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“We want to keep you, Itadori-kun,” Yuuta confesses without an ounce of shame, Gojo grinning and nodding along right next to him. Together, they loom larger than life over Yuuji, who has never felt so small.
“Is that so wrong?” Yuuta asks (like he’s actually waiting for an answer), as though they haven’t chained Yuuji to this bed against his will, as though they aren’t looking at him with smiles sharp enough to cut flesh, their eyes constantly tracking every minute twitch of Yuuji’s body, of every breath he takes.
Gojo claps his hands together, grinning still like there’s absolutely nothing wrong. “You must be hungry Yuuji,” he croons. “After all, you’ve been working sooooo hard recently! What would you like to eat? Whatever you want, sensei will get it for you.”
Something cold trickles down Yuuji’s spine and he shuffles about on the bed, uneasy. He doesn’t miss the way Yuuta’s eyes hyper focus on his legs, boring holes into the chain wrapped tight around Yuuji’s right ankle.
Yuuji’s stomach rolls – nausea rears it’s ugly head. He doesn’t meet Gojo or Yuuta’s eyes. “I’m not hungry.”
Gojo’s smile does not dim. “That’s no good Yuuji. You’re a growing boy, you need to eat! Shall sensei make something for you then?”
(Yuuji doesn’t trust that Gojo won’t somehow slip something into his food while he’s cooking. With take out, Yuuji has at least a slightly higher chance of being able to know what the food should taste and look like.)
“Can we get beef bowls?” he asks in a hurry, the first thing he can think of.
Gojo beams, pleased. “Three beef bowls with a side of salted cabbage for Yuuta. How does that sound?”
Yuuji nods, trying not to appear too relieved. “Sounds great, sensei.”
Gojo ruffles Yuuji’s hair in a way that would have reminded Yuuji of simpler times – of the before – if not for the possessive hand that comes after to caress Yuuji’s cheek, and the thumb that traces the edge of his lips.
“I’ll be back soon,” he promises. “Until then, Yuuta will keep you company, won’t he?”
Yuuta’s hand finds purchase in the meat of Yuuji’s thigh, an iron brand that burns hot even through the fabric of Yuuji’s clothes. “Of course, sensei.”
They settle on the couch while they wait.
Yuuta’s not a fan of TV or movies but for Yuuji he turns the TV on and lets Yuuji choose what they watch. All Yuuji has to do is let Yuuta hold him close, one of Yuuta’s hands splayed across the bare skin of Yuuji’s hip, his long fingers dipping beneath the band of Yuuji’s pants and hiking up the edge of his hoodie.
Yuuta doesn’t do anything beyond that – just keeps his hand there to feel the tautness of the muscles there as Yuuji shifts to find a comfortable position on the couch. Yuuji doesn’t ask Yuuta to move his hand, says nothing when Yuuta shifts closer so that their thighs are pressed together.
(In another time, in another place, Yuuji might have considered this intimate, affectionate. But locked away like this, Yuuji can only feel the suffocating presence of the chain around his ankle, the burn of another body too close to his own.
Yuuji used to once thrive on the warmth of others but now another person’s touch feels too suffocating, too much to bear.)
“Okkotsu-senpai, can we go outside later?” Yuuji asks at the end of their second movie.
Yuuta’s finger taps against the skin of Yuuji’s hip and it takes every ounce of willpower that Yuuji has to not flinch at the sensation. “You want to get some fresh air?”
Yuuji nods, tries to downplay how desperate he is for Yuuta to say yes (because he’s beyond desperate now; the visceral need for him to be able to breathe fresh air, to see the sky again and be reminded that the world is bigger than this small, luxurious condo that he now lives in consumes all of him. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the night if he’s denied this). “It’s supposed to be nice out,” he quietly adds.
The fingers stop tapping against his hip and instead, Yuuji feels the slide of Yuuta’s palm up and down his side, petting him. He feels a kiss against the crown of his head, soft and affectionate, doting and loving.
Yuuta’s lips were gentle then too – his kisses just as soft and affectionate as they are pressed against Yuuji’s forehead, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his lips. His kisses are feather-light, innocent even as he has Rika hold Yuuji down tight enough to break Yuuji’s ribs.
One of Yuuta’s hands presses down against the cut he had inflicted earlier on Yuuji’s thigh to sever his hamstrings. Yuuji’s groan of pain is punched out of him, hissed through clenched teeth.
Yet Yuuji does not struggle. He has learned to stop struggling now because all it does is delay the time before Yuuta heals him, a futile endeavor of endurance worth nothing.
“You shouldn't have tried to run, Itadori-kun,” Yuuta murmurs against his lips.
“Let’s wait for Gojo-sensei to come back. Then, we can take our food outside and eat there,” suggests Yuuta. “Does that work?”
Yuuji nods his head, more of a bobbing twitch of his muscles because he’s wound too tight. “Yeah, sounds good,” he says, like he has a choice.
The most terrifying thing about all of this is the way Okkotsu-senpai and Gojo-sensei treat it like it’s normal. They don’t blink twice at the rules they put down once they’ve confined Yuuji in the condo. Nothing about their countenance suggests that they thought it was abnormal how they had initially broken both of Yuuji’s legs to confine him to the bed until he learned to listen to them.
“We’re doing this to protect you,” Gojo-sensei had said, Yuuta standing behind him like a loyal, unwavering shadow. “And you trust us don’t you, Yuuji?”
“You trust us, Itadori-kun,” Yuuta presses and the words feel like a physical thing, like two hands pressing down on his shoulders.
“Yuuji?” Gojo prompts, after a long, long thirty seconds of silence.
Yuuji’s tongue is ash in his mouth and he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and wish none of this was real.
Yet Gojo-sensei and Okkotsu-senpai’s eyes will not leave him, and the room is closing in around him, too small to contain the monsters seated inside it.
“I trust you,” Yuuji whispers, like he has a choice.
Gojo returns.
As Yuuta had promised, they take their food outside and eat there.
“Nice night out,” goes Gojo.
“It really is,” Yuuta easily agrees.
Sitting between the two of them, Yuuji slowly mixes the contents of his beef bowl together.
There is a modest amount of distance between the three of them to avoid them jostling each other as they eat, enough that they aren’t touching Yuuji but even then, Yuuji feels uneasy. His appetite flees him but nevertheless, he eats his food because food is energy and Yuuji is tough, if nothing else.
He knows how to endure.
If nothing else, he knows how to endure.
Somehow, he finishes his beef bowl and both Gojo-sensei and Okkotsu-senpai lean over to press a kiss against the crown of his head, praising him.
But for who?
Who does he endure for now? Who does he survive for?
“Save people Yuuji,” his grandfather had said to him.
For what?
For who?
What do I do now?
Who am I saving now Gramps?