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At his core, Yuuji’s a simple guy.
He doesn’t aspire to be a billionaire — though that would be nice — or to travel the world or go to the moon. He doesn’t greet each sunrise with a song, wondering what miracles the day will bring. He’s not the type of idle dreamer who thinks that he can change the world all by himself; he recognizes how big it is, how the grand scheme of things is not his to control.
And he isn’t much of a romantic, either. He doesn’t swoon at flashy declarations, wouldn’t lose his breath at fireworks spelling his name out in hearts. Yuuji falls for the little things; the angle of a pencil in a delicate hold, the steady surety in a set of broad shoulders.
The careful cup of a hand as it cradles something precious.
“Is it dead, senpai?” Fushiguro says this stoically, but there’s a reticence in his tone that Yuuji has come to recognize as unease. “I tried checking for a pulse, but I didn’t feel anything.”
Okkotsu carefully traces his finger along edge of the cat’s ear, lips pursed. He’s crouched on the steps of the temple with its small body settled next to his knees, and it lies motionless in his hold, limp like an abandoned doll. “I’m not sure…how long has it been here?”
Yuuji’s hands clench and unclench restlessly within his hoodie’s pocket as he rocks back on his heels, frowning. “Dunno. We didn’t see it when we went in, though.”
“But we weren’t looking either,” Fushiguro points out.
Yuuji grimaces guiltily. “I told you we should’ve called Ieiri-sensei…”
“And I told you that she’s out of town on business,” Fushiguro replies. He runs a hand over his spiky hair and sighs shortly, shifting his weight. “Okkotsu-senpai, it’s fine. It’s probably too late. We should get rid of it before Yaga-sensei sees, or he’ll be walking around depressed for the rest of the month.”
“Well,” Okkotsu murmurs with a faint smile, “in that case, then I should at least try, right? If it’s that important to him.”
Even before he’s finished speaking, his hands flare white as he activates his reverse cursed technique. Yuuji watches, holding his breath, and beside him Fushiguro leans forward a little bit. Three seconds pass — then five, then ten.
The cat doesn’t move.
Yuuji deflates, and in Okkotsu’s shoulders he sees a similar slump of defeat as he slowly lets the glow of his cursed energy peter out. The older boy sighs, lowering his hand. “I think —”
A sudden yowl rings out; Okkotsu jerks back, but he’s a second too late to avoid the claws that score down his palm as the animal twists in his grasp and leaps away. He yelps, clutching his bleeding hand, and the three of them watch in muted awe as the cat flees down the stairs in a dark gray blur, streaking across the grounds.
At the edge of the tree line, it pauses to look back, flicks its bushy tail once, and then vanishes into the forest without a sound. Yuuji stares, mouth hanging open in shock; Fushiguro gazes blankly after it.
“...welp,” Yuuji says, clearing his throat. “Guess it wasn’t dead.”
And then Okkotsu breaks into a laugh, loud and bright. It’s a sound Yuuji has never heard him make so openly before, and he can’t help but be taken aback at how buoyant it is.
“I guess not,” the older boy says through his chuckles as he heals his palm. “Which one was that, Fushiguro-kun?” He finally smothers his smile in his hand as he rises to his feet, looking over to his two kouhai. Fushiguro sighs.
“Mifune, I think.”
“Mifune?” Yuuji echoes, shooting him a raised brow. “What, you know ‘em all by name?”
“How could I not? Those cats have been around since before I got here,” the other boy grouses, jamming his hand into his pocket. “They’re not even scared of the shikigami anymore. If Yaga-sensei doesn’t stop feeding them, they’ll never leave.”
Okkotsu hums, rolling his sleeves back down over his arms. “This is the first time I’ve seen one of them up close, actually.”
“Why’s that?” Yuuji says, curious. Okkotsu gives him a wan smile as he ascends the steps to the landing.
“Most animals tend to avoid me because of my aura. That’s probably why I got scratched, too.” He looks down at his hand with a quiet sigh. “It’s too bad. Mifune’s fur was…really soft.”
The curve of his smile softens then, and Yuuji feels something in his chest soften in turn. Yuuji knows exactly what that is; knows that familiar twinge just as well as he does the ache of disappointment that always inevitably follows.
