Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yuuji meets Yuuta Okkotsu for the first time two weeks before he dies.

It's during the brief period of free time between his last class and dinner, which Yuuji usually spends either taking a shower, catching up on manga or taking a stroll around the campus. Today, he decides, is a stroll kind of day.

The weather is the perfect balance of cloudy-sunny, with a gentle breeze that's uncommonly cool for the time of year. Yuuji unbuttons his uniform top and slings it over one shoulder, pulling the collar of his hoodie down so that the wind can brush across his bare throat.

As usual, the grounds are empty. Even so, he manages to spot Fushiguro retreating into the dorm building with a couple of books tucked under his arm, so he's assured that his classmates are lurking around somewhere. Gojou is nowhere to be found, of course, and Kugisaki's likely tucked away in her room updating her Instagram or something, so Yuuji has a moment to himself.

He swallows and finds his throat drier than usual. Behind the dorm building is the ancient outdoor vending station, which had housed the same two rickety machines since probably before he was born. One of the machines is out of commission — just there for decoration at this point, Fushiguro says — but the other usually stocked some pretty decent fare. Yuuji turns the corner, idly thinking over what he's in the mood to drink today, and that’s when he sees him.

His eyes catch on the hand hovering ponderously over the buttons and follow it up an arm swathed in white to a face like a porcelain doll's; gaunt and pale, framed by midnight bangs parted slightly off-center. When the boy notices Yuuji and turns, Yuuji sees that his eyes are like a doll's, too — a glassy and fathomless indigo.

Yuuji’s step falters. For some reason, he feels a little ...

He clears his throat and continues forward, shaking off his hesitation. "Hey!" Yuuji greets as he nears the machines.

"Ah, hello," the stranger says, dropping his hand back to his side as Yuuji approaches. His ensemble, Yuuji realizes, is a modified version of the school uniform. A fancy one, too — the only one with a white top that Yuuji's ever seen. He lights up.

"Oh! Are you a student too?" Since he and his two classmates are the only first-year students, he figures that this boy must be in one of the higher years. The stranger nods with a small smile.

"Yuuta Okkotsu," he introduces himself, pushing a stray bang from his face. "I'm a second year."

"Cool!" Yuuji says, rocking back on his heels. He wonders where the other second years are; he certainly hasn’t seen them around campus. "Yuuji Itadori, first year. Nice to meet you!"

"Itadori ..? Oh. Sukuna's vessel." Contrary to the reaction Yuuji has come to expect — either a flinch or a disgusted cringe — Okkotsu's face falls into an expression he can't decipher. Yuuji doesn't have time to wonder why before his senior is smiling again, readjusting the strap on his shoulder and gesturing toward the machine he’s standing in front of. "Did you want something to drink? I'll buy it for you."

Yuuji blinks in surprise. "For real?" Okkotsu nods.

"It's a senpai rite of passage."

"I'm pretty sure it's the other way around," Yuuji says with a wry grin, "But I’m not gonna stop you!" He moves closer, leaning against the glass frame to browse his options. "Then, could I get ...ahh, wait no, how about …"

"There are only three types left," Okkotsu says with barely-hidden amusement. Yuuji huffs.

"Yeah, but this is a first for me! None of my senpai have ever bought me a drink before ...usually they asked me to get stuff for them. 'Course I'm gonna choose carefully …"

Yuuji turns towards Okkotsu again and catches the tail end of that same look from before — lips downturned unhappily and eyebrows pushing inwards. He doesn't get what’s up with that. It wasn't like he'd said something bad, right? Before he can think too hard on it, Okkotsu leans around him and slips some coins into the slot, ignoring Yuuji's yelp of "hold on!"

"In that case, I'll help you out." He punches a button on the machine before Yuuji can protest, and one of the cans tumbles into the slot. Yuuji pouts, but leans down to fish it out anyway. A free drink is a free drink, after all.

Yuuji inspects the can he retrieves with one eyebrow raised. "Strawberry soda, huh?"

"You seem like you would enjoy it," Okkotsu says as he enters his own order. Yuuji has barely a second to wonder what that's supposed to mean before Okkotsu picks his drink up and Yuuji sees that it's black coffee. The last one, at that.

Okkotsu, seemingly having the same thought, glances over at Yuuji. "Unless you want to trade ..?"

"Gross, no way." Yuuji wrinkles his nose and cracks open his can. "You guessed lucky, ‘cos I do like this stuff. Thanks for treating me, senpai."

"Ah, well," murmurs Okkotsu as he pops the tab on his can with one finger. The breeze carries the aroma of freshly-opened coffee straight into Yuuji's face — along with a heady, smoky scent like hickory. "Think of it as my welcome."

He smiles and extends his can so that Yuuji can tap his own against it. Yuuji moves to do just that, but without warning, a cloud creeps over the sun, and the place where they stand is cast into shadow. It’s as if a curtain has descended — or maybe like one is ripped away. Yuuji freezes mid-movement. His heart skips a beat.

"Itadori-kun?" Okkotsu's tone is concerned now, but something in it seems to ring hollow. "Is something wrong?"

"Uh. No." Yuuji recovers, shaking his head a little and clinking his can to Okkotsu's. The ring of the aluminum echoes too loudly in the small space, but he tries to ignore it. “Thanks again,” he says. For some reason, he can’t bring himself to meet Okkotsu’s eyes again.

"...take care, then, Itadori-kun." Okkotsu lifts his drink to his lips and gives Yuuji a small wave as he turns away. "Let's have a great year."

"Yeah. See you, senpai," Yuuji says, half-absently. He sips his soda and doesn’t take his eyes off the back of Okkotsu’s stark-white shirt until he disappears around the corner. The sun is back, announcing its return by beating down onto the back of his neck, and the warmth almost comforts him.

For a moment, though — when that cloud had covered it and cut off its light so abruptly, and Okkotsu had extended his can, Yuuji had seen his visage change. It was as if a spectre had shrouded him — all hollow, deep-set eyes and sallow façade.

For a moment, it was almost as if Yuuji had been standing before a curse.

Yuuji leans against the wall and slowly drains away his drink until Fushiguro finds him and tells him that it's time for dinner.

When Yuuji searches the next day, he can’t find Okkotsu anywhere. It was like he’d never even been there at all.

And then missions resume, and Sukuna tears Yuuji’s heart from his chest, and the thoughts of his senpai and that mysterious shadow that had hung over him are pushed far, far to the back of his mind. But they linger there, though, just out of sight.

Waiting.

Chapter Text

Yuuji doesn’t think about Yuuta Okkotsu again until it’s time for the Kyoto Goodwill Event. After Yuuji’s impromptu resurrection (and subsequent punishment by his classmates) and some hurried introductions, the Tokyo group gathers in the courtyard to loosen up a little before the event starts. While Kugisaki and Maki discuss the battle formation and Panda and Inumaki wander off somewhere to do Panda and Inumaki stuff, Fushiguro nudges his shoulder and nods toward the dorms. Yuuji follows him down the familiar path to the vending area, gasping in delight once they reach it.

“No way! They replaced the second one?!” He runs up to the shiny new addition to the pair of machines, whooping in delight once he sees its stock. “All right! So many snacks~”

“Don’t even think about it,” Fushiguro deadpans. He catches Yuuji by the back of his hood and drags him over toward the drinks machine instead, digging around in his pocket for change. “You know not to eat before a fight. You'll just end up making yourself sick.”

“I wooon’t,” Yuuji whines, gazing longingly at the snacks but letting himself be pulled away anyway. He can’t see Fushiguro roll his eyes, but he can just feel that he does.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Boo …”

While Yuuji pouts, Fushiguro gets two drinks and passes one off to Yuuji. Strawberry soda. Yuuji blinks as a memory flashes across his mind.

“Déjà vu,” he mutters. Fushiguro raises an eyebrow as he opens his tea, and Yuuji amends sheepishly. “Nothing, nothing. This just reminded me of something, that’s all.”

“Hope it’s something useful for what’s coming.” Fushiguro leans against the wall, and Yuuji joins him, tossing the soda can thoughtfully between his hands. He can feel his friend watching him from the corner of his eye, and it almost makes him smile, albeit sadly. Fushiguro had been sticking to him ever since he had made his reappearance, and Yuuji suspects that it’s because he still feels guilty about the outcome of the detention center mission.

Yuuji wishes that he didn’t. None of it had been Fushiguro’s fault anyway. It was Yuuji’s own stupid decision that’d gotten them into that mess.

He breaks the silence to chase the thoughts away. “The second years,” Yuuji says, popping the tab on his soda and holding it away from himself as it predictably fizzes over, “are kinda cool. It’s weird to meet them so late, though. They must’ve been super busy when the year started.”

“They get a higher mission load than us,” Fushiguro replies, taking a couple sips of his green tea. “And they have a different homeroom teacher, so our schedules don’t line up.”

“Mmh.” Yuuji hums, licking fizz from his thumb. He morbidly wonders if he’ll ever become a second year. “Their class is small too, huh.”

“A little bigger than ours, actually. Okkotsu-senpai is studying abroad right now.”

So that was why he’d been absent for so long. Yuuji had half-wondered if their meeting had just been a dream or something. He looks down at his bright pink soda can and thinks of hollow eyes.

"Okkotsu-senpai’s kinda mysterious, isn't he?" Yuuji muses. Fushiguro pauses mid-sip and looks over at him in surprise.

"You've met him?"

Yuuji nods and takes a swig of his soda, the tingle of carbonation popping across his tongue. For some reason, he finds himself wishing for something more bitter. "Yeah. Just once, back in June," he replies. He doesn’t mention that ‘just once’ was enough for Okkotsu to linger in the back of his mind weeks later. He doesn’t really want to know how Fushiguro would react to that.

“Hm.” Fushiguro glares petulantly down at his empty can. “He should have told me that he came back to visit.”

Yuuji grins and nudges him playfully, and Fushiguro brushes him off. “Are you sulking, dude?”

“I had some things to ask him,” Fushiguro says with a sigh, crushing the can and pocketing it, “but I guess I can just ask Maki-san instead.”

“I’m gonna tell her that she was your second choice.”

“Don’t you dare, Itadori.”

Yuuji snorts a laugh, finishes off his soda, and tosses the empty can at the trash bin sitting at the other corner of the wall. Nothing but net. He whoops.

“Beat that!”

Fushiguro huffs, but his lips twitch into a smile as he turns away to walk back to the courtyard.

“That’s supposed to go in recycling,” he says as he saunters away. Yuuji swears.

***

Okkotsu comes back a week after the goodwill event. Just for a check-in with Gojou and Principal Yaga, apparently, and only for a day, but the way the second years react you’d think he was leaving again within the hour.

Yuuji and Kugisaki watch with bewildered amusement from the stairs as the second years (and Fushiguro!) crowd around the older boy. He looks understandably overwhelmed, his wide eyes darting back and forth between faces as they all simultaneously try to update him on what had happened within the past month.

“Jeez, it must be nice being popular,” Kugisaki says enviously as she gnaws on a pocky stick that she’d bullied Yuuji into giving up (along with the rest of the package). She watches Maki playfully shove a laughing Okkotsu into Panda’s waiting embrace, and the stick snaps. “I hate him. I still haven’t forgiven him for ruining my Kyoto vacation.”

“You can still go to Kyoto outside of the Event, though,” Yuuji remarks dryly, flapping the hood of his uniform in a futile attempt to cool off. It’s a humid day, and the air sits over them like a hot, sticky blanket. “And don’t hog all the pocky ...”

Kugisaki ignores him and slides two more sticks into her mouth. “So this is the guy that wiped out the other team last year? He looks pretty weak though.”

“Maybe his technique is strong?” He’d wondered about that, too. Especially given that Okkotsu is apparently Special Grade like their sensei.

“Hmph.” Kugisaki huffs, passing the pocky box back to Yuuji and standing to stretch. Yuuji is gratified to see one half-melted stick left, and he shoves it into his mouth before she can change her mind about letting him have it. “Anyway, I’m gonna go ask Maki-san if she wants to hang out before class. Don’t forget that our essay on cursed tools is due today.”

Yuuji groans and flops onto his back. Lifting a pen right now feels impossible. “Shit, I forgot to finish that. Kugisakiii, help meee~”

“No way! Ask Fushiguro.” Kugisaki leans down briefly to flick his forehead — hard, of course — before trotting down the stairs and making her way over to the gaggle of other students. Rubbing the sore spot, Yuuji lazily watches her tug at Maki’s sleeve and say something, then brighten when the older girl nods and lets herself be led away from the group. The rest of the impromptu crowd is starting to disperse, too; to Yuuji’s surprise, Fushiguro and Okkotsu are making their way towards him, chatting idly.

“...didn’t find anything there, either,” Okkotsu is saying. Yuuji has to strain to hear. “I’m sorry, Fushiguro-kun. I’ll try to look for more scrolls when I go back to Mali and send you the copies. Maybe there’ll be something useful in them.”

Fushiguro sighs, quiet and resigned. “Thanks anyway.”

They’re much closer now, so Yuuji has no trouble seeing the fond smile Okkotsu gives Fushiguro. “Tell her I said hi?”

“She’d think it was weird. You two’ve never even met.” Fushiguro rubs at the back of his neck with a churlish expression, and Okkotsu huffs a quiet laugh.

“I guess you’re right ...” Okkotsu fidgets with his strap as he and Fushiguro stop at the platform below Yuuji’s. He looks up just in time to catch Yuuji’s eye, and the shape of his smile changes. Something in Yuuji’s chest twinges. “Oh! Nice to see you doing well, Itadori-kun.”

