Chapter Text
Yuuji chooses a hoodie.
"No."
He chooses another hoodie.
"No."
He chooses—"No."
"I haven't even touched it!" he protests, to which Kugisaki rolls her eyes. "All your choices are a hard no."
"Then why did you bring me here?" The shop's heating makes him sweat uncomfortably even though it's freezing outside. The bright lights from the ceiling and the background music mercilessly assault his senses, so much so that he starts to feel a little overstimulated. Yuuji needs some fresh, clean air, but wherever Kugisaki goes he must follow, valiant packing mule that he is.
"So I can choose something for you while letting you think you had free will," she says, glancing disdainfully at the various hoodies folded on the display rack.
Yuuji wrinkles his nose. "Witch."
"Says the one with pink hair," she retorts, grabbing him by the arm, "now that your free trial is over, we can finally get to work."
"Why do I even need new clothes for? My closet is full."
"Yeah, full of hoodies! I'd rather wear one myself than let you go on a date in a hoodie and, God forbid, sweatpants." Kugisaki shudders with fear as if she herself didn't own a comfortable pair of sweatpants that she wears during movie nights. Hypocritical country girl.
"Date? What date?" Yuuji asks, confused. But more importantly. "And what's wrong with sweatpants?"
At that Kugisaki stops dead in her tracks. She slowly, slowly, turns to face him. "What do you call a guy spending the day with you?"
"Huh, a hang-out? An outing?"
"Okkotsu didn't fly across half the world for a hang-out."
"Yeah, he did for his quarterly report to the highers-up and happens to have some free time!" He glares at her. "Why are you making it weird?"
"You're weird for not making it weird!" Kugisaki yells, spraying saliva all in Yuuji's face. Which, ew. "How many hang-outs have you been dressed like this?"
What's wrong with hoodies? "All of them? And stop with the quotation marks, they're not dates! I just tag along with Fushiguro when he goes to buy books—"
"Bookstore date," she cuts him off with a disdainful flick of her hand. "Let me guess, he bought you the mangas you wanted and you ate ice cream on the way back."
"Were you following us?"
Yuuji narrows his eyes suspiciously, to which she rolls hers, unimpressed. "Typical. Unoriginal. Disappointing but not unexpected. Domestic too, but that's kinda his kink." Kugisaki resumes her walk through the shop without looking back, knowing full well that Yuuji will follow her despite her scathing remarks. And she is quite right, but Yuuji makes a point of dragging his feet as loudly and socially acceptable as possible to show his displeasure.
"It's not unoriginal!" he defends Fushiguro's name once he has caught up with her by the sweats and turtlenecks. "It's not Gojo-sensei's fancy restaurant but it reflects his calm perso—"
"What did you say?" Kugisaki cuts him off, again.
"If you had let me finish you'd know that I said it reflec—"
"I don't give a damn about that poor excuse of a date, where did you say Gojo-sensei takes you?" She points a threatening finger at him, which Yuuji has unfortunately experienced more than once between his ribs.
"Restaurants," he repeats, if only to avoid being stabbed by the nail on her index finger which she has been trying to grow for several days, covered only with a sheen layer of healing oil. "Sometimes he appears out of nowhere and teleports us to some places he says he craves their cooking." Even though it takes months to get a reservation. The perks of being rich, perhaps? Yuuji wouldn't know. The food is amazing though so he never complains and eat his fill while Gojo stares at him behind his tinted glasses the whole timing, sipping his non-alcoholic drink.
"And..." Kugisaki looks nauseous. "And you go there in hoodies?"
He shrugs. "It's not like I have the time to put on something else. Gojo-sensei says it's fine though." Although the first time was mortifying. Picture this: a high ceiling painted with a fresco worthy of the Sistine Chapel, an imposing chandelier for every square meter, red carpets, tables lit by scented candles, stained-glass windows covering an entire wall, men and women dressed for the Met Gala, and amidst all this grandeur, Itadori Yuuji in a hoodie and slippers, about to go to bed early for once. He obviously received more than one outraged look from both the customers and the waiters, but a glance from Gojo silenced any complains before they could even be uttered.
("You usually don't care about that kind of stuff, Yuuji-kun."
"This is different, sensei. I feel like Cinderella if she went to the ball in her rags."
"Eh, is that so? Then I'm your charming prince wisking you away until midnight! Shall we dance?"
"I'm pretty sure they'll kick us out if we do that."
"Let them try."
They got kicked out.)
Kugisaki leans against a wall with one hand and fans herself with the other. "I'm gonna pass out," she says, her face as pale as someone who's been through an earthquake. Yuuji rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, ready to tell her to stop being so dramatic—he's used to flouting the dress code in these places by now, whether intentionally or not—but she raises her palm toward him, stopping him in his tracks.
"We have to restore your reputation. We must. I will not allow this to stick to your back and then my back by association." Acting like she'll ever set foot in those fancy restaurants. And she calls him delusional.
"In case you forgot, I'm Sukuna's vessel. My reputation's buried ten meters under hell," he reminds, because he is sure that this information, like his reputation, is buried ten meters under the latest trends and gossips of foreign celebrities. Though Spanish reality shows are on another level, he'll admit that.
"We'll dig it out then!"
"With turtlenecks?"
"Cashmere turtlenecks."
Yuuji shakes his head, exasperated. "Can't I just wear the clothes you choose last time? That red short and white socks." It's been quite some time since he wore those clothes but he remembers rocking that outfit pretty well. Ah, but it's too cold now to wear just shorts and a t-shirt. Maybe with a thick jacket over it? Fushiguro has a blue one that goes down to his hips, maybe he'd let Yuuji wear it just for a day. But then again, no one'll see his outfit at all if he zips it up, and if he doesn't zip it up, he'll still be cold...
Kugisaki resolves his internal conflict with an offended look. "And be known as an outfit repeater? I said we have to restore your reputation, not drag it in the mud! Do you ever listen to what I say or are those ears for decoration?"
Mean, mean, mean. "You're being dramatic," he points out in case she didn't notice.
"Get moving," she said, haughtily ignoring him. Or was it simply her selective hearing filtering out anything that wasn't a compliment? Who knows. "We don't have all day. We don't even have half a day."
