continues, conversationally. “But I found you. Every room you tried. Every door you rattled. Every page you turned— and I’m not talking about that old Camus novel you’ve been pretending to read.”

The folder.

He knows. 

He watched. 

All of it. His bedroom, the drawers, the manila folder you’d been so careful to square back into place. The hours you’d spent congratulating yourself, pouring his wine, and basking in the satisfaction of a day well spent— and he’d been watching the entire time. Letting you believe you were clever. Letting you walk yourself, step by smug step, right into his lap.

“Ran—”

“Shh,” he presses a single finger to your lips, silencing you, and his smile doesn’t so much as flicker— sickly sweet and patient but utterly without mercy. The hand at your wrist slides up, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of your neck. “You had your fun today. Snooping around where you don’t belong. Touching what isn’t yours.”

His grip closes, and you gasp as your head is forced back, chin tilted up so you’re face-to-face. “So now, I’m going to touch what isn’t mine.”

“Wait—”

Again, he cuts you off, this time by pressing his thumb between your lips. His skin is salty when it hits your tongue, and saliva floods your mouth at the taste.

“You’re in no position to be giving orders, doll.”

Suddenly, the room feels too warm. The couch suddenly too soft beneath you. The wine in your system turns traitorous, leaving your thoughts slow and slippery as they struggle to catch up with the reality sitting in front of you.

“Me, on the other hand…” he hums, a low baritone that vibrates up from his chest as he watches panic flare in your eyes. “Spread your legs.”

You try to swallow, and he cants his head, regarding you with newfound interest— like he’s waiting to see which version of you will emerge first. The one that had spent the afternoon creeping around forbidden territory, emboldened by curiosity. Or the one sitting before him now, pulse fluttering wildly beneath delicate skin, finally understanding just how thoroughly she’s been outplayed.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Something hot and ugly unfurls beneath your ribs— a heady mix of humiliation and anger. The sharp sting of realizing he’d sat beside you for nearly half an hour with this tucked behind his teeth, waiting for the precise moment to pull the rug out from under your feet.

He’s expecting submission. That’s his mistake.

You let your lips part further around his thumb— and then, you bite down. Hard. Hard enough that the coppery tang of blood blooms across your tongue, hard enough that you feel the give of skin beneath your teeth.

His smile slips as he grunts out a curse, brow twitching and lavender eyes sharpening, startled and bright. For one suspended second, you’ve got him— caught off guard by his own pet. The taste of it is sweeter than the wine.

But it lasts exactly that long— one heartbeat, maybe two— before something shifts behind his eyes. The surprise morphs into delight, and his mouth curls again, his expression almost proud.

“There she is,” he breathes.

You don’t wait to hear the rest. You wrench back, twisting out from his hold and scrambling for the opposite end of the couch. You don’t get far.

An arm hooks around your waist, and the world spins, and then you’re down— chest pressed to the cushions, one cheek mashed against the armrest, the breath knocked clean out of your lungs. A large hand splays flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you with an infuriating ease, like your struggling is cute.

“Ran..!” His name comes out muffled, partly swallowed by the upholstery.

“Mm, keep wiggling. It’s not helping you the way you think it is.”

You feel his free hand drag a path down the curve of your spine, lower until his fingers catch the hem of your skirt and tug it up. The backs of your thighs and your ass are bared to the cool air of the room, and you go hot all over as the humiliation intensifies, burning alongside something darker— something you’d never admit to.

His thumb is still bleeding. You can feel it smear, warm where it presses into your hip.

“You quite literally bit the hand that feeds you.” His palm settles over the swell of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh roughly. “I should’ve expected nothing less. You never do learn the easy way, do you?”

“Don’t—”

The first strike lands before your plea can materialize, and the crack of it splits the quiet, loud and obscene. The sting registers a moment later— a blistering heat that rips a gasp straight from your throat. Your hands shoot out, fingers fisting the blanket.

Ran hums again, smoothing his palm over the place he just struck like he’s admiring his work.

“That’s one,” he says. “Go ahead. Count for me, darling.”

You don’t.

You press your lips together, and you stare at the seam of the couch cushion an inch from your nose, giving him nothing. It’s the only thing left that’s yours— the silence— and you clutch it like the blanket twisted in your fists.

“No? Stubborn thing.”

The second slap lands harder than the first. You jolt, a squeal tearing loose, but it’s not a number. A vicious sort of satisfaction spreads throughout your limbs.

You can take this.

Pain you understand. Pain has an edge, a place to brace against. So you brace.

The third comes, and then a fourth and a fifth. You breathe through your teeth as the sting stacks and burns, your knuckles white, your defiance the one thing you refuse to surrender.

“My, oh my. You really are determined to make this difficult.”

“Go to hell,” you manage.

A deep laugh sounds. “We’re already here, sweetheart.”

And then his tactic changes.

The next touch he doles out isn’t a strike. It’s a caress, the tips of the fingers grazing softly over the seat of your panties, and your whole body locks up— because this, you don’t have a brace for. This has no edge to push against. It slips past every defense you’d build against the pain, joining the wine and the heat simmering low in your belly.

“Sensitive there, are we?”

You don’t trust your voice, almost certain it will crack the moment you try to speak, so you start to struggle in earnest, thrashing around beneath the weight of him.

Some distant part of you knows it’s futile, but your body hasn’t gotten the message your pride already has, so you fight. You buck against him and dig your knees into the cushions for purchase that isn’t there.

And Ran lets you. That’s the worst part of it. He doesn’t tighten his grip or snap at you to hold still— he just lets you ride it out, patiently, with his hand pressed firmly against the small of your back while you wear yourself down against him.

“Atta girl,” he croons. “Get it all out of your system.”

And that’s exactly what happens.

You thrash until the fight drains out of you, until your limbs go heavy and your breath comes ragged. You feel the moment it leaves you— the defiance. It leaks out of you like air from a puncture, and your forehead drops to the armrest as you stop.

His hand strokes up your spine. “Was that so hard?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your voice is somewhere you can’t reach, lost beneath the hammering of your own heart.

“Good. Now, let’s see what we’re working with.”

A whimper escapes you as he pulls your panties to the side, the cool air causing you to jerk where it meets your heated folds. “Wait, please— I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have went through your things. It won’t happen again, I promise!”

“Oh, I know it won’t. Still, I don’t think you’re truly sorry. Not yet, at least.” He tuts at you. “In fact, I think you’re enjoying this.”

“No! Please, Ran!”

“Please, what? Please stop?” Condescension colors his tone. “You keep saying that, but this pretty little pussy is positively soaked.”

In the next instant, you feel him drag a finger between your folds, and when he holds it up to your face, you can’t help the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes. To your absolute horror, the digit is wet and shiny, covered in the silvery slick dripping from between your thighs.

“See? Look at that. You can lie to yourself all you want, but I won’t let you lie to me.”

Whatever retort you try to throw back dissolves into a moan as his finger drops back down, notching against your clit. He rubs over it, chuckling at the way it twitches under his attention. You try to clench your thighs together, but he plants a knee between your legs to keep them parted.

“There you go. Go ahead and give in to it. Let me hear all of those sweet, angelic sounds. I’m sure if you’re loud enough, Rin will too.”

Your head is scrambled, each swipe of his fingers over your clit sending delicious sparks of pleasure up your spine. It’s damning, the control he has over you in this moment. Your legs start to tremble around his knee, your hips twitching as your body chases the friction.

“O-Oh fuck,” you stammer out, burying your face completely in the cushion.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? You like it when I touch you here?” It’s a rhetorical question, not that you could answer if you wanted to. Instead, a choked cry bubbles up from your chest as he abandons your clit, leaving it throbbing. “Of course you do. But you know what? Something tells me you’ll like it even more if I touch you.. here.”

You aren’t prepared for the way his finger sinks into you— all the way to the knuckle. 

Your walls clamp down around the intrusion, lashes fluttering as he curls it. “I.. Shit, I can’t…”

“Use your words, pretty.”

But you’re panting now, writhing beneath him as a second finger joins the first. The stretch burns but only briefly, because he’s right— even with your long dry spell, you’re so wet that it slides in without much resistance. You don’t even have the energy to be mortified at how obscene the sounds are as he starts to fuck them into you, controlled and measured and so much better than you would have guessed. They scissor open, and your toes curl, another muffled mewl expelled from your lips into the couch. 

“I can’t hear you.” His hand cards into your hair only to yank your head back to the side, and he leans down so his lips are by your ear. “I said, do you like it when I touch you here?”

He’s working you, coaxing you, and it feels so good that your train of thought is reduced to a desperate, short-circuited refrain: More. Not enough. Too much.

“I— I—”

“You’re close, I can feel it.” There’s an amused lilt to his voice. “How long has it been since someone made you cum, sweet girl?”

You try to remember. It’s a question that should make you bristle with embarrassment, bristle with shame of being so easily unspooled, but the answer is a haze— a memory so faded and irrelevant compared to the pressure of his fingers crooking inside you.

It’s been months, you think. Maybe a year. The last guy you slept with was such a non-event you don’t remember his name, let alone how he made you feel.

But you will remember this. You’ll remember this for the rest of your life.

“Come on, sweetheart. Say it,” Ran coos, his thumb finding your clit and circling it. “Tell me how much you want it.”

He already knows. He must, with the way your walls pulse around his fingers, so tight it almost hurts. He’s making a mess of you— not just your body, but your mind, your dignity, your sanity. 

You don’t want to say it. You’d rather bite your tongue off than hand him another ounce of control. But the words claw their way up your throat anyway, prying your mouth open and spilling out in a pained confession. 

“I want it..!” You gasp, shuddering when he presses hard against that spot that makes your vision blur. “Fuck, Ran, I want you to— please, just—”

“Good girl.” 

You’re so close. It’s as if every atom in your body is gathering, bracing for that singular, shattering release—

He withdraws his fingers, and the emptiness is so abrupt that you sob, a raw, broken sound torn from the depths of your soul. It’s a betrayal so complete that for one dazed, breathless second, you simply don’t understand what’s happened.

“..W-what?” 

You can barely form words. The ache between your legs is hollow, the aftershocks of denied pleasure rolling through your body, like a tide dragged out too soon. You shift, reaching back for him mindlessly, but he’s already pulled away, his fingers slick and shining as he wipes them on the curve of your ass.

“You didn’t think I’d make it that easy, did you?” His voice is syrupy, sated. “You don’t get to misbehave and walk away with a prize. That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”

You want to scream at him, curse him, beg him.

But every muscle in your body is spent and trembling. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel it between your legs, blood roaring through your veins as another wave of humiliation washes over you.

You think he might say something else— a taunt, a lecture, a threat. But instead, he just stands and retrieves his suit jacket from the chair. He doesn’t look back at you, striding toward the staircase. 

He takes the first step and pauses with his hand on the banister, glancing over his shoulder, violet eyes hooded and unreadable. “I wouldn’t stay there for too long, unless you want Rindou to see.”

1- How did you two met ?

There was only one empty bench press machine left, and damn Kakucho kept talking about the next mission Izana gave them. He only dreamed of one thing, finishing the workout and going home,and when the chance finally came and Kakucho started his own workout, frustration took over him not only because the machine was now occupied.

But by a girl... Like, Rindou had nothing against a girl working out, but bench press, seriously ? She literally is supposed to have boobs, why working for the pecs ?

You were at your second set-up when a shadow towered above you, looking up you were greeted by the sight of purple hues, blond and blue locks.

-" Yes ?" You inquired, still busy lifting the weight.

-" jus' wanted to let you know the squat bar's empty " he shrugged, you frowned.

-" That's great from you, thought I didn't remembered asking. "

-" Huh ?"

His frustration seemed contagious, since it started getting to you. You perfectly knew what he meant by bringing the squat bar, men at the gym could be so misogynistic. In a great effort, you put back the weight and sat up, adjusting your sport bra and peered up at him.

-" Look, there's that guy right there " you gestured toward a man who was also doing bench press. " He's also on the press, why won't you tell him the squats bar's empty ?"

A scoff left his mouth, you frowned.

Cute, he thought, the crease between your brows and eye color brightening under the light was pleasant to watch.

- " Look, princess. " The nickname sounded as venomous as a snake bite, he leaned against the bar you were sitting in, resting on his arm behind you, face only inches away from yours.

Didn't he knew personal space ?

-" I admit you did those set-ups impeccably, and you look really cute in your little outfit" that smile, that damn smile he flashed you only dreamed of wiping up.

-" But you gotta admit there's some exercises you shall leave to men, we don't want you hurting those pretty tits of yours now, would we ?"

Through the blaze igniting your nerves, you chose to crack a smile, one that took him aback. That has nothing to do with courtesy, the way you licked your lower lip and pushed him away was just a war declaration, the most divine one.

-" Sit down. " You cold stone tone took him aback, as you lied back down on a bench.

-" What ?"

-" I said, sit down. "

And there, as you looked at him, your sword-sharp glare cut right through his chest, a warmth spreading as if you really drew blood out of his heart.

-" Sit down and watch me do the men's workout. Watch me doing what you do all while I'm bleeding. "

Something happened for the very first time, in between the sweating bodies around, the loud music and cheers, he'd felt his cheeks heating and he was not even working out yet.

You were the type to go against the wind, and you blew him out.

2- How did you come to see each other again?

After days of chasing the shadow of the " annoying chick " at the gym, he finally got to talk to you again. You were not competing for the same machine again therefore the conversation was less heated than the first time. Starting with a simple teasing smile you could not help but curl everytime you see him, a nod coming from him from afar, to exchanging songs and workout playlists. You remembered the first time he'd talked about that restaurant near the gym, and remembered it was the first time you both thought of seeing each other out of the gym.

3- Your first kiss

Thinking about it with closed eyes, and there you were again in their house's rooftop. The walls inside were throbbing from the loud music of the party, and outside, the wind was playing with the fabric of your skirt and hair, soon you were startled by his familiar voice.

-" Hey Batman, do you know it's rude to run from a party someone invited you at ?"

A small smile curled your lips, the moment you turned toward him you saw him climbing from the same window you took to come there.

-" Hey Robin, I never thought you'd notice my absence honestly".

He could laugh, he could really laugh. A dozen pretty girls on his house and he spent the evening with his eyes glued on you from his DJ setup, he could really laugh.

-" Shit, I'm not your sidekick" he sat next to you on the rooftop. " And I just came here to smoke". Lie.

You only nodded, turning to look at the stars who were particularly close that night. You knew it was rude to leave the party that way, yet how could you help it ? Little by little, all those girls around him were playing with your nerves, triggering your insecurities, and Rindou seemed so unaware of every heart beat he stole from you...

-" I should probably leave, it's getting late."

Silence, it's not like you expected anything from him... Or maybe you should ?

One second away before you getting up, his hand reached for your wrist, pulling you back down, when you opened your mouth to talk, he beat you to it.

-" I always notice. Always when it comes to you. "

And there, your heart was beating like crazy in your ribcage. You turned toward him, and stole all his attention from the sky.

A starry night in front of him, but all he had eyes for was you.

-" You don't have to, we're only friends since months-"

-" Friends don't have me looking at them that way. " He tucked a hair strand behind your ear, your eyes got lost on his so close face for a second, before a light laughter escaped your mouth.

He was fascinated, for a second, how graciously your laugh danced on the night spring's wind.

-" What's so funny ?" He whispered, nose almost bumping against yours, your smile has stole his heart from the stars.

-" You. You talk like you just came straight out of a mushy novel. "

He frowned.

-" Would'ya stop running your mouth of should I fuck the breath outta you ?"

Though you still smiled, his sterner tone made your heart stumble on its own beats.

-" From the first time you knew I had no zipper in my mouth. " You rolled your eyes, only for him to grip your jaw, rather gently despite his fierce glare.

-" Oh love, I'm begging you to give me a reason to taste these lips"

It always was him striking matches and you playing with fire, and you leaned in, whispering against his lips stories of all the soon shared warmth.

-" Tell me when I'm supposed to shake from fear, 'kay Haitani ?"

Enough.

That was chemistry, your lips touching his, and it setting fire to his mind.

Moving your lips against his, sometimes brushing it with your tongue and you could already feel the heat starting to grow in your stomach. It was not even about kissing a new girl, but about how your lips fit in his, about the roughness of his hands and the softness of your cheeks, and about the grunt that escaped his mouth when you pulled away.

-" Now that's a problem " his lips grazed yours with each word, he had no strength to open his eyes to see your frown, too caught in the feeling. " Might want you to talk back more often".