Yuuji offers a smile back. Inwardly, he wonders why it feels so forced. “Yup! It was a close call for a minute there, though!”

“That’s what sensei told me. It sounded painful.” Fushiguro grimaces minutely; somehow, without even looking, Okkotsu seems to catch it, because he immediately changes the subject. “Anyways, we were going to spar a bit during free period. You’re welcome to join us if you want? I’m curious to see you in action ...Fushiguro-kun talks about you a lot.”

“Oh, really?” Yuuji’s brows shoot up with exaggerated interest as he looks over at his friend.

Fushiguro scowls. “Your fighting style.” Yuuji is definitely gonna tease him about that later. Fushiguro glares at him like he knows what Yuuji’s thinking.

“That too,” Okkotsu says, and smoothly steamrolls over his kouhai’s attempt to retort. “Gojou-sensei says you’re learning how to use cursed energy in your attacks, so we can practice with that as well.”

Yuuji weighs his options. Fight in this sweltering heat, or sit down somewhere and try to crank out the last two pages of a paper that’s due in an hour.

It’s not a wise choice he makes, but it’s an obvious one.

He can’t bring himself to regret it, either, even when Gojou reluctantly holds him after class and makes him finish his essay. “I would just waive it, Yuuji, but Yaga keeps getting on me about the assignment quota for my units.” Gojou sighs, tipping back his chair until he’s nearly parallel with the floor and rolling a dango stick between his teeth. “Practical experience is wayyy more useful for you, but oh well. This is still a school, after all, so I gotta grade papers every once in a while. Keep it ‘well-rounded’,” he says with mocking air quotes.

“Mhm.” Yuuji absently flicks his eyes back and forth between the lecture notes Fushiguro had kindly (read: reluctantly) lent him and his slowly-progressing paper. His hand is starting to cramp. “I wish we were just graded on practical experience …”

“Speaking of,” Gojou says, righting himself with a grin. “I heard that you got some with Yuuta today?”

Ridiculously, Yuuji’s thoughts short-circuit. “Got —some what?”

“Experience.” Gojou’s smile turns teasing, and Yuuji stares down hard at his half-finished paper so he can avoid looking at it. “How was it?”

Yuuji presses his lips together as his mind drifts back to the spar. “At first, I was sure Fushiguro and I would win pretty fast. But then …”

“Then?” Gojou prompts with his chin propped on his fist. Yuuji swallows.

“Then he ...brought out his aura. It reminded me of …” Yuuji looks up to find Gojou already watching him. “It was a lot like yours, sensei, only creepier somehow. Like ...like, I don’t know, it felt alive.”

Okkotsu’s cursed energy didn’t feel ...sticky, or, or slimy or anything like that. It didn’t feel gross. It felt smothering. Like a thousand spindly, long-fingered hands, tugging at Yuuji’s body from every direction. Not trying to pull him apart, but to reel him in.

Even just remembering it sends an involuntary shudder down the length of his spine.

(It isn’t a shudder of disgust, though.)

“Did it? Hm.” Gojou removes the stick and twirls it around his fingers with a cryptic smile. “It’s interesting that you think that, Yuuji.”

Yuuji blinks. “Uh, why?”

“No particular reason.” Gojou frames the stick between his hands and brings them together, compressing it into nothing. His casual strength is admirable, as always. “Finish your essay in the next ten minutes and I’ll bring you some kikufuku next time I go out.”

“Oh, for real?” Yuuji grins and turns back to his paper, already scribbling away. “All right!”

“Don’t tell Megumi and Nobara, though. I don’t want them mad at me ~”

Gojou has a bad habit of playing favorites sometimes. Yuuji shrugs inwardly, still smiling. Free food is free food, after all.

*

Yuuji makes another unwise choice and watches Train to Busan before bed. It’s unwise because afterwards, he’s so keyed-up that it’s impossible to go to sleep. (Good horror movies just do that to him sometimes.) He stares and stares at his ceiling until the hairline cracks that spiderweb across the fading paint start to crawl over each other of their own volition, and at that point he knows it's a lost cause.

Yuuji finally forces himself to blink and glances over at his phone. 03:45. He sighs, heaves himself out of bed and trudges to the door, grabbing his discarded hoodie along the way.

The moonlight is just barely enough to see by as he saunters down the hallway, trailing his hand over the wall as he walks. His feet take him on a familiar path; when he had first moved into the dorms, he’d had trouble sleeping some nights then, too. A couple of rounds around the halls would probably settle him if he could just ...

“Itadori-kun.”

The whisper is barely-there; so faint that for a moment he thinks he’s imagined it. Yuuji turns, eyes straining to parse the encompassing gloom of the hallway, to face the speaker.

Okkotsu’s footsteps are nearly soundless; he glides over the wood as if the shadows themselves are coasting him along. Yuuji can only barely hear the fabric of his clothing shift with his movements. But then, Yuuji’s hearing had always been exceptionally good. If it weren’t, then Okkotsu would’ve gone undetected. He could’ve crept all the way up to Yuuji’s unsuspecting back and let those fingerlike tendrils of his aura wrap around his neck and ...

“Couldn’t sleep?” Yuuji blinks, letting the thought tumble away, and realizes that Okkotsu had made his way to stand before him while he was preoccupied.

“Nope,” he says, tucking his hands into his hoodie’s pocket. Okkotsu offers an awkward smile, thin-lipped and pulled a bit too tightly at the edges. But maybe it’s just the darkness making it look that way.

“I couldn’t either, so I thought a walk around the grounds might help. It usually does. Fresh air, you know ...” Okkotsu picks at the collar of his tee. It’s dark, probably indigo, emblazoned with a faded logo from some obscure rock band. In this light, though, the fabric looks pitch black. His pale hand stands out starkly against it.

Yuuji is suddenly struck with the urge to thumb over the other boy’s knuckles, to see if they are really as knobby as they look. His hands twitch within the hoodie, and he twists them together, mortified. What am I thinking? I must be tired as hell.

“Have a good night, then,” Okkotsu murmurs, apparently uneasy with the silence. He takes a couple steps towards the entrance, but then pauses and turns slightly to look over his shoulder. The backlight of the moon casts his face into shadow. “Unless you ...want to join me, Itadori-kun?”

Yuuji blinks, then shrugs with a wan smile. “Why not? Maybe it’ll help me too.”

He trails behind Okkotsu, down the stairs of the temple and out into the night. The air hums with the song of crickets and frogs — and probably stray curses, too — and Yuuji tilts his head back to marvel at the clarity of the sky. The moon is bright, a silver hemicircle wreathed by winking scattered stars. So many stars; even though they’re in Tokyo, there is a surprising number of constellations visible.

He starts as a voice suddenly comes from right beside him. “The sky is clearer than usual tonight.” Okkotsu must’ve slowed his pace. Yuuji stops walking and nods, shifting his weight to one leg. “Which constellation is your favorite?”

“Oh, uh …” He turns in a circle, squinting contemplatively up at the sky. “...probably the Pleiades.”

“Really?” Okkotsu sounds surprised, and Yuuji lowers his gaze so he can see his expression. The other boy isn’t looking at him, though; his eyes are on something cupped in his hand. “Why is that?”

Yuuji shrugs, sticking his hands back into his pockets. “It’s pretty. Too bad you can’t see it this time of year.” He recalls, vaguely, sitting on someone’s shoulders as they pointed out the constellations, but he can’t remember their face. Just a disembodied voice. “I dunno, it feels ...calming, to look at it. They’re always together, no matter how much time goes by …”

Never alone, forever drifting. It sounds nice.

(Maybe Yuuji is thinking too hard about it. He really is tired as hell.)

“What’s yours, senpai?” he asks before he can fall too far into the late-night existential spiral his mind is trying to drag him into.

Okkotsu’s lips quirk strangely. “I don’t think I have any,” he says with a chuckle. “But as for stars in general, I really like Altair and Vega. Kind of cliché, isn’t it?”

Yuuji shakes his head, pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t expected Okkotsu to be the romantic type. “Nah, not really. Love stories are pretty classic. You should come to Tanabata in Sendai sometime if you really wanna see some sparks fly.”

Okkotsu stops fiddling with the thing in his hands, and for a long moment he is still. Yuuji is just starting to wonder if he’d said something wrong when the other boy speaks again.

“You know,” he says. “I ...once was in love with a girl named Rika.”

He picks up the object he’d been holding between two fingers, and Yuuji sees that it’s a ring. Okkotsu raises it, peers through it at the sky like it grants him a view of something unimaginable.

“Do you think it’s possible to love someone too much?”

Yuuji blinks. Why would his senpai ask him that? If it were anyone else, he would find a way to wriggle himself out of such a personal conversation, but ...despite himself, he is intrigued. Maybe it’s because it’s the middle of the night, and he has nothing better to do than muse.

(Or maybe it’s because it’s Yuuta Okkotsu asking him this.)

“I ...don’t know,” Yuuji says. Involuntarily, his voice goes quiet, like they’re trading secrets. “I’ve never been in love before.”

Okkotsu smiles, but still doesn’t look at him. He lowers his arm back to his side, the ring glinting in the moonlight as it dangles from his curled pinky.

“There’s no wrong answer,” he says softly. “But Rika told me once that she’d decided the minute she saw me that I was the one. That she wanted to ...to fall into me.” He closes his eyes, and starlight plays across his face. “And I caught her. That’s what love is, isn’t it? That ...falling.”

That falling. Yuuji looks up again, into the endless canvas of night that hangs above them, and wonders what it would be like to fall into it. He doesn’t get it. “Is that really what it is?” he says. Okkotsu hums.

“There’s no wrong answer to that, either.”

“Is ...that ring for her?” Yuuji asks, subdued.

Okkotsu shakes his head, and his eyes blink open. Yuuji can’t see them well from his angle, though. He wishes he could. “It’s the one she gave me. A promise.”

“Promise?”

“Mhm ...” Okkotsu turns the ring once in his fingers, then slides it into his pocket. He looks at Yuuji sidelong, brows furrowed, and Yuuji finally sees that his eyes are clouded. “Sorry, that must have been strange to hear from me all of a sudden. Um ...you should go back and get some rest. Good night.”

Maybe it’s Yuuji’s sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on him, but in that moment, Okkotsu looks impossibly distant. Like he is Altair floating across the Milky Way, separated from Vega by a single starry river. So close, but so much farther than anyone could possibly reach.

Yuuji reaches.

Okkotsu stops in place. He turns slowly to stare down at his hand — at where Yuuji’s is clasped tightly around it.

“Senpai, your hand is cold,” Yuuji murmurs. His heart is pounding for reasons he won’t can’t explain. Okkotsu’s lips part to respond, and before he can lose his nerve Yuuji blurts out the first thing he can think of.

“Why did you let me hit you?”

The blank look on Okkotsu’s face shifts into confusion. “What?”

“During the match. When you ...right before you fell into Fushiguro’s shadow. You let me kick you …” The more Yuuji talks, the more absurd he realizes he sounds, but ...he’s 100% sure that Okkotsu could have blocked that kick. He’s just not sure why he hadn’t.

And then, astonishingly, Okkotsu’s cheeks go pink. Yuuji stares. “I …” His senpai glances away, expression chagrined, and his fingers unconsciously squeeze tighter around Yuuji’s. Yuuji tries not to shiver. “...I just wanted to see how hard you could hit.”

“I can hit really hard!” Yuuji says, dumbfounded. “And the only reason I did was because I thought you’d block it!”

Okkotsu’s posture relaxes minutely, and a sheepish smile curves his lips. It’s not quite the expression Yuuji is looking for, but it’s leagues better than that stilted grimace from before. “Sorry, I was curious. Fushiguro-kun told me you were already strong even before you became a vessel.”

Yuuji nods, stepping forward so that their hands aren't hanging awkwardly in the space between them anymore. Closer, now. Better. He’s pleasantly surprised when Okkotsu doesn’t pull away. “Yeah, I’ve always been kind of a tank.”

“Hmhm.” Okkotsu chuckles, closed-mouthed, and gingerly prods at the spot on his chest that Yuuji had kicked. “I believe that. You did crack three ribs.”

“I did?!”

“Don’t worry, they’re fine now! All healed,” Okkotsu says hurriedly, waving his free hand to dispel the look of guilt that must have stricken Yuuji’s face. “I kind of expected something like that. But ...you’re strong. Stronger than I thought, in a lot of ways. I’m glad …”

His last words are whispered, so soft that Yuuji almost misses them. Okkotsu squeezes Yuuji’s hand one final time before gently extracting it from his hold. Yuuji reflexively lurches forward as the other boy begins to turn back towards the dorms.

“Okkotsu-senpai …” Yuuji isn’t sure what he even wants to say. Only that he doesn’t want Okkotsu to just vanish again without …

Without —

“Good night, Itadori-kun,” Okkotsu says, and finally smiles the way Yuuji has been wanting him to. None of that melancholy tilt to his eyebrows, or tightness at the corners of his mouth. His smile is warm, and his eyes are the color of night now instead of the color of emptiness. He waves just like before as he walks away, but the gesture feels different somehow. A catch-you-later, rather than a goodbye. “Sleep well. I’ll see you around.”

Okkotsu’s figure grows smaller the further he retreats across the grounds, but Yuuji doesn’t feel like the other boy is drifting away anymore. He presses the hand Okkotsu had held to his chest and heaves a sigh, ignoring the prickle of heat in his face (because there is none!), and starts back towards the dorms.