So he doesn’t give much thought to it; not then, when they bid Okkotsu goodbye and retreat back into the building for class, and not later when Maki steals the last of Okkotsu’s salted cabbage at dinner and he shoots her a look of muted dismay. Not even the next day during their twice-weekly joint training, when the older boy knocks him flat to the floor of the dojo and then offers a hand with a sheepish smile, and that same twinge rings out a little bit clearer when Yuuji takes it.
There’s no reason to dwell on it. Yuuji is sure it will fade on its own if he does nothing. Just like the other times, it’s nothing but a passing fancy; a natural product of his innate mercuriality.
But it doesn’t. A day passes, and then a week, and that feeling in his chest only grows and grows. He catches himself staring more than once, finds himself noticing things he hadn’t paid attention to before. How Okkotsu uncaps his pen with his teeth when he writes something down. How he fiddles with the button on his collar when he’s thinking hard about something, and how he tucks his thumb under the strap of his katana case when he answers.
How, when he smiles, it’s always the left side of his mouth that lifts first.
Yuuji clings to it just as fervently as he wishes it would go away; that skip in his heartbeat whenever he meets Okkotsu’s eyes when they pass in the hallways; the way his tongue goes all sluggish and heavy when Okkotsu greets him and Fushiguro when he returns from a mission; how his thoughts tangle up when they’re all sitting together at dinner and Okkotsu’s right across the table from him, laughing sheepishly at Inumaki and Panda’s good-natured teasing.
(And there’s something else, too, that he’s not used to feeling.)
“Fushiguro-kun.”
Yuuji and Fushiguro, chatting idly in the vending station as they kill time before their last mission of the week, turn as one to face the approaching second-years. “Okkotsu-senpai, Inumaki-senpai,” Fushiguro greets with a nod. Yuuji waves from beside him, tamping down the flutter that arises in his stomach. “Did you need something?”
“We just wanted to check if you were still coming tomorrow,” Okkotsu says, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “You said that Gojou-sensei had given you an extra assignment, right?”
“He bumped it up when I asked,” Fushiguro replies, sipping his black coffee. “Itadori and I are going to do it today instead.”
“Yep,” Yuuji says with a grin. “He says it’s gonna be a fun one.”
Fushiguro rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and I’m sure we can trust that.”
“Okaka, mentaiko,” Inumaki mutters, eyes focused on his phone as he types away. Okkotsu nudges him in gentle reprimand before turning back to them with a genial smile.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Good luck, you two.”
Inumaki pockets his phone and shoots them a peace sign. “Kombu.” Don’t die.
“Inumaki-kun, don’t say it like that...”
The two of them turn toward the doors, but before they can enter the building Fushiguro speaks up again. “Okkotsu-senpai.”
Okkotsu pauses, holding the door open as Inumaki steps through it ahead of him. “Hm?”
“...I liked the book.” Fushiguro frowns and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly as he mutters, “thanks for the recommendation.”
And then Okkotsu’s face lights up, and Yuuji’s heart squeezes like it’s been seized. “Oh, I’m glad you liked it! We should talk about it later. I want to know what you think about the change in tone from the first one.”
He’s smiling fully now, and Yuuji can see clearly the way it softens his expression; the demure, boyish glow it lights to his normally reserved eyes. Okkotsu has a very nice smile.
It’s very nice — but it’s not for Yuuji at all. And before that thought even has time to settle, Yuuji’s stupid mouth flies open again.
“Senpai,” he says, weirdly out of breath, “good luck on yours, too.”
“Hmm?” Okkotsu’s face smooths over once more as his gaze shifts to Yuuji. Something twinges again in Yuuji’s chest, but this time it feels more like a stab than a squeeze.
“Uh, I mean, with…your mission. If you guys are going on one.” The tips of Yuuji’s ears are abnormally hot, but he forces himself to continue anyway. “Good luck!”
Okkotsu smiles a little, but it’s the polite, practiced one this time. The warmth from before has all but vanished. His eyes are impassive again. “Ah, we actually just finished. But thank you, Itadori-kun.”
Yuuji can do nothing but stutter a weak “y-yeah” as Okkotsu bids them farewell and ducks through the door. Barely an instant after it shuts behind him, Fushiguro turns toward Yuuji with what the hell was that? written all over his expression, and Yuuji smacks a palm flat over his own face and groans, mortified.
