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“Wait, you’re serious about this?”
Nobara brings the soda can she’s holding to her face, and passes the remaining bubbly liquid from the aluminum container to her lips, swallowing it all in one last gulp. She sets the empty can on the floor. “Dead serious.”
She glances at him, noticing the way his brows are furrowing deeply; puzzled expression like she just suggested they should stick their hands in boiling water and count how many seconds it takes for their skin to start peeling off.
“...With me?” He asks, still facing the TV instead of her, eyes glued to the screen like he’s watching some fascinating, forbidden footage instead of the selection screen of Mario Kart 8.
“Yes.”
“ Why? ”
She rolls her eyes. She had already explained why , and it made perfect sense, so she didn’t understand why he was acting like she said something outrageous instead of a completely rational, mutually beneficial proposal.
“Because,” and she talks slowly, like she’s explaining some mundane, everyday fact of life to a toddler, “we’re friends and friends help each other out.”
He turns to her, “Yeah, but not like…that. Friends don't go around kissing each other.”
She lets out a tired, exasperated sigh, “It’s not a real kiss Itadori, it’s a practice kiss.” she gestures with her hands “It’s just for practice, okay? Not the same thing. At all.”
Itadori, who somehow looks even more confused; "Why would you need to practice with a friend? Who does that?”
“I do!” she retorts immediately, “I spent the first sixteen years of my life in a hellhole full of lame, boring people so I never dated or kissed anybody. I'm sixteen, okay? I'm too old to be so inexperienced, I don't wanna make a fool of myself in front of someone I like.”
Itadori’s expression gradually morphed from bewilderment to… hesitant sympathy. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being inexperienced, you know? Sixteen isn't that old.”
She huffs at his comment, feeling a wave of indignation knock into her. Unbelievable. This is his fault.
Her lack of a romantic partner only started to bother her once she was presented with the scenario of Itadori, out of all people, getting one before she did. Truth be told, she isn’t certain about why it irks her this much. Her brain has latched onto this idea and refuses to let it go, bombarding her with mental scenarios carefully designed to make her uncharacteristically uncomfortable and upset.
It’s…odd. She has always been the competitive type, though never to this extent. Itadori doesn’t even have a girlfriend yet, but just knowing someone is interested in him triggers an unwarranted anxious response.
She is just…very sensitive to the notion of falling behind her junior. Apparently.
Nevertheless, it’s only a matter of time until she gets approached by someone. A big city like Tokyo is bound to be full of competent suitors; unlike her small, limited, and disappointing hometown. Someone attractive, smart, wealthy. Funny, cultured, with an eye for fashion and a refined palate. They’ll take a look at her, be captivated by her beauty and grace, and beg for a date.
And when that scenario inevitably comes to pass, she wants to be prepared.
She has never dated, never kissed, never flirted. Her knowledge of romance is entirely theoretical; there is no empirical evidence to review. Before enrolling in this school, she had never even properly befriended a boy. Her interactions with the opposite gender were often…unfortunate, back home.
Noticeably, she’s gotten better at talking to boys, with some practice. Might as well practice other things, too. It's called being cautious, a concept Itadori seems unable to grasp, for some reason.
“Whatever,” she sways her hand, dismissively, “will you help me or do I have to ask someone else?”
He raises an eyebrow, “Who are you going to ask?”
Without missing a beat, “Fushiguro.”
He’s fighting back a grin, “You’ll ask Fushiguro?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s no way you’ll ask him that.”
“Watch me.” There’s no way she’s asking Fushiguro that.
He pouts, scrutinizing her deadpan expression as she stares back at him.
“Are you sure you want me to-”
“Itadori, I’m literally asking you.”
Silence. More scrutinizing.
“And you won’t regret it halfway and slap me, right?”
She considers this. “I’ll try not to.”
He averts her eyes, hand resting on the back of his neck, “I don’t know. I don’t think this is a good idea.”
What a coward.
“Fine.” She concedes, shrugging nonchalantly, as if hot embarrassment isn't rapidly catching up and building inside of her, making her feel like a complete moron, “As I said, I can ask someone else.”
