Chapter Text
Satoru would like to make one thing perfectly clear: dating is not supposed to be complicated.
No, this is a new kind of complication—one he has never encountered before. This is the kind of complication that should not exist in the same universe as Satoru Gojo: the strongest sorcerer alive, conqueror of impossibilities, man who routinely teleports, obliterates curses, and somehow manages to be the greatest at anything he puts his mind to. The kind of complication Satoru is used to is reserved for cursed spirits, mission logistics, paperwork, and Shoko’s glare of deadly precision.
Dating should obviously be something he is also great at.
It is just…there is a little problem.
A kiss.
The Great Gojo Satoru still cannot get a simple kiss right.
Not because he does not want to kiss Yuuji. Of course he does. His first boyfriend, his beloved cute potato kouhai going by the name Itadori Yuuji (obviously soon to be Gojo Yuuji—but he’ll take it one step at a time), is someone he should be allowed to kiss whenever he likes.
Basic rights. Relationship 101. Any relationship rulebook probably has it in bold somewhere.
But the truth is…well.
Satoru almost had his first kiss. Almost being the key word.
He cannot stop thinking about that moment.
A couple of days ago, on a chilly Friday evening, the breeze brushing against their skin. Light hangs in the air like gold dust, suspended somewhere between day and night. He and Yuuji have just finished a mission, taking their time walking back to the dorms, when Satoru had the brilliant idea of a detour—a quick teleport to the highest part of the city.
“Senpai, you always pick the most dramatic spots,” Yuuji says, voice light, teasing, but softening as he takes in the glowing city below.
“Dramatic spots make dramatic moments possible,” Satoru replies, grinning.
They laugh.
Everything is…fine.
Perfect, even.
They’ve been dating for approximately three weeks now, and everyone around them gags at how obvious it is, and how much of a lovesick couple they are. Satoru is confident that they’re just jealous.
The mood is great.
Being with Yuuji makes him feel like a fool in love. It is hard to explain but Satoru enjoys the way his stomach fills with butterflies. Loves the overwhelming urge to wrap himself around Yuuji. It drives Satoru insane how much he wants to melt his skin into Yuuji’s until they fuse and become one. Somewhere between their conversations, Satoru’s not even sure how and when but he supposes it had been the right atmosphere. Yuuji had shuffled to him closer, tucking himself into Satoru’s side.
Satoru stiffens.
His face warms, heat creeping up his neck as his heart begins to pound—too loud, too fast—thudding so hard it fills his ears. Yuuji’s mouth is moving, saying something, but Satoru can’t make out a single word. All he can focus on is the warmth of Yuuji’s body pressed close, the way his presence seems to bleed heat straight into Satoru’s skin.
His hands feel clammy. His mind won’t slow down, racing a million thoughts at once and landing on none of them.
Then Yuuji leans in.
Slow.
Gentle.
Careful—like he’s testing the waters, like he’s giving Satoru time to pull away if he wants to.
Satoru doesn’t.
Yuuji rises onto his tiptoes, closing the distance inch by agonizing inch, until there’s barely anything left between them. Close enough that Satoru can feel his breath, warm and faintly sweet, ghosting over his lips. Close enough that one small movement would be all it takes.
And those lips—
God. Those lips.
Satoru’s chest tightens. His heart stutters, then pounds harder, as if it’s trying to escape him altogether. His thoughts finally quiet, narrowing down to one overwhelming truth: I want this. He tilts his head forward, lips parting without him even realizing it, eyes fluttering shut as he leans in to meet Yuuji halfway.
Just a little more.
Just—
—his Infinity flickers.
A barely perceptible hum. A split-second instinct.
And suddenly there’s space. Not much. Just a sliver. Just enough. Enough to stop Yuuji’s lips a breath away from his own.
Satoru freezes.
Yuuji does too.
“Uh—sorry,” Yuuji stammers.
Yuuji stumbles back a step like he’s been burned, face colouring with a deep, mortifying red. The hurt crosses his face before Yuuji can stop it, brief but sharp enough to twist something ugly in Satoru’s chest.
It clicks all at once.
The timing, the space that shouldn’t be there—Infinity answering a reflex Satoru didn’t even realize he’d triggered. From Yuuji’s side, it must have looked intentional. Like Satoru played a mean prank on him. Putting on an act that Satoru was going to kiss him—only to put up a barrier.