4- Did he fell in love ? Did he confess ? + 5-first time he got jealous :

-" Don't follow me, I said !" Your voice raising under the rain, you were a yelling mess, wet hair and sticky dress, but you couldn't care the least as he chased you through the parking lot.

-" You don't get to tell me what I should fucking do, and don't think about raising your voice again. " His hand wrapped around your arm to turn you toward him, only for you to pull your arm away.

-" What's your fucking problem ?" He asked, frustrated at the rain soaking his clothes, and the scoff you just let out.

-" My problem, seriously ? " You yelled, voice quivering. " You just almost sent my friend to a coma and ask me what my fucking problem is ? "

-" oh " a dry laughter escaped his lips, looking away. " So it's about him, again ?"

-" Yes !" Shouting at his face, aiming a dagger at his heart. " If you've got anger issues, go see a doctor instead of sending my friends to see them ! "

He loathed anyone shouting at him, that was one of the things Rindou could absolutely not take. Clenching his fists, he made a step toward you.

-" You don't get to talk about anger issues when you're making a scene here. "

-" cause yeah obviously I'm the one who made a scene in the party " you scoffed, Rindou raised both his eyebrows, a disgusted look on his face.

-" Whoring yourself to him and you talk about making a scene ?"

It took you two seconds, experiencing the stab in your chest before answering. You just hoped he wouldn't hear the tears in your voice, the rain did a good job masking them.

-" We were dancing, and we're friends. And you don't get to call me a whore again. "

Pulling his head back slightly, Rindou was taken aback by your cold tone, so long since he's heard it, so striking...

-" Oh spare me. If you're dumb enough to think that asshole only wanted to dance don't come at me with that shit. "

Maybe his mistake was letting his heart spill too much from that sharp voice, but the second the frown between your brows disappeared into a confused face, he knew, you knew, there was no coming back.

-" let's admit there was something more than friendship " no, don't admit. The lions roaring in his head were already louder than the rain pouring. " Why would it even be your business ?"

-" I don't give a fuck about your plaything. "

-" Okay then why did you even beat him ?"

Stay away, he wanted to scream as you approached him, finger pointing to his chest. Stay away from him, with the rain all over you, with your wet hair and lashes, with your raw beauty and face. Stay away from him, you and all the things you made him feel.

-" Why ghosting me after we kissed ?" You insisted, hues digging hoes in him.

Stay away, you and your rollercoaster that made him sick and euphoric.

-" It has nothing to do with the kiss. " He clenched his jaw, nerves clearly beating from anger.

-" Why all the girls around ? Why more than usual ?"

-" Shut the fuck up..."

He was losing it, you knew, he knew, the rain knew, and sure the neighbors did.

-" Why pushing me away, Rin' ? Why me-"

-" Because I don't wanna fall in love with you, shit !"

Piercing the air, could a bullet come back after being launched ? Could the words be taken away ? After the worlds finally collided ?

And what a scene, under the rain at night, emptying your lungs at each other, spilling the heart's blood on the not so skillful tongues.

That was just the way you loved each other, intoxicating, complicated, consuming...

But at least a heart break feeling was better than no feeling at all.

-" I don't wanna fall in love with you... " He repeated the words, as if for himself this time, low tone, lost eyes, realizing he was fighting a feeling all along.

Rindou Haitani, you don't fight a feeling with bullets. You don't fight a feeling.

-" Well just don't fall in love with me!"

-" Kinda fucking too late. "

He spat his heart in your face, voice coming down, breath slowing, as well as the rain calming down.

No, a bullet never comes back once launched.

Nor words fall to deaf ears, when the hearts talk.

Nor the worlds separate once the mouths collide.

6- Your first time together :

That night, that damn same night.

Your first kiss on the rooftop was shy, clumsy, but that one, the second was messier, hungrier, angrier.

The rain came back with a vengeance, clapping on the car's window as the only witness of your chef-d'œuvre.

Passionate, so much that the lips wouldn't leave each other even when he'd be pulling your dress up your head.

-" Fuck, how 'm I supposed not to hate you when you're so perfect ?" Rhetorical question, since as soon as he finished drinking in the sight of your breasts, he leaned in to take one in his mouth, while his hands began playing with the other. You started pulling at his hair, shamelessly grinding your hips against his hard on.

And with the pneumonia having an eye for you two, screaming soaked in the night, then undressed inside a car- you even forgot to turn on the heater- never has he felt such a rush of fire and gasoline through his veins.

Clothes were thrown, in a discarded poem around the passenger seat, aching for a taste you both never had, slave of the feeling as your cunt hugged his cock for the first time, better than you'd ever dreamed of hugging him.

-" Love, you're driving me out of my fucking mind..." He whispered in your ear, biting the lobe.

-" Rin', faster, please, faster !"

-" Anything, any damn thing you want. Shit, 'm gonna fucking ruin you, carve my name in this tight pussy, yeah ?"

They say you can't love someone with your fangs ten feet deep in their artery.

or maybe no one ever said that.

But the way that love was biting on both of your fleshes made it hard to find which fangs was it, and which blood was pouring, red, so red with passion and love.

-" Gotta... Oh baby, gotta show you the love my words never could ".

7- what do his friends think about you ?

Damn Rindou and damn his tendency of keeping you in bed as long as he could. Now as a result you had to get ready for your girl's night in their apartment with the poor amount of make-up you had in your school bag, all while listening to their loud conversations downstairs.

Yes, because in addition of keeping you until you were too late to your dinner, he had a meeting and left you alone to dress and make-up.

In conclusion you had to hop in the unique outfit you had on hand, and you weren't sure it was convenient for a classy restaurant. Naturally, you thought about asking your boyfriend, what you didn't thought about was the six pair of eyes landing on you the minute you reached the kitchen.

You immediately froze, their gazes biting each uncovered inch of your body and probably tearing the fabric covering the rest. Your only anchor amidst that ocean of testosterone being your boyfriend, sitting on a chair next to his brother.

-" What... Go back to the room. " His voice changed quickly, noticing his friend's lingering gazes on you. You frowned, he perfectly knew you hated receiving orders.

-" I needed your help for something actually, before I leave " you gave him a suggestive look, one that meant get your fucking ass out of the kitchen for a second, he looked about to answer, and suddenly was cut off by the one at the edge of the table, a white haired man.

-" what's her price ?"

As much as you didn't understood what he meant, Rindou straightening his posture was enough of a sign to tell you it was not a good thing.

-" Boss, that's actually my girl"

Why was he... oh !

You frowned and looked back at the one he called " boss ", what in the three words you had said made him think you were Rindou's slut ?

The latter didn't flinched,eyes still digging holes in you before answering.

-" Cute nickname, that was not my question though. "

Okay, he's a prick. You concluded, seeking your boyfriend's help but that one was ready to break the table with clenched fists, jaw so tight it could dislocate.

-" Boss " a new voice brought everyone's attention to the owner, a scarred man with heterochromatic eyes. " I think what he meant was, that she's his girlfriend..."

Finally someone with some common sense!

-" Shut up, Kaku. You weren't solicited. "

Now you didn't knew anything about their friendship, maybe that was the reason why you got offended instead of said-Kaku when the white haired boss talked to him that way, he in fact would never feel wounded by his king.

But there was just something about, those uncommon eyes meeting the ground that stirred your heart, made you take a step toward that one and put your hand over his shoulder.

-" Hey, don't me rude to him"

Oh how you didn't even knew who you were talking to, or who you had your hand on.

Instead of even taking your order seriously, Izana's lips curled into a smile, how of a reckless butterfly, he wanted to burn those wings.

Rindou's eyes narrowed toward your hand on Kakucho's shoulder, well if you could call him Kakucho. Anyone else would've called him a blushing and stiff mess under your touch.

-" I don't know what's happening, but I'm here for the drama " That was Ran's voice, Rindou didn't even needed to check. Sure would he like to see him struggle, he still didn't swallow the fact that you were the first one he refused to share with him, when he asked for you weeks ago.

-" Why is Kakucho even the one who gets touched " Shion whined from where he was sitting on top of the counter. " He's like, the less attractive of us all".

As some scoffed, Izana sharpened his glare toward the latter yet you were faster to react.

-" Hey ! He's handsome !"

-" I'm, I... I mean" chasing the ghost of dying words, Kakucho struggled to even breathe with your enticing perfume filling his nostril, your soft touch, let alone Rindou's glare on him.

-" she only says that 'cause he stood up for her " a new voice, one you didn't knew was Mochi stated, you frowned even more.

First a slut, then a liar, what next would they accuse you of ?

-" That has nothing to do with that, I think in fact he's the most handsome of y'all, look at his face !"

Whether were you that oblivious or just playing with the poor flustered boy, his heart stumbled on its own beats the minute your brought his head against your chest, hands around his cheeks to emphasize your compliment. Stealing wide-eyed gazes from the guys around and a begining of a hard on from the one crashed against your breasts.

Could he help it though ? One pretty girl he'd never thought would even look his way holding his face so close to her heart and tits ?

-" My Room. Now. " Rindou pushed his chair, standing up and if a glance could burn you'd be nothing but ashes right now.

-" After you, babe. The most handsome here after you, sure. " You corrected, still holding Kakucho's head. And God you were usually smarter than all of them reunited, were you playing with him ? Was it your revenge at him for keeping you that long?

-" I think Kakucho died " Koko stated, gesturing to the stiff man, he snickered to himself.

-" No, he's just discovering he can actually do other things than peeing with his dick " Ran snorted quietly.

-" Gotta film his reaction when he'll know the stroke doesn't bring children". As Kokonoi and Ran were clearly enjoying themselves too much, Shion got closer to you.

-" uhm" you turned toward the boy who just tapped your shoulder. " I lack tenderness too, my mother left me when I was a kid. In a... Burning orphanage, yeah... That's why I'm so hot basically ".

Your eyes widened, hands releasing Kakucho's head and glaring at Shion.

-" If anything I'm gonna burn you after that " Kakucho mumbled, you might have missed the death stare he sent to the one who interrupted the kindest touch he'd ever received in his whole life.

-" So. Your price ?" The white haired one brought your- outraged - attention back to him. " What ? Kakucho can come too, if that's what you want".

-" Shit, why him ?"

-" yeah why him ? I literally have a heart boner for her- ouch !"

The slap echoed loud against Shion's cheek, your hand hurt but it was all worth it. Ran could testify, since him and Koko were laughing 'til tears filled their eyes.

-" go fuck yourself" you spat, disgusted by the grin he made right after.

- " Why don't you join ?"

-" Okay that's enough " Rindou who didn't found it funny at all started pushing you away of their eyes, that was the main reason why he never cared to introduce you to them. You were pretty, and cocky, but the main thing that emphasized their desire was the fact itself that you were his, their dirty hands craved nothing but the forbidden.

-" Or at least come and watch me do it !" Shion shouted from the kitchen when both of you left. Koko, recovering from his laughter answered him.

-" You're pathetic. "

-" At least I'm not bitchless, like you " the latter shrugged, yet the proud smirk on Hajime's face emphasized his curiosity.

-" Not for too long. "

Ran, who knew better than anyone Kokonoi's ways smirked with widened eyes.

-" Oh you didn't... "

-" You'll apologize to your brother, when she'll notice the business card with my penthouse address I slipped in her bag ".

𝑺𝒆𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒖 𝑰𝒏𝒖𝒊 :

1- How did you two met ?

Strange to think, your first love was the one to lead you to the second.

As if, your heart knew all along Rindou wouldn't be there. Only some days after you dropped Rindou's old ruined bike at D&D motors, thinking about surprising him with it once he got out of jail. You'd wait for him, you promised, you'd wait...

As if, his heart knew all long you were something else. Because when you walked in, between the bikes and heavy material like a daydream, sundress gently swaying with each step, the first hello didn't sounded like the last.

-" You really don't know anything about bikes, d'you ?" He crooked an eyebrow at you, then you flashed a smile and apologized for your inexperience when all you should've apologized for was stealing his breath.

That day you met Seishu.

Seishu Inui is the young boy in the road to ruin, waiting for a never coming train.

2-How did you come to see each other again?

The guards wouldn't let you see Rindou anymore, he said it was for your own good, that you deserved better than to wait for someone like him.

You spent the last weeks thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end. But every Friday you watched it begin again.

With every coffee you brought at his shop with you, picking up a piece of the stumbling mess he was and tying them together with a smile.

Through his impenetrable wall, you were the light seeping in and through his stoic face the small smile beginning. You'd watch him working on Rindou's bike, peering up at you from time to time while you rambled about your day or anything else.

Seishu Inui is the young boy in the road to ruin, staring at a light flickering at the end of that road.

3- Your first kiss

Eight months.

It took him thirty two fridays, thirty two coffees, thirty two stolen heart beats and lingering stares to ask you out.

He'd been spending the last eight months telling himself the goosebumps would die, the yearning would maybe get poisoned by the routine but it never did. Until he started missing you, not only on Fridays but with each look at the spot you usually sat on at his shop, missing you with every breath he took.

Idiotically killing time with you until every moment without you murdered his skin.

Both your outfits weren't convenient for the restaurant Kokonoi had recommended him, you laughed a little too loud when he accidentally spilled all the salt, and your arms around him felt like home when you both ran away from that bourgeois place, riding his motorcycle.

-" I'm shivering from cringe... Never again. " You laughed as you both leaned against the bike, staring at the landscape through the hilltop.

-" It wasn't... That bad " he countered, looking at you. You tilted your head and narrowed your eyes.

-" You nearly fought the waiter 'cause he wanted to open the champagne bottle for you".

-" He weighted like ninety pounds, what in hell made him think I couldn't open it myself ?"

You just rolled your eyes and turned stargazing, giving him an opening to stare at you for a while. Odd, that within just months your face had been imprinted behind every flutter of his lashes.

That such a dreamless soul like him found itself yearning for something as shallow as a face, but he swore he could dive chasm deep in every shy touch of yours.

And when you turned and met his eyes in the dark, he could never forget how home felt for the first time.

Maybe you were just playing house in the ruins of him, but then your stare made him feel like the prettiest dust.

-" You... Look good " he breathed, so so out of breath. You scoffed, a night sky lightening his perfect blue hues and he was the one complimenting you.

-" You just were in a place where every fifty years old looked better than me, please, Sei' ".

-" I don't care what you think" he cut you off, hand pulling your wrist until you were standing between his legs, facing him.

-" Cause I think you look fucking good under the moonlight. And I don't think you wanna know all the ways I crave to rip those insecurities outta ya ".

Survivor's guilt.

It made Seishu carry his own living body as a burden his whole life.

But your butterfly-light touch reached his cheek, and those wings lifted the burden out of him.

Your touch was life itself, when all he ever wanted was death. Then why was his heart suddenly so eager to breathe ? To beat?

-" I don't see how you could do this" your hand lingered on his cheek along with a playful smile on your lips.

Unfair, that he found it in your smile, shallow, so shallow...

That thing he's been searching from the bottom to the top, something to hang on, he hung on the life because there was life in your smile. Deep, so deep...

-" I... I can kiss you " he drank in the crimson adorning your cheeks. " And I think, I'm gonna kiss you now ".

Seishu Inui was the young boy in the road to ruin, staring at the light coming closer.

Because you kissed his lips, and he found his train.

The train you rode to his road.

4-Your first time :

-" Shit, is this okay ?"

He was so sweet, always asking for permission even when he was obviously painfully hard. Standing between your legs while you were sitting on his desk, somehow your shirt met the floor and Seishu's hands rested on your pants, asking for access.

-" Yes, I'm ready for you, Sei' " You answered, he grunt, kissing your lips and slowly sliding your pants down until you were in your panties and bra in front of him, and soon the latter joined your shirt on the ground.

-" Swear t'god I've never craved anyone that much " he whispered between two open mouth kisses on your breasts, enjoying your fingers tangling in his hair.

He was so overwhelmed, heat burning his guts. He couldn't bring himself to feel guilty, even with calloused fingers digging in your cotton soft skin, sharp teeth marking your pristine, not when his mouth were between your legs and yours was calling his name better than heaven had ever did.

-" Cum f'me, pretty girl. C'mon, lemme make you feel as good as you do " his soothing voice rocked you through your high, drinking your release as if you were his fountain of youth.

-" Want you " cupping his cheeks, you had that way of holding him like he could shatter anytime.

And Seishu swallowed hard, hands holding your hips. You two have been beating around the bush until the desire left you bruised and sore, but never went that far.

Fingers intertwined, eyes met.