Indeed, they don't. It's currently two in the afternoon, and Yuuji has to meet Okkotsu at half past three at Shinjuku Station. When he learned that the boy would be returning to Japan, he hastily requested to have at least a few hours of Special Grade Okkotsu Yuuta's busy schedule, and he was right to do so. As they juggle clothes, Okkotsu is renewing his Japanese passport at Tokyo's Municipal Office. Since the building is in Shinjuku, Yuuji suggested via messages that they meet there, which Okkotsu was more than happy to accept.
Although he's been there for four days already, neither the first nor second years students have seen him once, not even during meals, showing how busy he is juggling various administrative tasks and matters related to Jujutsu High.
Yuuji feels almost guilty about stealing an afternoon from him when he could be spending it sending his numerous reports in paper form—the higher-ups are, unsurprisingly, old-school and don't accept digitally submitted reports. But on the other hand, he hasn't seen Okkotsu since his brief return to Japan when he first met him. Sure, they video call each other and text often, but nothing beats a face-to-face meeting!
Then Kugisaki got herself involved.
"Come on, I'm gonna be late now!" Yuuji tugs at the sleeve of her black trench coat, trying to move her from where she seems to have taken root like a weed.
"Shut up, I'm thinking," she says, slapping his hand away and proving the rightful use of the comparison.
"Think fast—" Careful with what you wish for or you'll end up like Yuuji, caught in a whirlwind of trying on clothes after clothes, not even knowing how they look on him because as soon as he puts them on, Kugisaki analyzes the outfit at lightning speed and orders him to take them off and try on others. Yuuji is disconcerted, disoriented, more confused than ever, slightly humiliated—oh, he forgot to mention: she's in the changing room with him.
"No need for that," Kugisaki says to the shop assistant who had come to Yuuji's rescue when he noticed a girl and a boy in the same booth, his brows severely furrowed and his gaze shifting from his collar to Kugisaki's bare neck.
His nostrils flares as he glares at Kugisaki. "I'm afraid it's against the shop's policy, miss."
"I said there's no need for me to step out," his friend repeats, her tone hard and uncompromising. Yuuji swallows cloves and cinnamon. "I've seen everything there is to see of this guy."
"Hey!" Yuuji protests, annoyed. It sounds weird. It was certainly weirdly worded, but the shop assistant barely blinks as he takes a step back, bows slightly, and says in a voice so generic it sounds like it's coming straight out of a computer. "I see. I apologize for the misunderstanding."
He watches him walk away before turning to Kugisaki. "You could have said it differently!"
"Whatever," she brushes, rearranging the changing room curtain to hide Yuuji's half-naked body from everyone but her own eyes. "Keep the pants on but take off the sweater and put this one on." She hands him the last hanger of a long line of clothes hung on the wall to their left and right. It's a simple cream-colored sweater with a slightly raised collar that goes quite well with the brown jeans he's wearing and his white sneakers—the usual red shoes sent to the cobbler to have their soles reinforced.
"What was wrong with my pants? It's, like, the exact same fabric." Yuuji asks, eyeing the faded blue jeans hanging among the other clothes.
Kugisaki clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "This is polyester, you ignorant fool."
"It is?" Eh. Well, it was cheap when he bought it back in Sendai two years ago. Fair enough, the fabric on his legs feels much thicker and resistant. "But I like my pants baggy," he complains at how the jeans wrap around his thighs.
He narrowly dodges a kick from a thick, square-heeled boot. "The point is to sell you out!" Kugisaki looks as if she's about to bite him in frustration. "Make those curves shine! Not hide them under pants twice your size!" And then, to prove her point, she loudly, painfully smacks Yuuji's ass, making him yelp in surprise, indignation, and pain because ow, that small hand sure stings!
"Pervert!" Yuuji cries out.
"Don't call a lady a pervert!"
"What lady? I don't see one! Security!"
Eventually, they leave the changing room before attracting the attention of the sales assistant, and Yuuji's new outfit is quickly paid for, along with a matching short jacket for him and three pairs of lace tights for Kugisaki. He tries and fails not to grimace at the exorbitant price, sliding Gojo's card into the machine as quickly as possible to prevent any sneaky thief of a fox smelling of cinnamon from trying to grab it and misuse it. It wouldn't be the first time.
Once outside, he accompanies Kugisaki to the station and hands her the bag with his hoodie and jeans, which she will leave outside his room. She grumbles all the way there but ends up slinging the bag over her shoulder like a delinquent.
"Call Fushiguro if that guy tries anything weird," she says as the train pulls up, passengers pouring out onto the platform by the dozen.
Yuuji blinks. "What do you mean, anything weird? That's just Okkotsu-senpai I'm meeting. And, no offense, but what could Fushiguro do that I can't against a Special Grade?" She shakes her head, her short hair swinging with the movement.
"You need a city boy to protect you from a city boy, you silly boy."
He's pretty sure Okkotsu's from Sendai. "That's a lot of boys."
Kugisaki laughs. "It is!" It's a nice, lovely sound, the tinkling of chimes against the humid summer breeze.
And off she goes.
After she leaves, Yuuji doesn't wait long. He leaves the platform, goes back up to the surface and leans against a bicycle rack in front of the station, hands in pockets, watching the crowd come and go incessantly like the waves of a tide. He does pull out his phone (new, courtesy of Gojo) at one point to take a few selfies to show off his new clothes (bought with Gojo's money) that coincidentally match his phone case, which was Yuuji's souvenir from Gojo's mission in Korea. No surprises here.
He sends them to his closest contacts and the responses are immediate.
[GTG-sensei] 15:20
Looking good Yuuji-kun~~
[GTG-sensei] 15:20
Finished shopping with Nobara? I see you don't hold back anymore with my credit card
[me] 15:20
sry sensei!!! one day ill earn my own salary and treat u every day of the week
[GTG-sensei] 15:21
Ehh how cute~ It's a promise then! As for now, need a ride back? I'll send you a car
[sent] 15:22
its fine kugiski took the train and im not goin back yet
[GTG-sensei] 15:22
Oh? Is Yuuji-kun being naughty again and going to the pachinko parlor?