Yuuji must be thinking that Satoru didn’t want it. Didn’t want him.
“I—I didn’t mean—” Yuuji’s voice drops into a measly meek tone.
Satoru’s throat tightens.
He should say something. Anything.
For a split second, Satoru can’t move, can’t think—can’t even breathe properly. His reflexes betray him. His instincts betray him. Infinity hums faintly around him, still there, still wrong, and all Satoru can do is stare at the empty space where Yuuji’s lips should have been.
Yuuji says something—apologizing again, maybe—but the words blur together, muffled by the roaring in Satoru’s ears. He sees Yuuji’s hands clutch at his uniform, knuckles tight, his face flushed and twisted with embarrassment and hurt.
Then louder. One last, rushed sentence Satoru doesn’t catch.
And then Yuuji turns and runs.
Down the rooftop stairs, cheeks burning red, gone before Satoru’s mind can even catch up to his body.
The door slams shut.
Minutes pass.
Or maybe hours.
Time doesn’t really exist while Satoru stands there, staring blankly at the spot where Yuuji disappeared, heart still pounding like it’s trying to punish him. Finally, his knees give out, and he slumps to the ground with a shaky breath, dragging a hand down his face.
“…You are an idiot, Gojo Satoru,” he mutters, voice flat and furious all at once. “A complete, utter disaster. Who freezes like that? Who freezes?”
He laughs weakly, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Me. Apparently. Great. Wonderful.”
He’s supposed to be good at everything. Perfect, even. Untouchable. And yet here he is—burning hot, cheeks still flushed, heart still racing—completely undone over a kiss that never even happened.
His first kiss.
Ruined by his own technique.
Satoru lets out a long, frustrated groan, glaring at the faint, instinctive hum of Infinity like it personally betrayed him.
The Great Gojo Satoru had just let his Infinity steal his first kiss.
And worse—
He let Yuuji walk away thinking it was his fault.
Catching Yuuji turns out to be harder than fighting a special-grade curse.
Between missions, training, and a very intentional avoidance pattern, it’s near impossible to even catch a glimpse of his stupid potato boyfriend.
It is starting to drive Satoru insane.
So when he finally spots them in the cafeteria—Yuuji wedged between Megumi and Nobara—Satoru doesn’t hesitate.
“Wow,” he says brightly, his tone dripping with pure sarcasm and full intention of mocking everyone. He drops into their space like a curse of his own. “Still scrawny, Megumi.”
Megumi clicks his tongue, not even looking up from his food.
“And you,” Satoru continues, turning to Nobara, “still a shopaholic. If you ever need a therapist for that shopping addiction, I can recommend someone.”
Nobara smiles sweetly.
Then hurls a nail straight at his face.
Satoru dodges easily, Infinity humming as the nail clatters harmlessly away and then his eyes land on Yuuji.
Finally.
“Well, if it isn’t my one and only boyfriend,” Satoru says lightly, tilting his head. “Who I haven’t seen in two whole days. Isn’t that crazy, Yuuji?”
Yuuji stiffens.
Megumi and Nobara exchange a look.
“…Looks like you two might need some time alone,” Nobara says slowly.
“Would appreciate it, Nobara-chan,” Satoru grins, already fishing cash out of his wallet. “Why don’t you and Megumi get something nice while Yuuji and I talk?”
They both look at Yuuji this time—silent, questioning.
Yuuji hesitates… then nods.
“If you need help, just yell,” Megumi says flatly. “We’ll be around the corner.”
“He doesn’t need your help,” Satoru snaps, sharper than intended. He exhales, reins it back in. “If anything, he’s safest with me.”
Megumi’s stare lingers a second too long before he turns away. Nobara makes a pointed show that she’s watching them. Her two fingers lifting to her eyes, then angled toward them before following Megumi, leaving Satoru and Yuuji alone. The noise of the cafeteria dulls into something distant, pressing and unbearable.
Satoru rubs the back of his neck.
“…Okay,” he starts, then stops. Tries again. “I didn’t reject you.”
Yuuji blinks.
“My Infinity,” Satoru continues, face heating up despite himself, “goes up automatically sometimes. Especially when I’m—” He grimaces. “When I get excited. I can’t help it. I’m still practicing.”