“Man, don’t say anything. Please.”
“No, I’m gonna say something,” Fushiguro replies flatly, downing the last of his coffee and tossing the can into the recycling bin. “Are you going to explain that?”
“I just, I don’t know!” Yuuji tears his hand from his face and gestures helplessly, clutching his soda. “You and Okkotsu-senpai…it’s like you’re on another wavelength or something! I can’t keep up!”
A dark brow lifts, unimpressed. “Why do you care?”
“I don…” The refutal is on Yuuji’s tongue, balanced on the tip ready to fall at any moment, but he finds himself stopping before it can. He isn’t used to this feeling at all; he isn’t used to any of them. And it’s hard to keep pretending, locking them up inside and trying to ignore them as they keep piling up, more and more, every single time he catches a glimpse of Okkotsu’s form at the edge of his peripherals.
Yuuji takes a deep breath, discards his can in the bin and says, “...come back to my room after the mission? I’ll tell you then.” After a pause, Fushiguro gives him a nod that’s only a little bit skeptical, and relief sags Yuuji’s shoulders.
Despite Inumaki’s sardonic comment, the mission really isn’t all that bad. They clean up a few curses from an abandoned hospital wing in no time and only get a little bit scuffed up as a result. “Yes ~ Now we’re both free for tomorrow!” Yuuji cheers as he exits the showers, toweling off his hair. “See? That wasn’t that bad.”
Fushiguro, trailing behind him, huffs shortly through his nose. “I don’t see why sensei wanted me specifically on that one, though. Anyone else could’ve handled it by themselves.”
“I’m pretty sure he was just messing with you again,” Yuuji replies with a laugh as they stop in front of his door. He turns the knob and pushes it open, gesturing inside with a flourish. “Please.”
Fushiguro rolls his eyes, but steps in anyway. “Then, excuse me. You should really start locking your door.”
“For what? Nobody here’s gonna steal anything.”
Yuuji shuts the door, tosses his towel to the side and flops down backward onto his bed as Fushiguro, much more gracefully, takes a seat at the desk. The blinds are drawn, and the waning light from the sunset spills into the room as square patches on the opposite wall.
“So?” Fushiguro settles down in the chair, resting his cheek on his forearm as he turns toward Yuuji. “You gonna explain what you wanted me here for?”
“Yyyes…” The word stretches out as Yuuji mulls over how to start; Fushiguro, ever patient, throws a pencil at his forehead. “Ow! Just gimme a minute, I’m thinking!”
“Then let me reiterate the key points,” Fushiguro says with a long-suffering sigh. “You. Okkotsu-senpai. Connect the dots for me, Itadori.”
“Okay, okay! Um.” (How best to put this? Probably just frankly.) “I…think I like him.”
Following his words, the room is silent. Yuuji lifts his head off the bed, craning his neck to take a peek at the other boy’s face, and finds that it’s actually taken-aback for once. “...what.”
“I said, I think I have a crush on —”
“No, I heard you the first time. I just didn’t expect that. At all.” Fushiguro sits up, his expression thoughtful now. “Now it all makes sense.”
“What? What all makes sense?” Yuuji lurches upright, horror spiking in his chest. “Was I — was it obvious? You could tell?!”
But the other boy waves him off with a shake of his head. “No, no. Not that, anyway.” He tilts his head consideringly, running a hand over his damp hair. “You do get quieter around him, though. I thought it just meant that he put you off.”
“No, ’s not that,” Yuuji says with a sigh, letting his head fall back as he speaks. “It’s like I just…I’ll be fine at first, and then he’ll look at me and the words just…”
“He needs to teach me how to do that,” Fushiguro mutters, then lithely dodges the pillow Yuuji flings at his head. “Look, Itadori, I can’t give you any advice or anything, but if it makes it any easier, your taste isn’t bad at least. Okkotsu-senpai’s really strong and really reliable.”
“Thanks, Fushiguro. I hadn’t noticed.” Yuuji drops back onto the bed and drums his heels on the side, pouting. “I wish I could be closer to him…”
“What’s stopping you? Just talk to him.” Fushiguro bends to pick up the pillow and tosses it back, and it lands squarely on Yuuji’s face. “Ask him to help you study instead of me sometime.”