You let him in, though it was your love who knocked at his door.

-" So fuckin' tight, love you're too good to me " he hissed, sliding with every inch he could deeper in you, deeper, he wanted every more he could rip of you, selfishly.

Seishu Inui has been living a life he believed didn't belonged to him, stolen from his sister.

And it hit him hard, once wrapped in your arms, once in a lifetime he felt that that life belonged to him, and that him belonged to you.

-" Sei', fuck, stop containing" you whined, passing your thumbs on his clenched jaw while staring him in the eyes. " Want all of you, I won't fucking break. "

Maybe not you, maybe he was the one who could break.

-" Why... " He threw his head back, sliding slowly out of you though he was dying to go faster, he couldn't, his meer touch could crash you. " Why me, you could have... "

-" Why don't you get you're important to me ?" Lifting his chin to meet his eyes, you tilted your head to the side. " You're worth it. I... I love you ".

Why'd you came like a rainstorm when he was a house of cards ?

Why'd he asked for death but had you stealing his heart and taking his breath away ?

And he'd came back to life with a harsh thrust, one that had you screaming his name until Draken probably heard it from outside the shop. He clung to you, fangs deep in your flesh. You'd bruise, you'd probably bruise from his love, but he was mesmerized by how you took all of him, his rough, his harsh, his violence and turned it into the best moans he had ever heard.

-" I... Fuck, pretty girl, gonna stretch you real good... " He kissed your neck as an apology for a harder thrust of his hips.

-" Sei', I'm close... So, so f'cking close" you whined, his thumbs wiped the few tears that slipped away from your eyes, drunk on the feeling of you, high of the look on your face.

-" keep me there, love. I'm a fucking... Begging mess, keep me in your pussy. Keep me in your heart. "

Safe and sound, because he found home between your walls.

5- what do his friends think about you?

Seishu was a secretive person. A man of few words, but ever since he befriended Draken, his friends were always trying to rip the words out of him.

Though he couldn't be humanly more closed, they found a way to figure out something has changed since few months. He was lesser and lesser hanging out with them in D&D motors after closing, suddenly using his phone more frequently, and it was honestly impossible not to smell the feminine perfume on his shirt.

They insisted, and insisted to know until snapping the last string of patience Inui had, and he had a lot. But with Chifuyu and Takemichi clinging to his butt daily, he ended up agreeing to let them know the truth behind the smile he'd flash sometimes, more frequently, recently.

He planned it all, inviting you at the usual place they ate ice cream at, having all of his friends sitting at one table while waiting for you, they'd only meet you for a meer second before he'd spare you their presence.

And God was he stressed, not that they might not like you, but scared he or they might ruin the best thing that ever happened to him.

-" Okay " Inupi brought everyone's attention to him, standing up while everyone else was sitting. He had his usual jaded expression, but Kokonoi being his childhood friend knew better.

-" When are we gonna meet her ?" Hakkai whined, impatiently looking at his already empty bowl of ice cream. Inupi frowned.

-" Hold on, I've never said you're gonna meet her " they were going to, actually. But he just, still needed some time to realize.

-" Hey don't touch me " Kokonoi brought everyone's attention, moving away from Draken who was sitting next to him on the bench.

-" Heh ? I didn't touched you, what the hell is wrong with him ?" The braided snapped back, and Hajime flashed a disgusted face.

- " you did. You touched my clothes with your dirty arm. "

-" What did you just said about my arm ?" Draken turned to face him.

-" That it was dirty, and back off. You smell like motorcycle oil, did you... Oh fuck, don't tell me you style your hair with motorcycle oil? "

-" I'm gonna cut your fucking tongue and feed it to the dogs" Draken's voice dropped dangerously as Kokonoi stuck out his tongue.

-" Guys, don't think it's time to fight. We'll meet Inui-san's girlfriend soon " Takemichi's voice cut them all, but when Inui was about to answer he has been cut off by Koko.

-" And who are you again ?"

-" You're kidding me ?" Takemichi inquired, ignoring Chifuyu's laughter. " We literally see each other at every battle ?"

-" You see him at every battle. " Draken corrected. " Motherfucker is so blind he even needs glasses to spot big ass Taiju. "

-" shut-" Kokonoi who was about to snap back at Draken been cut off by Nahoya's loud voice.

-" Is this her ???" They all turned toward where he gestured, where a woman in her mid-forties stood up.

-" seriously, who invited you ?" Seishu wearily asked, Mitsuya snickered.

-" He probably meant you have a mommy kink"

-" If someone has a mommy kink out there, it's probably you Taka' ".

-" What ? I'm not... "

-" Nah because I don't care about your mommy kink, I just can't stand his smell. Need to use the bathroom. " Kokonoi stood up, throwing a death glare toward Draken who gave him the middle finger and walked toward the bathroom.

-" Their restroom better be in a good state " Hakkai stated, quickly followed by Mitsuya.

-" Dude's as wealthy as to close the damn shop for sanitary reasons " .

-" No but seriously " you heard the one you knew as Draken saying as you approached your boyfriend from the back. " Did you really had to bring that bitch ?"

-" Excuse me ?"

Your voice stole their attention from Draken, and soon, figuring out the misunderstanding all of their eyes widened, even Inupi's usual jaded face was water under the bridge, since he was clearly having a cold feet.

-" How did you just called me ?" You repeated, passing by Inupi and getting closer to the table. Draken, who has never been impressed by a single guy just stood there, wide eyes and clenched jaw.

-" I... I swear to God, this is not what it looks like " he started.

-" Dude just chose the guiltiest statement of all time " Mitsuya desperately tapped his forehead, you narrowed your eyes at the braided blond.

-" Wait, does that mean she's the girlfriend ?" Takemichi asked, wide-eyes. You turned toward the new voice and smiled, shaking your head and offering him your hand to shake, saying your name.

-" Damn, she's hot !" Did he think he was whispering ? Because the way everyone's eyes landed on Smiley made him figure out how loud he was.

-" Yeah I mean, are you here by consent?"

-" Blink two times if you're held hostage, three times if you're paid, four if you find me handsome" A blond with green eyes leaned over the table, talking to you as you eyed him curiously.

-" Guys-" Seishu hissed through gritted teeth, yet soon cut off by Takashi.

-" That's not very nice of y'all. "

-" Yeah, especially considering how hard it must have been for Inui-San to find someone " Hakkai nodded.

-" Oh shut the fuck up, you're not helping... "

-" Can I take a picture with you ?"

-" Do you have a sister ?"

-" Do you love black cats ?"

Okay, were you predestined to be scared away by all your boyfriend's friends ?

-" No, not your business, and what ?" You inquired, strangely staring at the blond again.

-" Wait, does it mean the moans I've been hearing last time in the shop... " Draken's eyes widened as your cheeks heated. " Goddamn, Inupi. You're one lucky motherfucker".

-" is she a mother ? " the loud guy, again... " Are you a mother ?"

-" Wait so he really has a mommy kink ?" That was Hakkai, confused as hell, still blushing widely when you looked at him because damn,you were the prettiest pair of eyes to ever land on him.

-" I'm Mitsuya, by the way, but you can call me Takashi ".

That one has been the only decent one to shake the hand you stretched, and God when you smiled at him, his cheeks heated so much that he accidentally kissed your hand instead of shaking it.

-" Enough. " Calloused fingers reached for your arm, your boyfriend had never pulled you rougher next to him. " Y'all met her, now it's time to go-"

-" Wait !" Kokonoi's voice yelled from afar, as he was getting closer. " I didn't got to-"

Words died in his throat, meeting your gaze. Both of you stood there, wide eyes and stolen breaths, he remembered you, you remembered him.

-" To meet her... " His voice dropped, as his hand fell on his side, Inupi tilted his head at his childhood friend's reaction, your heart started racing faster.

Don't say it, don't say it... It still hurt as hell to remember Rindou, and the hurricane he brought in your life. Don't say it...

-" She's pretty, right ?" Nahoya smiled to Koko, which gulped down, stared at the latter and nodded.

-" She... Is. Glad to meet you " his dark eyes landed back on you, a conspicuous look sending shivers down your spine. Somehow you found the strength in you to fake a smile.

-" Nice to meet you two ".

He knew you were Rindou's ex, the one who caught his co-worker's eyes, the one who caught his too. But he saw the lightness by which Inupi's touch lingered on your back, the slight curl of his lips seeing the smile you gave to his childhood friend, no, he would not ruin that. Not with something long gone.

-" Guess we're done here now " Seishu, with his arm on your back started guiding you toward a different bench, knocking damn too good his friend's would be talking behind his back.

-" Okay, how the hell did he managed to find himself such a hot stuff ?"

-" I read somewhere that girls love sad eyes " Chifuyu stated.

-" Well, he didn't sounded that sad, fucking her dumb on my desk. " Draken added.

-" Did he called her mommy ?"

-" What ? Fuck, bro I don't know ? What the hell ?"

-" You guys are gross... " That was Kokonoi, tired of life.

-" Okay but now I'm curious. " Souya who As been silent brought everyone's attention to him. " Inupi's a blondie, but are Blondies actually... Blond, down there ?"

-" Oh fuck you... "

6- Does he get jealous ?

Living as the shadow of someone already long gone, Seishu's eyes were accustomed to the darkness of always being the second choice. It was alright, until you put him for the first time under the spotlight, there was only him for you and that, that was the most addictive drug he could ever think of.

Because it's been almost two years and when Ran called you to let you know they were out of jail, you've seen all the world you built away from the Haitani shatter. He just asked how you were doing, and you offered to meet him to give him the bike you planned to gift his brother first, it would be better to give it back to Ran instead.

" whose bike is it ?" The question has been holding the tiniest corner of his mind, dusting and dusting until it was old and gray enough. But the day you showed at the shop to bring it back with you, he watched that poisonous flower bloom again, and somehow the words were too sharp for his tongue to utter.

Alas giving someone the power to fill the bullet holes in your heart, also means giving them, the bullets that goes with.

Because that was not Ran, who showed up. He knew it because, he promised himself, just a glimpse of who you were meeting and he'd go back to the shop.

-" here. " You launched the keys toward him, he caught them in a nick of time. " You'll tell Ran for me, that I thought he was a man of his word, unfortunately he's just a boy who likes to talk. "

As you went to turn around, Rindou's hand reached for you wrist, turning you toward him. Seishu nearly threw his bike away to come, but he saw you already could do without him.

- " Don't fucking touch me" you warned, pulling your wrist away, raising your voice. Rindou sighed and raised both his palms in the air.

-" Okay, okay! Just please listen to me, you don't have to talk, just listen. "

You scoffed, crossing your arms against your chest, and he waited for you to talk but you didn't, it surprised him that you would actually listen to him.

-" Look, I know this doesn’t make up for anything, but… I did it for you. So you’d be safe. Because I… care about you. A lot. "

Another scoff left your mouth, gaining a frown from him.

-" I'm serious, I... I could've never protected you-"

-" Did I ever asked you to protect me ?" You cut off, a sarcastic smile on.

-" You don't have to ask me to, you're my girl-"

-" Was. " You corrected, he gulped down.

-" Was " he admitted. " But what we had was- fuck" running a hand through his hair, he slightly turned to look away because damn your gaze was still as intense as ever.

-" I won't go around pretending what we had- you, were not the best fucking thing to ever happen to me. "

It truly has been, and damned would he ever be if he couldn't see a blessing when it looks him right in the eyes.

-" You have some nerves... Coming here and talking about what we had, when you were the one to ruin it. "

-" Back off !" You added when he made a step toward you. Through his clenched jaw you could see he was holding back, not used to anyone giving him such a cold shoulder.

-" You can hate me all you want, I'd never regret putting you before my own damn happiness. And you have some nerves assuming, for a selfish motherfucker like me, it wasn't torture to push you away. "

That was why you wanted to see Ran, because deep down you knew Rindou Haitani cut too deep in your skin for time to ever heal you from him. That was unfair, that with some words and his lilac hues, that pathetic expression on his face could make you question everything.

-" I don't know what you want from me... " Your voice dropped, Seishu's heart too...

And maybe that heart was glass and you dropped it.

- " I moved on, I... "

-" I could act like the good guy " Rindou approached you, testing the waters. " tell you It doesn't matter if you forgive me or not, that I just wanted you to know the truth. "

A scoff left his lips, his hand reached for your chin to tilt your head up.

-" But we both know I'm not the good guy, and we both know ain't stopping until I gotcha back to my house. "

-" Rin', no " you pushed him away, and though it hurt, he took it, he would wait.

-" You ain't gotta make your mind up right now, I waited for two years. And I'd wait a whole fucking lifetime if that means I'll got my girl back. "

But a whole fucking lifetime won't be enough collecting all the pieces of your heart you split to both the guys...

7- Did he confess ?

All along he thought he got himself tied together with a knot, a frayed knot.

Indeed funny to think all along there was that invisible string tying him to you, main reason why he couldn't ignore the tide pulling him to you through the last days where he tried ignoring you.

That tide, the moon, and him standing in your front porch.

-" Oh, a ghost " you joked, leaning against the door frame.

Funny because he perfectly knew, as much as he has been a shadow along his life, he would never be a ghost to you.

-" I've been " he made a step toward the door, scratching the back of his neck. " Quite busy with the shop and... The bikes "

-" Hm, hm hm yeah... And without lying what does it look like ?"

Seishu froze, but you flashed a playful smile that made him warm up.

-" I've been... Thinking "

Okay, this is serious. You concluded, smile faltering as you invited him inside, but he only ran a hand through his hair and stood there.

-" I... I need to know, do you... "

-" Yes ?" You insisted, tilting your head.

-" Do you still love him ?"

Your heart missed a beat, swallowing hard, you bit your lower lip, something you got from Seishu.

-" How do you... "

-" No because I just... Need to know, if I'm... "

He couldn't believe the words in his mind, so many years building an arsenal, watching it falter with insecurities.

-" Enough ? "

Just the way his voice dropped slightly had your hand flying to your mouth.

No, no no it wasn't what you meant. You wanted to break his guards, not his heart.

-" Baby, you're... Shit, you're more than enough " you approached him, holding his hand in yours, and God did the moon shine brighter when those pretty lips of him curled with a smile looking at your intertwined fingers.

-" I like the way your hands fit in mine " he uttered. It might be wrong, his hands tough, but yours were warm and it told him there you belonged. " And, the smell of your conditioner on my pillows. Recently I can't go a day without the coffee you bring-"

-" I kinda knew that one " you smiled too, but when his eyes met yours, it fell.

-" What I'm tryna say is, I'm a one man wrecking ball. "

A waste, all his life he was perceived as a waste. But he fit so, so well in your hands, and inside you. Could you call a waste when it found where it belonged to ?

-" And, I shouldn't even have lived in the first place-"

-" Seish-"

-" Shut the fuck up. " Your face has been wrapped between his calloused fingers. " But you. You m'pretty girl, hold my face like glass. As if the cursed man I am couldn't break you in one single touch. "

-" I don't get what you mean..."

-" Would you stop interrupting ?" His jaded eyes bored in your soul, and you were suddenly obedient.

-" I wasn't supposed to live. "

With each word, your heart breaks a little but you chose to let him go on.

-" I hate that I have to be alive instead of her... "

You knew he talked about his sister, he'd told you about the tragedy once, you could never forget the look in his eyes as he told you those tales...

And though he has never wanted to hang on

-" And I hate that you make me love to live a life that's not mine. "

Still he was only an outcast who found home.

-" but in you, I found me. "

Holding your face in his hands, Seishu and the young boy in the road to ruin finally parted ways.

-" And in you, I found love. "

Now how to put together a heart tore up in two ?

When love comes in two, who could you chose ?

Oh god I've put my whole heart into this, And honestly I wouldn't know who to chose but DON'T YOU FORGET TELLING ME WHICH ONE YOU CHOSE.

Reblogs are appreciated 🖤

Tell me if you guys like this new concept so I can do other characters, and tell me if you have ideas of who you want me to put together !

He loves you as though you're woven into the very cycle of life, as though you're the atoms that make up the air in his lungs, as though you're the very cataclysmic explosion that gave birth to the universe.

And it's the most exhilarating thing he has ever felt.

(It's dying. It's living.

It's heaven. It's hell.)

"And you don't have to feel the same way," he smiles, eyes downcast. "I just wanted to let you know."

He can feel your eyes on him, shocked no doubt. To be fair, he didn't mean to spring this on you.