She switches her attention back to the TV and grabs the controller that she had left on top of the coffee table earlier, and scrolls through videogame characters.
His loss.
He’s probably a terrible kisser, anyway. He must be as inexperienced as she is, so it’s not like he can teach her. He must be clumsy and awkward and lame. The only reason she picked him as her test subject relies wholly on how innocuous he is. Familiar enough for her to feel comfortable, but not likable enough to risk any sort of escalation or complicated feelings. It’d be like kissing a mirror or a wall, but more interactive.
She should just drop it, honestly. She can’t be that disastrous at kissing. Hell, perhaps she’d be a natural at it, perhaps-
“ Oh …I think I get it now,” his eyes lit up, like he just made some grand realization or solved some intricate mystery, “I might be stupid but I'm not an idiot, I understand what's going on. Of course ."
Now's her turn to be confused.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
"I'll do it." Small smile, nervous and bashful. "I'll help you 'practice'."
"You will?"
"Y-yeah."
His demeanor changes slightly, betraying a sudden change in confidence. She doesn't dwell on the reason, assuming he's just feeling awkward about what he just agreed to do.
She, on the other hand, wrestles back the triumphant smile that wants to slip up and ruin her facade of cool indifference. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Pause. "Right now?”
“I don’t see why not.”
He stirs nervously over his seat. “Here?”
She looks around. The school has a few recreational rooms, like the one they're in right now. It has a TV, a bookshelf, some furniture, and decorations; among other things. It's common for them to hang out here whenever they're free, but she’s not expecting anyone else to pop up at this point, given how late it is.
It’s still too public and risky for her comfort. The idea of someone, like Fushiguro or Maki-san, walking in while they’re in the middle of… that , is mortifying at best.
“No, not here.” she concludes, “Let’s go to my room.”
“ H-huh? ”
“Don’t get any funny ideas.” She adds, annoyed, clearing out any weird implications, “You know it's not like that." Points in his direction with her finger, "If we're going to do this, I need you to go brush your teeth first, thoroughly. If your breath stinks in any way, I will murder you." She looks at the couch, the table and the TV, "I’ll clean up here and wait in my room.” She adds, standing up, and looking around for the TV remote.
He hasn’t moved yet. He's staring at her, a funny expression on his face. “Hurry up!” She barks and he flinches in response, violently pulling him back from his thoughts. She glares at him as he gets up and leaves the room to finally do as he was told.
She quickly tidies up, turning off the TV and the console, picking up the empty bags of chips, cans of soda, and candy wrappers and throwing them in the trash can. After making sure everything’s back where it belongs, looking like it should look, she heads to her bedroom.
It isn't far, so it doesn't take her long. Once there, she goes straight to the bathroom and brushes her teeth too; it's only fair. She glances at her reflection in the mirror of the sink, and swiftly combs her hair down with her fingers, pulling back all the misplaced hair strands and fixing her bangs. There’s a strawberry-flavored lip gloss lying around, and she grabs it and coats her lips with it. For no particular reason obviously, just because.
She sits on her bed while waiting for Itadori to arrive, and grabs her phone to distract herself with it. She checks her social media. A few minutes go by.
What is he even doing that is taking him so long? He didn't chicken out, did he? She closes her Instagram and is about to send him a text when she hears a soft knock on her door.
The insides of her stomach twist and knot and flutter, which is strange. Maybe she’s stomach sick. Yeah, probably.
“Come in.”
Itadori cracks the door open just a little, his head barely fitting in through the door. His eyes sweep across the room, scanning the space in silence. She feels a little self-conscious, as she hasn’t had the time to properly decorate the room besides some posters, bed covers, and plushies. It’s not the most tidy, either. She should've picked up some of the mess.
“Your room is pretty nice.” He says, with his usual heartfelt sincerity, and she feels silly for assuming he’d think anything but. Itadori’s too nice for that.
