seunghee

he exhales, swallows, and looks up at the basement ceiling he’s spent the last couple of days in. there’s a brown stain from an accident involving cola and a well-aimed punch from the cursed doll gojo-sensei had foisted upon him. he turns back to his sensei and his so-called daughter. somehow, other than the initial shock, this doesn’t come as much of a surprise to yuuji. (she looks his age, but his sensei appears almost ageless with his white hair and blindfold and infinite power, so yuuji doesn't question it.)

“okay, sensei.” he turns to akiko and smiles widely. his default state of being has always been overwhelmingly kind politeness, and it's not going to change now. “hi, akiko-san. my name is itadori yuuji.”

my type is a big ass, he fights off the urge to add. yuuji doesn’t know when he’s started introducing himself with that particular quirk; maybe it’s a byproduct of his middle school days, but it’s not like it’s even true. yuuji falls in love easily, men and women, long hair, short hair; if there's a common denominator between his many infatuations, he can't find it. (and if his dreams recently feature spiky black hair that yields to silky soft smoothness under his fingertips, then no one needs to know except for him.

and kugisaki; she'd figured it out within three days, laughed at his "bad taste," and promised to not tease him about it in public if he helped her with maki-senpai)

gojo-sensei pouts, lips dropping dramatically. yuuji wouldn't hesitate to call him childish, to give in to the voice inside of him sneering about weak sorcerers and bloodlines that have lost their potential, if not for the brief glimpses of power that he sees in his sensei. gojo satoru is a joke, an amalgamation of immaturity and cravings for sweets, but behind his facade is the person that everyone in jujutsu society calls the strongest.

it is gojo-sensei who protects him, though, so yuuji gives him his respect and trust without a condition clinging tightly to it's back.

"you were supposed to freak out more," gojo whines. "nobara-chan started screaming and lecturing me about safe sex — as if i don't have the best form of protection with limitless."

yuuji winces. he doesn't need to hear about his sensei's sex habits.

"anyway," gojo continues with a sigh, "akiko-chan isn't my daughter; what kind of person do you guys think i am? me, an upright 28-year-old model citizen — "

"old man," yuuji responds automatically.

"yuuji-kun, that hurts. i'm hurt, how could you hurt your poor sensei like that? — i assure you, i am a model citizen, and akiko is 15, like you, so i would have had to be 13-years-old to have fathered her — "

akiko has been relatively silent this whole while, but it's here that she buts in, sighing with exasperation. "like i'd want satoru-nii to be my dad; the original one was enough of a deadbeat — i can't imagine how much worse i would have turned out with your genes."

gojo blanches, dramatically stumbling backward until he collapses on yuuji's abandoned couch with an affronted wheeze. "akiko-chan! how could you bully your satoru-nii-chan like that?"

yuuji glances back and forth between the two. akiko looks similar enough to gojo-sensei to give anyone a heart attack, and yet she seems to bring out a vividly different side from the silly but dedicated teacher he's been getting to know ever since sukuna appeared in his life (appeared in his life, yuuji says, as though he didn't gulp down a crusty old finger without a second thought). it's the first time yuuji has seen his sensei look as if he isn't laughing to distract others from the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"so, you're siblings?" he asks.

they turn to him in unison, both heads cocked to the left, one with laughter barely suppressed behind their lips and the other with an amused, secretive smile.

"what gave it away?" they say.