Red creeps up his neck. Embarrassing. Mortifying.
“I wanted to kiss you,” he says quietly. “Really badly. I just—got too eager. I swear it wasn’t on purpose. And it won’t happen again.”
There’s a long pause.
Then Yuuji laughs—soft, awkward—and rubs the back of his neck.
“…I kinda figured,” he admits. “I just panicked and ran. Sorry about that.”
Satoru exhales like he’s been holding his breath for two days straight.
“So,” Yuuji says, glancing up at him, smiling a little. “We’re good?”
Satoru doesn’t answer with words.
He leans forward, loops his arms around Yuuji’s neck, and buries his face into warm pink hair, breathing in the sweet scent of that peachy shampoo that Yuuji regularly uses.
“If you avoid me again,” Satoru mutters, “I’ll destroy the entire school dorm.”
“Please don’t.”
“Then don’t avoid me.”
Yuuji chuckles, hugging him back. “I won’t. Promise.”
Gojo Satoru prepares like he’s facing a calamity-class curse.
Books are stacked on his desk. His computer is open to no less than seven tabs, all titled some variation of How to Kiss Without Ruining Everything. His phone buzzes occasionally with notifications he refuses to acknowledge—this is important work.
He clicks another blog.
The key to a perfect first kiss is confidence.
“Oh, I’ve got that,” Satoru nods, scrolling as he quickly reads through the content. Pausing briefly as he squints and reads, "...but don’t rush it."
He clicks his tongue.
“…Define rush.”
Another tab helpfully informs him that leaning in too fast can be “overwhelming.”
A different one insists hesitation kills the mood.
“So which is it?” he demands, glaring at the screen. “Fast or slow? Commit or hesitate? Make up your mind.”
He opens a relationship advice forum next. Huge mistake.
One comment says lips should barely touch at first. Another recommends a “firm but tender” approach. Someone else suggests hands are the most important part.
Hands.
Satoru stares at his own hands like they have personally betrayed him.
“What are you supposed to do?” he mutters. “Grab him? Cup his face? That feels aggressive. Waist maybe? No, too forward. Should I just—hover?”
He groans, ditching his computer to go and grab a book instead.
A romance novel.
The cover alone is suspiciously dramatic. He flips to a bookmarked page, squinting as he reads.
His breath hitched as their mouths met, soft and unhurried, like a promise sealed beneath the stars.
Satoru closes the book slowly.
“…Am I supposed to be hitching my breath?” he asks the empty room. “Do I practice that?”
Satoru tries once, then decides he looks stupid.
That is stupid.
So, no, he will not be hitching his breath when he finally kisses Yuuji.
Next: manga.
He sprawls across his bed, flipping through a stack of romance manga he absolutely did not steal from Yuuji's room. His boyfriend seems to be a collector of all kinds of manga. Every panel looks the same: flushed faces, glossy eyes, lips hovering just apart for five whole pages.
“Why do they always stop?” Satoru groans. “Just kiss already!”
He flips to a page where the kiss does happen—sparkles, soft shading, the whole thing framed like a religious experience.
“…Okay,” he admits quietly. “That part looks nice.”
Satoru stares at the panel a second longer than necessary.
Then, against all better judgment, he sits up.
“…Practice,” he says.
He raises his hand.
Pauses.
“No. That’s weird.”
Satoru turns to the mirror instead, leaning in slowly, experimentally, watching his own reflection.
“This is humiliating,” he tells himself.
Still—he tilts his head. Left? Right? He tries both, grimacing.
Satoru puckers, his lips taunt. Immediately stopping himself when he sees how ridiculous he looks.
“Nope. Absolutely not.”
He drags a hand down his face and flops backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling again.
“I’m overthinking this,” Satoru mutters. “I don’t need all this. I just need to—”
The door flips open.
Megumi freezes in the doorway.
Satoru freezes on the bed, surrounded by open books, manga, and a computer glowing with a very bold headline that reads:
FIRST KISS DOS AND DON’TS
They stare at each other.
“…I’m not asking,” Megumi says flatly, dropping a stack of papers on his table before he turns around.