He fully steps in, closing the door behind him. And he’s stiff and awkward and shy, very obviously out of his comfort zone. It's kind of an amusing sight, Itadori ungraciously standing in her room while wearing a white t-shirt and those ridiculous orange shorts covered in daisies he seems to love so much.
She can’t believe she’s doing this.
She taps the empty spot on the bed to her left, “Come here.”
He reluctantly approaches, sitting a few inches farther away than necessary, anxiously rubbing his hands together over his lap. She rolls her eyes again.
He avoids eye contact, staring at some spot around her shoulder area instead of her face. “So…”
“What?”
“I gotta admit,” he says, scratching the back of his head, “you took me by surprise, I wasn’t expecting this.”
Well. In hindsight, she has to admit it isn’t the most common request, so. Fair.
“To be honest, I can’t say I haven’t thought about it before,” he admits, sheepishly, “but I assumed you wouldn’t want to.”
She frowns. Okay?
Maybe her idea isn’t all that uncommon, if he thought about it too. Was he just pretending to be unsure before? Weird.
Though, upon further consideration, it does make more sense for him to be practicing how to kiss than it does for her. He’s probably thinking of asking Ozawa out, she’s tall and cute and tall, like, very tall. Just like he likes them.
Her brain, as usual, does her the favor of generating a very vivid sequence of images; him taking Ozawa out to watch one of those god-awful creepy movies he loves so much, him making her laugh with one of his goofy impressions, and she's blushing and he's blushing too and they're kissing-
“Let’s get this over with,” she says, “it’s late, I’m tired.”
“Right.”
He scoots closer, the bedframe squeaking under his weight. He takes a deep breath, as he gathers the courage to lean into her. She’s very still, arms resting at her sides. She doesn’t know what to do, so she does nothing.
He stares into her eyes and she stares into his as his face draws nearer and nearer and suddenly her pulse shoots up and shit he’s actually going to do it and she’s too embarrassed to keep looking so she closes her eyes and waits as the distance shortens more and more until she can feel his hot breath against her face and smell his cologne- which, he wasn’t wearing before, she’s sure of it. Did he put it on right before coming to her room?
She sucks a breath in as he pushes their lips together, so tenderly and warm and her heart skips a beat- but he pulls away before she can reciprocate or even process what is happening.
Huh?
She opens her eyes as she’s about to complain because that can barely be defined as a kiss and if he was just going to chastely smack their lips together and back away like they’re third-graders in Elementary School then he should’ve refused to- and whatever she’s about to say dies down her throat as he grabs her chin and kisses her again; properly.
It takes a moment, but he moves his mouth against hers, slowly, clumsily, sweetly. Places his warm palm on her cheek, and drags his rough fingertips across the soft skin, the contact sending shivers down her spine. Her heart hammers against her ribs so fast and so hard, that she's convinced it might leap out of her chest and stumble to the ground.
She kisses him back, eagerly, and finds out she, in fact, is not a natural. She's just as clumsy, if not more, and so nervous her mind's gone blank and she can't remember anything those 'How to kiss' videos on YouTube instructed her to do.
They struggle to coordinate, bumping noses when they try to reposition. She doesn't know what to do with her hands so she just grips his forearms like her life depends on it and hopes for the best.
They do figure it out, much faster than she thought they would; awkwardness and tension wearing off to make space for something…good. Something that feels surprisingly good. Like really, really good. The kind of good that sends goosebumps all over her body.
She parts her lips open, giving him the chance to deepen the kiss, which he hastily does. His right hand trails down her cheek to her neck and he uses his free arm to wrap her waist and push her body closer to his until she's strapped on his lap, legs folded on each side of his thigh. She touches him too, palms dragging along the hard muscles of his arms to his chest to his jaw and face and hair, gripping and pulling.
The gradual increase in temperature is starting to bother her. Itadori's remarkably warm, and their bodies are tangled together, condensing all the heat. She's making it worse by wearing a sweater, a mistake she's very tempted to rectify by lifting it over her head and tossing it aside, despite wearing nothing but a bra underneath.