In the morning, Okkotsu is gone. Like a dream, here one moment and a memory the next. But Yuuji remembers the feeling of Okkotsu’s calloused hand in his own. He remembers the way he had spoken of how love is falling.

And Yuuji remembers how his dreams that night, too, were of stars, and of the Pleiades gleaming in eyes like midnight.

...maybe it’s not that deep, though. Even if Yuuji keeps running his thumb over his palm in class when no one is looking, trying hard to stifle the blush that tries to crawl up the back of his neck, it’s probably nothing.

It’s probably nothing, right?

Chapter Text

In hindsight, Yuuji can’t believe he hadn’t thought of just messaging Okkotsu before.

It’s a bit ridiculous, honestly, but Yuuji really hadn’t thought it was an option. Okkotsu’s so intangible; always slipping out of his grasp, always on the other side of that invisible wall he’d erected around himself. Yuuji had already resigned himself to having to wait who-knows-how-long until his senpai’s next visit — when he’d be within reach — to speak with him again.

What’s surprising is that this time, Okkotsu is the one who reaches out first.

Two days after the other boy’s departure, Yuuji wakes up, checks his phone, and finds three new notifications on LINE from an unfamiliar sender.

[Hello, Itadori-kun!]

[This is Yuuta. I asked Fushiguro-kun for your LINE so we could keep in touch!]

[...Is that strange? Sorry! You can just delete this thread if you want …]

A smile tugs at Yuuji’s lips before he can stop it. He rereads the messages a few times, wondering how he should reply, but ultimately ends up setting his phone aside for the time being and rolling out of bed to get ready for the day. Okkotsu’s probably busy doing study-abroad stuff, anyway. Yuuji decides that a response can wait until lunchtime at least.

Lunch comes and goes.

So does dinner.

And then it’s night, and Yuuji still hasn’t replied. He’s feeling a little anxious about it now, and he can’t exactly say why. It’s not like the other boy will berate him for responding late, and surely he isn’t sitting around just waiting for Yuuji to send something back. But Yuuji can’t help but feel self-conscious anyway; even as he pulls up the app and starts to type something in, he has the irrational impression that those dark eyes are peering up at him, watching every movement of his thumbs as he taps at the keyboard.

[hey senpai! i didnt even know u had a LINE]

He nearly startles when his phone chimes barely ten seconds later.

[Yes! Inumaki suggested I make one so I can keep in touch with everyone while I’m abroad.]

[It’s night time over there, right? It’s only lunchtime here! w]

Yuuji feels a prickle of embarrassment. He’d completely forgotten about the astronomical time difference. He hastens to write a reply, grimacing all the while; of course he can’t expect Okkotsu to put his entire day on hold, when Yuuji was the one who had been dragging his feet to respond in the first place.

[o shit i didnt mean to bother u! i’ll let you go then!]

[No, no, it’s fine! I wasn’t doing much anyway w]

[Just reading. You’re not bothering me at all!]

[I like talking to you.]

Yuuji stares at that last message for far longer than is necessary. A weird, airy warmth bubbles up in his chest, and he quashes it viciously.

[haha forreal? i’m glad then senpai ww even though we’ve barely even talked w]

[Well, that’s what LINE is for. w]

[what are u read]

[*reading]

[*?]

[A manuscript on black rope. Are you familiar with it?]

Black rope ...Yuuji flops down onto his mattress, legs swinging free over the edge of the bed as he thinks. He vaguely recalls Gojou mentioning it during a lecture on cursed tools, but not exactly what it does.

[not really]

[It’s an item which nullifies cursed techniques. Gojou-sensei wanted me to find some, so he sent me abroad to look.]

[isn’t that a lot of work just for some rope? are u still taking classes too?]

[It’s important work! (＞＜) ]

[And yes, but mostly virtually. Kusakabe-sensei is surprisingly strict about turning things in on time w]

Yuuji snickers. [i feel sorry for u senpai w]

[Don’t be, the traveling part is a lot of fun! Look at this:]

A picture pops up on screen; it’s Okkotsu leaning on what looks like a wooden ...wall? and staring up at it in wonder. Yuuji tilts his head curiously. No, not a wall, but more like a —

[is that a tree?]

[Mhm, a baobab tree! I saw a lot of them in Madagascar. They can get pretty huge, you know!]

Yuuji’s phone chimes again; a video this time. The camera pans slowly up the trunk of the baobab, nearly parallel to the ground by the time the canopy finally comes into the frame. Strangely, there are no branches lining the trunk; it’s like a thick, smooth pole jutting straight into the sky. Yuuji purses his lips.

[thats really cool senpai! but have you seen any lions??]

[Everyone keeps asking me that …]

Yuuji huffs a laugh, rolling onto his stomach. [have you tho?????]

[No one appreciates the baobab like I do (◞‸◟) ]

[senpai!!!]

Okkotsu caves and sends a shaky video, and Yuuji perks up in interest. The camera zooms in slowly on a slumbering lioness and the two cubs nipping insistently at her ears. Yuuji is surprised to hear a sudden whisper sound from the speaker, a voice he doesn’t recognize. “We have to be quiet so we don’t wake her.”

Okkotsu’s voice is the one that answers, soft and excited. “They’re so pretty! I thought lion prides were bigger, though?”

“Well, the rest of them are actually -”

Suddenly a loud, playful call splits the silence. “Yuuta, Miguel ~! I’ve come to visit ~”

“G-Gojou-sensei?!”

“Oh, fuck —”

A distant growl sounds and the camera cuts to black. Fushiguro bangs on the wall between their rooms when Yuuji’s laughter gets too loud, and he muffles himself with a pillow as he shakily types back.

[oh my g]

[*god wwwwwww]

[Wwwwwwwwwwwwww]

[Don’t laugh!]

[He almost got us killed!! ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡ ]

Once he gets his breath back under control, Yuuji replies, still shaking with mirth. [how did u escape??]

[Gojou-sensei had to transport us out. Miguel banned him from visiting suddenly after that though, so now he only comes at the end of the month.]

[I’m kind of relieved ...sensei is a bit unpredictable. w]

[uhuh. that’s where u get it from then]

[Eh?! Σ（ﾟдﾟlll）I’m nothing like that !]

[...yk, not to be rude but senpai you’re kinda oldschool ...they have stickers on LINE you know]

[But kaomoji are cute!]

[ ƪ(*^_^*)ʃ ]

After that, it becomes strangely easy to talk to Okkotsu, and …Yuuji is loath to admit it, but he gets a bit too into it. Fushiguro even starts shooting Yuuji suspicious looks from having his phone out more than normal, and which makes him a little defensive. It’s not like he’s doing something weird! Kugisaki practically lives on her phone, but Yuuji doesn’t see Fushiguro side-eyeing her.

Speaking of his dear other classmate, she calls Yuuji out the first time they all get a free moment together, which he honestly should’ve seen coming. “So, you gonna tell us why you’ve been so glued to your brick of a phone lately?”

Yuuji gasps, affronted, and holds his phone to his chest. “Don’t say that about Jenny! She’s lasted me five years!”

“She looks like it, too,” Fushiguro mutters, sipping his drink.

Yuuji shoots him a wounded look. “The cracks in her screen give her personality.”

“Okay, Itadori’s bad taste in phones and names aside,” Kugisaki cuts in impatiently, “I wanna hear the tea. You!” She points directly at Yuuji with a fry she’d stolen from Fushiguro. Yuuji points at himself, radiating innocence. “Tell us the truth. You’ve fallen into the gacha hole.”

Yuuji smiles, puzzled. “No?”

“Pokémon Go.”

“Nope.”

“Secret girlfriend.”

“Nh — ” That one catches him off guard (which was probably her evil plan all along), and to Yuuji’s horror, his face bursts into flames. Fushiguro quirks a brow; Kugisaki’s jaw drops. “No, now hold on a minute —”

“No fucking way. No fucking way!”

“There is no fucking way, because there is no secret girlfriend!” Yuuji hisses, glancing around the diner furtively. They’re in Shibuya, and there’s no one that he knows here, but he can’t help but feel self-conscious anyway for some irrational reason. “I’ve just been, you know, texting!”

“Texting who? Not me.” Kugisaki looks at Fushiguro with exaggerated bewilderment. “You?”

“Not me.”

“Then who?” (Yuuji loves his friends, he does, but they’re really really testing him right now.)

“The second-years,” he answers with a beleaguered groan. Technically, it’s not a lie. It’s Okkotsu he’s been messaging 98% of the time, but he also asked Inumaki to turn down his music twice, so technically he has been texting second-yearS. Plural.

“What? What could you possibly have to talk to them about?”

“You know, j-just …jujustu stuff! I’m, uh, deferring to the wisdom of our elders!”

“Hm.” Kugisaki’s got that don’t-bullshit-me look on her face now, and it’s making Yuuji sweat. “Prove it, then. Show me the messages.”

“What? I — no way,” Yuuji says. He shoves his phone into his pocket reflexively (which probably just makes him look even more suspect) and huffs. “That’s personal.”

Kugisaki’s brow jumps up incredulously. “‘Personal?’ What ‘personal’ things could you possibly be talking about with our senpai? Unless,” she continues, ignoring Yuuji’s attempt to answer, “it’s not our senpai you’re talking with at all, but actually —!”

“Kugisaki, lay off him already,” Fushiguro mercifully chimes in. Yuuji could kiss him right now. “As long as he’s not doing something illegal, who cares?”

Kugisaki pouts, but crosses her arms and reluctantly sits back, and Yuuji sighs inwardly in relief. “Fiiine. I’m just bored. There’s barely anything interesting going on in a school with only like ten people in it.”

“That’s a good thing, though,” Yuuji mutters, reaching over to help himself to Fushiguro’s fries and receiving a smack for his troubles. He still gets away with three. “School drama is exhausting.”

“Speak for yourself, that shit fuels me. Once at my old school, there was this girl who eloped with a teacher and …”

The rest of the week passes by in relative normalcy. After the impromptu interrogation at the hands of his friends, Yuuji limits his screen time to evenings-only for the sake of his own peace (which Okkotsu finds really funny for some reason when Yuuji tells him about it), and classes continue as normal. The only real thing of interest that happens is that Kugisaki wears Maki’s uniform top to class by accident on Wednesday, to much teasing from Yuuji (after which he is summarily pummeled into the floor during training).

But what he looks forward to most, obviously, are the evenings.

[So that’s why you were up that night? A movie? w]

[you dont get it senpai!!! train to busan is REALLY good okay?!]

[i cried like 7 times.]

[maybe even 8!!!!!!]

[you gotta watch it to understand!!!!!]

[Those exclamation points are scaring me ww]

[Can’t you just explain to me why it’s good?]

Five minutes later, Yuuji pauses in the middle of writing a long essay on exactly why he loves the movie and sighs. He deletes the whole thing and simply sends [no. you just gotta watch it.]

[Haha, I see.]

[Then maybe next time I vi]

The message cuts off. Yuuji tilts his head, confused, but another pops up before he can send his own. He snickers as he reads it.

[Sorry, I was trying to make lunch and I burned it. Miguel is going to kill me :;(ノ´﹏`);: ]

[But maybe we could watch it together then, next time I visit?]

[If you want to?]

Yuuji’s cheeks go warm. He can’t hold back his smile as he rolls onto his stomach. [oh hell yes!!! i cant believe how tiny your movie repertoire is]

[It’s not tiny, I watch movies!]

[Sometimes …]

[k.]

[K??]

[Fushiguro-kun’s rubbing off on you too much! ( ´Д`;;) ]

Yuuji’s smile fades. There’s something that has been bothering him since the spar, niggling at him from the back of his mind like a persistent itch, but only now has he been able to put it into words. He digs his thumbnail into the crack at the corner of the screen as he works up his nerve.

[senpai, can i ask you something?]

[Of course.]

Yuuji chews his lip, thumbs moving slowly to tap out the message.

[youve been talking to the others before now, right?]

[so why didnt you try to contact me before?]

Yuuji stares hard at the screen. A minute passes with no reply.

Two.

Five.

Just as he’s about to give up and shut off his phone in frustration, Okkotsu’s response appears.

[I wasn’t sure I wanted to.]

A lead block drops into Yuuji’s stomach, along with a hot ball of umbrage. His thumbnails clack against the screen.

[wtf does that mean???]

[No, it’s]

[Wait. That came out wrong.]

[What I meant to say is, I didn’t want to scare you away.]

Yuuji’s heart is pounding so hard that he can see his pulse in the corners of his vision. He types his next words slowly, carefully.

[Why would I be scared of you?]

A long pause. Then,

[I’m sorry ...I said something strange again.]

[It’s like I can’t help but speak my thoughts when I’m talking to you.]

[But I’m told that I tend to be ...smothering sometimes.]

[And you don’t seem like the type who would take well to it.]

[I’m sorry, Itadori-kun. I shouldn’t have said anything.]

All Yuuji feels is irritation now, and it pinches his brows together as he taps out his reply. A sudden urge strikes him suddenly and, in his petty indignation, he stops typing and gives in to it.

Okkotsu takes a couple of seconds to answer the LINE call, and Yuuji feels a trickle of satisfaction that it’s probably because he wasn’t expecting it. The line clicks, and his senpai’s startled voice echoes through it. “Hello?”

“Okkotsu-senpai,” Yuuji says lowly, hyperaware of the silence around him, “stop trying to decide how I feel without asking me.”

