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If lucky, one would notice in the croon of coastal breezes sings a melodious voice that can cure any wounded soul, peaceful as if to lull but also melancholic as if in pain, or so they say. Itadori pays no mind to rumours in his neighborhood because gossip can easily attract people like that, but there’s indeed something that catches his attention. He can hear it too, the wistful tune but instead of sea and wind, it’s from his recent roommate. And furthermore, the man is mute.
Itadori didn’t understand how come the stranger was clothless, speechless, memory-less and magically lying on the beach out of nowhere in their first encounter, he simply knew the other needed him by one look at those amethyst orbs. So here they are, sharing an apartment and all the necessities for living despite being barely above strangers.
It’s not like Itadori has complaints though, in fact, he quite enjoys the other’s presence.
He’s otherworldly, literally so. Inumaki would gawk at electronic devices like a historic man, become appalled then shun seafood like a true zoophilist and give so much more eccentric reactions when Itadori shows him around Sendai. Aside from the requirement of being constantly supervised, Inumaki is actually fun to be with. Speech restriction doesn’t stop him from frolicking and enjoying his newly found life with the pink-haired boy.
But, that one thing that essentially piques Itadori’s curiosity while simultaneously adds to the other’s charm is undoubtedly him being an enigma.
Somehow, Itadori finds peace in having Inumaki around despite the latter’s lack of verbalization, which makes him wonder whether Inumaki is naturally irresistible or Itadori himself is that easy to feel attached to. And strangely, when they watch TV in the younger’s humble living space, lounging on the tatamis eating tangerine or snacks while separated in different rooms, Itadori can hear a hum, meek and quiet but pleasant, leaving listeners wanting for more. Despite knowing the other, something tells Itadori that if he were able to speak, his voice would sound mellifluous like that.
However, the tune is so delightful that it’s worrisome.
At times, its notes hang heavy in the air and in his mind, narcotizing that Itadori falls asleep then wakes up being bundled in the older’s solid embrace, or its pitches turn gratingly high whenever he is too close to people other than Inumaki, as if both a warning from the other end and an alarm from his own intuition. Every so often, the melody can be as sweet as it’s incessant, rendering his mind dazed and delirious.
Itadori remembers evenings when they lazily stroll on the coastline, feet dipped in the sand as tides swallow their ankles and the imprints of their journey. The other is always a few steps ahead of him, his back facing him but Itadori can imagine those violet orbs trace layers of ripples weaving and woven until they meet the horizon to merge with the darkness of nighttime, perhaps missing his home. When the pink-haired boy is sure with his guess, the other will turn to him with an unreadable expression as if nonverbally telling him wrong and something more.
And, in his mind rings that same coo.
At the inviting tune, the pink-haired boy can’t help but feel hypnotized, always as if only a lifeguard’s yell away from dragging them both into the unforgiving sea and drowning in its vastitude. Every time that lull echoes, he dreads the inexplicable urge bubbling in his guts and parasitizing his system, luring him to submit, to adhere to, to devote his entire fate to the ivory-haired man.
It’s possessive, it’s bewitching, making him question whether the fact that the voice is so forcefully impactful or himself can be so compliant.
In those days, his dreams would be haunted by the notion of being suffocated like his lungs so full of water that they are punctured, his vision, voice, sensation, all crushed and flooded by the pressurizing density whereas racking cries and obsessive chants of how he belongs to and is to be claimed deafen his hearing.
Fortunately, ever since Inumaki offered his company during those sleepless nights, the pink-haired boy is liberated from the tortuous nightmares and consequently, the distance between them gradually fades.
He can still hear that voice, but milder and caring, within the ocean gusts or not.
“!”
A tug at the hem of his hoodie brings the teen out of his reminiscence. Inumaki wordlessly informs the younger about their arrival upon the boundless sea and its distinctly refreshing scent. It’s the time for Inumaki to bid his goodbye in this one last sail.
They drift to the epicenter of the night, bathe in the atmosphere’s tranquility, admire the cosmos sheltering aquamarine waves and nature’s generosity. The oars row and row, splashing seafoams and celestial light coating them. They row and row, until people’s minds are too occupied for anything but the loud thoughts of their own.
Amidst the calmly undulating waves, they sit in a creaky boat, silent and watchful of both the seascape and each other. Itadori is the first to break the ice.
“The moon’s beautiful tonight.”
And the truth is what he says. The spectacle displays an oceanic mirror reflecting lunar night dusting far-flung twinkles for their senses to luxuriate and their minds to wander. However, whatever view there is isn’t appreciated for the sole sight that captures Inumaki so inescapably is the pink-haired boy and that boy only. It’s unfair, how nature can be so gentle with the boy, his ethereal being soaking in moonlight, his expression relaxed as if soothing the wind and clouds themselves, but cruel to him for such beauty although right within his grasp, pursuing his desires would be selfish and sinful of him. He yearns, he agonizes.
He wishes to claim his.
And he sins.
The ivory-haired man has made his mind the very moment when he laid his eyes on one certain pink-haired boy, his life is bound to the other and vice versa. He longs for the pair of eyes that hold the glory of brilliant aurora, his cheerful tone enunciating his name affectionately, his tender hands that are always so reliable and ready to catch him, his radiating smile brings fulfillment no treasure or immortality can, anything and everything of Itadori Yuuji.
And Inumaki is sure to get what he desires.
One hand cups the younger smooth cheek with genuine affection, he leans in.
“Inumaki-san?”
So sweet, so naive, so clueless, there to be taken. The addressee’s lips hovering just a breath away from the younger’s earlobe, whispering and finally.
“Love me.”
Simple as that, the boy goes limp in his seat, deprived of motion, control, will, passive and pliable.
With one hand encircling the boy’s back and the other supporting his lower limbs, Inumaki descends from the wooden platform, his beautiful glistening scales and majestic tail show themselves as he submerges in the aquatic surface and carries them to the depth of oceans and beyond.
Days, months then years later, albeit vaguely, coastal dwellers can still hear that mysterious croon, but rather than sorrowful, it’s light, content and resonant timelessly.