“Wait!” Satoru blurts, the tips of his ears warming at being caught—at least it was Megumi and not Suguru. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Megumi pauses. Sighs. Looks back at him with the tired expression of someone who has seen too much.
“…You’re researching kissing.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“…I’m never going to unsee this,” Megumi mutters, shutting the door behind him.
Satoru groans and throws a pillow over his face. When the embarrassment fades, what’s left is something quieter. He thinks about Yuuji. His cute little boyfriend. Yuuji's laugh, the way he leans in without fear, the warmth of him. How careful he was. How gentle.
None of the blogs mention that part.
Satoru exhales, pushing the pillow aside.
“…I just don’t want to mess this up,” he admits to no one.
He reaches for his phone again.
Deletes half the tabs.
Keeps one.
Just Relax and Follow Your Heart.
“…how annoying,” he mutters.
Still.
He closes his eyes, imagining Yuuji’s lips instead of instructions.
Eventually, nothing helps.
So Satoru does the next best thing. He recruits his friends.
He stomps into their classroom like a man commanding an army and tapes a picture of himself and Yuuji to the blackboard before turning to face them.
“Emergency meeting,” he announces. Loud. Urgent. Dramatic.
Shoko raises a perfectly arched eyebrow from her seat behind the desk. “Someone dying?”
“No. Not dying.” He waves a hand, flopping onto a chair like it’s a throne. “Worse.”
Suguru frowns. “Worse than death?”
“Yes.” Satoru pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his teeth. “Romantic death. Emotional failure. Catastrophe on the scale of—oh, I don’t know—me failing my first kiss with Yuuji.”
Shoko blinks. “Excuse me?”
Suguru leans back, silent amusement flickering across his face.
“I called this meeting because there are protocols. Contingencies. Strategies that need to be enacted immediately.” Satoru’s hands slice the air like a general giving orders. “We need to determine when is a kiss acceptable, how to read body language, what are the safe zones, what is too public, what is after-mission, what is not after-mission—”
Shoko pinches the bridge of her nose. “You are overcomplicating kissing.”
“I am not!” Satoru shoots back. “I am applying professional precision. Operational excellence. Risk mitigation.”
Suguru suppresses a grin. “You’re calling a meeting about a kiss.”
“Yes,” Satoru says, voice rising with indignation. “It is that serious!” He leans forward, voice dropping. “I cannot—will not—mess this up again. Do you hear me, soldiers?”
“Again?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, staring at his friend with pure amusement.
Satoru’s cheeks redden, flashes of his failure from the rooftop passing. “We do not talk about failures. We only need to improve and move forward.”
Shoko scoffs. “This is stupid.”
“This is crucial!” he snaps. “Do you have any idea the level of trust involved? The stakes?”
Suguru sits forward, calm but kind. “I think I do. You’re afraid of hurting him.”
Satoru freezes. Not in fight mode, but the tension is there. He snorts. “Afraid? Ha. I am the strongest. I am flawless. I am—”
“Stop saying that,” Shoko interrupts flatly. “You’re panicking.”
“I am not!” He glares. But his hand twitches. And maybe his shoulders are tight. “I just…don’t want him to feel small. Or that I am careless. I just want to make sure it is perfect—”
He stops. Breath catches. Damn. Too much.
Suguru smiles gently. “You care.”
“Yes. Obviously.” Ego. Back online. “I care more than anyone. I am perfect at caring. It’s a skill I’ve honed.”
Shoko leans back, unimpressed. “You’ve literally made a three-person meeting to overanalyze a failed kiss. Just kiss him already.”
“Impossible!” Satoru yells. “That is the exact opposite of operational excellence. That is reckless. That is—”
Suguru tilts his head. “That’s exactly what you want to do, isn’t it?”
Satoru glares, trying to suppress it. Maybe he’s not good at hiding everything after all. “I…am gathering data. Yes. Data.”
“Data,” he continues, pacing. “First, location. Rooftop? Check. Secluded but scenic? Check. Lighting? Golden hour? Optional. Weather? Clear skies mandatory—precipitation introduces risk.”
Shoko groans. “You’re acting like this is a military strike.”
“Yes! Exactly! This is a precision operation. Contingencies must be in place.” Satoru points at her. “Shoko, I am assigning you to Environmental Oversight. You will assess lighting, visibility, potential onlookers, and any curse interference.”