“Ita —”

“No, let me finish.” Yuuji isn’t sure if this sudden surge of bravery is because he’s annoyed or because of that talk they shared under the stars, but he takes hold of it and lets it bolster him to say what he’s been thinking for days now. “I’m shit at taking hints, senpai, so just tell me straight-up. What do you want from me?”

There’s a crackling pause at the other end of the line. Yuuji finds himself holding his breath and forces himself to exhale.

Then, softly: “I ...want to be closer to you, Itadori.”

The words are like a punch to the gut; Yuuji loses his breath again immediately. His face floods with heat. “I ...why?” he manages, clutching the phone like a lifeline. He feels Okkotsu’s next shaky breath over the line like it’s shuddering through his own chest.

“At first, I think it was because I pitied you,” he says quietly. His morose expression by the vending machines flashes across Yuuji’s mind; now he understands it. “I felt bad that you had to suffer for something that wasn’t your fault. But then …”

“Then?” Yuuji asks, barely a whisper. Okkotsu chuckles, low and warm, and Yuuji's ears tingle from the sound.

“Then I spoke with you. And with you, I ...find myself opening up in a way I couldn’t before, and ...Yuuji, I …”

Yuuji feels a flush of heat so intense that he has to close his eyes. “Senpai.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Okkotsu says in a rush, mortified. “But I — ultimately, I want to get to know you better ...Itadori-kun. Is that okay? Would that be okay?”

Yuuji nods, his cheeks burning. “...yeah. And, uh, I wanna get to know you, too.”

“Um. Good.” Okkotsu’s breath whooshes out. Yuuji wonders what his face looks like right now. (He wants to see it.) “My next visit is in ...mid-September, I think. Saturday. Just for a day. But …”

“Wanna hang out, then?” Yuuji asks quickly while his nerve is still with him. Okkotsu’s voice is warm when he answers.

“I’d love to. We can watch that movie you like.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

“Cool.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment Yuuji can hear Okkotsu’s quiet breathing on the other end of the line. The sound pulses through him, and his mouth moves again before he can stop it.

“I want to see you.”

A shocked silence follows, and Yuuji thinks wildly What the fuck did I just say? Then Okkotsu draws in a breath and, panicked, Yuuji rushes to speak before his senpai can. “Okay well anyways have a nice lunch good night!”

“Wai —”

Yuuji hangs up and then, just for good measure, shuts off his phone. Is it a little extreme? Yes, but what’s worse is how his entire face feels like it’ll melt off any second. He shoves the phone away from him and buries his head in his pillow, thoroughly embarrassed.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, why did you say something like that?! Why’d you call him up in the first place?!! Oh gods. I’m gonna die. “I’m gonna dieee,” he moans aloud, as obnoxiously as possible. Fushiguro kicks the wall, his muffled voice radiating annoyance.

“If you don’t shut up then I’m gonna kill you.”

Yuuji kicks back. “Fuck you, dude! I’m having a crisis!”

“I’ll make it two.”

Through his lingering embarrassment, Yuuji can’t help but laugh.

Chapter Text

The morning of Okkotsu’s return, Yuuji actually makes an effort to get up early on a weekend for once. (Or, well, early for him, which is about 10:30.)

He rolls out of bed and stumbles over to his desk to shut off his alarm, throws on a sweatshirt and some shorts, and jogs to the bathroom to get his morning routine out of the way so he can focus on other things.

On one specific other thing.

Fushiguro’s already in the kitchen when Yuuji arrives, listlessly stirring a bowl of instant miso and flipping through a book he has propped up beside him. Yuuji beams at him as he makes his way to the cabinets, and the other boy recoils.

“Gooood morning, Fushiguro!”

“You’re too loud. And too happy.”

Yuuji laughs as he refills the coffee maker. “What, can’t I be glad to wake up to another beautiful day?”

They both look to the window. It’s pouring outside. Well, whatever, the weather isn’t what’s important here anyway.

“Anyways,” Yuuji says pointedly as he pulls down two mugs, “I’ve got plans, that’s all. Really cool plans for something really cool.”

“Must be important if you actually planned for it.” Fushiguro accepts the mug Yuuji hands him without looking up. “Good luck.”

Yuuji rolls his eyes as he fills the other mug, but his smile doesn’t fade. “Your encouragement is appreciated.”

Kugisaki comes strolling in a moment later, still in her pajamas with her hair tied up in a messy bun. “Hey, if we get an emergency mission or something this weekend, you two got it, right? Maki and I are going shopping tomorrow.”

Yuuji raises an eyebrow playfully as she plucks the mug from his hands. “So it’s just ‘Maki’ now?”

“Shut up.” She kicks at him and he doesn’t bother to dodge. “Also, your shirt is on backwards.”

“Huh?” Yuuji looks down and sees that she’s right. “Whoops. Thanks, Kugisaki.”

She grunts in acknowledgement and saunters out, taking the coffee with her. Yuuji exchanges a look with Fushiguro, who shrugs, and Kugisaki comes marching back in a second later to shove the mug back into his hands, grimacing.

“Gross.”

“Oh, yeah. I drink it black now,” Yuuji says, trying and failing to hold back the mirth in his voice. Kugisaki gives him a disgusted look.

“Why?”

“So people won’t steal it.”

From there, they devolve into their usual squabble. At the table, Fushiguro heaves a long-suffering sigh and flips to the next page in his book.

*

Okkotsu had arrived on campus at 13:00 exactly. After his usual hour-long check-in with Yaga and Gojou, he and Yuuji had met up for their designated hang-out time, and Yuuji had tried his best to not let his anticipation show too much on his face.

They’re walking to the vending station now at Yuuji’s request. He’d thought they could catch up a little along the way, but every time he turns to Okkotsu to say something, he finds the other boy already staring at him, eyes unfocused like he’s lost in thought.

His senpai is off today. Yuuji can feel it, but he doesn’t know how to ask why in a subtle enough way. It’s frustrating, but he doesn’t want to disrupt the progress they’d made in the last couple of weeks by prodding about something that’s none of his business.

(Even if he does want to make it his business …)

Yuuji huffs at himself, stooping down to fish his drink out of the vending machine. He won’t dwell on it. He’s sure Okkotsu will tell him when he’s ready. (Right?) “So,” he says as he straightens up. “How, uh ...how was the flight?”

Despite looking straight at him, Okkotsu startles like he hadn’t been expecting to be addressed. “Um, it was fine.”

Yuuji pops the tab on his can. “It’s like thirteen hours, right?”

Okkotsu blinks. “You remembered?”

“Uh, yeah? You were complaining about it just yesterday.” Yuuji quirks a brow with a confused smile. “Do you remember?”

“That was yesterday?” Okkotsu’s eyes are distant now, fixed someplace beyond the two of them. Someplace Yuuji can’t see. Yuuji’s smile strains a little.

“Senpai, are you jetlagged or something? You’re acting kinda weird. Weirder than usual, anyway …” Yuuji presses his lips together and turns his can between his hands, willing himself to not grimace as he forces himself to add, “...look, if you changed your mind about hanging out with me today —”

At this, Okkotsu finally seems to snap back to the present. He whips toward Yuuji quickly, eyes wide. “No, it’s not that at all! I just …” He sighs, his fingers scratching lightly down the length of his case’s strap. “...it’s nothing. I’m sorry, Itadori-kun.”

Yuuji moves closer, frowning, and tries not to be too pleased when Okkotsu doesn’t step back. “What is it?”

Okkotsu looks at him for a long moment. His expression is clouded again. Yuuji feels the edges of his frown deepen against his will. Even now, his senpai is doing the distance thing? Even after he’d said he wanted to be closer? After he’d been the one to reach out?

It’s not fair. Yuuji knows the thought is selfish — he knows that, but —

A hand settles gently on his head, and he stills in surprise. Okkotsu is smiling at him now, with an expression softer than Yuuji has ever seen. Yuuji’s heart skips, and a blush burns in his cheeks, unbidden.

“Sorry,” the other boy murmurs again, lowering his hand back to his side. Yuuji feels a twinge of loss which he steadfastly ignores. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I shouldn’t be so caught up in my thoughts.”

Yuuji sighs, scuffing his shoe against the concrete restlessly. “But …” I want to worry about it, he doesn’t say. I want you to tell me.

“It’s fine, so just …” Okkotsu trails off, blinking as his eyes catch on the can that Yuuji’s holding. “Is that black coffee?”

Yuuji feels a sudden and irrational urge to hide his drink behind his back. “Um, yeah.”

“I thought you hated bitter foods.”

“I still do! This is the only exception.” Okkotsu’s stare doesn’t waver, and Yuuji feels embarrassment trickle into his gut. He clutches the drink closer defensively. “Is — is it really that weird? I mean, you drink it.”

“...yes,” Okkotsu says slowly, “I do.”

And then, to Yuuji’s amazement, twin spots of pink bloom into being on his senpai’s pale cheeks. Oh shit, Yuuji thinks, gulping, he figured it out. He knew they should’ve just skipped straight to the movie. They look away from each other quickly, and the atmosphere is suddenly weighted with a peculiar tension.

There is a prolonged moment of strained silence. Okkotsu clears his throat as if he’s going to say something, and Yuuji gulps again in anticipation of what it could be —

—And then, unbelievably, a loud rumbling growl echoes through the space.

They both whip around to stare at each other, dumbfounded, before dissolving into laughter.

“That was so loud!” Yuuji says through his snickering. “When’s the last time you ate, senpai?”

“Last night,” Okkotsu says sheepishly, folding his arms over his stomach as it growls again. The pink in his cheeks has deepened to red, and it’s unexpectedly endearing. “I didn’t feel like eating this morning, but …”

“In that case,” Yuuji says with a flourish of his coffee can, “we gotta fix that right away. Food before the movie?”

“Ah, sure.” Okkotsu follows him back out onto the path. The sky is overcast now, a hazy gray sheet of bulging cloud, and their footsteps are loud on the wet gravel. “What should we order?”

Yuuji slows, fixing the other boy with an incredulous stare. “Order?”

“Aren’t we getting something to eat?”

A slow grin spreads across Yuuji’s face, and Okkotsu gives him a very wary look when he sees it. “No, no, senpai. We’re making something to eat.”

*

Ten minutes later, they’re both in the kitchen, and Yuuji is having the time of his life watching his senpai struggle.

“How do you do that?” Okkotsu stares in open fascination as Yuuji cracks two eggs into a bowl with one hand. Yuuji smirks, whisking the mixture expertly. It’s a bit flashy, sure, but there’s no harm in showing off, right?

“Practice.” He glances over for a split second as he adds in the vanilla. “Watch the cakes.”

“Ah! Right, right.” Okkotsu gingerly prods at one of the pancakes with his spatula, holding the rest of his body away from the stove like he’s afraid it’ll bite him. Yuuji holds in a snort. “Can I flip them over now?”

“You tell me,” Yuuji says airily, pushing the mixing bowl over to the other boy and dropping the whisk in the sink. “And you can do the rest of them too.”

“Itadori-kun …” Okkotsu’s expression is downright distressed. “That’s too much …”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the mature one here?” Yuuji goes to sit at the table and folds his arms, resting his head on them with a mischievous grin as he watches Okkotsu squirm. “Besides, I’m teaching you a valuable survival skill. It’ll be useful when you go back, right?”

“Like I’ll have the time to make anything like this,” Okkotsu mutters. He flips one of his current batch over and cringes. “Shit.”

Yuuji laughs. “Do your best, senpai! I believe in you!”

Seven minutes later, both of them stare down at the stack of soufflé pancakes that sits on the table, piled onto the biggest plate Yuuji could find. Half of them are charred, and a quarter of them are hideously lopsided. The rest are perfect (courtesy of Yuuji), but Yuuji shakes his head when Okkotsu reaches for one of those. “Uh-uh. Taste your own cooking first.”

“Itadori-kun, this is bullying.” Okkotsu pouts down at his plate as Yuuji lifts a misshapen pancake onto it. “I told you this was a mistake.”

“You said you were hungry! And breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know.”

“This is a very late breakfast.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Yuuji props his chin in his hand and watches with a smile as Okkotsu reluctantly lifts his fork to his mouth. This feels much better than before. No more tense atmosphere or aborted glances. It’s exactly what he wanted.

(Almost exactly …)

“It’s ...good?” Okkotsu’s face is so stunned that Yuuji has to smother his laugh in his hand. “It is good. I can’t believe it …”

“C’mon, give yourself some credit,” Yuuji snickers. “You didn’t think I’d let you burn down the kitchen with me here, did you? I’d be the one getting flack for it.”

Okkotsu huffs indignantly. “I wouldn’t burn the whole thing down. Maybe just a quarter of it.” He lifts his mug to his lips (black coffee, of course, which neither of them comment on) and gives Yuuji a small smile. “But it’s true that I do have a great teacher. Thanks, Itadori-kun.”

Against his will, Yuuji blushes. He averts his eyes to the table, toying with the handle of his own mug. “You know, you can ...you can just call me Yuuji, if you want.”

The sound across from him stops. Yuuji risks a glance up and catches the barest glimpse of Okkotsu’s expression (something which looks suspiciously like panic, oddly enough) before he schools his features. His cheeks are pink again. “I — um. Thank you. And thanks for this ...Yuuji.”

Yuuji clears his throat, cheeks hot. “Yeah, ‘course. Now try mine.”

He drops one of his perfectly-made pancakes onto Okkotsu’s empty plate and smirks when Okkotsu’s eyes go round at the first bite.