All you did was ask if he wanted to accompany you to the nearest convenience store and somehow the two of you ended up trapped in the awning of the store where there was a sudden downpour. You had laughed and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him headfirst into the rain ("Have some fun, Okkotsu!"), and you just looked so divine, laughing as the rain soaked your uniform and hair.

Now, here he was, pouring the oceans that are his feelings for you, waiting anxiously for your reply. It's been a while since he has laid out his chest bare and he feels the claws of anxiety sink into his skin. (He feels like Mr. Darcy—that was his name, yes?—in the pouring rain. Except he is no Mr. Darcy and you are a deity descended from the heavens.)

The only sounds are your heavy breathing and the pitter-patter of the rain on the pavement. With every passing silent moment, he wants to summon Rika and command her to kill him on the spot. His white uniform sticks to his body, the rain clinging to the strands of his dark hair.

(He looks like a martyr awaiting your judgment—head bowed and hands trembling at his side.)

"I—" you start, and his already tense shoulders tense up even more.

Please don't look at me with pity. Please don't say you're sorry. Please say we can still be friends. Please. Please—

"I like you too."

It seems as if he has been crucified and resurrected. His head snaps up, eyes wide, wet lashes framing the stunned disbelief on his face and you're standing there with your wet clothes and hair plastered on your forehead, a halo, a crown. (Is this what Mary felt when she saw Archangel Gabriel?). The rain has faded into the background and he wants to hear those words—his scripture—once again.

"What?" His voice cracks on the single syllable. Pathetic, yes, but he can't bring himself to care.

You step closer. You were already close from before but now you're close, close enough for him to feel the warmth that oozes out of you, close enough to feel your breath on his lips, close enough to be blessed by the Almighty.

"I said," you draw out the syllables, a hand coming to cup his face. "I like you, Okkotsu, keep up. I thought special grades were supposed to be quick on their feet?"

And then your mouths meet and he feels his body rejoice. The world ends and begins. There was light in the vast darkness. A supernova and the start of stellar evolution. Your lips are warm despite the rain's cold and you taste faintly of the soda you were drinking earlier—and his lungs collapse for a moment.

His hands hover awkwardly before they find solace in your waist, clutching your wet uniform. His grip is tight, anchoring himself before he starts floating towards the heavens from the overwhelming sense of euphoria that thuds against his ribcage.

You like him, you like him, you like him—!

When you pull away, a cry rips out of his throat and he immediately tries to chase after your lips, and you laugh—a small puff of breath that warms his cold lips. His cursed energy swirls around you in a frenzy—its wide expanse on the edge of swallowing you whole.

"Do you get it now?" you tease. "Was that so hard to comprehend?"

"I love you." A prayer, a hymn, a litany. "I love you, I love you, I love you—"

"Okay, okay," you hush him with an index finger to his lips but you're smiling. "I heard you the first time, Okkotsu."

He pulls you into his chest, his face buried into your crown. His hands wrap around you more tightly and you squeak in protest. The rain still kisses the ground and the convenience store in the distance emits tiny jingles from its automatic doors. The skies roar with a faint thunder.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he confesses, pulling away to see your heavenly face (but his grip is unrelenting). "Ever since you smiled at me in first year. I thought—"

"Shh." Your hands come around his back, fingers digging into the now-translucent material of his uniform. "You need to calm your cursed energy."

Who is he to disobey? It's supposed to be easy—he trained with Miguel for goodness sake but his cursed energy always goes out of control when you're near, but still he tries to keep it at bay. He presses a kiss to your hair, to your temple, to the shell of your ear—each touch a promise of his devotion to you.

God, Yuta loves you.

Okkotsu's sweet.

Like candy that'll melt on your tongue, the peach juice on a hot summer day, the pollen to a bee. Simple, quick and relieving. He's good on the eyes too, which is an added bonus.

But he kneels at an altar you didn't know you built. Every word an offering, every touch a devotion. You don't know how to feel—is he putting you on a pedestal or is this simply how he loves? But you don't get an answer, and you're not sure if you want to know.

"Itadori-kun, this looks really good." Your mouth waters at the sight of the lasagna the third-year has presented to you. You are not a huge fan of foreign food but, hey, if your underclassmen asked if you would like some food (ignoring the fact it's two in the morning and it's just you two alone in the kitchen), who are you to turn him down?

Itadori's cheeks match the pink of his hair at your praise. "Thanks, Yumeno-senpai!"

You take a seat next to Itadori on the counter and twirl your fork. "You know, you can just use my first name. We've known each other long enough."

Itadori scratches the back of his neck. "Ah, but Yumeno-senpai has a nice ring to it, don't you think? And it's way more respectful! You are a fourth year and my grandfather always told me to respect my upperclassmen."

You sling an arm around his shoulders. "Itadori-kun, you really are too nice for this world." You take a bite of the lasagna. "And a good cook! Wow, this is really good!"

"Really!?" His face lights up like you've told me he's just won the lottery. "I was worried about the seasoning. Kugisaki always tells me I never do it right and Gojo-sensei always says I need to add more salt."

"That man only eats sugar so never trust him with any food opinions," you say sagely. "Actually, don't trust any of the advice he sells as life-changing."

Itadori laughs and it's bright, easy.

The conversation flows easily after that. You understand why the other third years stick to him like glue. Itadori really is sunshine made manifest.

You talk about nothing and everything—his latest mission with Kugisaki and Megumi (apparently the girl almost exorcised the sea-urchin than the curse due to the similarities in looks), Maki throwing a cursed tool at Inumaki and Panda when they ate her portion for lunch, and apparently Itadori trying to bake because of wanting to "expand my range".

"You're going to make someone very happy someday," you say as you finish the last bite, letting out a contented sigh.

His face turns a tiny bit red. "Senpai!"

"What? It's true?" You ruffle his hair and he leans into the touch like a puppy (if Itadori ever turned into a puppy, you'd steal him away). "Any girl or guy would be lucky."

"Well. . ." He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly interested in the empty plate on his lap. "I don't really think about that stuff. There's too much going on, you know? With everything that has happened so far . . ."

Ah. You look at the younger boy and his tight expression and yours softens. You bump your shoulder with his. "Well, when you're ready, they'll be lucky."

Itadori smiles and it reaches his eyes this time. "Thanks, senpai."

The clock strikes three when you and Itadori finally part ways after washing the dishes. The fourth year dorm area is silent save for the distant humming for the vending machine and the buzzing of the cicadas.

You stop when you feel that familiar state of overwhelm bind your shoulders and slithers all around you, and at the end of the hallway. You stop and spot a figure you weren't supposed to see for another two days. Okkotsu.

The poor guy looks awful—his uniform is rumpled and the bags under his eyes seem even darker even with the dim lighting in the hallway. Yet when your gazes meet, his entire face transforms and the exhaustion melts away, and his eyes come back to life.

"Yumeno." He sounds relieved to be saying your name. He quickly makes his way to you, a gentle smile tugging on the edge of his lips. "What are you doing up at this hour? You should be asleep."

"I should be asking you that," you say, tilting his chin to inspect any damages. None. As expected from a special grade sorcerer. "You weren't supposed to be back until the end of the week. Gojo-sensei said it was a heavy mission."

"Finished early," he hums, his hands coming up to place it on his cheeks. "Wanted come back and see everyone. Wanted to see you."

Such a simple and honest yet loaded answer. That's Yuta Okkotsu for you.

Before you can give an answer, you hear footsteps behind you and feel Itadori's cursed energy (which you can describe as straightforward). You immediately drop your hands from Okkotsu's face.

"Yumeno-senpai! Wait—oh!" Itadori comes to a halt and you turn around to find him holding a phone. Your phone. "I think we swapped our phones while eating and doing the dishes. Mine has a Gintama keychain and this one has a—"

"Totoro charm," you finish, fishing out your pocket and, sure enough, Gintoki Sakata is hanging from the phone you just fished out. "Oops. Sorry about that."

"No worries." Itadori hands you your phone and seems to notice Okkotsu. "Oh! Okkotsu-senpai, you're back early. How was the mission?"

"It was alright." Okkotsu smiles at the underclassmen. His energy is infectious despite it being three in the morning. "Thank you for keeping her company, Itadori-kun."

Itadori, bless his oblivious heart, just waves him off with a shake of his head. "It was nothing. I just made some lasagna and she found me cooking so she ate it. She said she liked it though!"

"Huh. . ." Okkotsu's eyes wander back to you and you ignore his gaze, smiling at Itadori instead and bidding him a good night and to sleep well for training in the morning. The salmon-haired boy waves goodbye to you and Okkotsu before continuing down his merry way.

There's a moment of silence before you speak: "Your cursed energy is going haywire."

Okkotsu has the decency to look sheepish and you feel the oppressive weight of his cursed energy pacifies slightly—not fully when you're near.

"Sorry," he apologizes, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just . . . I—I wasn't expecting you to be with Itadori so late."

The implication isn't lost on you. You could address it, and ask why his cursed energy felt like it was about to blow up the entire dormitory building at the sight of you with the pink-haired underclassman.

You don't. You look the other way instead and start walking to your door and Okkotsu is hot on your heels.

The walk to your dorm is short but Okkotsu makes it feel like a pilgrimage. His long legs match your pace perfectly and his pinky is hooked around yours.

"You didn't have to come back so quickly," you say. "You could've stopped by some hotel instead of coming all the way back to Tokyo."

"I wanted to." He turns to look at you and his expression is soft, earnest. "There were a plethora of curses but it was nothing I couldn't handle. Miguel came by from Africa during the second day, and said my control is getting better."

"Yet I'm the exception."

His pale face tints with pink. "That's different."

"Really?"

He stops walking and you stop too, turning to face him. The moonlight that seeps from the window spills onto the angles of his face, highlighting the face you've come to admire all these past years. "You're different. You know why."

There is it again—the altar, the pedestal. You're not sure if you deserve to be placed on it.

(But you're also not sure if you want to come down from a high place.)

You say nothing and tug on his hand this time as you lead him to your room, ignoring the reverence in his words. You stop in front of your door and Okkotsu stands behind you like he's waiting to be dismissed.

"Okkotsu."

"Mm?"

"Why do you look at me like that?"

He has the audacity to blink and look confused. "Like what?"

You turn to face him, a deadpan expression on your face. Surely, he can't be this oblivious but you really don't want to be dealing with feelings at three in the morning when the person in front of you looks like he's going to pass out any second now.

"Never mind." You pull him down by the collar to your height and stare at all his pathetic, mighty glory. Okkotsu's eyes widen but he leans in closer.

He breathes your name as if it's something unspeakable.

You seal your lips with his.

Okkotsu makes a broken sound against your mouth and his hands find your waist immediately, gripping the fabric of your sleep shirt. His grasp is secure (you're the only thing keeping him from drowning yet he drowns into you). He guides you backward until your back hits the door, and the impact makes you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

His lips are chapped from the mission, no doubt from the cold wind, but they're so soft, they're so eager. He kisses you like he's terrified this will be the last time, he kisses you like he's trying to memorize what you feel against his lips, he kisses you like he's trying to fuse you two in one soul. (Maybe he is.)

Your fingers thread through the tresses of his dark hair and tug lightly. He says your name into your mouth and you feel his hands slide from your waist to your lower back, trying to eliminate every atom in existence that puts a distance between him and you.

One of your hands stays in his hair while the other traces the line of his jaw and he leans into the touch. Your mouth trails from his lips to the corner of his jaw and you feel him shudder against you. He gasps, murmuring your name as his head falls back to give you more access.

You pepper kisses against his pulse point and you feel it jump beneath your mouth before you bite on his pretty neck and he whines. Actually whines. The sound goes straight to you.

But you're both standing in the middle of the hallway and anyone could walk by and you know if Gojo-sensei would ever find out about this, the white haired nuisance won't let it go. You reluctantly pull back and the sight of Okkotsu is something you want burned into your retinas.

His dark hair is mussed from your fingers. His lips are swollen and slick with the spit you two just shared. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink that trails all the way down to his neck. His eyes are half-lidded, dazed and looking at you like you're the answer in every prayer he has sent (to him, you are).

"You should rest," you say, voice steady despite the rendezvous you two just shared. "You just got back from a mission."

"I don't want to leave yet." His hands are still on your lower back, fingers slipping under your shirt to trace mindless patterns on your back. "Can I stay a little longer? Please?" His voice is a plea, a beg.

Really, you should say no. A good person would have told him to go back to his room and sleep and to take care of himself. That's what a good person should do.

But you're not a good person. Not really.

"Five minutes," you concede and his face lights up like you've gifted him the world.

He presses a kiss to your forehead and his lips linger there, his cursed energy settles into something akin to a weighted blanket wrapping around you like a second skin.

"Thank you," he whispers against your skin.

You don't know what he's thanking you for. The kiss? The five minutes? Existing? Knowing Okkotsu Yuta, it's probably all three. Without thinking, you unlock your door behind you and lead him inside not before connecting your lips with his sweet ones.

Okkotsu is sweet. Like cake fluffing itself inside your mouth, sugar dissolving in your tongue, the honey to a bear.

But there's only so much sweetness you can handle before you get sick of it.

The next morning, you find yourself in a three-way with Megumi and Maki.

Not like that.

It's more like getting your ass handed to you.

Maki's katana almost slices your ear off but you manage to duck and immediately have to narrowly avoid the shadow portal Megumi has summoned on the ground specifically for you. Megumi summons Rabbit Escape and you have to lead them back into the shadow he made before you get toppled over by a bunch of furry animals. Oh, you're so killing that asshat.

"You're getting sloppy, Yumeno!" Maki barks, spinning her katana for another strike.

"You try dodging a shikigami and a cursed tool at the same time," you mutter but you're grinning as you dodge another attack, the katana only grazing your cheek this time before you push Maki's solar plexus.

Megumi forms a hand sign. "Divine Dog: Totality."

"Megumi Fushiguro, you fucker—"

The dog (if you can even call it that) appears and growls before lunging at you and you have no choice but to run. Maki uses the distraction to grab you by the arm and slam you on the ground, the katana's tip pointed at your throat. The beast retreats back into the shadows, and you groan.

"Yield," Maki says.

"I yield." You laugh as she removes the katana and you sit up, glaring at the sea-urchin. "You traitor. I taught you how to skip stones and this is how you repay me?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "You also threw me into a koi pond to see if I could summon my shikigami from drowning."

"Excuses, excuses. Show some respect for your upperclassmen."

Maki snorts, offering a hand. You take it, letting her pull you up before the three of you call it a truce. Megumi hands you a water bottle and you take it with a small bump on the shoulder. The morning sun spins happily and the cicadas have started their song.

"You were distracted," Maki says suddenly to you just as you were chugging down your water.

"I wasn't."

"You yielded. That usually doesn't happen."

"Well, it happened," you say, rolling your neck. "Besides, I didn't have a good sleep."

Maki hums, unconvinced but drops it. Megumi frowns and hands you a protein bar he had in his pocket. You smile at the younger boy and take it.

"You should take a nap before the briefing," he says. "Gojo will talk for hours before we can even know what we're dealing with."

"Jeez, for someone who is so stuck up his own ass all the time, you worry too much."

"I'm just—"

"I'm fine, Megumi.

He doesn't push and sighs. You grab his hand and give it a quick squeeze to reassure him. Maki sends Megumi to grab some towels from the nearby storage shed and it's just the two of you. She drinks her water, staring off into the distance with her sharp eyes. Maki has always been direct and impossible to bullshit. It's one of the many things you respect about her and it's also what makes conversations, sometimes, so tedious.

"So," she says, finally. "You and Yuta."

It's not really a question. Not when Maki knows the answer, but you humor your friend anyway. "What about him?"

"I saw him leave your room this morning."

Ah. Well, five minutes turned into five more and then another five more until you had to shove the special grade sorcerer out of your room. Maki's always been an early riser so of course she would've seen Okkotsu stumbling out of your door with mussed hair, a rumpled uniform and that stupid lovesick expression on his face.

"What about it?"

Her jaw tightens. It's not visible to most people but you've known her long enough to see her tiny tells.

"Are you dating?" she asks bluntly.

Straight to the point. That's the Maki you know and love.

You consider the question. Are you and Okkotsu dating? You let him kiss his whole life into your doorways and press his devotion against your skin. But dating implies something mutual. Something, dare you say, equal. But you're not sure if you're ready to give all of yourself to him just like how he readily handed his to you.

"No," you say, voice bored. "We're not. We're just friends."

Maki blinks, caught off-guard by your reply but then again you're not exactly a conventional person. "Friends. Right."