Shoko blinks. “I—what?”
Satoru ignores her. “Suguru, you will handle Psychological Support. Monitor Yuuji’s stress levels, engagement, body language, and readiness. You must signal when it is optimal to proceed.”
Suguru stifles a laugh. “And you?”
“I, of course, will be the Executioner.” Satoru strikes a dramatic pose. “I will ensure flawless technique. Timing, spacing, angle, lip curvature—perfect alignment guaranteed.”
Shoko mutters, “You are insufferable.”
“Yes,” he admits with a grin. “But efficient. Tactical. In control.” He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head, pretending he has fully recalibrated. “Now I know exactly what not to do.”
Suguru raises an eyebrow. “And what is that?”
Satoru waves dismissively. “Everything I just panicked about. Trust me. Yuuji will never see it coming.”
Shoko groans. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know.” Satoru smirks then he snaps his fingers. “No, no, no—we need a timeline. Timing is everything. Minute-by-minute analysis. Golden hour: plus or minus five minutes. Sunset: optional and aesthetically pleasing. Twilight: high risk—shadows create misreads. Midnight: catastrophic. Too dark, cannot see lip curvature.”
Shoko groans. “You’re insane.”
Suguru stifles a laugh. “You’re turning a kiss into a tactical operation.”
“Exactly!” Satoru says, grinning. “You get it. Precision! Protocol! Perfection!”
He paces again, pointing at the couple picture of himself and Yuuji taped on the board. “Next: approach vector. Straight-on? Too aggressive. Side-angle? Too casual. Overhead? Dramatic, but risky. Tippy-toe alignment must be considered. Cheek-to-cheek buffer zone calculated in centimeters. Lip trajectory: approximate vector 15–17 degrees. Failure margin: zero.”
Shoko just pinches the bridge of her nose. “You—cannot—be serious.”
“I am deadly serious,” Satoru says, spinning dramatically in his chair. “That’s why you two are here. Shoko, you will be responsible for environmental scan. Suguru, you will be responsible for readiness report.”
Shoko sighs, shaking her head. “Do you not think this is too artificial?”
“Agree with Shoko,” Suguru says, placing his chin on the palm of his hand as he stares at Satoru.
“It has to be perfect. My relationship is on the line. Do you guys want me to break up with Yuuji? No.” Satoru answers right away, not bothering to give Shoko or Suguru a chance to answer. He slaps his hand on the table, pointing a finger at his friends. ”We cannot have a repeat of the rooftop debacle. I cannot—will not—mess this up again.”
Suguru leans back, eyebrows raised. “And if he’s not ready?”
“Then operation aborts. Immediately. No improvisation. No heroic gestures. No dramatic lip-flaring. Absolutely zero overthinking…unless necessary for contingency planning.”
Shoko mutters under her breath, “You are weaponizing flirting.”
“Exactly. That is why I am the strongest. I do not leave things to chance.” Satoru leans forward, suddenly more serious, shoulders tense. “I just…don’t want him to feel small. Or that I am careless. That’s…that’s my only mission here.”
Suguru tilts his head, gentle. “I mean I do not mind helping you but are you sure Yuuji would appreciate an audience?”
“You guys will be hiding, obviously,” Satoru points out.
Shoko groans. “So…you still have not had your first kiss with him?”
The white-haired boy freezes, thinking about Yuuji’s flushed face, the way he’d gone on tiptoe, the warmth he felt. The fact he had automatically switch on his Infinity and ruined his first kiss with Yuuji.
Satoru clears his throat, ignoring the heat creeping behind his neck. “I…cannot just wing it. That would be reckless. Operationally unsound. Emotionally catastrophic. Data gathering is essential. Timing, atmosphere, body language, approach vector…”
Suguru raises an eyebrow. “So, what you’re saying is…”
“Yes!” Satoru blurts. “I am not panicking! I am strategizing! Calculating! Ensuring that when I finally kiss Yuuji, it will be perfect. Unforgettable. Flawless.”
Shoko mutters again, “Or exhausting everyone around you.”
Satoru flares his nostrils. “Details. Details are everything.” He slumps back in his chair, trying to look calm, but his fingers tap impatiently against the desk. Then, almost quietly, he says, “…I just don’t want to mess him up. He’s…he’s important. Too important to mess up.”