“...I take back what I said. Mine are awful after all.”

“Senpai!”

*

The credits flash across the screen. Yuuji glances over to Okkotsu to gauge his reaction, only to find that the other boy has turned his face away.

“Well?” Yuuji says as he gets up to flick the lights back on, “What’d you think?”

A quiet sniffle is his only reply. Yuuji gasps with delight. “Senpai, are you crying?”

“How can I not, after that ending? I thought they would make it out together!” Okkotsu shoves a pillow at Yuuji as the other boy wiggles closer, grinning. “Don’t look at me like that, you said you cried too!”

“Of course I didn’t cry, I was exaggerating for dramatic effect.”

Okkotsu huffs, whacking Yuuji halfheartedly with the pillow, and Yuuji swipes it from him with a laugh, sitting back down in his spot on the couch. “Gojou-sensei is rubbing off on you too much too.”

Yuuji lets his eyes wander back to the credits, drumming his fingers idly against his thigh. Horror movies don’t scare him nearly as much as they had before, you know, the whole jujutsu thing. He mostly appreciates them for the emotional beats now, and Train to Busan is a masterclass in that aspect. Despite what he’d said, he really did cry the first time he watched it. Just a little. (Not that he’ll ever tell his senpai that.)

Yuuji couldn’t help but wonder, though; if it was down to the two of them, and he turned into a zombie …

He smiles and looks back to Okkotsu to ask. “Would you kill me?”

And Okkotsu petrifies.

He goes so still — so pale — that he may as well be made of marble. His expression freezes, his eyes going dark like two chips of charcoal. And his aura —

Yuuji flinches away from the sudden flare of cursed energy that pulses against him, eyes wide. His breath nearly stops; it feels like the air has been sucked from the room. “O-Okkotsu-senpai? Hey!”

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the gush of energy withdraws into the other boy completely, wrapped tight to his body like he’s making a concentrated effort to hold it there. But the phantom touch of that aura still clings to Yuuji’s skin. He feels himself shiver against his will. “…senpai?”

Okkotsu turns toward Yuuji with a smile. The stiff, plastic one. “Ah …sorry, what was that?”

The invisible wall has slammed down between them again; Yuuji feels it like it’s a physical construct. The back of his neck prickles with unease. He doesn’t understand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m …yes, I, it’s fine, sorry.” Yuuji has never seen Okkotsu so discomfited. Not since ...not since, maybe, that first time they met. It’s concerning, to say the least. “I was — thinking of something else. What do you mean?”

“Um,” Yuuji shifts awkwardly in place. The comfortable atmosphere from before is all but gone. “The movie. I just meant ...you know, if we were, like, trapped somewhere together and we had to protect everyone, but then I turned into a zombie. Would you, uh, kill me?”

Okkotsu leans back on the couch, and his bangs fall away from his face as he gazes at the ceiling. “That wouldn’t happen.”

“Eh?”

“I wouldn’t have to. You wouldn’t turn into a zombie.”

“Senpai, you — I mean, how would you even control that?”

“I would because I say so,” Okkotsu says matter-of-factly. “End of story.”

“Ah, you’re impossible.” Yuuji can’t help but smile, though. Okkotsu smiles back, and it’s a bit less stiff now. The tension in the air lightens a little. “For the record, though, I would totally kill you.”

“That’s cold, Yuuji …”

They sit together in an awkward silence for a little while. Okkotsu takes out his phone, pulls a face at what he sees, and taps something out; Yuuji folds his arms over his stolen pillow and stares at the title screen still flashing on the TV. He bites the inside of his cheek, glancing at where Okkotsu is fiddling with his phone.

“Um. Can I ask you something?”

Okkotsu raises a brow as he looks over. “Am I going to get scolded again?”

“Come on, you deserved that,” Yuuji says, rolling his eyes. He crosses his legs and twists one corner of the pillow between his fingers, chewing his cheek as he tries to articulate what he’s been wanting to ask for a while. “But ...could I ask about Rika?”

The other boy’s reaction is milder than he expected, which is a huge relief. “Oh, okay. What do you want to know?”

“Just about you and her. The person you were in love with.” Yuuji twiddles his thumbs and peeks over shyly like he’s a schoolgirl in a romcom. (Stupid thought, stupid thought.) “She must be pretty cool.”

“Um, she ...yeah. She was pretty cool.” Okkotsu says the words delicately, carefully, and a cold shock of realization strikes Yuuji like a hammer blow.

“Oh shit, sorry I didn’t mean to — if you wanna just drop it —”

“No, no. It’s fine,” Okkotsu says quickly, folding his hands together tightly in his lap. “Talking about Rika ...it doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s okay.”

“Okay ...” Yuuji says hesitantly. Okkotsu sits up, mirroring Yuuji’s cross-legged posture and turning to face him.

“We met at the hospital. I was really frail when I was a kid, so I was always in and out of there for something. Rika had ...um, actually she had just been rescued from being stranded alone in the mountains for a week. Not a single scratch on her, either.”

“Wow.” Yuuji has to admit, that’s kinda badass.

“Yeah,” says his senpai with a chuckle, “She was strong. Nothing like me.” Okkotsu’s right hand twitches toward his left like he’s reaching for something, but he drops it halfway. “But we balanced each other out, I think. Every time I tried to hide away, she was the one to pull me back into the sunlight. She knew what I needed even better than I did. She knew me, and ...I was always learning new things about her. That was the kind of love we had.”

Yuuji is almost afraid to ask, but he really, really wants to know. He curls his fingers into the pillow and says, “...what happened?”

“Oh. Drunk driving accident.” Okkotsu says this offhandedly, like it wasn’t completely devastating to have someone taken from him in that way. “We were going to the park. She went on ahead to get a spot, and I went to get some snacks. Everything was so normal that day, even the weather; not a single cloud in the sky. And then I came out of the store, and ...just like that. She was gone.”

Yuuji feels a stab of sympathy, but his senpai seems strangely unbothered. Okkotsu leans his cheek on his hand and hums, his eyes slipping closed. “But ...not really gone. She became a curse.”

Yuuji gapes. “A ...what? How?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then the other boy’s eyes snap open and he sits up, swinging his legs back over the side of the couch and flashing a too-bright smile. “That’s just the way things work out sometimes, I guess!” He glances over at the clock and makes a noise of surprise, but it seems orchestrated somehow. “Curfew already? We should get back to the dorms before Yaga-sensei scolds us. This was fun, Yuuji, thanks for watching the movie with me.”

Okkotsu gets up and starts making his way over to where he’d hung up his uniform top, near the door to the lounge, and Yuuji frowns. He chews his cheek again; there’s something in him still unsatisfied with the conclusion of that story. He thinks about the first time Okkotsu had spoken of Rika, gazing through her ring with starlight in his eyes.

“...I still don’t get what you said back then, senpai. About love being falling. You said you caught Rika, but didn’t you guys really catch each other?”

“That’s ...an interesting way to put it.” Okkotsu’s back is to him, and Yuuji doesn’t want to dwell on why that bothers him so much. “What would you say love is, then, Yuuji?”

“Uh ...I don’t know,” Yuuji says, fumbling. “Something that makes you feel held, I guess? Like ...cradled?”

“Held, huh.” There’s a note of amusement coloring the words, and Yuuji bristles.

“Hey, you were the one who asked —”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t laughing at you, Yuuji. It’s me.” Okkotsu turns away from the wall at last as he finishes buttoning his top. “Maybe it was me who cursed Rika, if love is being held.”

There’s a note of mocking self-deprecation in his voice that Yuuji can’t parse. Like he’s telling a joke that only he knows the punchline to. It’s unnerving. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

"My love is not a cradle," Okkotsu says. His long, pale fingers pull his sleeves, still dusted with flour, back down to cover his forearms. "It's a noose. You understand, don't you, Yuuji?"

He lifts his head and finally meets Yuuji's eyes with his own. They are as blue as ever, but the emotion swirling within them ...

It reminds Yuuji of the bottom of an empty well.

Yuuji’s body moves without thinking then.

He stands abruptly, dropping the pillow to the floor — strides over to where Okkotsu is, and right up to him when the other boy steps back to give him room. There is barely any space between them now, but Yuuji doesn’t want any.

He knows the thought is selfish, but ...Okkotsu hadn’t moved away before. So he shouldn’t do it now. The other boy blinks down at him, visibly disconcerted. “Y-Yuuji? What is it?”

Yuuji flings away every ounce of caution and self-awareness he has, buries it, and pushes his face into his senpai’s shoulder. Okkotsu stiffens.

“Okkotsu-senpai,” he mumbles as his arms come up to squeeze around Okkotsu’s middle. “Hold me.”

Okkotsu pauses, for so long that Yuuji feels the beginnings of mortification creep into his gut — but then his arms rise and, very lightly, circle Yuuji’s shoulders. He moves so carefully; like he’s afraid Yuuji will break under his touch if he holds him any tighter. Yuuji snorts inwardly at the notion.

“Harder.”

“Yuuji, what’s —”

“You’re a good person, senpai.” Yuuji tugs them backward a little, further away from the wall so that the other boy can’t hunch into it; so that he has no choice but to lean forward into Yuuji. “I know it. So whatever happened, it can’t be you that cursed Rika. You wouldn’t do that.”

Yuuji’s so close that he can hear it when Okkotsu swallows. For some reason it makes his ears go hot. Then Okkotsu’s arms tighten around him, and Yuuji feels a hand brush gently over the back of his neck, down to his nape; tingles follow in its wake like tiny sparks of static. “...thank you, Yuuji.”

(Yuuji doesn’t want to let go. But he’s already being greedy.)

“Yeah,” Yuuji murmurs, and steps back. He’s gratified to see that Okkotsu’s eyes look normal now, not as empty ...even if they’re suddenly preoccupied with staring at the floor. Yuuji’s pretty sure their faces are matching shades of pink. “And you know …”

“Hm?”

“You, uh, still smell like pancakes. Burnt ones.”

After a startled pause, Okkotsu breaks into a laugh, and Yuuji can’t help but grin back. He reaches out and catches his senpai’s sleeve, and Okkotsu doesn’t pull away from him this time. He lets Yuuji hold onto it as they both step out through the door.

Yuuji flicks the lights off on the way out, and the room goes dark behind them.

Chapter Text

“Your birthday is in March, isn’t it?”

Okkotsu says this idly, pen cap sticking from his mouth and towel around his neck as he scribbles something down on a notepad. Within the frame, Yuuji can see the faded orange of the hotel wall. Apparently Miguel had splurged this time, so Okkotsu has a whole room to himself for once instead of just the couch. Yuuji grins. “You remembered?”

“Yours is easy to remember,” Okkotsu replies, re-capping his pen, “since we share a month and all.” He turns back toward his phone with a small smile, and Yuuji’s breath catches.

Senpai is so handsome with his hair unstyled. He must’ve just gotten out of the shower before he called. Yuuji knows he shouldn’t be having thoughts like that, but he can’t make them stop. His brain has been screwing with him more than usual lately — especially since they started doing video calls. As if just having Okkotsu’s voice that close to his ear wasn’t torturous enough.

(This stupid crush is getting way out of hand. At least Yuuji is being subtle about it ...)

“So what do you want?”

“Hm?” Yuuji stops his mooning and looks back at the screen. Okkotsu looks amused now, and it’s very unfortunate that his lashes are so thick and frame his eyes so nicely, because Yuuji can’t for the life of him remember what they had been talking about. “Uh, what do I want?”

“For your birthday.”

“I dunno,” Yuuji sighs, folding his arms and resting his cheek on them. “I usually don’t even notice when it comes. It’s just another day.”

“Whaaat? But it’s not just another day! It’s your day.” Okkotsu points the pen at the screen with a solemn look, but a note of playfulness underlies his words. “That’s enough reason to celebrate, isn’t it?”

“Senpai ...you are a complete cornball.” And my heart can’t take it. (Stupid, stupid thought!)

“Sorry, sorry,” Okkotsu laughs, pulling the towel from his shoulders and tossing it somewhere offscreen. “But I’ll be coming back for a visit around then, assuming Miguel and sensei don’t change the schedule all of a sudden. I’ll bring you something.”

Yuuji turns his face into his arms to hide the giddy grin that spreads across it, and his words come out muffled. “Nah, you don’t have to do all that.”

“I want to.”

“Senpai, come on —”

“Yuuji. I want to.”

Yuuji makes the mistake of looking back up, and his breath catches in his throat. Okkotsu’s stare — his dark, dark stare — pins him in place like a physical weight. There’s something different about it this time. Something flickering in his eyes that Yuuji hasn’t seen.

Something like —

He’s leaning closer to the screen before he can stop himself. Upon realizing what he’s doing, he jerks back into his chair, clearing his throat way too loudly. Get a hold of yourself, Itadori. “Fine, then. Surprise me.”

Okkotsu’s eyes soften, and he rolls them fondly. “You can’t just tell me? You’re the worst kind of person to pick a gift for, Yuuji.”

He’s smiling, though, and Yuuji grins back. “When have I ever made it easy?”

The other boy chuckles, propping his cheek in his hand. “All right, then. I’ll surprise you. Just don’t complain about what you get.”

It’s Yuuji’s turn to roll his eyes. As if I’d complain about anything you got me. He skims his fingers along the edge of his desk and glances back to his phone. “Well, since I’ll miss seeing you for your birthday, what about you, senpai? What do you want?”