"We're not that close, Maki."

"You know how he feels about you," she says slowly. "Everyone knows."

"Okkotsu feels a lot of things," you laugh softly. "Look how he cursed his childhood friend. Besides, his feelings are not my responsibility."

(Another lie. Or maybe it's the only truth you've said to Maki today. You're not really sure. All you know is that Yuta Okkotsu loves you like a drowning man loves air, and you're standing on the shore watching him struggle, occasionally letting him breathe just to keep him alive.

It's cruel. You know it's cruel.)

Maki is quiet for a long moment before she nods, voice carefully steady. "I see."

You're not blind. You've seen the way Maki looks at Okkotsu like he's precious. She gets softer around him—sure, it's wrapped around her signature stiffness but you and the other fourth-years can detect it. You've seen the way she speaks around him—in a tone that goes beyond the simple border of friendship.

(And, yet, here you are, holding Okkotsu's heart in your hands, squeezing just hard enough to bruise. It's not your fault. He's the one who handed it to you on a silver platter.)

"I found the towels," comes Megumi's voice and he emerges into your view with a stack of towels. "Took longer because someone put it on the top shelf."

"That was probably Panda," Maki says.

You take a towel and press it in your face. The fabric smells like laundry detergent and o the times when you were just younger, before exorcising curses and the complexity that is your feelings. You push those thoughts away when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You fish it out to see a message from Gojo.

Gojo Satoru (DO NOT ANSWER!!): 🥰😍Don't forget! Mission briefing in twenty minutes! You AND Megumi! Come to my office! Don't be late or I'll tell everyone about the time you tripped and ate dog shit in front of a guy you found attractive. 💩💖💞

Megumi peers over your shoulder and you see the amusement settle into his pretty eyes when he reads your message.

"Don't laugh!" You put a hand on your hip and glare at the boy.

"I'm not."

"Sure, Megumi, and I haven't known you since we were kids."

A beat. Then, a barely perceptible twitch on the corner of his mouth. It's the closest thing to laughter you'll get from him in public, and you take it for what it is—he is yours in a way no one else is. Your best friend. Your shadow. The same idiot who called you by your surname for months just to piss you off because you spilled coffee on his favorite movie's CD.

"Well, I'll be going." Maki raises a hand. "Try not to let Gojo's idiocy affect you anymore, Yumeno."

"I'll try, my beautiful Maki-chan."

"Next time, I'll slice your head off."

"Aw, I love you too!"

She snorts. You laugh and bid the girl goodbye, watching her walk away. You catch the way her shoulders are just a little stiff, her grip on the katana a little too tight. Ah, you did that. You didn't really give her an honest conversation, but you really don't like talking about Okkotsu.

(He tastes like sugar on your tongue. The thing is you're not the only one tasting it, but unlike you, Maki would probably savor every last drop.)

Oh, well. You have more important matters to tend to. Such as Gojo's briefing. Despite the emojis he sent like the millennial that he is that made you not want to attend out of spite, you walk side-by-side with Megumi on the way to his office.

"Okkotsu-senpai was in the fourth year dorms last night," he says. "Itadori mentioned it."

"Megumi, he's a fourth year."

"Itadori said his cursed energy was all over the place."

"He was tired, he just got back from a mission. Cut the guy some slack."

Megumi looks at you and you turn to examine his face. There's a smudge of dirt on his cheek. You reach up and wipe it away with your thumb without thinking. He doesn't flinch or pull back. He just lets you, the same way you've always done since you were a bright-eyed kid making fun of his hair. He catches your hand briefly when it drops from his face.

You don't pull away and let your fingers intertwine with his. The two of you walk like that in silence for a few more steps until Gojo's office door is right in front of you and Megumi releases your hand, his indifference masking his softness.

Gojo Satoru is sprawled across his desk when you two enter. He claps his hands together when he sees you both. "There you are! You made me wait quite a while."

You and Megumi drop into a chair across from him and Gojo's blindfold crinkles with a smile as he looks between the two of you and the way Megumi doesn't shy away from the close proximity.

"Let's get straight to the point then," he says, tone a bit more serious but still have that happy-to-go-lucky undertone. "There is a cluster of curses detected in Saitama. It's grade two, maybe a little higher. I'm sending you both."

"Just us?" Megumi asks.

"Yep. You two work well together. And besides—" His grin turns teasing and you sigh. "—you're practically attached at the hip anyway. It'll be a breeze so I'm technically doing the world a favor."

You can feel Megumi roll his eyes without even looking at him.

"When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning. I already arranged the transport. Nitta will be driving you," Gojo props his chin on the palm of his hand. "It should be quick, considering the caliber of your strength, but if anything goes wrong, you call me. Understood?"

You and Megumi nod. Just as you two stand up, Gojo calls out to you, voice uncharacteristically soft. "Yumeno. A word before you go?"

Megumi glances at you but you give him a smile and nod. He nods in return and slips out of the office and the door clicks shut behind him and you turn to face your teacher. Gojo pulls off his blindfold, revealing those blue eyes that seem to pierce into your very soul. He studies you for a moment, his head tilted to the side.

He says your name. "You know I love you like you're my own, right?"

"Yes. . .?" You're unsure where this is going.

"So, don't do anything reckless. Not with Yuta-kun, not with anyone else. You tend to take more than you can handle."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't."

You hold his gaze for a moment, your expression remains unmoved. Gojo stares at you for a long beat and then he laughs—bright, genuine with a touch of sadness.

"You look like your mother. You had her stubbornness too," he says with a nostalgic smile. "Like nothing in the world could touch her."

"And look where that got her."

The silence that follows is heavy with many unsaid things before Gojo waves a hand, shooing you towards the door. "Go on, sweetheart. Go pack. Megumi is probably waiting outside for you."

You do as you're told but when your hand lands on the knob, you pause. "Satoru."

"Yes?"

"Thank you." You flash him a soft smile. "For . . . everything."

He smiles back. "Anything for you, honey."

You step into the hallway and, sure enough, Megumi is waiting for you, scrolling through his phone. His head snaps up when he hears the door open and waits for you to start walking before he follows.

"So, Saitama," he says after a moment of silence.

"It'll be a trip down memory lane. We could go to that Mini Stop again. I wonder if they still have that sando . . ."

Megumi says your name and he looks at you, his gaze lingering.

You skid to a stop and tilt your head. He sighs and tucks a hair behind your ear and you catch his hand. "What, Megumi?"

"Never mind. I'll see you tomorrow."

He turns down the corridor towards the third year dorms and you watch him go, frowning. Sure, Megumi is emotionally constipated and would rather have his organs removed than talk about his feelings but he was always open to you than he was with anybody in this school.

You sigh and head towards your room. It looks exactly like it did in the morning—bed unmade and curtains drawn. Your phone buzzes with messages but you turn it off and toss it on your bed and you start packing.

The morning brings a grey overcast. You lean by the car door, watching Megumi by the trunk double-checking his supplies, the same meticulous focus you've always seen him display during missions and when trying to win his way out of Monopoly (Megumi still doesn't know how you're the only one who can beat him in Monopoly). Nitta is in the driver's seat with the engine idle.

"You'll forget your own head one day," you tease.

"You'll be there to remind me," he says, not looking up.

"Sadly."

"How unfortunate for you."

You're about to shoot a response when you feel it—that recognizable overwhelming cursed energy that wraps around your shoulders like an eager dog greeting their owner. You don't need to turn around to know who it is but you do, not before telling Megumi to wait for you.

"Yumeno!"

You walk towards the voice and immediately Okkotsu materializes in front of you, earnest and bright. He's breathless, he did just return from another mission. His uniform is rumpled, katana strapped to his back, and dark strands of his hair clinging to his forehead.

"You're back," you say, a smile tugging on your lips. "Miss me that much?"

"I did." Always so honest, always so sweet. He's close enough that you can see the faint scar on his cheek. The tiredness in his eyes melt the moment they stumble upon you, parched he was. His hands twitch at his sides, unsure if you want him to touch you or not.

"You always come back so soon. Gojo's really working you to the bone, huh?"

"It's nothing special. Just a grade one." He waves a dismissive hand. "I heard you're going to Saitama with Fushiguro."

"Yep." You pop the p. "Just a small cluster of curses. Nothing we can't handle."

"I could come with you," he immediately offers, eager. "I just got back but I'm not really that tired, trust me. I could—"

"Okkotsu." You look at him, a ghost of a smile on your lips. "We'll be fine. It's grade two. You don't need to babysit me."

He hums, a hand reaching out to hold yours. "I just wanted to see you before I left."

So, so sweet.

"You're sweet, Okkotsu."

He gets red but his eyes are still on you. "I brought you something. From my mission. It's not much but I wanted to get it for you." He fumbles in his pockets, pulling out a small charm—an omamori, a token of protection, of luck and of thinking of you even when you're not here.

You take the omamori from his hand, fingers brushing and his breath catches in his throat before placing it inside your skirt pocket. "Thank you," you say. "It's cute."

An adoring smile tugs at the of his lips and he leans in. It's muscle memory at this point, the expectation of a kiss, the press of your lips against his, the oxygen he craves. You can practically taste the desperation that radiates from him, sweet and cloying.

You place your hand over his mouth and, expectedly, he freezes. His cursed energy stills.

"Ah, ah," you tut and shake your head, pushing his face back gently. "Nitta's waiting. We're on a schedule."

"Oh." His voice is muffled against your palm. You drop your hand and he stares at you with those wide and kicked, puppy-eyes. "Right. Sorry, I didn't mean too—"

You pat his cheek, once, twice. "Get some rest, Okkotsu. You look horrible."

"I just missed you." Like that explained everything (maybe it did, maybe it didn't).

"I know, Okkotsu, I know." That's the problem, isn't it?

You pull away and wave a goodbye before you make your way to the car. Megumi is now in the backseat, watching the whole exchange with his usual impassive expression. You settle down beside and shut the door.

"Let's go Nitta-san," you say. The car pulls away and through the window you can see Okkotsu standing in the pavement, his face a mix of desperation and adoration (they're so intertwined they might as well be one at this point). You watch him shrink away until the car makes a turn and he disappears.

You lean your head against the window, feeling the cool glass against your temple. Megumi's hands find yours on the seat between you two and his fingers lace through yours. It's grounding, you think. (Okkotsu's hold is desperate, Megumi's is steady.)

You don't let go for the rest of the drive.

The ryokan is traditional. That's the only description you can give. It reminds you of those movies you've dragged Megumi and Tsumiki to watch with you and you just watched their expressions the whole time. It's located in the outskirts of the city, just an hour of driving before Kawagoe.

The curse activity hahed been concentrated in an abandoned shrine behind the ryokan but the trail had gone cold when you and Megumi had arrived. Nitta had advised waiting until morning to track it properly.

"We'll head out in the morning," Megumi says, setting down your bags in the corner of the room while you come out of the bathroom in pajamas. "The curse attacks when it's at night so we can catch it off guard during the day. We'll have visibility."

"Aww, look at yourself, Megumi," you coo as you plop down on the shikubuton, spreading your arms wide. "I remember when you're an angry kid who wouldn't talk to anyone."

"I talked to you."

"You ignored me for five months straight because I used '-chan' instead of '-kun'."

"You were annoying for those five months. You would never leave me alone."

"God forbid I want a new friend and Tsumiki-chan was always talking about how nice you are."

"I am nice. I just don't show it to you."

"You don't show it to anyone."

But there's a smile on your lips as you recount your past memories with Megumi and Tsumiki. You've known him and his sister ever since you were ten years old and Gojo had borrowed you from your clan to make "new friends" and you'd met a literal angel and devil. You pestered poor Megumi for months, mostly it was just to see him get angry and show emotion but, somewhere, somehow, you became one of his closest friends and he you.

You watch the sea urchin settle on the second shikubuton the owner had laid next to yours. He turns off the light and darkness swallows you both. It's quiet and the only light is from the spilled moonlight. The owls have made their hoots and you can hear the distant buzzing of the fireflies.

You should sleep but your mind seems to be running at fifteen hundred miles per second. You turn on your side to find Megumi already facing your direction, eyes closed.

"Farm Tomita is beautiful this time the year," you say, apropos of nothing. "Remember that place?

Another pause then quietly: "You wanted to go so you could get inspiration when you become a florist."

The words hit you in the chest. It feels like a lifetime ago. Just two little kids nestled under the blankets while you showed him magazines of the farm, the only light source the flashlight he had held so you could read the contents to him properly. Those memories are hazy but it brings a sense of happiness.

"I did," you laugh. "I wanted to open a flower shop and argue back at rude customers like how those people did in the movies."

"You'd tell them they have the wrong opinion and just ignore them until they left."

"Best customer service. Five out of five, truly."

The silence that follows is comfortable and Megumi's cursed energy wraps over you like a warm blanket a mother pulls up to their child's chin. It's comforting.

"Do you still want to?" he asks eventually. "Go to Hokkaido?"

"Yeah," you breathe out. "Lavender East is fucking beautiful. It looks like it goes on forever. Maybe I could move there after graduation and really become a florist."

"You want to leave the jujutsu world," he says and it's not a question. You chuckle, Megumi has always been able to read you. The statement could've been passed off as a joke, some distant dream, but you've never escaped Megumi's radar.

"I'm tired, Megumi," you whisper. "After everything happened and having to watch people die and seeing you like that—" Your breath shudders and Megumi's shoulders stiffen but he doesn't look away from you. "I don't think I want to do this anymore. I never really wanted to anyways, it was just my technique."

He falls silent and the rain that has been waiting in the grey overcast finally falls, a soft patter against the roof tiles, filling the quiet between you two.

"I support you." Megumi's voice is sincere. "Whatever you decide. You can always come back to me."

You smile, it's small but genuine. "You and Tsumiki-chan could come visit when I finally open a shop in Hokkaido. She'd like that place, wouldn't she? The clean air is good for her."

"Tsumiki would like anywhere you are." A pause. "So would I."

You feel your chest tighten with tacit emotions and you reach across the space between your mattresses and he meets you halfway, fingers curling around each other. His hand is calloused but gentle and warm.

"What about you?" you ask. "Do you want to leave?"

Megumi falls silent for a long moment and you can hear the rain more clearly again. "I don't really see a point in being a sorcerer," he admits. "I don't have any grand philosophy or whatever. I never have."

"You have Tsumiki-chan."

"I do." His grip tightens. "And I almost lost her, more than once. I don't want that to happen again. If being a sorcerer is what it takes to protect her, then that's what I'll do even if it lasts my whole life. There's nothing else for me."

"There could be," you say softly. "If you wanted."

"Maybe." He isn't entirely convinced. "But not yet."

You squeeze his hand. "Whatever you want, whatever you choose—I'll be on your side."

He looks at you and for a moment, you're just two children, whispering and giggling under the covers, talking about dreams way too big and way too out of reach for a world so bloody such as yours. You'd give everything to go back to those times.

"And Okkotsu-senpai?" Megumi asks and the change is so sudden it almost gives you whiplash. "What are you going to do about him if you leave?"

You groan. "Do we really have to talk about this now?"

"You brought up leaving."

"I brought up flower farms."

"And leaving." He looks at you with an expression that toes the line of being accusatory. "Well? What are you going to do?"

You wave your free hand in a vague manner. "I don't know. Break up with him, I guess?"

"I thought you weren't together."

"Right. Well, that makes my job easier. I don't need to do anything."

Megumi reaches over to pinch your side, also with his free hand.

"Ow—Megumi!"

"You're cruel."

"I'm realistic."

"You're cruel," he repeats but there's no anger or reprimand behind it. Just a reminder. "He's been smitten with you, according to the students in your grade, since first year. Everyone knows, even Gojo and that idiot is oblivious to everything that isn't about himself."

"Gojo knows everything. That's, like, his whole thing with the Six Eyes."

"Don't go changing the subject now."

You sigh, turning to lay down on your back. Your hands are still linked between your shikibutons. "What do you want me to say, Megumi? That I love him and I'm going to marry him and have two kids with him and a white picket fence? Because we're not Americans and you out of all people should know that's not who I am or what I want."

"I just don't want you to become the bad guy when you eventually hurt him."

"Don't worry, he'll survive."

"Will he?"

To be frank, you don't know if Yuta Okkotsu would survive you leaving. You don't know if he'd shatter to a thousand pieces or find someone else to kneel to. And the worst part, the cruel part is that you're not sure you care either way. (You do care. You care enough to hate yourself but not enough to throw away the feeling.)