‘Just talk to him.’ It’s the easiest thing in the world to say when it’s not about you. “No way I can do that.”
“Why not? He doesn’t bite.”
“Yeah, but…”
Yuuji lets himself imagine it for a moment. Him and Okkotsu, sitting side-by-side at the low table in the common room as they go over Yuuji’s homework for Chem or something. Okkotsu is patient, so he probably wouldn’t get ticked off at Yuuji’s incompetence with the material like Fushiguro sometimes does.
He’d probably say something like, that’s okay, Itadori-kun. I’ll show you again in a different way, just like in their joint training sessions. And then he’d turn to Yuuji and smile, right before he uncapped his pen with his mouth —
Oh gods gods gods. Yuuji clutches the pillow over his burning face as he forcefully derails that train of thought into a flaming pile-up in the back of his mind. “No way no way no way,” he moans, kicking his legs restlessly where they hang off the bed. “I can’t do that, Fushiguro! I’ll die.” He lets his arms flop out to his sides, voice muffled by the pillow. “This sucks! I can’t believe some people actually like having crushes. It’s such a freakin’ pain!”
Fushiguro makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “This is painful, all right.”
Yuuji sighs again. “It’s not fair,” he mutters, well aware that he’s just whining at this point. “The way he smiles at you is completely different than the smile he gives me. And his smile is so nice, Fushiguro! I want him to smile at me like that too…” He punts the pillow off his face and murmurs, “I just want him to look at me.”
Fushiguro gives him a vaguely sympathetic look. “So I guess this means Jennifer is a fling of the past.”
Yuuji bolts upright, gasping indignantly as he clutches the poster above his headboard. “No way! Jenny and I are different!!”
“Then I suggest you focus on her,” Fushiguro intones as he stands up and pushes the chair back in, “because at this rate, you’ll be pining forever.”
He leaves with a wave, and Yuuji scowls at the door as it closes. That’s what he gets for choosing to confide his romantic woes in Fushiguro, of all people. (He knew he should’ve picked Kugisaki.)
Regardless, time slogs on as it always does, and before Yuuji knows it, it’s Saturday night, and the first and second-years are kicking back in the common room for the exchange victory celebration.
The party is more fun than Yuuji had thought it would be. There’s snacks (courtesy of Maki), there’s music (courtesy of Inumaki and Spotify), and there’s lots and lots of party games. After his third can of beer (also smuggled in graciously by Inumaki), Yuuji’s nerves have mostly ebbed away, and he finds himself easing into the festivities with surprisingly little reserve.
It’s just as well, because a.) Okkotsu is here. B.) he’s dressed casually, like the rest of them are. And c.) if not for the games, the drinks, and the distraction of his friends, there’d be nothing to stop Yuuji’s eyes from following the contours of Okkotsu’s chest where his dark blue sweater clings to his body.
(Fuck. Yuuji really needs more to drink if his thoughts are still going there.)
“You guys had better clean all of that up,” Panda warns from where he’s wedged between Maki and the arm of the loveseat. “And no spills, either. If Masamichi smells alcohol on me, I’m ratting all of you out.”
“Sujiko,” drawls a pink-faced Inumaki with a hiccup and a dismissive wave of his hand. Next to him, Okkotsu huffs a laugh and plucks the can of cheap beer from his friend’s loose grip. “Okaka!”
“That’s not fair, Panda-kun,” Okkotsu says. “Only Inumaki-kun and Itadori-kun are actually drinking it.”
Yuuji looks up at the mention of his name, heart leaping in his chest, but Okkotsu’s gaze is still on the can. Panda rolls his eyes.
“You guys didn’t stop them, though, so you’re guilty by association.”
“Neither did you,” Maki retorts through a mouthful of chips.
Panda’s face goes innocent. “I’m just a panda. I can’t be held responsible for the crimes of you humans.”
“Right,” she says dubiously. “Yuuta, finish that for him. Toge clearly doesn’t need any more.”
“Eh?” Okkotsu says, looking up with a start. Inumaki, sprawled listlessly beside him, snickers. “Why me?”