[sent] 15:24
its just to pass the time >.< !!! im not, im hangin out with okkotsu-senpai
[GTG-sensei] 15:24
So it's today, huh.
[sent] 15:24
yeah, thanks again for all those spots recs, cant wait to try them!!
[GTG-sensei] 15:25
Why, you're very welcome
It's tricky juggling three conversations at once, but he manages somehow.
[Kugisakill] 15:26
keep the damn jacket open u thoughtless idiot
[sent] 15:26
its cold!
[Kugisakill] 15:26
gotta make sacrifices if u want those tiddies to show
[sent] 15:27
im reporting you
Yuuji ends up silencing his phone after a businessman in a grey suit gave him a dirty look. Sorry about that! He's just that popular, hehe. (Ignore Kugisaki blowing up his phone with death threats.)
[Fushiguro-kyun] 15:21
Wear a scarf, it's cold.
[Fushiguro-kyun] 15:21
Why are you in Shinjuku.
[sent] 15:22
meetin a frnd!! told u bout it yesterday
[Fushiguro-kyun] 15:22
No, you didn't. Who? Do I know them?
[sent] 15:23
of course u know him silly its okkotsu-senpai
[Fushiguro-kyun] 15:29
Why.
[sent] 15:29
why not?? wanna catch up with him and stuff
[Fushiguro-kyun] 15:29
What stuff.
[Fushiguro-kyun] 15:30
Answer my calls.
[Fushiguro-kyun] 15:31
Itadori.
He would have, if it weren't for the hand lightly tapping his shoulder. Yuuji looks up and finds himself face to face with large dark eyes that contrast sharply with the paleness of the skin surrounding them.
Okkotsu is standing very close to Yuuji and is strangely right on time.
"Okkotsu-senpai!" he exclaims, a little taken aback, pocketing his phone and thus not noticing the missed calls. "Why are you here?"
The boy tilts his head, confusion passing through his eyes which he keeps wide open and unblinking. "Is this not the place we agreed to meet in?" Creepy cursed energy aside, Yuuji forgot how unnerving his senpai can be.
"Yeah, but why are you here now?"
Okkotsu frowns. "Am I late?"
"That's the thing! People show up either late or early, not right on time," Yuuji explains, and Okkotsu finally blinks once, twice, looking like a barn owl with his head still tilted. "You're so weird, senpai!" Yuuji laughs, startling the boy, which makes him laugh even more.
They start walking through Shinjuku and, between tourists, middle and high schoolers, adults and old people, they have to squeeze together so as not to get swept away by the crowd. As a result, their hands brush against each other with every step, little finger against little finger, knuckles against knuckles, skin not quite touching skin but just enough for the warmth of Okkotsu's hand to leave a fleeting tingling sensation in its wake, disappearing and then returning with every sway of their hands.
Yuuji is a hugger, a tackler, a cuddler, a nuzzler, high fives and pets and such, but this simple, barely-there touch leaves him all flustered for reasons he cannot understand.
"You were early then," Okkotsu says as he heads towards one of the cafés Gojo recommended, which apparently serves tempura sandos to die for.
"Yup." For once. He's not annoyingly late like Gojo or fashionnably late like Mei Mei (missions with her are...something) but he may or may not have a hard time waking up in the morning when the weather starts to get more and more cold. Summer seems so far away now.
Okkotsu smiles, his eyes narrowed into two dark blue crescents, a light pink dusting his nose, strands of hair brushing his forehead. "Were you eager to see me?"
"Yeah!" Yuuji admits without hesitation. It's true, after all. The pink on Okkotsu's nose darkens to red and spreads across his cheeks with broad brushstrokes. "But I was also shopping earlier with Kugisaki, carrying her stuff and all. Got new clothes too! What do you think?" He waves his arms energetically, narrowly missing the unfortunate passers-by walking a little too close to him, which earns him dirty looks and whispered comments that he doesn't notice, focused as he is on the expression on Okkotsu's face.
That's why the disapproval weighing down his features dampens Yuuji's excitement like the coldest of showers. It's not obvious but it's still there, in the downturn of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes.
Yuuji lowers his gaze to his outfit. "Eh, you don't like it?" Even though they're Kugisaki-proofed? He grabs the bottom of his jumper tucked into his trousers and stretches it a little to see what's wrong. He can't find anything though, so maybe the style clashes with Yuuji as a whole. After all, it's a far cry from his hoodies and sweatpants.
"No, of course not," Okkotsu is quick to reassure. "You look lovely, but..." Yuuji blinks, taken aback. Lovely? That's certainly not an adjective he'd use to describe himself. He looks tough, according to his middle school classmates, perpetually unkept according to his grandfather, or endearing according to the elderly neighbors back in Sendai.
More recent opinions report that he, he quotes, "looks like he's been chewed and spat out by the My Little Pony universe"—Kugisaki a week after they met—and that he's "Jujutsu Tech's very own Disney princess!"—Gojo after catching him buying unsalted pecan nuts to feed Mei Mei's crows. The downside of using his card is that he's now aware of every single purchase Yuuji makes. Also, he seems to have a thing for princes and princesses.
But lovely, huh. That's a first. Yuuji's lovely through Okkotsu's eyes.
The thought makes him blush, then lower his gaze to his sneakers, embarrassed by his own thoughts, which means he only notices Okkotsu removing his fir-green scarf once it's wrapped around Yuuji's neck.
"Senpai?" he asks, raising his head.
"It's cold," Okkotsu explains, tucking the scarf under the jacket left open due to Kugisaki's threats. His movements are quick and methodical at first, then gradually become clumsy the closer his hands get to Yuuji's chest.
Unsurprisingly, the scarf smells strongly of the boy's cologne. Jasmine and vanilla infiltrate his senses as Yuuji takes a long, deep, unabashed breath. It's been a while since he's smelled this sweet aroma so strangely specific that he takes his time reacquainting himself with the scent, pulling the scarf up over his nose under Okkotsu's piercing gaze. He doesn't seem confused or even intrigued, just focused on Yuuji in such a disconcerting way that it makes the hairs on his arms stand up and sends shivers down his spine. Perhaps it's because he doesn't blink his large, dark eyes the whole time. And his closed face doesn't help. Neither do his dark circles.