Suguru smiles gently, catching the slip. “You care.”
“Yes. Obviously, he is my boyfriend.” Satoru says, sitting up straighter. “I care. And I am in full control. Tactical, prepared, operationally superior. When the moment is right…Yuuji will never see it coming.”
Shoko groans loudly. “You are unbearable.”
“Thank you,” Satoru says with a perfectly straight face. “I know.”
Satoru stands abruptly, sending his chair spinning slightly backward. “Alright! Checklist finalized. Protocols established. Contingency measures outlined. No detail overlooked.” He pulls out a notebook, flipping to a blank page. “Let’s review.”
Shoko pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is absurd.”
“Yes!” Satoru snaps, snapping his fingers for emphasis. “Absurd is precision. Absurd is efficiency. Absurd prevents…repeat disasters!”
He begins dictating, and Shoko scribbles anyway, purely out of habit. Suguru leans back, quietly amused.
Satoru’s First Kiss Operational Checklist
- Timing: Optimal window = sunset ± 5 minutes. Avoid twilight (shadows = misreads). Nighttime = visually challenging; daytime = too casual.
- Location: Neutral territory preferred. Rooftop possible but high-risk. Soft lighting recommended. Weather: gentle breeze optional, heavy wind catastrophic.
- Proximity: Maximum allowable distance = 2 inches. Tippy-toe height adjustment acceptable. Maintain shoulder contact as buffer.
- Body Language: Eye contact required. Hand placement optional but must be intentional. No sudden jerks, flinches, or misfired reflexes (Infinity control paramount).
- Environmental Hazards: Random pedestrians, cursed spirits, falling debris, pigeons—all to be avoided.
- Emotional State: Both parties must be calm, alert, and aware. Panic = abort. Excessive teasing = proceed with caution.
- Contingency Plans: If lips do not meet, retreat gracefully. Apologize subtly, recalibrate. No dramatic meltdowns.
- Post-Kiss Protocol: Compliments optional but recommended. Hug optional. Avoid discussing metrics publicly.
Satoru leans back, eyes gleaming. “We now have complete operational coverage. Any questions?”
Shoko groans audibly. “You have literally written a war plan for kissing your boyfriend.”
“Exactly!” Satoru says, nodding seriously. “We are prepared for every possible failure scenario. Yuuji will never see it coming. Precision, excellence, operational superiority!”
Suguru tilts his head, smiling. “Or you’ll just overthink it and never actually kiss him.”
Satoru’s jaw tightens. “…No. That is…not an option.” He taps the notebook decisively. “I now know what not to do. And that, my friends, is half the battle.”
Shoko mutters under her breath, “You are insufferable.”
“No,” Satoru denies with a triumphant grin. “I am efficient. Tactical. In control. We will call this the FK mission. Short for First Kiss mission.”
Suguru rolls his eyes. “How creative.”
Satoru ignores him in favour of slinging the notebook under his arm like a battle plan and strides out of the classroom, already thinking of the next mission. ”The operation starts,” he glances at the clock. “In five minutes. Meet us upstairs.”
Suguru shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re going to give him whiplash before you even kiss him.”
Shoko snorts. “Or yourself.”
Satoru doesn’t hear them. He’s already gone, scheming, calculating, planning…because perfection waits for no one. Satoru strides out of the classroom like a man on a covert mission. He sends a quick text to Yuuji and immediately gets a reply to his sudden request to meet. Notebook clutched under his arm, checklist memorized, ego fully engaged. Every step is precise, every breath calculated. Tactical superiority is his. Operational excellence is his. The fate of a single kiss hangs in the balance, and only he can prevent catastrophe.
He pauses in the hallway, hand on the railing, eyes scanning. Rooftop access. Optimal lighting conditions. Pedestrian flow minimal. Wind? Check. Temperature? Check. Emotional state of boyfriend?…calculating.
“Yes,” he mutters to himself, a grin twitching across his face. “Everything aligns. Probability of failure: minimal. Probability of success: maximum. And yet…my brain insists on sabotaging me.”
His mind flickers back to Yuuji’s flushed face, the hesitant smile, the way his tippy toes had stretched just enough to reach…only to be rebuffed by Infinity. That moment replays relentlessly, a loop of what-ifs and almosts.