“Because I don’t want to,” Maki says with a pointed sip of her soda, which she had opted for because she’s not a punk like her two colleagues. “And you’re not gonna force our poor kouhai to do it, right? Plus it’s the last can, so it’s the last of the evidence. Do it for Panda.”
“Do it for me, Yuuta-san,” Panda simpers, hands curled cutely under his chin. Okkotsu tips his head back and sighs, long and resigned, and Yuuji can’t tear his eyes from the flash of pale throat that the gesture reveals.
“Fine…” He reluctantly lifts the can to his lips and starts to drain the rest of the beer, his eyebrows pinched together like it’s torture for him. “Inumaki-kun, you owe me for this...”
“Takana ~”
“We’re baaack!” rings out as Kugisaki kicks open the door, holding a stuffed animal triumphantly over her head. “See, I told you we could do it! Yaga-sensei didn’t notice a thing!”
“Oh, nice, Nobara!” Maki grins and sets aside her can, resting her elbows on her knees as she leans forward. “How did you guys manage that?”
“Hehe.” Kugisaki preens, but before she can open her mouth Fushiguro jostles her out of the doorway and shuts the door behind them.
“I’m the one who did most of the work. Kugisaki just stood around on her phone.”
“Hey, I was keeping watch! That is most of the work!”
“Okay, okay, but more importantly!” Yuuji cuts in impatiently, wiggling eagerly in his spot. “What’s it do? Which one’d you steal?”
“Borrow,” Fushiguro corrects as he reclaims his spot beside Yuuji on the second couch. “And it’s a lie detector.”
“Eh? Lame,” Panda drones, slumping down in his place. Maki shoves him back when he starts to squish her. “What can we possibly play with that?”
“Well,” Okkotsu says, finally lowering the can, “there is the King’s Game, I guess? It could go well with that.” His cheeks are faintly pink, but his movements are as smooth as always as he leans forward to set the empty can on the table. His sweater creases under his chest when he does; Yuuji forcefully wrenches his gaze away. “The commands would have to be structured really specifically, though.”
“Mm,” Maki hums, leaning back and propping her feet on the table. “Guess that could work. In any case, it’s the last game, so we might as well try.”
“And we worked hard,” Kugisaki stresses. “Don’t waste our efforts, senpai!”
“Yeah!” Yuuji pipes in agreement, only to receive a glare. “What?”
“Don’t go trying to share the credit, Itadori.”
“You were the ones who told me not to come!”
“Yeah, because we needed stealth and you would’ve gotten in the way,” she retorts, settling in at the other end of the first years’ couch. “Anyway, be useful and go make the sticks.”
Yuuji rolls his eyes, but obediently gets up. “Fine, fine.”
After the sticks are made, they clear a space in the center of the table to place the stick cup and the cursed doll. Panda gives it a plaintive look.
“Sorry about this, Nico-chan…”
Fushiguro grimaces. “Panda-senpai, please don’t talk to it.”
“Not my fault you guys picked one that I know.”
They all draw sticks, and Yuuji drains the last of his beer as he peers down at his. Number Three, huh. Better luck next round.
“Tsunamayo! Tsunamayo!”
“Who is the king? Who is the king?”
Maki and Inumaki bang their fists on the table in time with their chanting. Clearly, somebody is enjoying the game a little too much. (Although in Inumaki’s case that might just be the alcohol’s fault.)
“It’s me~!” sings Kugisaki, grinning widely as she twirls her popsicle stick. “Hmm…what should I make you peons do for me?”
In tandem, Panda and Inumaki groan and Fushiguro sighs. Yuuji simply snickers, idly balancing his empty can on a finger. He isn’t worried. The chances of him getting picked are one in six, after all.
“I’m thinking of how to put this…okay, got it. Number Three,” Kugisaki says cheerfully as she waves her stick. “Kiss the person that you like the most in this room.”
Yuuji freezes, only barely catching the can before it topples to the floor. Kugisaki waves the stick impatiently when nobody makes a move. “Hello? Who’s Number Three?”
“Uh.” Heads swivel towards Yuuji as the sound leaves his mouth, Okkotsu’s among them. Yuuji determinedly doesn’t meet his eyes, ignoring Kugisaki’s dejected grumble of damn it, I thought it was Maki-san for sure, and his mind races as he mulls over his options.