But an Okkotsu who isn't disarming wouldn't really be Okkotsu, so Yuuji brushes it all off with an imaginary wave of his hand. "What about you?" Without his scarf, the other's neck is covered only by a thin grey turtleneck, which is in turn covered by a brown leather collar. It looks great on him, like those thick, expensive chokers that Kugisaki sends him on Instagram in the far-fetched hope that he'll buy one for her for her birthday.
Yuuji feels his own collar tight against his skin and, although it is now hidden under Okkotsu's scarf still warm from his body heat, pats himself on the back for deciding to wear the new one given to him by Fushiguro rather than his usual one, worn until the leather was flaking off. His initial idea was to simply stop wearing the accessory all together when yet another mission nearly tore it to shreds—his head included—and he went without it for a while, during which time Fushiguro declined every invitation to eat out. Yuuji was stunned to learn that he hadn't been to the literary convention where one of his favourite authors was holding a book signing, hadn't even bought their new book that had been out for a few days already. He was starting to get seriously worried about his friend's financial situation until a square box innocently placed on the kitchen table one fine morning provided all the answers to his questions.
Inside the expensive-looking box was a sturdy leather collar in a pretty saffron yellow colour with finely engraved arabesques around the edges. Underneath the box was a note signed by Fushiguro telling Yuuji to take good care of it.
He might have cried. He might have kept the note tucked into his phone case out of sentimentality. Many things might have happened, but only the condiments on the worktop bore witness.
Okkotsu shurgs. "I run hot." Liar, liar, pants on fire.
"My hand's warmer than yours, though."
The proof is that as soon as Yuuji takes the boy's hand in his, he shivers at the touch of Okkotsu's icy skin. Although his knuckles are strangely warm, his palm and fingers are so cold that Yuuji squeezes his hand tightly to try to speed up the transfer of heat between their palms. At this Okkotsu laughs, pleasure and light amusement in his voice as he interlaces their fingers together before putting both hands in his coat pocket. The material may be thin, but the soft lining of the pocket reminds Yuuji of the warm cocoon of his bed.
"Better?" Okkotsu asks, low and earnest and smooth just like Yuuji remembers.
"Yeah!" he beams, to which Okkotsu squeezes his hand so hard it hurts, bones grinding against bones making him wince for a second.
Thankfully, the walk is short even with the number of people per square metre increasing by the minute. Holding Okkotsu with one hand and his phone with the other, Yuuji follows the route mapped out by Google Maps until they reach their destination, the café's façade painted in rich autumn colours rising up before them, promising hot drinks and tasty meals.
If only the café wasn't closed.
"Closed on Wednesdays," Yuuji reads from the schedule taped to the window. "No way! Who closes on Wednesdays?"
Still with their hands in his pockets, Okkotsu looks over Yuuji's shoulder at the screen. "Google Maps didn't mention it?"
"Huh? I don't think so—Oh, it did." Now he feels dumb for not seeing the red closed on Wednesday two clicks before the route. "It's okay," Yuuji reassures him, "I have a whole list of places we can try."
Okkotsu squints at the screen. Looking down must be hurting his neck because he rests his head on Yuuji's shoulder. "You should check if they're open. It'll save us time."
"They can't all be closed!" Yuuji laughs.
They can. They damn well can.
The Indonesian restaurant with the fluffy pistachio-raspberry or strawberry-peach pancakes? Under renovation.
The food truck selling takoyaki the size of tennis balls? Moved.
The cat café with the blueberry French toast served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream? Went bankrupt. What about the cats then?
Yuuji's jaw almost hits the ground when the family-run ramen restaurant he was planning to try with Fushiguro next week turns out to be closed because the owners have suddenly gone on holiday. Horrified, he slowly turns to Okkotsu, who doesn't seem the least bit bothered by the situation, his cheek comfortably pressed against his shoulder.
"Senpai, are we cursed?"
"Do you really want me to answer that?" Right. King and Queen of Curses.
"But how come everything is closed today of all days?" Yuuji laments, half-dejected, half-impressed by the enormous coincidence.
Okkotsu runs his thumb over Yuuji's hand in the warm, narrow, cosy den that is his coat pocket. "How did you find out about these places?" he asks as Yuuji stumbles upon yet another café's closing notice, surprise, surprise.
"Gojo-sensei recommended these places when I told him I was looking for somewhere to try with you," Yuuji explains. "He knows a lot about sweets, so I trusted his knowledge. Maybe I shouldn't have... Maybe he went there a long time ago and doesn't remember the opening hours?"
"From Gojo-sensei, huh..." Okkotsu blinks slowly, his tone and face as neutral as the reflection of a frozen lake, revealing nothing of his thoughts. "I guess I should've seen it coming," he mutters against Yuuji's shoulder.
"Nah, that's on me, I should have checked the schedule before suggesting we go out."
Quickly but carefully, Okkotsu takes Yuuji's phone with his free hand and starts typing an address into the Google Maps search bar.
Yuuji peers down at his thumb, which is flying across the keyboard at lightning speed. "Okkotsu-senpai?"
"Do you like Korean food, Itadori-kun?"
"Yes?"
"I'm so coming back here," Yuuji says between sips of his water. He leans back in his chair and enjoys how the cushion beneath his bottom makes him feel like he's sinking into a cloud. Across from him Okkotsu smiles, pleased to see him enjoying the dishes laid out on the table they're sharing. Sweet and sour fried chicken with honey, hot japchae with prawns, extra spicy tteokbokki coloring the boy's pale cheeks pink, and kimchi and rice as side dishes.
A hand wipes the grains of rice stuck to the corner of Yuuji's mouth. "You like it?" Okkotsu asks him in a whisper loud enough to be heard above the ambient noise. They are not alone in the restaurant; although it is small, all the tables are occupied by various groups of people, alone or accompanied, which, added to the sounds of frying and pots and pans coming from the kitchens, makes for a warm and friendly atmosphere.
Yuuji likes it. Likes it a lot. He doesn't think twice when Okkotsu holds out the thumb he used to wipe his mouth, quickly licking off the grains of rice and then licking his fingertip to clean off the sauce. Oops. Reflex. He should do something about his tunnel vision when it comes to food. "Yeah! I can't believe Inumaki-senpai kept this place to himself for so long. Talk about gatekeeping."