The silence stretches between you two and Megumi's thumb starts to trace circles on the back of your hand.

You whisper his name. He whispers yours.

His eyes are half-lidded now, the exhaustion of the day (and the conversation you two shared) finally catching up to him. You watch his breathing even out, his grip loosening but never letting go.

You don't let go either. Fingers interlocked as the two of you drift off to other worlds.

The mission goes easier than expected. Megumi handles it with his shadows and shikigami and your technique delivers the finishing blow.

"That was anticlimactic," you say with a frown, watching the curse dissolve from thin wisps of air to eventually nothing. The birds have started singing their song now that the air is clear again.

"You're complaining about an easy mission?"

"It was boring." Megumi gives you an unimpressed look while you just shrug. You grab your phone and check the time. "Nitta won't be back for another two hours. Let's go somewhere."

"The Mini Stop?"

You smile. "The Mini Stop."

The Mini Stop hasn't changed when you two arrive. It's still tucked in the corner of a quiet street, a small distance away from Megumi's middle school. The automatic doors make a sound of distress when they open and the store still plays that pop song that you aren't sure if it's in Japanese or an entire made up language.

You grab two sandos and two sodas before Megumi could even say what he wanted. He sighs and pulls out his wallet.

"My treat," he grumbles.

"Megumi Fushiguro, are you actually being nice to me?"

"Be quiet."

You grin and drop the products onto the counter. Megumi pays and the two of you settle at a small and cramped table outside, just like years ago when Gojo dropped you off to socialize with the siblings but you just ended up talking with Tsumiki while her younger brother did homework in the background.

"I remember coming here to find you," you say as you unwrap your sandwich. "Only to find Tsumiki-chan and she would drag me to where you were beating the shit of those delinquents."

"I wasn't beating them up. I was just teaching them a lesson."

"Kind of the same thing. Let's not forget you sent three guys to the ER."

"They were picking on some kid."

"Ah, my knight in shining armor." You make kissy faces at him. "Defending the weak! How noble of you, my knight."

He gives you a flat look but his ears are pink. "Don't act like you didn't show up too. I thought you were going to get yourself killed."

"I just wanted to help!"

"You threw a shoe at one of them."

"It worked, didn't it? He was very confused."

"Your shoe didn't even reach him and he was confused because you were screaming the Sailor Moon theme song."

"I wanted to hype myself up!" But you're laughing at the memory. It's a good memory despite the blood and bruises. It's yours. Tucked away in the back of your mind, hoarded like precious treasure.

"Tsumiki-chan scolded us for that," you say with a wistful smile on your face. "Made us promise not to get into any fights. Until you broke it within, like, five days."

"He was calling you names."

"You really are my knight, Megumi!"

Megumi glares at you. He takes a bite of his sandwich and you finish the rest of yours, watching the occasional pedestrian pass by.

"Thanks for paying by the way," you say as the two of you finish the food and Megumi throws away the trash.

"I always pay."

"Because you're such a gentleman."

"Because you always "forget" your wallet."

"Details."

The ride back to Tokyo is quiet. Megumi dozes off somewhere in the twenty minute mark while you watch the Saitama landscape melt into Tokyo's suburbs. Nitta has the radio on a low volume, some announcers murmuring about the upcoming summer season.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Once. Twice. Thrice. You don't bother to check it. You already know who it is anyways.

The sun has started to descend when you arrive. Megumi stirs awake beside you, blinking his eyes awake with groggy confusion. You laugh at his expression. "We're baaackk."

"I can see that."

"Did you have a nice sleep, princess?"

If looks could kill, Megumi would probably be put on trial right now with Nitta as the unfortunate witness. You grin and slide out of the car. The two of you thank Nitta with a polite bow and a promise of a mission report filed tomorrow.

"I'll handle the report," Megumi says as the two of you ascend towards the torii gates. "You're terrible at paperwork."

"Gee thanks. I'm not that terrible, though, I just have better things to do."

"You wrote 'curse go boom' with a crude drawing on an entire mission summary once."

"Gojo accepted it."

"Gojo accepts anything you give him."

Well, shit. You can't argue with that. "Whatever. Go to sleep, Megumi. You look like shit."

"So do you."

"Not possible. I always look beautiful."

He deadpans and you giggle as the two of you make your way inside the school. He raises a hand in farewell before he heads off to the third year dorms while you make a beeline towards the communal kitchen. It seems to be calling out your name after all.

The kitchen light spills onto the dimly lit hallway and you hear voices before you even reach the doorway—Okkotsu's gentle laugh and Maki's voice. Okkotsu is speaking and you can hear the sheepish smile in his voice while Maki replies with that same cutting edge, though this time it's less sharp. Hm, must be Okkotsu's effect.

You pause just before the threshold, peering in through the gap the door offers. Their backs are to you and something delicious is cooking on the stove—something that smells like omurice, must be Okkotsu's doing. Maki says something that you can't quite hear and Okkotsu laughs.

There's an ease between, a comfort you can't quite rival. Maki's shoulders are relaxed and Okkotsu's cursed energy isn't all over the place, calm and steady (like Megumi's). You thought you would feel some sort of jealousy but you don't feel an ounce of anything—jealousy implies some sort of level of attachment but you don't think you've given that to Okkotsu yet.

Maki has been looking at Okkotsu differently since first year and he deserves someone who can match his vast devotion drop for drop, ocean for ocean. You're a lake at best. Maki is the damn Pacific.

You smile and leave the two alone in their conversation and what else is blooming between them. You head for the common room which is also kind of dark, save for the glow of a TV screen where some horror movie is playing. Panda is sitting on the floor and Inumaki is on the armrest of the couch with a bag of chips on his lap.

"Kelp," Inumaki greets, spotting you in the doorway while Panda waves his paw.

"Hey, hey," you greet back, draping yourself over Panda's back. "Is the main character going to make the worst decision yet?"

"Salmon."

"Damn. That bad?"

"Salmon, salmon."

Panda rumbles beneath you and you bury your face deeper into his fur. Despite being warm, he smells like sunshine and is also ridiculously soft, like a heated blanket that also happens to be sentient. "He's going to the basement," he narrates. "To 'investigate' a noise."

"Tuna mayo," Inumaki adds.

"Mustard leaf?" you offer and Inumaki's head swivels toward you with narrowed eyes.

"Bonito flakes. Bonito flakes."

"I'm pretty sure mustard leaf means "I'm very smart and I'm the best sorcerer in this room", actually."

"Bonito flakes!"

"See, he agrees," you tell Panda.

"I don't think that's what he's saying."

"You don't speak Inumaki."

"I've known him longer than you."

"Quality over quantity, Panda."

Inumaki shoves a chip into your mouth to shut you up and you accept it graciously, crunching loudly as the protagonist on the screen descends deeper into the basement like the absolute moron he is.

"Don't go any deeper!" you shout.

"Salmon!"

"He can't hear you," Panda points out.

"In spirit, in spirit. Oh my fuck, turn around—"

The three of you end up shouting curses at the main character and despite Inumaki's limited vocabulary, he's probably concocting the most devious swears in his head. By the time the main character trips over nothing while running from the killer, you're all in agreement that he had it coming.

"That's what you get for investigating 'strange noises'," Panda huffs.

"Salmon."

"Kelp, kelp," you say with a smile and Inumaki throws a chip at you which you catch with your mouth, munching happily at the free food promo you're getting. Maybe you should piss Inumaki off more. The door opens behind you three and you don't need to turn around to know who it is.

"There you are," Maki's voice says as she and Okkotsu make their way to where you are sitting. "We were wondering where you all went."

Okkotsu's voice is soft and borders on being reverent (a prayer, a hymn) as he says your name. You tilt your head to look at him and he's already staring at you with those big, earnest eyes. "You're back. How was the mission?"

"Easy," you say dismissively. "Megumi and I handled it in, like, forty minutes. While waiting for Nitta-san, we just ate some food. Megumi was judging my life choices, I think. He had this look to him . . ."

"Salmon."

"Thank you, my darling Inumaki, I do make excellent life choices."

"Bonito flakes."

"Way to make a girl happy."

Maki rolls her eyes and drops into the armchair near the couch, a smile tugging on the end of her lips. Okkotsu hovers for a moment, uncertain, before settling on the couch beside Panda, which is to say, beside you.

"Did you eat already?" he asks. "Maki-san and I made omurice and there's still some left if you want—"

"I'm good," you say and then because his face does that thing where his expression falls before he can catch himself, you add: "But I'll heat it up for tomorrow, yeah?"

The smile that breaks across his face is worth the lie. "Of course. I'll heat it up for you."

"Thanks, Okkotsu. That's sweet."

He flushes pink and Panda makes a gagging sound beneath you. "You two are disgusting," he says with a shake of his head and and you roll your eyes, burying yourself deeper into his fur. "It's worse than watching those romcoms."

"Salmon."

You flip Inumaki off and the room dissolves into laughter before Panda and Maki choose the next movie. Okkotsu's hand finds yours tentatively and you glance at him but he's already looking with an eager expression that is also part terror as if you might disappear if he blinks.

"Come here," he whispers and you laugh when he pulls you from Panda's back into his arms.

You land against his chest with a small oof and his arms wrap around you immediately like muscle memory. He's warm too but less like a heated blanket and more of a sunlight beaming through a window. His chin is on top of your head and you can hear his heartbeat, strong and so fast.

"I missed you," he murmurs into your hair, quiet enough that only you can hair.

"You saw me before I left."

"Still missed you."

You laugh and he smiles at the sound, nuzzling into you deeper. For a few moments, you let yourself stay here and be held. His cursed energy wraps around you once more and he smells like the omurice he was cooking and something that's just him. It's nice. It's comfortable.

Eventually, you pat his chest and remove yourself from his arms. "Alright, I'm beat."

"Already?" There's that kicked puppy look again.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Night, everyone." You pat his head and he opens his mouth but you're already walking away. You ruffle Panda's fur as you pass by him, flick Inumaki's forehead when he shoots you a pointed look and squeeze Maki's shoulder briefly where she squeezes your hand in return.

You're barely ten steps down the hallway to the dorms when you hear footsteps behind you. You sigh when you turn around. "Okkotsu."

"I just wanted to . . ." He catches up to you, out of breath like he just ran a marathon and rubs the back of his neck. "I wanted to walk you to your room."

"I'm halfway there. There's no need."

"I know, I just . . . " He trails off and you raise an eyebrow. "I didn't get to say a proper goodnight back there with everyone."

"And, pray tell, what constitutes a 'proper' goodnight?"

His ears turn pink and spread down his neck, disappearing beneath his white shirt. "I—just—you know—"

"No, I don't know. You'll have to show me, Okkotsu."

He says your name, a plea and a prayer wrapped in one.

"You should really be spending time with the others," you say walking into his space and his hands find your waist. Muscle memory. "They're gonna think you don't like them when you keep running off."

"I like them. I just like you more. Is that so bad?"

"Maybe. Probably. You can't say things like that though."

"Why not? It's true."

"A romantic, aren't you?"

"For you," he agrees and kisses you. When your fingers curl into his hair and pull him closer, he melts. His hands wander from your waist to your hips, to your spine, pulling you against him—always trying to eliminate even the smallest distance that separates him from you.

His lips move against yours with a desperation that borders on reverence. He makes sound when your tongue grazes his bottom lip. Your name leaves his mouth and he whispers them like a mantra.

He shudders when you tug gently on his hair and his grip tightens. He pulls away to trail down kisses from the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the spot underneath your ear that has your fingers digging into his scalp.

"What the fuck?"

You both freeze.

Kugisaki stands at the end of the hallway, her phone on one hand and a bag of chips on the other, staring at the two of you with a scandalized expression. "When the fuck did this happen?"

Okkotsu makes a noise that sounds like a dying animal and tries to pull away but his back hits the wall so he just ends up looking cornered. His face is so red it's hard to tell where the color begins and where it ends. His cursed energy is going crazy too—spasming all over the place.

"Kugisaki!" you say brightly, stepping away from Okkotsu with more composure. "I haven't seen you forever. How are you, my favorite underclassman?"

"Don't sweet talk me—are you two dating?"

You don't answer that question and cross the distance between you and pull the younger girl in a hug. She sputters against your shoulder but hugs you automatically—old habits die hard. "I missed you. Did you get taller? I think you got taller."

"I did not get taller and you're not answering the question—"

"Your skin looks good. New moisturizer?"

"Thanks, it's the one you recommended, but we are not changing the subje—"

"Great!" You release her and pat her head twice. "Let's catch up properly sometime, yeah? I'm exhausted. Saitama mission. Very tiring. Goodnight, Kugisaki."

"Goodn—hey! Senpai!"

But you're already walking away, grabbing Okkotsu's wrist and dragging him with you. He stumbles after you and you can hear Kugisaki's indignant sputtering as you finally stop in front of your door.

"I can't believe that just happened." He leans his head on your neck when you turn to look at him.

"It's not the end of the world. We just got caught making out."

"Yeah, but I don't really like getting interrupted."

"Wow, Okkotsu. How bold."

"I—" He buries his face deeper into your neck. "You know what I mean."

"I do." You pull his head away and cup his cheek, and he leans into the touch instantly, the tension melting away from his shoulders. "You're cute when embarrassed."

"Only when I'm embarrassed?"

"Don't push your luck."

He smiles and presses a kiss to your palm. "I love you," he says because of course he does (is that so bad? You suppose not).

You pull him down and kiss him, slow and deep, and his knees go weak and his cursed energy oozes like jazz. When you pull back, his pupils are dilated, lips slightly parted and he looks like he saw the pearly gates open just for him.

"Goodnight, Okkotsu." You push him away gently. "Spend time with the others. They're probably wondering where you are and what we're doing."

"One more?" he asks, so hopeful and so earnest that you roll your eyes and grant his wish of a peck on the lips.

"Now go."

He goes but he looks back at you three times with a smile that gets brighter than the last before he disappears when he turns the corner. Once he's out of sight, you slip into your room and close the door behind you.

Good God. You need a shower.

Yuta wouldn't really consider himself a jealous person. Jealousy is such a fickle thing and deities deserve nothing but grandiosity. But, alas, he is only a mere mortal so he is no exception to the green that coils around his chest, his lungs, his every fiber of his being when he sees you with Fushiguro.

He knows it's a sin. He shouldn't covet but what is there to covet? You aren't his. You bless him with your lips and descend your holy hands to touch his sullied skin, sure, but he has never heard the words that would tie you to him fall out of your mouth. But it's fine, he doesn't care for petty things such as labels.

Then again, he's reminded he's flesh and bones.

Fushiguro is a good kid—Yuta knows but do you really have to look at him like that? As far as anyone knows, you and Fushiguro knew each other before you both enrolled, taken under Gojo-sensei's wing. Ultimately, the question lingers—what does Fushiguro have that Yuta doesn't?

Silly question, human.

He has another life with you that Yuta doesn't have the access to. Key thrown away and only Fushiguro's robin can open the garden that only you and the black-haired third year can enter—filled with two kids hanging to each other for dear life. All Yuta has is the years tainted with curses, blood, wars, and seeing dear friends almost lose their lives.

Sullied, sullied, sullied.

But he's determined to change that. He can't change you but he can add more. More pleasant things, more delightful sights. He'll be your greatest offering.

"Furano?" Gojo-sensei's hums, his blue eyes staring at Yuta with interest. "The curses there are around grade two to semi-grade one. I can send someone else other than you, Yuta-kun."

Yuta's expression doesn't waver. He keeps his posture straight and his hands tied behind his back. But beneath his ribs, his heart is pulling at its own strings—the thought of going to Furano . . .

"I'd like to go," he says, his voice a juxtaposition to how his cursed energy is swirling around the room. "Hokkaido has been seeing an influx of curses. They might be below my grade but hundreds of grade two curses still need the same attention as a single special grade. It would also be a good practice for adapting to unfamiliar terrain."

Gojo-sensei tilts his head and Yuta can feel the weight of his Six Eyes studying, peeling back the layers of his skin and bone to find blood cells singing your name.

"Adapting to unfamiliar terrain?" Gojo repeats, the corner of his mouth twitching with an amused smile. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Yuta can feel his ears turn warm but he holds his ground. "I'm not sure what you mean, sensei."

A laugh—loud and knowing. Gojo leans back in his chair, crossing his long legs at the ankle. "Yuta-kun, Yuta-kun, you're a terrible liar sometimes," he chides, tapping a finger against his chin. "But I suppose it can't hurt. Hokkaido has been having a rise of curses in the past few weeks. The mission is direct enough and you're more than qualified." A pause. "And you want me to assign Yumeno as your partner?"