The thought should be mortifying yet she's considering it; the rush from the adrenaline must be messing with her head, and she's not thinking rationally anymore. A predictable outcome taking her track record into account.
It's always like this, whenever she gets too heated about something it's like a flip gets switched at the back of her head, and boom, she's no longer able to judge situations objectively or make sensible choices. She'll do whatever gives her the most satisfaction at the moment, impulsively.
Her grandmother says she's like a sports car with no breaks, flying through the racetrack with no regard for what could be ahead.
A very bad habit for a sorcerer to have, she said.
She'll work on it. Eventually.
Now she's too busy getting carried away by her teenage hormones and curiosity. It's like her body has a mind of its own, doing whatever feels good at the moment; kissing and touching and grinding without any concern for properness or decorum. Itadori's busy sneaking his fingers under her hoodie, caressing the skin of her back and squeezing her waist and that should be off-limits but his hands are so big and so warm and they feel so nice and there's a throbbing ache building up in her lower stomach and she just wants to relieve it somehow.
She sucks on his tongue, nibbles his lower lip with her teeth. He whimpers against her mouth and she rocks her hips over his thigh-
He pulls away, demonstrating the kind of self-control she can't be bothered to practice.
"Sorry," he breathes out, "I think I need- I think I need a second. I'm- it's too much."
Oh.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he’s blushing aggressively, "are you?"
"Umm," their faces are still dangerously close, which is awfully distracting, "Yeah, I'm fine.”
His gaze drops from her eyes to her lips and she thinks he’s going to kiss her again, she wants him to kiss her again, but he doesn’t. He looks away instead, swallowing hard.
“Sorry, I overstepped.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he becomes aware that his hands are still venturing under her shirt, meeting bare skin. He promptly removes them.
“Don’t be.” she clears her throat, “I asked you to do this, remember? We were just,” pause, “practicing.”
“Umm.” Awkward, awkward, awkward. “About that…”
“Mmm?”
“You don’t really need to do that, Kugisaki.” there’s a half smile on his face, one that’s bordering on smugness, “I know.”
“Know what?”
“It’s obvious.”
“Huh?”
“Next time you want me to kiss you, you can just say it.” It’s not bordering anymore, it’s a full-on smirk that reaches his eyes, “No reason to come up with weird excuses.”
She blinks, dumbfounded.
“That’s not-”
“I’m not good with hints so it took me a while longer than it should but-”
“What the hell -?”
“I think I’m starting to get a grasp on you, finally.” he says, “I think I understand you.”
“No, no, no-"
He looks at her, and he’s essentially beaming at this point, “You act all tough and cold but you actually like me-”
“I don’t like you!” She wants her voice to sound flat and unwavering but she's too flustered and it comes out in a higher pitch than it should, “I don't like you, I'd never like you, okay? You're wrong, that’s not what is happening here."
He tilts his head to the side, studying her. He's no longer smiling, but the flicker of amusement in his eyes gives away his thoughts.
He doesn't believe her, not one bit.
"Okay."
"I'm serious."
"Sure."
"You-" she takes a deep breath, "Just go away, will you? I don't want you here anymore."
He doesn't seem to take offense at this. Standing up, "You-"
"Out. Now."
He holds both hands up, open palms, showing he's surrendering, "Fine, fine."
He steps away but doesn’t exit the room just yet. He sort of stands there, watching her. Timidly. Fondly.
He thinks she likes him. He actually believes she likes him and he's staring at her like he's happy she likes him, corny smile plastered on his face. She throws one on her pillows at him.
Finally, he does leave. And that should be it, shouldn’t it? He’s gone and she can simply shrug and brush everything off. He’s wrong, right? She doesn’t like him. She would’ve kissed anyone out of curiosity, just to get a feel of it.
Yet her brain is stuck in a loop, replaying the events again and again. She can still feel the ghost of his soft lips and calloused hands, engraved in her skin. The way he smelled and tasted. It’s tainting all of her memories of him, moments she didn’t register as notable before have been put through a filter that changes their meaning entirely, making her chest flutter and her stomach turn.
Oh, she messed up. She messed up bad .