Across the table, Okkotsu stares at his thumb for five long seconds before turning his attention back to Yuuji. Thankfully, he doesn't comment on the strangeness of the action. "You wouldn't think so but he has a hard time sharing. He and Panda-kun often fight over who gets to eat whose leftovers in the fridge." He rests his chin on his palm,thumb still slightly wet with saliva dangerously close to his mouth. Which is kind of making Yuuji sweat under his clothes. He's shared countless indirect kisses with Fushiguro, always eating after or before him with the same utensils or drinking from his bottle during practice sessions because it's funny to see him get so worked up over a bit of saliva, but he's always been the one to initiate them. Not the other way around.
Is this karma? Yuuji thinks as Okkotsu rubs the pad of his thumb along the length of his lower lip, smearing the saliva like the lip balm that Gojo religiously applies every day. He doesn't even seem to realise what his hand is doing, his distant gaze fixed on a memory that only he can see.
"One day Maki ate his mango pudding that he explicitly said was his. He was so angry that I made myself small that day even though I hadn't done anything," he says, his eyes dark as usual but reflecting mirth and fondness. Yuuji tries, tries, to pay attention to his story, but his gaze keeps falling on that damn lip with his damn saliva on it, heart pounding at the thought of— Oh, great, now Okkotsu is running his tongue over his lips to moisten them. Yuuji's saliva is officially in his mouth.
He feels like he owns Fushiguro an apology. Not that he'll stop teasing him, but still.
"Did Maki-senpai ever make it up to him?" he asks instead of continuing to think about his saliva currently mixing with Okkotsu's in his mouth.
"She ate all the puddings for three months to make him get over it." He mimics quotation marks with his fingers, which makes Yuuji laugh. Belly full, cheeks hurting from smiling, chest light from contentment, heart blooming with joy, he feels so warm all over.
"Yeah, sounds like her alright."
"What about you?"
Yuuji blinks. "Me?"
"You," Okkotsu repeats. "Tell me about you. Fun stories, weird anecdotes, I want to hear some."
"Just some?" Yuuji teases.
"As many as you'll share with me." He smiles, earnest, honest. "Truth is, I don't know much about you even with all our calls and texts. I thought it'd be nice to spend a few hours getting to know each other, like you suggested before." Then lower, shyer, pulling on the sleeve of his turtleneck. "I think of you as more than just a partner I meet once every few months."
"Me too," Yuuji admits, though it's not much of a revelation. After weeks of messages and calls he likes to think they're friends, maybe even close friends, the way Maki and Kugisaki are despite the obvious senpai-kouhai hierarchy. If anything Todo's more like a sparring partner—aside from the whole brother thing and odd memories that somehow includes him.
And speaking of sparring. "It'd be nice to let off some steam before dinner, though."
Okkotsu chokes on the kimchi he started to nervously eat. "T-Today?" He looks startled, like someone doused him in cold water.
Yuuji pours water in his glass. "Yeah, that's what I had in mind for today. Walk around Shinjuku, eat something nice, wait a bit to digest the food, then go at it until we pass out from exhaustion." Doubt starts to crawl inside him as he watches Okkotsu drink the whole glass in one go. "Unless you don't want to?" Maybe he's busy. It was difficult enough to get him to spend an afternoon with him, munching on his evening would be asking too much.
"Yes! No! I mean, yes!" Okkotsu hastens to contradict him. His cheeks red, he puts down the chopsticks he was waving frantically in the air. "Yes, I do. Want to. I want to, very much. I just thought we wouldn't do it outside of the set dates."
Yuuji frowns. "It seems too formal. I thought the point was to get closer?"
"Of course." Gaze averted, Okkotsu clears his throat, his Adam's apple rippling beneath his collar. "But isn't it better if we shower before?"
"Meh, we'll be sweating anyway," Yuuji shrugs while the other almost knocks over the bowl of japchae. Besides, given that every minute counts with his busy schedule, he'd rather avoid the risk of spending an eternity under the hot tap. He can hear Yaga's Goddamn! echoing through the walls of his office at the end of each month when the water bill arrives. This coincides with the lemon tart that the man finds once a month innocently placed on his desk because Yuuji made too much cream, and obviously not to ease his conscience or anything, none of that.
"I have very high stamina, so you'll probably struggle to keep up," he warns nonetheless despite the unwavering sword that is Okkotsu Yuuta; an infinite well of cursed energy, strength and speed worthy of a Special Grade, a domain mastered at barely sixteen years old. Yuuji is none of that, certainly, but he remains the last one standing during training and missions, a tireless beast facing the red flag urging him to charge.
As if someone had flipped a switch, Okkotsu's whole demeanour changes. The blush on his cheeks remains, but the embarrassment stretching his features is no more, as are his awkward smile and the tension in his shoulders. Instead, he moistens his lips once more before leaning over the narrow table to whisper in Yuuji's ear, all the while looking at him. "Yeah?" His gaze is no longer evasive but pinned on Yuuji, piercing his very being, the pins of an entomological display on which he has willingly laid himself bare under the light of a cold lamp.
"Then I'm sure you won't mind if I end up being too... rough with you." From this close, he can see Okkotsu's wide eyes become half-lidded, heavy, laden with something smelling of vanilla and jasmine, the icing on his cake, the meringue on his sponge, the steaming drink of his sugar-dusted slice of tart.
Yuuji smiles, emboldened by the familiarity of a competitive spirit. "Do your best," he murmurs, gently blowing on the boy's dark lock of hair that tickles the bridge of his nose. He can also feel his breath, spicy from the tteokbokki, land on his cheeks with each exhalation, and Yuuji swallows the excess saliva that the memory of the food sitting heavy his stomach brings, Okkotsu having a front-row seat to watch his throat ripple against his collar.