The sound of your name sends a ripple through Yuta's cursed energy but he reins it. "If possible. Her technique complements mine well."

"Is that so." His teacher's voice is light, teasing but carried with weight. "Yuta-kun, a piece of advice—free of charge." He leans forward. "There are some things even the strongest can't achieve by sheer force of will. Some rivers will only flow one way."

Yuta meets Gojo's blue eyes and he feels a bucket of cold water dump over him.

"I understand." Is the only response he can offer.

Gojo studies him for a long moment—Six Eyes prodding and poking at the molecules that make up his body before his grin returns. "Alright then! I'll assign you both to the mission. Can I ask why Furano, of all places?"

He thinks of the corridor—cursed energy concealed tight, something he had been practicing to last a full hour. He had seen you! And Fushiguro. Your phone shoved into his face and Fushiguro's eyes trained on the screen with the patience of someone who has endured this many times already.

"—and they go on forever! It's such a perfect purple."

Fushiguro's eyes traveled from the screen and you met his gaze easily, softness equal in all measures. "It's just flowers. You've shown me this before."

"Flowers?" You gasped, placing a hand on your hip with mock offense. "Just flowers, Fushiguro? You take that back. These are not just flowers, these are Lavandula angustifolia. They can reduce anxiety, you know—maybe you should roll around in them, might fix your shitty personality."

Fushiguro had rolled his eyes but then—a smile. A small, barely there smile but it reached his eyes and the irises glinted. "My personality is fine, thank you very much."

"That's still up for debate."

"I could just take you. Let's go after your graduation."

A ripple of shock had spread across your face. Your mouth opened, then closed. Your hand dropped to your side and for a single moment, you and Fushiguro were just staring at each other. Your defense, down. Invader? Damn Megumi Fushiguro.

"That's—" You faltered and your gaze skittered away from Fushiguro's, looking at your shoes. "You can't just say things like that, stupid."

"Like what?" Fushiguro's voice was calm. "I'm up for it. Let's go after your graduation. You wanted to, right? We'll bring Tsumiki too."

"You have responsibilities. You can't just drop everything to—to go look at flowers with me. You'll be a fourth year."

"I could drop it."

Yuta had seen the way you wouldn't meet Fushiguro's gaze, the way your beath came a fraction too fast, the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. By all accounts, you were flustered.

"You're so annoying," you finally managed, reaching to meet his eyes. "I hope you know that."

"You've been reminding me for the past eight years."

"Well. Good. 'Cause it's true." You shoved your phone back into your pocket. "You better not complain the whole time we're there. I wanna see every field and try the lavender ice cream and everything!"

"When have I complained?"

"Megumi, sweet cheeks or whatever, let me remind you of Okinaw—"

Fushiguro pinched your side and you laughed loudly. "Fine, no complaining. But I'm not paying for anything."

"Deal." (A lie. Megumi always buys everything for you). You nudged his shoulder. "Thanks, by the way. For wanting to go with me."

"Someone has to," he said simply. "Might as well be me."

You laughed then and gave Megumi a soft smile before dragging him away, saying something about draining Gojo-sensei's wallet to the point of bankruptcy.

Yuta felt the green coiled tighter tighter around his lungs, threatening to cut his oxygen supply. The feeling had only intensified when he found the magazine in your room—you had stepped away to grab some food from the kitchen. It was open to a two-page spread. Farm Tomita and Lavender East. The fields stretched across the beautiful paper in shades of unreal purple and around the location, drawn in ink, were hearts.

He had traced one of those hearts with the tip of his finger, examining the way the ink had bled at the edges, the dates you had circled for the blooming season, the little notes you had written at the margin—open 8:30 AM–5:30 PM, try the lavender ice cream!!, take Megumi here :).

Ah. Even here, on the page of your private dreams, Fushiguro had a place.

Yuta had pulled his hand back as your footsteps had approached. When you re-entered, his greedy hands found their way back home to your waist and he had re-sealed his devotion onto your holy cavern.

Yuta blinks and the office swims back into focus. Gojo-sensei is still looking at him with those blue eyes with something that might be pity.

He is mortal. He is flesh and bone and want and there are gardens he will never enter, keys he will never have the privilege of possessing but he can pull strings, call favors, and arrange everything into the shape of your happiness. He can walk beside you through the fields of never-ending purple and watch as you stand in the place you've dreamed of.

Fushiguro can have the past but Yuta will give you the present and future, offered at your altar with trembling hands and a million prayers for you to accept it. (Let him be Abel—favored by his Lord.)

So, why Furano?

"Nothing in particular," Yuta says, smiling gently. "I just thought it might be nice."

Gojo hums, a sound that suggests he doesn't believe a word of it but he doesn't press for a more honest person. "Alright then. I'll put you both on the mission. Try not to make googly eyes at each other, Yuta-kun."

The teasing lilt in his teacher's voice has Yuta's ears turn pink but he bows politely and exits the office before Gojo-sensei could tease him any further.

The corridor is bathed in sunlight and Yuta thinks of your smile—the rain after a long drought. He'll bring alms to your shrine to keep it coming, to keep your eyes on him longer.

He is mortal. He is flesh and bone and want. He is mortal and mortals want. He wants everything you have to offer. He wants everything you can offer.

Yuta Okkotsu is mortal and he wants you.

The curse takes two hours to exorcise. And in those two hours, Yuta's eyes are always flickering back to you—are you hurt? Do you need his help? Do you need him? It's suffocating (but devotion has never been quiet).

He had to unleash Rika twice because some stupid curse thought it was fun to dangle you by its slimy appendages. Paired with his katana, it didn't take long until those appendages were just writhing masses on the ground.

(No one is worthy of touching a divinity but Yuta is your keeper and he will try his best to be deserving of such role).

"Okkotsu, I'm fine," you laugh and the sound is a siren song, charming the poor sailor Yuta Okkotsu (he'd fall into sea rocks for you).

His hands find your arm, trembling fingers pressing against the gash that flows from your elbow to your wrist. It's warm and it stains his skin—kisses his skin. (A blessing! A blessing! His heart sings. To have a god—your life force painting his palms. He wants to preserve it in amber, in resin.)

"You always say you're fine," he sighs, his reverse cursed technique flowing from his fingertips to kiss the hollow of your gash. The wound knits itself close, flesh becoming whole beneath his touch. A familiar ritual, he thinks. He has healed you so many times—even the smallest cuts don't escape his smothering.

"Because I am always fine." You poke the newly healed skin and then smile. "See? Good as new. You worry too much."

(He worries because you are worthy of worry. What follower would he be if he were not to clean your altar and make sure it's whole, pure? He worries because if something were to happen to you, the earth would stop spinning on its axis.)

Yuta offers a gentle smile. "Someone has to."

Fushiguro's words, spoken with such ease by someone who has a part of your heart he has no way of entering. ("Someone has to. Might as well be me.") Yuta feels the green rear its ugly head but he tucks it away, where it has made home in his heart where it bears witness to his worship (of you).

You're still breathing a little hard when you two make your way where the auxiliary manager is waiting with the car. There's a sheen of sweet glistening your skin like morning dew on marble (and he wants to press his mouth to your temple to taste the salt of your exertion—please, please, please).

"Okkotsu, I'm hungry," you announce, resting your head on your shoulder once you are seated inside. "Think they'll have good food at the airport?"

"Probably," he says. (He doesn't correct the use of his last name. He hoards every syllable, every drop of letters you grace him, a mere devout, even if the stairway to heaven happens increases in steps. Okkotsu, Okkotsu, Okkotsu. But you say it with a smile, and that is enough.)

The auxiliary manager starts the car and the vehicle roars to life. The manager drives away from the exorcism sight. Yuta watches you watch the landscape drift away to the suburbs and then the car makes a turn. And you frown.

"Wait," you say, sitting up as you press your face against the window. "The airport's the other way."

The auxiliary manager says nothing.

"We're not going to the airport," he says. "We're going to Nakafurano."

You turn to look at him and the surprise on your face is surreal. "Nakafurano? You mean—"

And here it is—the offering, the alms, the tithe, all arranged on your altar. (He thinks the sea of lavender and how he wants, no, needs to be the one standing beside you when you finally see them. No one else. Him.)

"Farm Tomita," Yuta confirms and he watches your surprise melt into shock, then wonder, then something radiant and all-consuming that Yuta's lungs collapse and start functioning again.

"No way. You're joking."

"I'm not."

"No but—"You turn to face him, hands on face and he leans into your touch in thanks. "How did you—I never told—Okkotsu, how did you know?"

He cannot tell you the truth. He cannot tell you that he overheard you and Fushiguro, making plans that didn't include him (selfish, greedy heart). He cannot tell you that he had looked through the magazine and had traced your doodles on a page about Farm Tomita. He cannot tell you that the sight of Megumi Fushiguro's name written in your inscription makes him want to carve his own name into your heart, into your bloody, beating heart.

He cannot tell you the whole truth so he shall give half instead. Half confessions are still confessions (he prays you'll forgive him of such sin. He is still a mortal with flesh).

"I saw the magazines in your room," he says instead. "There was a page about Farm Tomita and you had written about wanting to go in the corner so I thought you might want to see it . . ."

"Oh my god, Okkotsu." You laugh and your hands drop to cover your mouth. "This is insane. We're going to Farm Tomita with the lavender fields and the lavender ice cream?"

"Yes." And he can't himself (give the poor, greedy boy a chance) and he sneaks a kiss to your cheek and then eventually tickles you with kisses while you laugh happily. (The auxiliary manager averts their eyes and turns on the partition wall.)

"Megumi was supposed to bring me here after graduation," you say as Yuta rests his head against your neck. "We were going to bring his sister and everything."

The green roars to life and it tightens on his lungs. Fushiguro. It's always fucking Fushiguro. Even now, in this moment that's supposed to be between you and Yuta, the younger boy's name falls from your lips like honey so sweet (Yuta is supposed to be your sweet).

"I'm glad to see it before graduation though. And I'm glad—" You pause and for the first time he's known you, you look almost shy. "—I'm glad it's with you."

The green has been extinguished and his heart beats the tune of your name.

"Yeah?" His voice comes out rough (he needs your lips to cure his thirst).

"Yeah." You press a kiss to his forehead and turn back to the window, smiling. "Don't let it get to your head."

Too late.

Everything you say goes to his head, fills his lungs and floods his veins. He is drowning in you and he wants to reach the bottom and never be saved—air be damned.

The purple stretches in every direction, row after row of lavender swaying gentle in the breeze. The air dances with the scent of it, sweet and calming. Mount Tokachi rises in the distance, a silent witness to the offering of beauty sprawled at its feet. Tourists gasp and take pictures, the children laugh, but Yuta's eyes are trained on you.

You've gone quiet. The kind of quiet that his fingers start to fidget and he wonders if not consulting you beforehand was a mistake. You stand at the edge of the field, your back to him, and your shoulders are trembling.

Yuta calls out your name and he steps closer, panic already climbing up his throat. Did he do something wrong? Did he misread the magazine, the happiness in your voice, everything? "If you don't like it, we can leave. I'm sorry, I should have asked—"

You turn around and there are tears streaming down your face. His heart rips itself out from the inside out and stitches itself again before repeating the cycle.

"No, no, no." He closes the distance between you and his trembling hands cup your face. "What's wrong? We can go, we can leave right now, I'm so sorry, baby—"

You shake your head and through the years, you laugh. It's broken but it's the angels singing a choir.

"You didn't do anything wrong," you manage, voice hiccuping occasionally while Yuta continues to wipe the oncoming tears. "I'm not—I'm happy, Okkotsu. I'm so, so happy."

He stills, thumbs hovering your cheekbones. "Happy?"

You sniffle, nodding and pulling him into a hug, arms winding around his neck and your face pressed into his shoulder. Your tears soak the fabric of his uniform. Yuta's arms come around you instantly, caging you against his chest.

He holds you (like a chalice, a reliquary, like a goddess descending from her home in the heavens to give her devotee a gift and it's a gift he'll tuck away, protecting it with his life). His fingers threading your hair while his other hand presses flat against your spine, counting the bumps of your vertebrae—a prayer, a promise.

When you pull away, he wipes the tears away with his thumb while you laugh that song again and the tears spill over again. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you."

Each repeat is a nail in his coffin, a mark in his skin, a note in the psalm he will sing until his voice gives out. He would die hearing you thank him and he would rise again to earn it once more.

"Anything." A vow, a pledge. "Anything you want, anywhere you want to go—just tell me and I'll take you there."

You stare at him before smiling and press a kiss to the corner of his lips. (It's not on his lips, it's not a declaration but it's a kiss freely given and Yuta feels his knees go weak at the mercy you've bestowed upon him.)

You pull back and wipe your face with your sleeve and you take his hand, fingers slotting between his. Yuta stares at your joined hands, heart beating at such a ridiculous thing when his lips have met your chasm before, but you are holding hands with him.

(His manna from heaven, his burning bush, his water turning to wine.)

You tug him towards the sea of purple and he follows. The lavender swallows you both whole. Rows and rows of the lavender stretch towards the horizon and you walk through them like a deity observing how her devotees have treated the holy land you have blessed them with.

Your free hand reaches out to brush against the blooms and the petals release their fragrance as tribute, tainting the air with something sweet and clean. You tip your head and smile upon the sky, the sunlight painting your face in its warmth.

Yuta wants to die here.

He wants his bones to dissolve into the soil, to sink into earth and let it take root, to stretch towards the heavens and bloom purple. He wants to become the lavender that you brush your fingers against, to feel your touch on his corolla for the rest of eternity. He wants you to cup his bloom in your palms and inhale his scent, giving him a smile that would discard his need for the sun (your smile could rival the hot ball's miracles).

Let him be the flowers, let him the purple you love oh-so-much, let him be the field you have longed for years. Let him be anything, anything at all, as long as he is needed and he is something you reach for.

You let go of his hand and run towards the clusters of violet. The plants bow at your entrance and Yuta wants to kneel at your throne as long as he can gaze up at your divine form. He wants, wants, wants.

(He wants to taste the sweetness on your lips and the cold on your breath. He wants to press you into the nearest row of flowers and shower his worship with a medium that is mouth until you forget every name that isn't his.

It won't be enough. It will never be enough. He is greedy, starving and he will always, always want more.

After all, he is mortal. He is flesh and bone and want.

After all, he is mortal. He is flesh and bone and yours.)

Lavender seems to be singing your name these days. Or you're the one singing it. Either way, you watch yourself thinking about Farm Tomita way too often these days—the hymns of the sprigs, the fragrance sweetly wafting in the air and the purple that spreads across the field. (Purple, purple, purple.)

Okkotsu is there—the hand on your waist, the lips on your skin, and the voice in your ear. A presence to remind you that memory is not yours alone, but he also has a hold of the reminiscences. He's not the center, you remind yourself. He has never been the center (that's the problem, isn't it? He kneels at his man-made altar and you have no choice but to watch from the clouds as he offers his worship).

Then you think of the lavender, and you think about the knot unraveling in your stomach and the way your shoulders dropped when you were blessed by the sight of the limitless purple. You think about the scent of flowers and how it loosened you a little—no copper tinging your nostrils, just sweet old Lavandula angustifolia. The sun had brought out your laugh and you want to laugh like that again.

You want to feel that way again. You want to feel that way always.

And then, in the dead of night, it hits you—eureka.

You sit up straight in your mattress that your head spins and you have to catch yourself for a moment. The word echoes in your skull like a door opening, a key turning in a lock—eureka, eureka, eureka.

You can't wait for graduation.

You don't have to wait for graduation.

It's terrifying. It's liberating. And it's the closest thing you felt that could measure up to Okkotsu's devotion. You can leave, you can enter Gojo's office and tell him you're finished and he'll listen and he might even expedite the process for you (because he's your father and he's always loved you like his own).

But there is always a first step to every plan.

And your first step is Megumi.

You dash out before you can rethink of your fed, bare feet padding against the cold wooden floor. Your heart is pounding a rhythm (eureka, eureka, eureka) when you reach the third years dorm areas and your fingers tremble as soon as you stop in front of Megumi's door.

You knock once, twice, thrice. But nothing. You knock harder and you hear a groan from inside, followed by a shuffle of footsteps. The door swings open and Megumi stands before you, a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants with his dark hair sticking up in different directions (a true sea urchin, you muse) and his eyes are narrowed with annoyance.