Okkotsu’s smile is enigmatic when he responds. “Anything you give me is fine.”

Yuuji groans. “Now who’s being difficult?”

“I didn’t say you were being difficult. I just implied it.”

He’s teasing. Something in Yuuji’s chest flutters at the thought that they’re close enough to tease each other now, and he beats it back so that it doesn’t show on his face. Subtle. Be subtle. “Anyways. Since you like surprises so much, I’ll just have to surprise you too.”

The other boy hums. “I look forward to it.”

“You better! It’ll definitely blow you away.” Yuuji fiddles with the sleeves of his sweatshirt and continues in a quieter voice, “Don’t wait all the way until then to come back, though. We, uh, still have more movies to watch.”

Okkotsu chuckles in that cute closed-mouth way he sometimes does. “Right. Assuming things keep going on schedule, my next visit is ...about a week and a half from now.”

“Ohh, just in time for Halloween. We should throw a party.”

“Inumaki-kun probably will, it’s his favorite holiday.”

“Ha! Can’t wait to see that.” Yuuji smiles, a little sleepily, and leans his cheek onto his arms again. He’s starting to fade, but he doesn’t want to end the call just yet. Okkotsu has been so busy lately that there’s no telling when the next one will be.

The other boy apparently senses that he’s tired, though, because he says “I’ll let you get to bed, then.” He picks up his phone, bringing it closer to his face, and Yuuji can see the exact shade of blue of his eyes in the low light. “Sleep well, Yuuji.”

“Sweet dreams, senpai. Whenever you sleep, that is.”

Okkotsu smiles again, soft and sweet. “See you on Halloween.”

“See you on Halloween.”

***

Halloween is not going the way Yuuji had expected it to.

“Why do we have to be called out so late? And for just a stupid curtain!” Kugisaki complains as she stomps down the hallway. Yuuji trudges after her, sulking and fingering the novelty tiger-ear headband he’d gotten specifically for Inumaki’s party, and Fushiguro and the second years trail behind the two of them.

“A giant stupid curtain,” Fushiguro says drily. “And who knows who put it there. It’s our job to find out, in case you forgot.”

Kugisaki huffs, flicking her bangs from her face. “Aren’t the auxiliary managers the curtain specialists, here? Technically it’s their job.”

“If they can’t fix it, then it becomes our job.”

“We spent an hour getting the lounge ready for the party!”

“We spent an hour getting it ready,” Yuuji mutters. “All you did was eat all the snacks and then keep making me go buy more.”

“What, are you saying that wasn’t helpful? I was quality-testing the stuff you chose!”

“Takana ...”

Kugisaki whips her head around to glare. “I heard that, Inumaki-senpai.”

“Okaka.”

She scoffs and turns back toward the front, crossing her arms pettishly. “Fine, then, see if I ever help you with your eyeliner again!”

Panda sighs, pushing up his armband as the group emerges into the sunlight. “In any case, it has to be important if they’re calling all of us out at the same time.”

“Yeah, so you guys better do your part,” Maki says, pointing at her juniors with a roguish grin. “or we’ll make you three play the punishment games first when we get back.”

Yuuji blinks. “Punishment games at a Halloween party? How does that work?”

“Don’t ask,” Panda gripes, covering both his classmates’ mouths with his paws before they can attempt to answer. “Anyway, let’s get back on track. Nobara’s riding with Maki, and the rest of us are gonna be split up.”

Yuuji grins and nudges Fushiguro with his elbow. “Sweet. Bet I can finish faster than you.”

Fushiguro rolls his eyes, plucking the forgotten headband off Yuuji’s head and tossing it at his face. “I’m not even gonna address that.”

“Oh, I am,” says Kugisaki with a snicker. “But that can wait till we get back. Let’s do this thing.”

Yuuji nods, clapping both their shoulders with a smile. “Let’s do it! See you guys later.”

“Later!”

“Later.”

He climbs into the waiting car, gives a quick hello to the manager who’s driving (his greeting is ignored, so he figures the guy is probably part of the camp that detests Yuuji’s continued existence) and leans against the window once the door is closed. The hum of the engine vibrates under his cheek as the car starts up; Yuuji pulls out his phone and reflexively opens LINE, and a smile curves his lips as Okkotsu’s latest message pops up.

[The flight was delayed ...by four hours. _(:3」ㄥ)_ ]

It had only been sent five minutes ago, so Yuuji’s sure Okkotsu is probably still near his phone. He taps out his response with a grin on his face. [oh no www senpai u hav the wrost luck]

[*have]

[*worst]

[Maybe, but at least I have less typos than yuo.]

[...]

[...you.]

[HA! that’s what you get wwwwwww]

[凸(◠‿◠)凸 ]

[is that]

[did u just flip me off???]

[I would never. (◠‿◠) ]

[i’m telling your pilot to delay the flight 12 more hours]

[So mean, Yuuji! You’d really leave me stranded in this sweltering airport?]

[yes. after i made you pancakes and everything, this is how u thank me]

[I made ¾ of those pancakes, so that doesn’t count.]

[Ah, Miguel is calling me over. I have to go.]

Yuuji sighs and slumps in his seat. [me too, omw to a mission site rn. i think it’ll be a hard one too]

[Good luck, then!]

[You’re strong, though, so I’m sure it’ll go fine. Do your best!]

[☆ヽ( ◜◡◝)ﾉ ]

Yuuji’s chest floods with warmth. His thumb strokes the side of the phone as if he can physically caress the words, but he doesn’t have time to indulge in the feeling. The car begins to slow, and he hurriedly types out a parting message.

[thx senpai! see you tomorrow, have a safe flight!]

[Have a safe mission!]

Yuuji pockets his phone as they stop at the site and glances out the window. A cemetery, huh? That’s not ominous at all ...

He climbs out, and his jaw drops at the sheer size of the black dome that stretches upwards in front of him. When Ijichi had said the curtain was big, he really had meant Big. Yuuji has to crane his neck to see the top of it.

...So maybe this is a little concerning. Yuuji isn’t especially worried, though. It’s still just a curtain, right? All they have to do is find whoever cast it and bring them down; it isn’t that hard of a fix. And even if they fail, there’s always Gojou. He’d solved this kind of problem before, and he could surely do it again — he’s the strongest, after all.

But Yuuji, too, is stronger than he was before; he may have lost a couple of times when he was weaker, but he won’t lose now. He doesn’t need to rely on his teacher or his friends as much as he used to. He can support them with his own strength now.

Yuuji cracks his knuckles as the manager ushers him towards the two white-haired sorcerors waiting at the edge of the cemetery. With everyone working together, things will turn out fine.

He’s sure of it.

*

*

*

“Satoru Gojou ...has been sealed.”

*

*

*

“Hey, brat.

“Take a good look.”

*

*

*

“Itadori. You’ve got it from here.”

*

*

*

“Tell everyone ...it wasn’t so bad!”

*

*

*

“Goodbye, Yuuji Itadori ...

“...I expect much from you.”

*

*

*

Yuuji wishes he were dead.

Or maybe it’s more apt to say that he wishes he were just gone. Everything else is, after all.

Gone are the sunny summer afternoons when he snickered with Kugisaki over Fushiguro’s distaste for crepes as they strolled through the city together after a mission.

Gone are Gojou’s bombastic appearances with souvenir confections from his travels.

Gone are the wheedling calls to Nanami asking for help with his homework when Fushiguro was being stingy.

All of that is gone, and it’s never coming back. No matter how long Yuuji closes his eyes and no matter how hard he digs his knuckles into his eyelids, none of it is ever coming back. Nanami is never ...and Kugisaki and Gojou might not even ...

Might not even —

Choso’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “As impressive as ever, little brother.”

Yuuji heaves a sigh, turning towards the older curse as he saunters closer. “You’re still calling me that?”

“I’ll keep calling you that, over and over,” Choso says, coming to a stop in front of him. His stare weighs heavily on Yuuji, his eyes dark and insistent. (They remind him of …) “Try to remember. After all ...your father had stitches on his forehead, didn’t he?”

Yuuji barely remembers his father, aside from a deep voice and warm hands, but he honestly doesn’t care right now. The brick-ton weight that’s sitting in his heart has rendered him numb to nearly everything else.

He sighs through his nose and tries to find a way to say all this in as few words as possible, but an unfamiliar voice speaks up before he can. “I don’t see Megumi. Am I the first one here?”

And then, with that, what little peace he’s managed to establish in the past few weeks is ripped away yet again. He should’ve expected it, to be honest.

(And he deserves it, doesn’t he? After what he’d done.)

Naoya is astonishingly fast — too fast for his speed to be anything but a cursed technique. It’s hard trying to fight him, and to be honest, if it wasn’t for Fushiguro’s sake, then Yuuji wouldn’t. If it wasn’t for the burden of what he had done, then he wouldn’t.

Yuuji doesn’t deserve to face Fushiguro, or any of the others, so this is all he can do. Even if he doesn’t want to.

And he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to be here doing this, he doesn’t want to be here feeling this — he wants to see Gojou and Nanami, and Fushiguro and Kugisaki and —

And —

It slams down on him out of absolutely nowhere; a pitch-black curtain of roiling malevolence.

Yuuji gasps, and from the corners of his eyes he sees Choso and Naoya stiffen in place. That energy signature — that aura. Yuuji knows that aura like the back of his hand; he whips around, eyes flicking over the buildings until —

—there. He’s there. He’s here.

Yuuji’s knees nearly buckle with the waves of relief and desperation and hope that wash over him, but before he can even draw in a breath, Okkotsu speaks first.

“Oh? You’re not alone.”

His voice is frigid; not a hint of recognition in it. Yuuji doesn’t understand what — why is he —?

“So you’re Yuuji’s executioner,” Choso says, and everything falls into place.

Of course the higher-ups would ask Okkotsu to execute him, now that Gojou has been sealed away. So he’s their new trump card. Yuuji tenses as Okkotsu steps his way carefully down the rubble of the wall he had just crushed, swinging his katana idly by his side. Naoya stammers for him to wait, and when Okkotsu pauses to listen, Choso sidles up close and whispers “You need to run, Yuuji.”

Yuuji wants to tell him that it’s fine, that he knows Okkotsu won’t really hurt him — it’s Okkotsu, after all, but ...his heart pounds heavy in his chest as he watches the way Okkotsu holds himself, at the glacial way he stares at Naoya down the bridge of his nose.

This Yuuta Okkotsu ...this Yuuta Okkotsu feels nothing like the one Yuuji knows. His entire demeanor is different — distant by a thousand kilometers. Like there’s an impenetrable wall between him and them. The same wall that Yuuji had worked so hard to bring down, but fortified tenfold.

It sets Yuuji’s nerves alight. He shouldn’t be afraid, Yuuji knows he shouldn’t, but ...Okkotsu’s expression. The chill in his eyes as they scan over Naoya and Choso and settle on him.

The way his aura is writhing —

“Very well,” Okkotsu says to Naoya, in a voice as cold as ice. “Then I’ll leave the other one to you.”

His eyes dart over to Yuuji for just a split second as he speaks, and understanding pierces through Yuuji in a single sharp beat.

Yuuji runs.

Okkotsu tears after him, and as the sounds of Choso and Naoya’s battle start up behind them, Yuuji only hears the barest whistle of something slicing through the air before Okkotsu’s katana cleaves through the space to his right a millisecond after he dodges. Yuuji grunts, darting towards an overturned car and vaulting over it, twisting his body midair to change direction as Okkotsu’s blade slashes through the area where he would have landed. He nearly bisects the car with the force he puts into it.

Yuuji knows that this is just ...just a play-fight, like that spar they’d had so long ago — that they just have to make it look real until they can get out of Naoya’s sight, but —

He darts through the scattered wreckage of cars and poles, and the glow of the streetlights washes everything in a sickly yellow. Okkotsu appears in front of him — too close too close too close — and Yuuji kicks without thinking, sending the other boy crashing through the window of a storefront across the street. He blinks, and his mind finally catches up with his body a second too late.

Yuuji can’t help but back away as Okkotsu steps out from the mess of glass, brushing concrete dust from his sleeves. “O ...Okkotsu-senpai ...”

He swallows hard as Okkotsu carefully approaches and forces himself to hold still, despite his instincts screaming at him to flee. Stop it, he snaps at himself. I can trust him. It’s Okkotsu-senpai. It’s still Okkotsu-senpai. His eyes fix on the katana, and Okkotsu, of course, senses his apprehension before it even registers. Because Okkotsu knows Yuuji.

“Wait ...here.” Okkotsu drives the tip of his sword into the pavement and, to Yuuji’s surprise, snaps it in half with a single hard kick. The end part of it skitters across the pavement as Okkotsu holds up the broken top half for Yuuji to see, slow and careful in his movements. “See? I’m not going to fight you, Yuuji.”

“S-Sen ...senpai.” Yuuji’s fists still hover in front of him, his heart racing and his breath coming in pants. “So it’s — true, then? My execution is …”

Okkotsu nods tightly, his brows drawn together. “Yes. It’s been reinstated, so a lot of people are looking for you.” He sighs, short and sharp. “Gojou-sensei getting sealed is changing the entire structure of jujutsu politics. Now that he’s not standing between you and them anymore, they’re rolling back all of the agreements they made with him.”

Yuuji’s breath shudders out. “I sh —...I should die.”

“Yuuji ...don’t say that. You aren’t to blame for what happened.” The handle of the broken katana slips down slightly in Okkotsu’s loose grip. Yuuji distantly wonders why he doesn’t just throw it aside, too, but he’s too distressed to linger on the thought.