Slowly, leisurely, Okkotsu trails his gaze along Yuuji's throat, taking the time to trace the veins and arteries whose location he surely knows like the back of his hand, appreciating the curve of his jaw, the shape of his chin, before stopping his ascent at Yuuji's lips. Despite his eyelids obscuring half of his eyes, he can see the boy's black pupils dilate like those of a cat at the sight of their favourite person, swallowing the dark blue of his gaze. Once again, he moistens his lips and, with both hands flat on the table for support, Okkotsu leans forward even further.
Soon Yuuji's field of vision is filled with nothing but him; from the obsidian of his hair to the alabaster of his skin, the purple brushstrokes under his eyes to the shape of his eyebrows, the length of his lashes, the angle of his nose, the thinness of his lips—
"Man, this kimchi is way too spicy for me," says a loud voice, much too close to them, bursting the intimate bubble they had created with the sharp end of a stalactite. The sharp contrast makes Yuuji jump so violently that his forehead collides with Okkotsu's. They both yelp in pain, and by the time Yuuji stops seeing stars in his vision, Okkotsu is already leaning back in his seat, his gaze much less intense directed at the person who had so abruptly interrupted their moment.
Holding his sore forehead with one hand, Yuuji blinks at the man sitting on a chair who he could swear wasn't there five minutes ago. "Gojo-sensei?"
"In the flesh," Gojo replies between mouthfuls, having apparently abandoned the kimchi in favour of the plain rice. Either he is completely oblivious to his surroundings or he is well aware of how strange his presence is and couldn't care less. In any case, he ignores the stunned looks of the two boys and instead chews their meal noisily.
Okkotsu is the first to snap out of their shared stupor. "What are you doing here?" he asks, and Yuuji's eyes widen at the accusatory tone in the question. He has never heard him angry or even irritated before.
"Can't a man enjoy a nice plate of," a glance over his glasses at the partially eaten bowls, "tasty tteokbokki and japchae?"
"You don't like spicy food," Okkotsu points out.
"You sounded like I found you eloping with dear Yuuji-kun here yet did you hear me say anything about it?" Gojo dramatically snaps his chopsticks together in the air. "No. You traitorous, disloyal cousin of mine. I guess a Gojo is still a Gojo no matter how diluted the blood is."
"But you don't like spicy food?" Yuuji tries to make sense of his somewhat bitter words. It's no secret among the whole jujutsu society. "And where did you find the chair?" His long legs are bent in a way that cannot be comfortable under the table, knees occasionally shaking the glasses.
Gojo shrugs. "A nice lady kindly gave me her seat."
"Really?"
("Huh, excuse me but this is my chair."
"You're not sitting on it, are you?"
"Because I was in the bathroom? Can't you see my coat drapped on it?"
"Oh, right. Here, have it back."
"What on earth are you doing? Give me back my seat!"
"I need it more than you!"
"Am I supposed to eat while standing?"
"It's better than having your very own cousin steal your omega right under your nose! That brat just can't help it, can he?"
"I don't care! My chair!")
"Really," Gojo repeats.
"How generous," Okkotsu says a touch sarcastically.
Once again, Yuuji double-takes at the hostile undertone creeping into his voice. He takes his eyes off Gojo and instead lets them wander over Okkotsu's face as he had done earlier. With pursed lips, slightly furrowed brows, and puffed cheeks, Okkotsu is undeniably, incredibly, inconceivably sulking. Which shouldn't really shock him, they're teenagers, sulking is kinda their thing—something Fushiguro abuses every day—but Yuuji's image of Okkotsu is that of a calm, classy, reserved, collected guy, which makes it easy to forget that he's only a year older than him.
He tends to classify him in the same category as Nanami, i.e. the Tired But Cool Men In Suits, but then again, maybe he should make a subcategory called Tired Upperclassmen with a branch just for the Unhinged But Kind. Hmm. Something to think about.
"By the way, sensei," Yuuji draws his attention, "your recommendations were no good. Can you believe every one of them is closed today?"
Yuuji watches the smile usually reserved for the higher-ups appear for a quarter of a second on Gojo's glossy lips before giving way to a rueful look. "Oh my, what a shame. You should've just gone back to the school."
"Nah, Okkotsu-senpai apparently knew this place from Inumaki-senpai. And the food is amazing! I wonder if I can make it this good myself." Probably not. He's no chef after all, no matter what everyone back at the school says. They're just so used to instant noodles and konbini bentos that a simple homemade meal tastes like Olympus' ambrosia.
However, Nanami did compliment his bread-making skills, especially his garlic and cheese rolls, and Nanami never praises anyone for anything, so. Maybe they're onto something. And maybe Yuuji likes the praises. Lots of maybe's today, it seems.
Gojo does not share his opinion, his nose wrinkling as if the mere idea had offended him. "Ha? But this is so far away from the station. And the prices are too high for the quality they offer. Not only that but the heating also doesn't work, the lightning is atricious for my poor eyes, you can only pay in cash and the wifi barely works. Honestly, I could go on forever."
That's a lot of cons for a regular customer. "Why did you come here then if you don't like the place?" Yuuji inquires, confused but not entirely. As much as the man is known for his worringly sweet tooth, he's also known for his eccentric and unpredictable behavior, though sometimes even the strange can be guessed.
"It's almost like you were following us," Okkotsu jokes. Gone is his pouty expression, and Yuuji begins to think he must have hallucinated it. Instead he sports a calm, almost artificial smile that complements his two eyes, narrowed into crescent moons if the moon was heavy with tired, dark clouds. Gojo smiles back.
"Don't be silly, Yuuta. Despite their many flaws I love the food here, truly my favorite restaurant. The savours remind me of that one time I had to stay a whole month in Seoul to meet their own schoo—"
"You can finish our bowl then." Okkotsu interrupts him, pushing the bowl of tteokbokki towards him. He then turns to Yuuji. "It's a good thing we didn't eat it all, right?" A brief moment's thought. "I'd even say it's suprising."
"Senpai!" Yuuji didn't eat that much. Fushiguro always scolds him for his ravenous appetiate but good food should be appreciated, no? And while he loudly complains when Yuuji steals his food he always lets him finish his plate in his stead. If anything, it's Fushiguro who eats too little. How come he's taller than Yuuji?
("What if I tell you he likes to believe you have pregnancy craves and, by letting you eat his food, he thinks he's providing for both you and his imaginary baby?"