Option 1: he acquiesces to Kugisaki’s command truthfully, thus avoiding a strike but also inadvertently confessing his affections in front of everybody. That would be a disaster just waiting to happen, but —
For a moment, Yuuji considers it; considers what it would be like to get up, and cross the room to where Okkotsu is sitting, and lean down and…
Yeah, right. Option 2 it is. Yuuji turns to his right, grabs a surprised-looking Fushiguro by the shoulders, and plants a big wet one right on his cheek.
The next thing he feels is a starburst of pain as the doll whacks him straight over the back of the couch. He groans, clutching his face, as Maki and Panda dissolve into raucous laughter. Kugisaki clicks her tongue angrily. “Itadori, if you were gonna waste my command like that then you should’ve just switched sticks with someone else! Or me.”
“But that’s against the rules,” Yuuji hisses half-heartedly as he climbs painstakingly back to his feet. He darts a glance at Okkotsu as he does, but the older boy is leaned towards Inumaki, peering down at his phone with a puzzled look. Yuuji sighs inwardly, but he supposes that a bruised cheek and ego are relatively minor injuries to escape with. Once he’s settled back onto the couch, still holding his cheek, Fushiguro smacks him upside the head for his troubles. “Ow! What was that for?!”
“Because one wasn’t enough,” Fushiguro retorts, clearly pissed. “You’re cleaning up today even if you don’t lose.”
“Fuuuck.”
Yuuji settles into the corner of the couch, pouting and holding his throbbing cheek as the game continues. Maki is King the next round, and she orders Number Four — Fushiguro — to sing the chorus of the last song he’d been listening to. Fushiguro does it, reluctantly (for what, though? he has a great voice), and the game proceeds on. After that comes another few rounds where Yuuji is (mercifully) passed over, and things starts to wind down as people visibly get sleepier.
“Okay, I think that’s enough.” Maki stands up with a yawn and stretches her arms above her head. Panda picks up the doll and tosses it to Kugisaki. “I’m gonna turn in. Who’s on cleaning duty again?”
“That would be Hot Lips over there, since he’s the only one who got punched,” says Kugisaki with a playful glare that Yuuji returns, “and Fushiguro, since he lost at the pocky game.”
“I didn’t lose. Inumaki-senpai was playing dirty.”
“Okaka,” Inumaki says innocently as he rises to his feet next to a smiling Okkotsu. “Kombu kombu.”
Fushiguro sighs and shakes his head. “Fine. At least make things easier for us and put all your cans on the table.”
Five minutes later, after everyone has said their goodnights and filtered out of the room (and kindly set their cans onto the table), Yuuji and Fushiguro make their way around the room, cleaning up the stray wrappers and trash.
Yuuji feels a glare burning into the back of his neck and casts the other boy a sheepish look. “Sorry, dude, I didn’t know what else to do. And Kugisaki would’ve killed me if I kissed her.”
“You could’ve just refused then, since you were gonna get punched either way,” Fushiguro deadpans as he picks up the last can. “Were you thinking at all?”
“Not really,” Yuuji says, and has to duck the can as it comes sailing at his head. “Oi! I said I was sorry!”
Fushiguro sighs harshly, tying his bag off and tossing over his shoulder with a glower. “Pick someone else next time.”
“Like there’ll be a next time.” Yuuji snorts, stooping to pick up the can he’d dodged. “‘S not like I could predict she’d say that, and anyways…”
He sighs and straightens as he murmurs, “...you already know Okkotsu-senpai’s the one I like.”
A sharp breath follows his words — but it isn’t from Yuuji. It isn’t from Fushiguro, who’s still frowning as he wipes the last of the crumbs off the table. It comes from the direction of the doorway behind them, loud in the silence. Both of them freeze at the sound, staring at each other in round-eyed dismay.
No, comes a feeble whisper in the back of his mind. This can’t be happening.
Yuuji feels his head turn towards the door, slowly and arduously — like he’s moving through jelly instead of air. And even though he’s begging for time to stop, to rewind, to take mercy on him just once just once —
—he meets Okkotsu’s wide, dark eyes, and instead of skipping, his heart drops through his stomach and into the floor.