Satoru stops mid-step. “No. Not again. Not under any circumstances will I allow…that.” He shakes his head. “I will not let reflex, instinct, or some deeply ingrained habit ruin this again.”
He taps the notebook, as if doing so will somehow solidify fate.
“Contingency protocols active. Observation points established. Environmental hazards minimized. Emotional alignment monitored.” Then he smirks. “Shoko and Suguru can provide backup if needed. Shoko is on logistics. Suguru is on emotional calibration. I…am prepared.”
Prepared. That’s the word.
And yet, a small part of him—ego buried, heart exposed—wonders if preparation alone is enough.
He rounds the corner, heading for the rooftop exit, voice low and determined.
“Perfect timing. Maximum impact. Minimal embarrassment. Let’s not repeat history, Gojo Satoru. Not again.”
Because this time…this time, there is no room for error.
Not for him.
Not for Yuuji.
Satoru steps onto the rooftop like a man commanding an army, scanning the city below. He drops his notes to side, leaving it open in case he needs some cheat sheets. Maximum tactical advantage. Minimum risk. Emotional fallout…hopefully contained. Behind him, Shoko and Suguru arrive, looking like they have just been drafted into some absurd military exercise. He turns to see Yuuji climbing the last few stairs, cheeks pink from exertion, hair tousled by the wind.
“Senpai?” Yuuji asks, blinking, suspicious.
“Yes. Special operation,” Satoru announces, puffing out his chest. “Mission: FK. Protocols in place. Contingencies ready. Probability of error last time: unacceptable.”
Yuuji tilts his head. “Protocols?”
“Yes!” Satoru snaps, turning to whisper loudly at Shoko and Suguru. “Shoko, left flank. Monitor wind currents. Suguru, emotional variables—track microexpressions. Do not fail me.”
Suguru raises an eyebrow. “Right…microexpressions. Got it.”
Shoko mutters, “I hate my life.”
Yuuji blinks at the trio, offering a silent wave to both Shoko and Suguru who returned it with a curt nod before Yuuji turn his attention back to Satoru.
“Step one: position. Step two: emotional calibration. Step three: reflex override. Step four: execute kiss. Step five: debrief. Step six: contingency for environmental variables. Step seven: backup contingency for emotional variables. Step eight: exit strategy if things go horribly wrong. Step nine—Shoko, Suguru, I’ll brief you on that later!”
Yuuji stares at them like they’ve grown a second head. “Senpai…what?”
“Operational security!” Satoru hisses. “Do not alert the target!”
“Target?” Yuuji repeats, still blinking.
“Shhh! Focus!” Satoru whispers furiously. “Optimal distance achieved. Lighting perfect. Wind neutralized. Emotional alignment…calculating—”
Shoko mutters, “I don’t even know what that means.”
Suguru chuckles quietly, scribbling in his notebook. “So, we’re just…helping him kiss someone?”
Satoru ignores them, pacing, whispering loud enough for Yuuji to hear. “Shoko, microexpression monitoring. Suguru, emotional backup. Adjust for anxiety micro-fluctuations. And—”
A gust of wind blows, messing up Yuuji’s hair. Satoru flinches. Infinity flares slightly.
“Uh—Senpai?” Yuuji says, alarmed.
“Abort? Abort?” Satoru mutters.
Yuuji blinks, trying to process the entire scene. He peers over Satoru’s shoulders. “Geto-senpai, Ieiri-senpai, what is going on?”
Suguru’s grin grows as he mouths softly, watching his friend malfunction at Yuuji’s soft touch to his arm, his chest pressing against Satoru’s side. “We have an entire operation dedicated to your first kiss.”
It takes Yuuji a second. Minutes. Multiple minutes to process Suguru’s words.
“No. You’re overthinking,” Yuuji says.
“Shoko, neutralize lateral wind. Suguru, emotional buffer—now!” Satoru hisses.
Shoko groans. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Suguru mutters, “I think…he’s fine?”
Satoru glares. “Fine is a code word for danger. Emotional failure probability: increasing exponentially!”
“Senpai…what’s happening?” Yuuji whispers, completely lost.
“Step ten: account for environmental interference!” Satoru barks. “Shoko—wingman alert. Suguru—data analysis of micro-expressions. Go!”