"Right, of course. How about we get you back to sleep? Hmm? Sounds nice, right, Kugisaki?"
"He's that delusional, Itadori, he is."
"Ieiri-san, how long until the anesthesia wears off? She's saying weird things again."
"I saw him look at baby onesies, I swear."
"I'm sure you did.")
Gojo doesn't touch the bowl. In fact, Gojo doesn't even lift his chopsticks from where he'd placed them on the table. His shoulders are stiff beneath the leather jacket he's wearing, and his large hands lie flat as if he's being interrogated by the police.
Nonplussed, Okkotsu tilts his head to try and see Gojo's eyes beneath his opaque glasses. "What's the hold up, sensei?" he asks.
"He doesn't like spicy food," Yuuji reminds.
"But every dishes here is spicy. Surely sensei got used to the taste if he fancies the place."
"Oh, true." Yuuji nods. He picks up his chopsticks he had set aside, picks up a thick rice cake that is slightly slippery due to the sauce, and brings it to Gojo's mouth, with one hand underneath to avoid dirtying his expensive-looking pants. "Here, sensei, don't be shy, say ah."
From this close, he can smell the pine trees caught in an icy rain that turns the mud below into quicksand. Deadly, dangerous, difficult to avoid. Gojo swallows loudly before opening his mouth so slowly that Yuuji's wrist begins to tremble. "Ah..."
Strangely focused, the two boys observe Gojo chew the food, watching for the slightest reaction, good or bad. Yuuji knows that there is a certain delay before the spiciness settles in the mouth and numbs the tongue, so he is not surprised to see the man chewing the rice cake with confidence. That confidence evaporates as a bright pink rises to Gojo's cheeks, spreading to his forehead and neck, contrasting with the whiteness of his hair sticking to his shiny forehead. Soon enough he's panting like a dog on a hot summer day, his tongue red and swollen, and Yuuji finds himself dabbing the sweat from his temples with paper napkins.
"How is it?" Okkotsu asks innocently from where he sits with his hands folded on his lap.
"As delicious as I remember," Gojo growls. With his face so red and the forced smile he flashes at Okkotsu, he looks manic. "One of a ki—" he chokes on his own saliva. "Yuuji, be a dear and pour me a glass of water."
Yuuji would rather ask him why on earth he agreed to eat it if a single bite turns him into a runner at the end of a forty-two-kilometre marathon. However, he changes his mind; now is not the time for blame. "I think you should have some milk instead."
"There's no milk on the menu," Okkotsu points out.
"No shit you double-faced, evil homewre—" Another coughing fit, this time caused by swallowing saliva mixed with hot sauce, burning his pharynx and oesophagus in its wake.
"Gojo-sensei!" Yuuji can do nothing but press the glass of water to Gojo's lips and watch him drink it down in large gulps until the last drop. All this because of a single tteokbokki.
With his hand on Gojo's hunched back, he turns to Okkotsu. "Should we call for Ijichi-san?"
"I think it's for the best."
"N-No need— Ahem. No need, I'll teleport," Gojo says through the roughness of his throat. He lifts his head from his empty glass and glares at Okkotsu, his glasses having slipped down his nose revealing the piercing blue of his eyes. "And you are coming with me."
Okkotsu points a finger at himself. "Me? What for?"
"I thought he had the afternoon free?"
"Oh, please," Gojo rolls his eyes. He has clearly quickly recovered from his spicy experience. Dramatic much? "There's no such thing as a free afternoon for a Special Grade."
"You slept in my lap for a whole afternoon though?" Yuuji reminds him. It was during those two long months spent underground watching movies. That afternoon, he'd binged all three Kung Fu Panda movies with Gojo's head comfortably settled on his lap, and by the time Po met his father, the panda one, he couldn't feel his thighs anymore.
"That was an important part of the training," the man says, waving his hand in the air to dismiss the subject.
Okkotsu doesn't seem thrilled by the news. "What am I to do then?" Suddenly his dark circles and paleness make Yuuji want to put him to bed and pat his belly until he falls asleep.
"You know, the usual. Fighting Special Grades and the likes."
"Special Grade curses?"
"What else, dear student of mine?" Gojo narrows his eyes in a cold smile, frost covering star-shaped petals with a white coat resembling icing sugar.
Jasmine is a tropical or subtropical plant, so it is vulnerable to harsh winters, thus making it advisable to cover its aerial parts with a fleece and its base with mulch. However, winter jasmine, which is more hardy than its cousin white jasmine, can withstand temperatures as low as minus fifteen degrees Celsius. It resists the cold in the same way that Okkotsu maintains Gojo's gaze, Yuuji's confused one alternating between the two, until the man gets up with the promise of paying the bill, being the oldest of the three.
"Eh, for real?" And to think that Yuuji had a whole programme planned with his unattainable senpai. It's like he's friends with a celebrity or a firefighter, always needed here and there. Although maybe Special Grades sorcerers are celebrities with how rare they are. Three sorcerers, one of whom doesn't really do much, for one hundred and twenty-six million Japanese people. Is Yuuji being selfish for keeping Okkotsu away from duty? "Bummer..." he mutters into the fabric of the scarf he hasn't taken off—as Gojo so aptly pointed out, the heating doesn't work.
Seeing his crestfallen expression, Okkotsu placed a hand on Yuuji's as a gesture of comfort. "I'm sorry, Itadori-kun," he says, a vanilla aroma seaping into his words. "It was short but I enjoyed our time together."
"Me too. Maybe next time we'll make it past dinner?" Is having a meal at four in the afternoon even dinner? It's nowhere near lunch though and the sun has already started to set, warming their table with orange rays.
"I hope so. What I said still stands, after all." A wink—a wink?—playful and full of mirth.
Yuuji beams. "I wouldn't have it any other way!"
"What about me?"
Once again, Gojo silently appears at their table, and if it weren't for the trail of mint between the cash register and them, Yuuji would think he'd simply teleported. Being right behind his seat, Yuuji has to tilt his head back just to see the tips of his white strands.
"Hmm?"
"What about me," he presses.