“I am.”

“It wasn’t —”

“Stop, stop. I know I should die. I deserve to die. But I can’t.” Yuuji scrubs his hands over his face, dragging his fingernails down his cheeks. The sting is nothing compared to the blinding ache that’s been curdling in his chest since Halloween. “And I ...I know it’s selfish, senpai, but I’m scared. I don’t want to die!”

“Yuuji. Just trust me, okay? Trust me. You won’t die.” Okkotsu reaches out and grips Yuuji’s shoulder tightly, his eyes swirling with something unfathomable. “I'll make sure of it.”

Yuuji swallows hard, his veins still crackling with adrenaline. I believe you, he thinks, and slowly lowers his shaking hands back to his sides. This is Okkotsu, after all. Yuuji can trust him.

He does trust him.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “I’m ...I’m still not done, senpai. I have to ...I still have to —”

“I know.” Okkotsu smiles at him; a full one this time. It softens his face, makes the dark circles under his eyes appear less distinct. “I’ll help you with that, too.”

Yuuji wants to reach for him. He wants Okkotsu to wrap him in his arms again, to squeeze him until the tangle of nerves and loneliness and guilt snarled inside his heart unravels. He wants …

He wants to be held. So badly that he’s burning with it.

But Yuuji doesn’t reach out. Instead, he nods haltingly, jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed. The hand on his shoulder rises to brush his bangs away from his forehead, and Yuuji looks up in surprise, his brows loosening slightly.

Ever-so-carefully, Okkotsu leans down and pushes a kiss to the scar between them, and Yuuji’s breath hitches.

His lips are cold, he thinks vaguely, like his hand was back then.

Even so, warmth spreads through him from the point of contact. He feels the knot in his chest begin to loosen, just a little. Feels his breaths come a little easier.

And then Okkotsu sinks the broken blade of his katana into Yuuji’s heart.

***

***

***

The darkness is warm; like a blanket, safe and soft. Comforting.

Yuuji’s eyelids shudder, and feeling comes back to him in pieces, like bits of a tapestry slowly stitching themselves together.

He feels something firm under his cheek; feels heat at his back. He feels something soft and light draped over his shoulders. He hears a whisper as soft as the susurration of wind through grass; feels something brush delicately across his temple, across his brows, and his eyelids finally flutter open.

Yuuji shifts to his back, wincing, and sees him.

The path his eyes take is familiar by now. The firelight washes Okkotsu’s skin in golden hues, turning the ivory of his shirt to cream and the bronze of his buttons to gold. Okkotsu stares back down at him with his dark eyes wide, and the shadows on his face cast them into sharp relief.

His lips part, and Yuuji jerks upright, scrambling backwards across the cracked stone pavement.

“You,” he whispers, heart jumping into his throat. “You —”

“Let me explain —”

“I don’t want to hear it, senpai,” Yuuji hisses. He struggles to his feet, nearly stumbling when a wave of vertigo hits him. Okkotsu half-rises, reaching towards him, but Yuuji takes a step back. His hand whips up, feeling over his chest; over the hole in his shirt where Okkotsu had stabbed him, and his breaths grow shorter. “I know there h-has to be — has to be a reason, or you wouldn’t have brought me back, but you — you just —!”

“There was a reason.” Okkotsu is standing now, but he makes no attempt to move closer. His hand rises to rub agitatedly over the button of his collar, and his words come faster, like he’s trying to get them all out at once. “Back in September, the higher-ups convened to choose an executioner for ...a worst-case scenario with Sukuna. Gojou-sensei had asked me in June to apply when he first heard it was going to happen, because only he knew that I was the only one who could bring you back if I was chosen. So I volunteered. There were a couple other freelancers who offered, but they chose me because …”

Okkotsu looks up, his expression pinched. And for the first time, Yuuji feels no sympathy for his discomfort.

“Because what?” he says, his tone eerily empty even to himself. Okkotsu looks away.

“Because I told them you trusted me.”

The words are so shattering that Yuuji’s knees almost give out then and there. The warm night air turns solid in his lungs, and he gasps.

“Yuuji —”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Yuuji whispers. Okkotsu’s sharp intake of breath is barely loud enough to be heard over the crackle of the fire. “So everything was — just an act, then.”

“Of course it wasn’t an —”

“You’ve been lying to me the whole time we’ve known each other!”

The words echo harshly in the silence. Okkotsu shakes his head slowly, hands hanging loosely by his sides. “It was for the best,” he says lowly. “Please try to understand.”

“Senpai, just …” Yuuji’s fingers dig into his shirt — into the new scar that sits just underneath it, which throbs at his touch.

(That first night under the stars, when he’d taken Okkotsu’s freezing-cold hand into his own and Okkotsu hadn’t pulled away, Yuuji had been so happy. That was the first time Okkotsu had smiled at him for real; the first time he’d let Yuuji reach across the distance between them.

The first time Yuuji had thought that he was beginning to understand him.)

Yuuji chokes back the lump in his throat. The knot in his chest feels ten times heavier than it had before. Ten times tighter.

“All this time,” he rasps. “All this time, you knew it might come to this. So why didn’t you tell me?”

Okkotsu pauses. He shifts forward, just slightly, and Yuuji backs up three steps. He doesn’t want Okkotsu anywhere near him right now. The other boy’s expression turns pained; his eyes are so dark, they swallow up the firelight like two black holes.

“Would you have let me closer, if I had?” he says quietly.

Yuuji turns away. His face ...no, his whole body feels hot. Like there’s something molten piling up inside him, building up pressure towards bursting out.

“You’re horrible,” is what spills from him instead, in a whisper as sharp as a blade.

He leans down to snatch up his jacket from where it had fallen, but as he stalks into the darkness beyond the firelight, he just-barely catches Okkotsu’s response, right before the wind carries it away.

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Two days after he is resurrected for the second time, Yuuji is back at Jujutsu High. It feels surreal being there, with all that had happened, and the campus feels so ...empty. Gojou is sealed, Kugisaki is still in a coma, Principal Yaga is dead, and Yuuji ...

Fushiguro’s glare is one-hundred percent unamused as he stares down at where Yuuji is sprawled across his bed. Yuuji is facedown, so he can’t see the other boy’s face, but he can just feel the expression he’s making.

“You can’t use my room to hide from your problems,” Fushiguro deadpans, yanking his pillow out from under Yuuji’s head. Yuuji groans.

“I‘m not,” he grumbles. He turns onto his side, facing the wall, and curls up miserably into a ball. “Wish I could, though.”

There’s a long pause; then the bed dips, and a hand comes to rest lightly on Yuuji’s shoulder. Fushiguro’s voice is less harsh when he says, “You have to stop punishing yourself, Itadori.”

Yuuji curls tighter. “But ...”

“I know. This is something you have to resolve on your own.” Fushiguro leans against him, so that they’re back-to-back, and sighs. “But you already know what I think.”

Yuuji’s fingers rub over the creases in the sheets. He can feel Fushiguro’s heartbeat faintly against his back, steady and reassuring. He wonders how his own heartbeat feels.

“I feel numb now,” he says softly. Fushiguro hums, and the sound vibrates through Yuuji’s back. “But my heart feels … it just. Hurts. Hurts so much …”

“It did get stabbed,” Fushiguro murmurs. Yuuji cranes his neck to glare, and Fushiguro cracks a tiny smile. “Too soon?”

“Asshole,” Yuuji mumbles, and sits up. The sheet bunches beneath his hands, and he stares absently at the way the new scars over his knuckles strain against his skin. He thinks of that flat plane of sheer destruction, of buildings crumbling around him and the acrid tang of Sukuna’s presence lingering in the back of his throat, and his heart squeezes painfully in his chest. “Will it ever stop?”

Fushiguro hesitates before answering. “Never completely, I think. Just parts of it, sometimes.”

He shuffles around, nudging Yuuji further in on the bed so that they can sit side-by-side, legs outstretched in front of them. He bumps his shoulder into Yuuji’s, gently, and Yuuji bumps back.

“The world we live in is filled with sorrow,” Fushiguro says quietly. “It’s the burden every jujutsu sorceror has to carry. But ...there are good parts too.”

Fushiguro glances towards his desk, and Yuuji follows his gaze. There’s a small photo taped above his book stack, an old-style Polaroid; in it is a much younger Fushiguro, glaring off to the side while an older girl with dark hair holds him close to her, shooting a peace sign and a bright grin at the camera. His sister Tsumiki. His most important person, from what Yuuji had gleaned.

Fushiguro sighs. “Those good parts are pretty scarce, Itadori. So when you have them, you should hold onto them. Right?”

He bumps Yuuji again, more pointedly this time, and Yuuji glares down at his lap. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

“I know. But I am anyway, because the dark cloud hanging over you is gonna start pouring any second if I don’t.”

Yuuji finally feels his lips twitch. Fushiguro huffs through his nose, but he’s smiling a little.

“Are you really still mad at him?”

“...yes.”

Fushiguro looks at him. Yuuji squirms.

“I’m not mad at him for — for ‘executing’ me, okay? I understand that part. I just …” Yuuji sighs, folding his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “I don’t know why he didn’t tell me. It still would have worked.”

“Would it have? Think about it, Itadori.” Fushiguro crosses his legs at the ankles and leans back on his arms with a frown. “If Okkotsu-senpai had told you about it, after he made the contract with Jujutsu headquarters, what would you have done? Would you really have wanted to be around him?”

Yuuji squirms again. He knows the answer to that question, and he knows he’s not really angry at Okkotsu, not anymore. Now he just feels ...

“When he spoke to me,” Yuuji said quietly, “and when he ...when he touched me, he was always so ...careful. I want to believe that was real, but ...” He drops his forehead onto his knees. “I was the one who kept pushing closer. I was the one who wanted to be closer. And he let me, even knowing what could happen. I trusted him, but … he didn’t return it. That’s why it hurt.” He takes a tremulous breath, clenching his teeth. “And anyways, I ...called him horrible. There’s no way he’ll want to see me now.”

Fushiguro twists Yuuji’s ear suddenly, startling a yelp from him. “Itadori, are you an idiot? — that question’s rhetorical, by the way.”

“Fushiguro, come on ..!”

“You know about Rika, right?” The suddenness of the question pulls Yuuji up short. He nods cautiously.

“Senpai’s ...the girl he was in love with, right? The one who turned into a curse when she died.”

“The one he turned into a curse,” Fushiguro corrects with a grimace. Yuuji’s breath stutters.

“He ...what?”

“Look, I’m probably not supposed to be telling you this, but watching you two is becoming unbearable.” Fushiguro sighs shortly. “Long story short, Okkotsu-senpai wanted her to live, and his desperation twisted into something distorted by accident. His love was what cursed her. That’s probably what he was afraid of.”

My love is not a cradle, Okkotsu had said. It’s a noose. Yuuji laughs reflexively, his heart pounding. “But senpai doesn’t —”

He cuts off. He can’t lie about it, not now. Fushiguro looks at him knowingly.

“He probably just tried to balance how he felt with the knowledge that he might have to ...execute you someday. And to be fair, he probably didn’t think he would. He couldn’t have expected Gojou-sensei to be taken out — none of us did.” Fushiguro grimaces again. “I’m not saying he didn’t handle it in a really shitty way, but …”

A sky full of stars fills Yuuji’s mind. A voice, as quiet and opaque as the morning fog that rolls in from the mountains. Do you think it’s possible to love someone too much?

Yuuji’s heart pangs, because now he knows how he should have answered. Of course not. Because love is —

“...so that’s why he asked me that,” Yuuji says softly. Fushiguro looks over at him, curious, and Yuuji’s breath leaves him in a long, shaky sigh. “I, uh, guess I lied. I wasn’t ‘mad’ ...”

“I figured.” Fushiguro smiles at him again, small and kind. “Feel better?”

Yuuji does laugh at that. “No.”

“That’s too bad, because I’ve used up all my emotional intelligence for today.”

Despite his words, he slides his arm around Yuuji’s shoulders and shifts him to lean closer. Yuuji lets himself be pulled. His heart is still a heavy weight in his chest, but it feels the tiniest bit lighter, and he clutches that sliver of lightness close like it’ll disappear at any moment. He wants to keep it safe.

Fushiguro’s voice is gentle when he speaks. “You’re a good person, Itadori. Let yourself be happy.”

Yuuji’s lips wobble, and he presses them together as his vision blurs. He turns his head into Fushiguro’s neck, and his friend holds him a little tighter.

Beyond the window, a cloud creeps over the setting sun, and shadows crowd the room.

It feels safe.

Chapter Text

It’s the middle of the night, but Okkotsu answers his door quicker than Yuuji expects. Yuuji knew he’d still be awake, with his night-owl tendencies and all, but it still throws him off. The words he’d been intending to say disappear from his tongue.

They stare at each other in silence for a long, tense moment. Unexpectedly, the older boy breaks it first. “Itadori-kun,” he says politely, his face a carefully-constructed mask of neutrality. “Is there something you need?”

“Yeah.” Behind his back, Yuuji’s hands twist together, then clench into fists. He has nothing to be afraid of here. He’s come this far, so he’s going to settle it. “We need to talk.”

Okkotsu’s lips thin. “Right now probably isn’t —”

“I want to talk,” Yuuji amends firmly, “while there’s time. Is that okay with you, Okkotsu-senpai?”