Shoko waves her arms like she’s conducting an orchestra. “I…think he’s smiling? Maybe?”
Suguru crouches slightly, pretending to analyze. “Eyebrow movement…1.2 degrees. Optimistic. Positive engagement confirmed. Minimal risk…probably.”
Satoru nods furiously. “Excellent. Adjust emotional calibration. All units, report!”
Shoko whispers, “The bird just flew past, be careful.”
Suguru adds, “We have a passerby on the left, 3 meters away. Maintain tactical awareness.”
“Affirmative!” Satoru hisses. “Now proceed to Step Eleven: Execute kiss with precision!”
He leans in slowly, measuring every inch. Head tilt, lip alignment, emotional projection…everything. Suddenly, a bird swoops low. Satoru jerks back reflexively. Infinity flares. Yuuji stumbles, immediately last week’s event flashes through Satoru’s mind—Yuuji cannot possibly think Satoru is rejecting him again.
“Abort! Abort! System override!” Satoru mutters.
“Satoru-senpai! You’re panicking again!” Yuuji laughs.
Shoko throws up her hands. “I’m done.”
Suguru is quietly chuckling. “This is…kind of funny.”
Satoru tries a third approach, whispering tactical instructions: “Shoko—wind neutralization. Suguru—emotional buffer. Maintain visual contact! Execute on my mark!”
Shoko grumbles, “I don’t even know what that means.”
Suguru shrugs, scribbling nonsense into his notebook. “Adjusting microexpressions…wait, are we…actually calculating kisses?”
Yuuji stares at them.
Both Suguru and Shoko can only offer him a shrug of their shoulders. Before Satoru can say anything else, Yuuji bursts out laughing.
“Senpai! You’re trying way too hard!”
It happens fast—so fast Satoru barely has time to register the shift in the air before Yuuji’s hand closes around his collar. The grip is sudden, firm, nothing like the hesitation Satoru expects. Yuuji yanks him down, eyes wide behind his round sunglasses, and then their mouths collide.
It’s not gentle. It’s not practiced.
It hurts.
Yuuji’s teeth knock clumsily against Satoru’s lip, sharp enough to make him hiss, sharp enough that he knows it’s split open. The sting blooms hot and bright—and somehow that only makes Satoru kiss him back harder. The world lurches violently off balance, his senses scrambling to keep up. His round black sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose, useless, forgotten.
Yuuji tastes exactly like Satoru imagined he would.
Sweet peach.
Soft.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
For a few breathless seconds, there’s nothing but heat and pressure and the way Yuuji’s hands tremble where they clutch Satoru’s clothes. Then—hesitation creeps in. The kiss falters. Yuuji pulls back just a little, enough to breathe, enough to realize what he’s doing.
His hand loosens at Satoru’s collar and drifts upward instead, fingers brushing—then settling—at the back of Satoru’s neck.
The touch is gentler now. Almost shy.
It sends a shiver straight down Satoru’s spine.
Yuuji’s cheeks are burning red, his ears flushed, eyes flickering between Satoru’s mouth and his eyes like he’s not sure where to look. Satoru must look just as bad—dazed, lips parted, face flushed deep pink, blood warm at the corner of his mouth. He feels lightheaded, like his brain never quite caught up after the kiss.
Yuuji swallows, fingers curling slightly at Satoru’s nape before he pulls his hand back altogether. He laughs then, soft and breathy, trying to cover his nerves. It doesn’t work. He looks impossibly shy, shoulders tight, gaze skittering away before forcing itself back.
“See?” Yuuji says, voice just a little unsteady. “That wasn’t so hard.”
Satoru mutters weakly, “Data…collected…success…sort of…”
Shoko pinches the bridge of her nose. “I quit. This is your fault, entirely.”
Suguru laughs, shaking his head. “Some things aren’t meant to be overplanned.”
Satoru, still flushed, mutters, “Operation is a success.”
Yuuji smiles brightly at him, rubbing the back of his neck as he whispers. “Can I kiss you again, Satoru-senpai?”
“Y-you can kiss me whenever and wherever you want!” Satoru stammers loudly. “In fact, let’s kiss right now.”
Suguru and Shoko both groan, getting up to leave the two lovebirds on the school rooftop.