Training with Gojo is great, albeit he hardly holds back when it comes to sparring. He sends him and his classmates flying across the training hall with a backhand, and even the second years on occasion. Fushiguro has thrown up more than once, Kugisaki is prone to losing consciousness, and even the powerhouse that is Yuuji has to visit Ieiri after a session with Gojo, with cracked ribs and such. Sure, he still loves to throw himself headfirst at Infinity, but Okkotsu, on the other hand, is rarely, if ever, on campus.
"I'd rather do it with Okkotsu-senpai," Yuuji asserts. Special Grade or not, Gojo is often seen lounging in the teacher's lounge, while who knows when Okkotsu will next visit Japan.
A growl. "Oh?" Suddenly, a heavy weight settles on Yuuji's shoulders, long, long arms encircling them in a tight vice. A warm breath landing on the little exposed skin on his neck makes him shiver involuntarily. "You know, just last year this guy was scared of even the weakest Grade Four," Gojo whispers over the leather of his collar. Yuuji bites his lip, afraid of making a sound that his brain will file away in the Most Embarrassing Moments To This Day drawer and replay every night when he tries to fall asleep.
Okkotsu's face flushes red. "Sensei!" he sputters.
"What, it's true, Maki and Toge can testify."
"T-Then, last year he was covering his eyes with bandages and using accessible parking!"
"Try parking in Tokyo."
"You don't even have a license."
"That's it, off with you." As quickly as it had appeared, the comfortably heavy weight on Yuuji's shoulders disappears, leaving him momentarily off balance. He almost misses Gojo grabbing the arm of a livid Okkotsu with an iron grip.
"Bye-bye Yuuji-kun!"
"See you la—"
Poof. One moment Gojo looms over Okkotsu like a tsunami in an apocalyptic film, the next moment the place where they stood is empty, not a trace of their presence except for the nearly empty bowls littering the table.
"—ter."
That was...a lot? And he's alone now. Oh, well. Better get going.
He arranges the empty bowls and cutlery to make the waiters' job easier, then asks to take the leftovers away with him. It's enough for a meal, and given the price, Yuuji feels bad for not letting the lucky person who finds it in the communal kitchen enjoy it. He's betting on Inumaki.
By the time he arrives at the station, the platforms are already crowded with salarymen who have finished their day at five o'clock sharp, so he has to spend the journey pressed against the backs of strangers in various versions of two-piece suits. Yuuji can only breathe properly once he reaches the top of the stone steps leading up to the campus—why so many? His legs and lungs are burning as he finally enters the dormitory building and heads for the kitchen to put the leftovers aside.
Yuuji hesitates for a moment in the genkan after hanging his new jacket on the coat rack. Okkotsu's scarf is still around his neck, the soft scarf smelling of that scent that warms Yuuji's whole being from the tip of his nose to the smallest of his toes. Parting with such comfort is difficult, and after a few seconds of staring into space, he decides to change his mind. It's not as if it's very warm in the common room, no one would bat an eye at the scarf he's wearing indoors.
No one except Kugisaki, of course. He finds her sitting on a high chair at the worktop painting her nails a beautiful amethyst colour. Something Yuuji had told her time and time again not to do on the same surface where he cooks if she didn't want Thursday's loaves of bread to taste like acrylic.
"Kugisaki, not on the worktop please," he begs because that's the only thing that works with girl.
"Hello to you too," is all she replies, not ready to move anytime soon. She only looks up from her left hand at the sound of the paper bags he places next to the microwave. "I call dibs on whatever you brought."
Here goes his bet. "You don't even know what's in there."
"Doesn't matter."
Yuuji rolls his eyes before getting down to work, turning his back on her. He takes out the leftovers wrapped by the restaurant waiters one by one and starts making room for them in the fridge, which is already full to the brim. Gojo always buys everything and anything he can find in large quantities once a month and proudly waits for Yuuji to praise him on not letting them starve. Except that a) thank goodness he, the responsible adult, fills the fridge, because they wouldn't be able to pay for groceries with their meagre pocket money, and b) what the hell is Yuuji supposed to do with fifteen jars of date honey? Lost in his thoughts and his battle with the fridge's impossible-to-close vegetables drawer, he doesn't notice Kugisaki's hazel eyes zooming in on the scarf wrapped around his neck.
"You've got to make up your mind, you know," she says while Yuuji is elbow-deep in celery leaves.
Who in their right might stored the celery vertically instead of horizontally? Now they won't move an inch no matter how hard he pulls on them! "About what?" he reponds absenmindedly. Should he break them in half? That can't be a good idea. And what is this lemon doing here?
Kugisaki snorts. "Don't act innocent, you can't fool me. Though I have to say you're bold for going around smelling like them both."
Yuuji feels like he should pay more attention to what she's saying. "Again, what?"
"The idiots courting you!" she exclaims, her hands undoubtedly gesturing wildly behind his back. "You can't just switch between the two like some shoujo protagonist. It's either one or the other. And while I'd usually root for Fushiguro, Gojo-sensei is pretty loaded. Makes you forget the age gap and his shitty personnality. And don't get me started on that damn Okkotsu." A pause to blow on her nails. "Well, none of them can compare to me, of course. Not like you have a chance." The last sentence is uttered hastily, like an afterthought, which Yuuji would have noticed if his mind wasn't painfully blank. He looks at the juice and milk cartons in the fridge to, he doesn't know, check if they heard the same thing he did coming out of Kugisaki's mouth.
Slowly, he abandons the celery and turns back to her. "What makes you think they're... courting me?" The word tastes foreign on his tongue. It might as well be from a whole other language. Unfortunalty he's proved wrong when, unlike him, Kugisaki doesn't falter one bit.
She raises a doubtful eyebrow. "Because you're an omega exchanging gifts with alphas? Courting gifts?" It's the same tone she uses when Yuuji has trouble understanding a subject related to sorcery that seems abstract to him but makes perfect sense to her. And as always when this happens, Yuuji can only blink helplessly as irritation gives way to exasperation on her delicate features. Strangely, in this case, it is neither of these emotions that appear on Kugisaki's moisturised face, but rather concern.
"Itadori," she calls out with a shaky voice, "Itadori, you reek of them."
"What's— What's an omega?" Yuuji weakly asks.
In his head, Sukuna laughs very, very loudly.