The other boy stalls for a minute, but just as Yuuji had predicted, he caves and reluctantly steps aside so that Yuuji can enter. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and the sound is one of finality.

Yuuji had come here for a reason. He won’t back down now. He can’t.

He has no patience for tact, so he jumps straight into addressing the obvious elephant in the room. “Fushiguro explained contracts to me already, so I know about the vow. But that doesn’t change the fact that you killed me.”

Okkotsu’s eyes squeeze shut, his grip tightening on the doorknob like he has to fight not to turn it again. “I did.”

“After I told you I was afraid to die.”

“I ...I know, and I —”

“Let me finish, okay?” Okkotsu falls silent, so Yuuji continues, purposefully and carefully. “I spent a lot of time thinking about why ...why it bothered me so much, even though you brought me back. Back with Choso and Naoya, I was just ...so sure you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Yuuji pauses, takes a couple of grounding breaths, and looks up. His senpai is quiet; as still as if he’s been carved from stone. Yuuji picks out his next words with extreme care. Okkotsu needs to understand him.

They need to close this space.

“But you did hurt me. You took the choice from me to die on my own terms, senpai, and you decided to do it without telling me anything. That’s what bothered me. That’s why I was angry.”

There is a long pause, heavy with tension, before Okkotsu speaks.

“Did it scare you, Itadori-kun?” he says quietly. The tension weighting the air darkens until it begins to curdle into something else. Okkotsu’s hand falls from the doorknob, but he stays put, his dark eyes boring into Yuuji’s face. “Seeing me like that. Did I scare you?”

The faint tendrils of his cursed energy curl around Yuuji like smoke. Like something almost-tangible. Gooseflesh prickles along Yuuji’s arms, but he doesn’t shiver this time. He doesn’t balk, either.

“That’s not gonna work on me,” he says, returning his senpai’s stare with just as much intensity. “I’m too used to you.”

Okkotsu’s lips twitch. “You’re a little too honest, I think.” His gaze drops to the floor then, his aura thinning out like mist, and Yuuji frowns.

“I’ve never been scared of you, senpai,” he says stubbornly. “I’m not scared now.”

“I don’t want you to be scared of me,” Okkotsu whispers, his eyes downcast. “But if you were, then I’d understand. You trusted me, and I took advantage of it. It doesn’t matter the reason. I already knew, even when I made the agreement with Gojou-sensei, that ...that you wouldn’t forgive me for it.”

“And I don’t forgive you. Not right now.”

Okkotsu nods like he’d been expecting that, but it doesn’t erase the moroseness of his expression. Yuuji huffs, crossing his arms.

“Stop looking like that. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, I do. I know I do,” Okkotsu says softly, running a hand through his hair and looking anywhere but at Yuuji. Yuuji rocks back on his heels, chewing his lip. This wasn’t how he’d wanted this to go. He can already feel the space between them yawning wider — can feel Okkotsu start to build up his wall of distance all over again, brick by brick.

Yuuji refuses to let that happen. Not now that they’re here.

“I said you were horrible, didn’t I?” Okkotsu looks at him then, with something breaking in his eyes, and Yuuji amends quickly. “I did, but ...I shouldn’t have. I know how cornered you were.”

“But you were right.” Okkotsu’s voice turns frustrated; he paces over to his desk and glares down at it, fingers curling tight onto the edge. “There were so many things I should have done, but instead I let myself get carried away. I should never have let it get that far. I should have never ...been so taken with you.”

“You weren’t pretending,” Yuuji murmurs. It isn’t a question, but Okkotsu nods anyway, jaw clenched, and Yuuji’s heart skips a beat.

“I was never pretending,” he says tightly. “I tried to stay away just enough — to not get too involved. I tried to be satisfied with just talking. With just being near you.” Okkotsu sighs, and the rigid line of his shoulders goes slack. “I tried, but …in the end, I couldn’t keep you away. I didn’t want to.”

“I know,” Yuuji says, softening. “That’s why I kept pushing.” He huffs a wry laugh, twisting his hands together. “I guess that part’s my fault.”

Okkotsu’s lips tilt in response, but there’s no mirth in the expression. “If only I’d pushed back.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Yuuji says quietly. He scuffs his foot along the floor, but doesn’t look away when Okkotsu’s surprised eyes meet his. “Yeah, you kinda stabbed me in the back, no pun intended, but in the end ...I’m still alive because of you, too. I didn’t forget that.”

Tell him. Don’t let him slip away.

Under the weight of Okkotsu’s unwavering stare, Yuuji steels his nerve and forces himself to continue, heartbeat thundering in his ears. “...do you remember what you asked me before? About if you could love someone too much?”

The other boy tilts his head, but his eyes don’t leave Yuuji’s face. “Yes ...”

“I, um ...I didn’t know what to say back then, because I didn’t understand.” Yuuji’s eyes drift to the wall over the other boy’s shoulder, but his words don’t falter. “And it wasn’t until you asked me what I thought love was that I started to get it.”

He meets Okkotsu’s eyes again, and this time he holds them. They are as dark as the sky was that night. As fathomless, too.

(As if they are inviting him to fall in.)

“Okkotsu-senpai,” he says, unclasping his hands and clenching them by his sides. “I don’t forgive you, but …I don’t regret any of the rest. I don’t regret becoming closer to you. I don’t regret that I got to know you — to become friends with you. And I don’t regret that I …”

Yuuji trails off, and the pause after his words is suffused with a peculiar weight — like the room itself is holding its breath. He takes a deep breath, and his voice is a whisper when he speaks again. “I don’t regret that I fell in love with you.”

Okkotsu’s eyes go wide, pinpricks of blue swallowed by white. He finally steps forward, gingerly, and this time Yuuji doesn’t move away.

“I love you, too,” he breathes, and the space between them seems suddenly so small — so close.

But not close enough.

Yuuji swallows hard. “Can you ...say it again?”

“I love —”

“No.” Yuuji takes a breath. Then another. He feels like he’s fizzling in place.

He says, with his heart hammering, “My given name. Say it again.”

Okkotsu halts for a second, but then his expression melts. His lips part, and he takes another step closer.

“Yuuji.”

Yuuji closes his eyes. “Again.”

“Yuuji.”

“Again.”

“Yuuji.” Hands frame his face; delicately, as if he is something precious. The touch is ice-cold, but it burns into him like a brand. “Yuuji ...can I kiss you?”

I should stop, Yuuji thinks. I should be satisfied with just this.

He reaches up and grasps the front of Okkotsu’s shirt, and Okkotsu dips his head forward just as he had on that ruined street in Shibuya — only this time he tips Yuuji’s head back too, and lowers his lips to Yuuji’s.

The shock of it is like being doused in ice water. Okkotsu’s lips are cold, but in a way that’s like the burn of dry ice rather than frostbite, and Yuuji finds himself clutching Okkotsu closer like he can’t get enough, and Okkotsu licks Yuuji’s mouth open and delves into him as if he, too, is seeking more of Yuuji’s warmth, more of Yuuji, and Yuuji lets him take as much as he wants because — the truth is?

The truth is, he’s been waiting too long to pour his warmth into Yuuta Okkotsu. The truth is, that first time Yuuji took his senpai’s hand in his own, that night long ago under the starry summer sky, he had not wanted to let it go. Yuuji had wanted to let Okkotsu’s creeping chill seep all the way into him, all the way through him, because Yuuji is always burning, and Yuuta Okkotsu’s touch brings him solace. Yuuta Okkotsu brings him solace — all of him, his cold hands and his dark eyes and his stifling, smothering aura. And Yuuji —

—Yuuji wants to be smothered.

If love is being held, then Yuuji wants the heavy noose of Yuuta Okkotsu’s love to tighten around him until it’s all he can feel.

Until he’s gasping with it.

Okkotsu draws back, and Yuuji clings harder to him like he can’t bear it. “Senpai,” he implores, and his voice is choked. Okkotsu, who is as always strangely adept at deciphering what he wants, leans back in to press his lips to the scar at the corner of Yuuji’s mouth, and Yuuji tightens his hold. “Please.”

“Call me Yuuta, Yuuji,” the other boy breathes, his thumb caressing the side of Yuuji’s jaw. Yuuji makes a low sound that could’ve passed for a laugh if his eyes weren’t brimming with tears. “Why are you crying?”

“Dunno,” Yuuji says shakily, with a real laugh this time. “I feel guilty.”

“Why?” Yuuta rests his forehead against Yuuji’s, with eyes so tender that Yuuji’s breath shudders. Yuuji’s hand moves to press against Yuuta’s chest, over his heart, and through the thin layer of fabric he can feel it beating just as hard as his. It’s exhilarating, feeling for himself the proof that his feelings are reciprocated — the proof that the last of the distance between them has finally, finally been bridged for good. He turns away from Yuuta’s stare to bury his face into the junction of his neck, and Yuuta’s arms slide around him.

“Because I’m so happy right now,” he mumbles. “The whole world is going to shit, but I’m so happy. I want this. I want you. For a long time now.” Yuuji pulls away suddenly, flushing. “Is that — is that too much? Am I being too greedy?”

“Yuuji,” Yuuta says, with a laugh of his own, “I’ve wanted you since that night after the second time we met. I couldn’t stop thinking about how it might feel to hold you like this, the whole time I was away.” Yuuta’s hands rise from Yuuji’s shoulders, encircling his neck lightly and tugging Yuuji closer so that they are eye-to-eye. Yuuji’s pulse jumps under his fingers. “About how it might feel to let myself fall into you. If anyone is being greedy, it’s me.” His thumbs caress the sides of Yuuji’s neck, and he smiles warmly. “But how could I not, when it’s you?”

Fuck. Yuuji nearly sways on his feet. “Yuuta. Please,” he says again, in a whisper this time. Yuuta kisses him again, deeply; Yuuji chases his lips when he moves away, and Yuuta sighs softly and lets him.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuta murmurs against his lips between kisses. “I’m sorry for being so selfish. I’m sorry for everything but this. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you, Yuuji. Anything.”

“What I want,” Yuuji breathes, “is you.”

And so Yuuta gives himself over, piece by piece.

He gives Yuuji his attention, his star-sapphire eyes fixed on Yuuji like nothing else exists as he sheds the clothes from his body one by one and then bares himself to match; he gives Yuuji his touch, up his sides and down his back and over the skin of his chest, over the scar he had left there like a brand over Yuuji’s heart; he gives Yuuji his words, whispering the depth of his regard over and over in a voice like velvet as he works him open, meant for Yuuji’s ears only; he gives Yuuji his body, plying him with deep kisses as he joins their bodies in the most intimate of ways, holding Yuuji so tightly to himself that he squeezes the breath from Yuuji’s heaving chest.

It really is smothering. Yuuta doesn’t let Yuuji slip away; doesn’t allow him so much as a breath of reprieve. He burns his presence into Yuuji until Yuuji is breathless with it — with Yuuta’s ice-fire touch and his stifling aura, flattening him down and drowning him until he’s straining to stay conscious. Yuuta pulls him, drags him to climax again and again until Yuuji goes limp, shivering under Yuuta’s wandering hands, with nothing else to spill but the cries from his mouth.

Yuuji takes it all, greedily. Gladly.

When they lay together afterwards, still a little sticky despite Yuuta’s best efforts with a damp cloth (and the corner of the sheets), Yuuji squirms in Yuuta’s hold until they’re facing each other and stares.

Yuuta gazes back at him, the picture of serenity. His neck is littered with marks, and his hair is beyond messed up, and Yuuji can’t help but feel satisfied about it.

“Hey,” he says, and is thrown off when his voice comes out hoarse. He clears his throat, surprised. “Holy shit. Was I loud?”

Yuuta smiles a little too widely, and Yuuji’s cheeks go hot; as if he can’t help himself, Yuuta presses a kiss to one of them.

“Panda will probably scold us tomorrow,” he muses. Yuuji blinks. “I heard his door slam five minutes after we started.”

“Oh man, we drove him out? Now I feel bad,” Yuuji says, the mirth in his voice belying his words. Yuuta hums, sliding his fingers through Yuuji’s hair, and Yuuji notices that his hand is warm now. He looks down at Yuuta’s body, so different from his own. So pale that it is nearly spectral. His fingers skim Yuuta’s bare chest, stilling over his heart again.

It’s beating hard, just like before. Yuuta Okkotsu’s heart, it seemed, would never calm at his touch. The thought shouldn’t please Yuuji as much as it does.

Again, he asks, “What do you want, Yuuta?” and looks up into Yuuta’s waiting stare. The well in his eyes is overflowing now, and Yuuji feels high from it.

“Everything you’ll give me,” Yuuta says softly. “And what you’ll let me take.”

And Yuuji knows it now. He knows that the noose is double-sided; that the stars in Yuuta’s eyes only shine because of Yuuji. That only Yuuji can fill the well in Yuuta’s heart.

That no matter what, Yuuta will always look at Yuuji like this — as if he is the sunshine, and Yuuta is a freezing man reaching hungrily towards it.

How intoxicating it is, to be loved. To fall, and to be held.

Yuuji sits up, staring down at Yuuta from above. His hips are sore. The sheets and comforter still lay half-draped on the floor where Yuuta had kicked them down the bed earlier. He really, really needs a shower, and probably to give Panda an apology offering too.

He hasn’t felt this euphoric in weeks. He’s buzzing with it. The knot in his chest is still there — and it probably always would be — but the joy in his heart drowns it out.

Yuuji grins; Yuuta’s hand curls around his, where it still rests over his heart.

“That’ll never be too much for me.”