"It's three in the morning," he says flatly. "Someone better be dying."

"Morbid ass. No one's dying."

"Then go back to bed."

"I can't." You push past him and into his room without waiting for an invitation (when have you ever needed one?). It's sparse and neat, per usual, a few books stacked on his desk, uniform hung up for tomorrow, a picture of you, Tsumiki and him on his nightstand. (It's a comfort zone, a close second to your own dorm).

Megumi closes the door and leans against, crossing his arms as he quirkd an eyebrow at your frenzied state. "What's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Or maybe I am the ghost." You spin around to face him with a smile that is too wide and too bright for three in the morning. "Megumi, I'm leaving."

His stare remains unreadable. "Leaving?"

"Yes, leaving, like, leaving. Like getting out. Graduating early." And the words stumble out, an explosion and a beginning. "I don't have to wait until March. Hell, I don't have to wait until December. I can be gone before autumn ends and Gojo can help me expedite it because holy shit he's Gojo Satoru and he can do anything—"

"You're serious?"

You pause at Megumi's words before nodding. "Dead serious. I was just, like, trying to sleep when it hit me and I realized I don't have to wait. I've been waiting for graduation like it's some magical door that will open and solve everything and let me but I can just knock on Gojo's door and ask him to do the same."

"Are you going to Hokkaido once you do?"

"Maybe. I don't know." You flop down on his bed, eyes on the ceiling. "Maybe I'll go somewhere else, see where I can find myself really, really belonging. You know, see what's out there before I decide to settle down by myself. What matters is—" You sit up, staring at the sea urchin. "—I'm going. Like I'm actually going."

Megumi studies your face for a long moment and you wonder what he's seeing—hesitation, fear, or a reason to let you stay. (Will he find it? You hope not.)

"Okay," he says after the long silence.

"Okay? That's it?"

"What do you want me to do?" He sighs and sits down next to you. "If I try to convince you to stay, that would never change your stubborn mind. And I told you, I support whatever you decide—if you want to go, go."

"You really want me to go?"

"If I told you to stay, would it work?"

"No."

"There's your answer." He leans forwards, resting his hands on his thighs. "You've always wanted to leave and I'm not going to be the one who holds you back."

You feel your chest tighten (and you don't know why. But his words settle into something warm in your chest. This is your Megumi—he'll look for an exit just for you even if the party is still running.)

"You'll miss me though, right?"

"No. I can finally have some peace and quiet."

"Just admit it." You bump your shoulder with his. "Would it really kill you to say that?"

He sighs and rolls his eyes in exasperation and then his voice turns soft. "I'll miss you."

You can feel your face heat up. "See. Was that so hard?"

"Yes."

You laugh and lean your head against his shoulder, letting his hand find yours, fingers intertwining (muscle memory, you think, muscle memory from doing this a thousand times before). His cursed energy settles onto your shoulders—steady, warm and everything you want to ground you.

"What about Okkotsu-senpai?"

Ah. The other shoe waiting to drop.

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"Yumeno."

"Fushiguro."

"You know he's going to be devastated, right?"

"I know."

"And you're okay with that?"

The truth is complicated—it's a mess of affection, guilt, selfishness and everything you don't know how to unpack. Yuta Okkotsu loves you like you're the very oxygen in his lungs and letting him drown in you because it feels good to be wanted like that.

(But do you want to be drowned in him?)

"I don't know," you admit. "But I can't stay just because he loves me. That won't be fair to either of us."

Megumi doesn't argue. You really are stubborn. All he offers is a gentle squeeze of your hand and lets the silence speak for him.

"I love you," you say suddenly, turning to face him fully.

(And you do. You love Megumi, heart leaping out for chest to sing your heartbeat to his—such a traitorous thing, but you love Megumi. Like the how the sky loves the clouds and stars, like how the ocean loves the moon, like how—)

"Me too," he says quietly.

(—you love your coffee black at three in the morning on your bed.)

You've barely slept.

Your mind was running in all directions, rehearsing what you were going to say to Gojo, too busy thinking about a life outside of this monstrous world that doesn't seem to out of reach anymore.

You don't knock when you enter Gojo's office. There he sits, devoid of the blindfold and writing over mission reports or whatever it is with a bored look. He must have come back from a mission.

"You're up early," he says, squinting his eyes at you suspiciously when you enter. "That means you want something."

You don't sit down. If you sit down, you'll lose your nerve. If you lose your nerve, you'll want to stay and you don't want to stay, you can't stay.

"I want to leave."

"Like go to the convenience store? Because I could really use some—"

"No. I want to leave, like, graduate early. Drop out or whatever you want to call it. I've been thinking about it for a long time and I don't want to wait until March anymore. I can leave now—open a shop somewhere far north, or south, I can start over, I can be happy."

The silence that follows is loud.

Gojo studies you before a smile spreads across his face. "Your mother had the same look in her eyes whenever she talked about her dreams."

"Did she get to live hers?"

"Some of them." He stands up and rounds the table before he's standing right in front of you. "But you will. I'll make sure of it."

"You'll really help me?"

"Of course. I'll expedite the paperwork, pull some strings, call in some favors, yadda, yadda." His grin turns into the same grin you've always known. "I am Gojo Satoru, after all."

You laugh and shake your head. "Thank you, Gojo-sensei."

"Don't thank me yet." He wrinkles his nose. "Yuta-kun is going to be heartbroken."

"He'll get over it. He has Maki." You smile. "They have each other."

Gojo hums, a knowing glint in his eyes. "You noticed that too, huh?"

"Hard not to. They're kind of obvious."

"And kind of oblivious, but they'll figure it out soon." He pulls you into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm proud of you even if it's being selfish. It's the hardest thing a good sorcerer can do."

You bury your face into his chest and your tears soak his clothes. (He's right, he's right—you're selfish and greedy and you want to be loved but you want to choose instead of doing what's expected from you.) When you pull back, Gojo's eyes are suspiciously shiny but he's smiling.

"Okay," he says, clapping his hands together. "Enough emotions. Let's talk about logistics. I'm thinking we can have you officially graduated by the end of the month, like, a week before November. It'll give you enough time to pack your things."

"End of the month?"

"Too soon?"

"No." Your smile could rival the shine in his blue eyes. "It's perfect."

Okkotsu is calm around Maki. His cursed energy never spikes, never explodes outward—it's just vast and wide but never suffocating (unless he wants it to). Okkotsu is calm around Maki. It reminds you of Megumi's cursed energy when the sea urchin is around you, a soft blanket and a cup of black coffee.

Okkotsu is calm around Maki and you like calm (so let Maki have him, you scream. You wonder if it might be some cruel joke or a misreading on fate's part that Yuta's compass was pointing towards you and not Maki.)

The kitchen is warm when you step inside and Okkotsu is there (of course he is). He leans against the counter, Maki beside him, and he laughs—open and easy. The laugh belongs to Maki (he belongs to Maki), she is his anchor, his mainstay (even if he doesn't know about it yet).

You watch them for a moment, unseen and cursed energy sealed tight. Okkotsu is listening earnestly to whatever Maki is saying, eyes soft and crinkled and smiling gently (this Okkotsu is not yours, and when has he ever been?). His cursed energy is an ocean at rest and Maki seems to float in it effortlessly.

He's so oblivious, you muse. Maki's gaze lingers on him for just a second too long, and her voice drops to a softer octave when she speaks to him (she's always softer around him. She's right there, the love of his life, and he can't even see it).

(Maybe that's not fair. Maybe Yuta Okkotsu sees what he exactly wants to see and what he wants to see is you. You don't know why when Maki is right there—steadfast, immovable, always abounding in his presence.

She wouldn't keep him at arm's length, unlike you. She wouldn't make him beg for scraps of attention, unlike you. She'd meet him ocean for ocean, unlike you.

Unlike you, Maki is the perfect balance for Okkotsu's sweetness. Unlike you, she doesn't like her coffee black.)

Maki glances up and spots you. Her eyes flicker with something you don't bother naming (she'll have him soon) before she expresses it into something neutral. "Yumeno," she says, raising a hand in greeting. "You're up early."

Okkotsu turns and his cursed energy spikes, a supernova wrapping around your shoulders, your waist, your throat. Desperate, hungry and so, so eager. His face lights up at the sight of you—the first sunrise after being plunged in darkness for so long.

He says your name, a prayer, a hymn, a litany.

"Okkotsu," you greet, stepping fully into the kitchen and letting your cursed energy free. "Maki. You two are up early."

"I was just looking for instant ramen," Maki says, shrugging. "And Yuta offered to make breakfast."

"Pancakes," Okkotsu adds. "Maki-san said she wanted something sweet."

(Sweet, sweet, sweet. He is so sweet. So unbearably, achingly sweet that it hurts your teeth. So sweet that it makes you wonder why you decided to take a taste.)

"Itadori-kun taught me a few things, he's a much better cook than I am," he continues, a hand sliding to your waist once you take a close look at the stove.

"He burnt the first batch," Maki says bluntly and you laugh (Maki's eyes crinkle when you do).

"I didn't mean to," he insists, resting his head on top of yours. "It's better now, I promise. Have a bite, please?"

"Sure." Why not? This will be the last time you'll let him pull you under his sweetness. This will be the last time you'll be the sun, orbiting around his sea of planets that look to you for sustenance. "I'll eat it."

His cursed energy pulses wth joy. Maki meets your eyes and you can the patience and wanting beneath her green gaze. (She'd be good for him. She is good for him. Okkotsu's quiet after the storm. Everything Okkotsu needs in his life—he's too busy orbiting around you to notice.)

"What are you thinking?" Maki's voice is low enough that Okkotsu doesn't hear.

"About how sweet he is," you say.

"What?"

"Okkotsu. He's sweet."

"I guess that's one way to put it."

"It is."

Maki's eyes linger on you for a while before she nods. "I'll be back. Save me some pancakes, lovebirds." You quirk an eyebrow at her need to depart but don't question. On the other hand, Okkotsu frowns and tries to make her stay but she doesn't budge.

She leaves and it's just you and him now. He sighs and looks at you with a small smile. "Well, I really didn't want Maki-san to leave but I don't mind spending more time with you."

You just kiss him and he melts (like candy on your tongue).

Eventually, the pancakes are plated, fluffy and golden and topped with a drizzle of syrup. Okkotsu takes a small slice of the fluff and holds it out, an eager expression on his face. "Try it," he says. "Tell me if it's okay."

You take a bite. The pancake is soft, sweet and the syrup sticks to your upper lip and it's good, really good and you tell him so.

"Really?" His smile shines at you with its brilliance. "I'm so glad. I was worried about the consistency. Itadori-kun said I should let the batter rest longer but Maki-san said it was fine and I really wasn't sure who to listen—"

"Okkotsu, it's perfect."

His rambling stops, eyes wide and attentive (and hanging to your every word like you're the next coming of a god).

"Really?" So full of hope.

"Really." And hope you shall give.

You take another bite and let the sweetness of the pancake coat the inside of your tongue and every single one of your senses. The syrup clings to your teeth, to your lips, to the roof of your mouth. It's cloying. It's perfect.

It's Yuta Okkotsu in edible form and you consume it with the same reverence he gives you on a daily basis. Okkotsu's barrel of sweetness is endless and wide but there's only so much you can take.

So, you savor your last fill.

The train station is buzzing despite the early hour. You're early, a light bag packed with just essentials. All your other things will be shipped later or donated or left to gather dust inside a cardboard box—a goodbye to a room you'll never sleep in again.

Megumi had offered to accompany you to the station. You had turned him down, you had done your goodbyes to him (and him only) after all, hugging his steady chest and savoring his scent of black coffee while your body racked with sobs. He hadn't cried but his grip on your shoulders just had been a little too firm.

"You'll call?" he'd asked.

"Yes after I get settled."

You'd pulled back and he had closed his eyes when you pressed a kiss against his—

"I love you," you whispered.

"I know, I know."

And that was enough. (It is enough. With Megumi, it will always be enough).

Now, you're on the train and watching the platform, the few stragglers rushing to catch the train lest they be left behind. The train engine hums to life after a few minutes of waiting and you watch the landscape blur from the suburbs to the countryside.

Your phone buzzes. You almost don't answer it—you already know who it is. You've been dreading this call ever since you've stepped on the train but you answer anyway because you owe him that much (because you're a coward but you're not that much of a coward).

"Hello?"

His voice cracks on your first name and the panic is evident in his tone, bleeding and open. "Where are you? I just got off from my mission and I bought you something but you—Fushiguro said you left but no one will tell me—"

"Okkotsu, I—"

"Where are you? Please tell me you're still here, are you at the school? Is this some kind of joke—"

"I'm not at the school."

The silence is filled with the static.

"What?" A whisper. "I—what? What do you mean you're not at the school?"

"I'm leaving."

"Leaving? No, no, Yumeno—"

"I'm graduating early. I'm leaving this world behind. I'm—" You take a deep breath and anchor yourself. "I'm going to be happy, Okkotsu, and I'm going to find it somewhere else."

"But I thought—I—" His voice is wet, the start of the seams starting to be ripped apart. "I thought we were happy. You said—"

"I'm sorry, Okkotsu."

"Sorry?" He laughs, broken and hollow. "You're sorry? That's it? You're just—You're just leaving? You're leaving me?"

"Okkotsu—"

A sob on the other end cuts you off. You've seen him shed tears, seen him get too much into his feelings but you've never heard him cry like this. (Cruel, cruel, you are cruel. But you are also human.) You close your eyes. You can hear the others in the background, you can hear Maki in the background, trying to calm him down, trying to reach him.

But Yuta is inconsolable. His cursed energy is exploding outward again. You can almost feel it from here, the ocean's tsunami waves, desperate and drowning everyone in its midst.

"Where are you?" he asks, voice cracking on every syllable said. "Tell me, please. Please, please, baby, where are you? I'll come to you. Whatever you need, whatever you want. I—"

"Don't." Your voice is soft, a stack of feathers. "Please don't come after me."

His sobs fill the call's static. The sound is a sharp blade and it cuts through you (but you can always patch yourself up on your own). "I love you so much. Please don't leave me. Please. I'll do anything, anything. Just tell me what you want and I'll do it, I'll be it—"

"Okkotsu."

"Please, please, please—"

"You know I can't do that to you."

The countryside is beautiful, a contrast to the ugly happening on your small device. His breathing gets ragged and wet and you can hear the other's worried words in the background trying to calm him down.

"Do you even love me?" Oh, just stab yourself, would you? "Even a little? Or did I just imagine everything?"

"Come on, Okkotsu, you know the answer to that."

You hear a crash on the other end—something breaking, maybe a chair, maybe the wall, maybe his control. Gojo's voice—"Yuta-kun, you need to calm down."

But Okkotsu doesn't calm down. He is drowning and you're on the shore watching him as you cut the oxygen.

"Please," he begs. "Where are you going? Just tell me. I won't come, I promise. I need to know, please, I need to know you're okay, baby, please tell me—"

"I can't."

"You can't or you won't?"

"I won't." You feel the pressure behind your eyes starting to build. "Yuta, I have to go now."

"No, no, no, no—!"

"The view is beautiful. I could watch the sunset from here."

"Please, please—"

"I like you a lot." A sharp intake of breath. "I really do. And I wish—" You swallow the incoming tears. "I wish I could love you the way you loved me. I tried but I can't. I'm sorry."

The silence is loud, static filling it once more.

"Maybe in another life," you continue, an olive branch. "Maybe we'd meet in a coffee shop and you'd buy me a drink and we'd have something simple. But not in this life. Not in this one."

"Don't say that," he whispers. "Please don't say that. I—I can't—"

"Please don't look for me."

"Don't—"

"I'm sorry." And you are. You are selfish, you are greedy, you sucked every drop, but you're human and you are so, so sorry. "I really am."

His voice cracks on your name. "I love you—"

"Thank you for being so sweet to me, Yuta."

You end the call.

For a long moment, you just sit there with your phone tightly clutched in your hand, staring at the dark screen and your face staring back at you. Your thumb hovers the power button and you press it down.

You smile and you turn your gaze to the window. The countryside is a blur of green and blue. It's beautiful. You think of lavender fields stretching towards the heavens, the endless purple. You think of the way the flowers had felt against your fingers.

You think of Okkotsu.

He’s sweet, so sweet. Like candy that'll melt on your tongue, the peach juice on a hot summer day, the pollen to a bee. Simple, quick and reliving. He's sweet—so unbearably sweet that it hurts your teeth.

The problem is you've never really had much of a sweet tooth.