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Choso’s integration into human society has been going a hell of a lot smoother than Yuuji had initially expected. Actually, for someone who spent 150 years of his existence as a cursed womb in a jar, Choso is surprisingly adept at interacting with people who aren’t Yuuji if they’re both out in public. It’s only been a measly two months post-Yuuji finding out that he has some twisted kind of family in the form of a man with two spiky, little buns and a black line over his nose. They sometimes get some strange looks when they’re out and about, but otherwise, Choso hasn’t attempted to murder anyone (yet) and Yuuji hasn’t pranked him (too much).
Shockingly, Choso has taken a keen interest in cars. Namely, he’s asked Yuuji on numerous occasions to let him drive one. Now Yuuji isn’t one to deny his brother anything, pleased as he is whenever Choso develops any sorta enthusiasm for man-made things. However, Yuuji doesn’t have access to a car, nor does he know how to drive one.
Enter: Gojo Satoru. The man, the myth, the menace . Who must have noticed Choso’s rapt attention after a particularly sexy sports car drove past them one day while they were walking down the streets of Tokyo. Yuuji’s fairly certain he noticed a slight glimmer of drool forming on his brother’s mouth as the car sped away, tires screeching on the asphalt.
“I have a car almost exactly like that one,” Gojo casually mentioned and Yuuji watched in abject terror as Choso perked up at that. Yuuji heard the question in the air before Choso even vocalized it.
“Really?”
Gojo nodded, an easy smile splaying on his lips as Yuuji made every attempt to glare at the man, begging him with his eyes to stop before Choso’s next question was inevitably spoken.
“I teleport anywhere I need to go, though. So, it’s been collecting dust in my garage ever since I bought the dumb thing. It’s too bad, it’s such a pretty car,” Gojo said, sighing dramatically for effect. “I think it deserves to be seen by people. Right, Choso?”
Yuuji’s eye twitched.
Choso just nodded enthusiastically. A rare, albeit nice smile began to form on his face.
“I can teach you how to drive, ya know,” Gojo finished and suddenly, Yuuji was all too aware of Megumi’s inner turmoil every time he watched Gojo interact with people.
How does Gojo think it’s a good idea to teach a 150-year-old cursed womb how to drive? Choso can barely do his own laundry without accidentally dyeing their white shirts pink. Yuuji’s had to stop him from throwing one of his red hoodies into the washing machine on more than three occasions. He even made his brother a helpful chart with pictures on how best to separate their dirty clothes, but Choso, ever the stubborn one, informs him every single time that he’s got it and don’t worry little brother, your laundry is safe with me .
So, no. Yuuji wasn’t a fan of Gojo ( especially fucking Gojo of all people) instructing his older brother on how to drive whatever expensive contraption he had in his garage.
“It would be an honor,” Choso replied earnestly as he stopped in the middle of the crosswalk and bowed to his sensei.
“Great!” Gojo had the audacity to raise not one, but two thumbs up in their direction. Overly resembling a pleased, blindfolded cat who caught the canary. “We’ll start tomorrow.”
It turns out that Choso wasn’t bad at driving. In fact, Yuuji was amazed at how well he took to it.
Yuuji remembered how he clutched tightly on his seatbelt and the car door from where he sat in the back during Choso’s first lesson, gazing intently at Gojo as he explained the car’s mechanisms to Choso. (He was only a little peeved that Choso seemed to care much more about this lesson than the laundry ones that Yuuji painstakingly gave him, but whatever.)
He was also only a little peeved that Gojo spent more time lecturing Choso on how to drive than any of his actual students on how to fight. The sight made Yuuji unconsciously pout. Gojo was apparently in the wrong field.
When the car started moving, though, Yuuji belatedly realized that he dented the door with how tightly he was clinging to it.
Still, after a few lessons, Choso was able to comfortably get from point A to point B and Yuuji would never admit it, but he was secretly happy that his brother could drive. Late-night food runs were significantly easier and Nobara now had a trunk to put her ridiculous amounts of Saturday afternoon shopping bags in. (Read: Yuuji was no longer being pummeled half to death for daring to drop one of her shoe boxes on their return to the dorms.)
Which leads Yuuji back to the present. Out of boredom, a nefarious idea comes to him while he beats his brother for the fifth time in a row in Smash.
“Hey, Choso,” he says as he sets his controller down on the table in front of him. “You ever been to Starbucks?”
Choso merely side-eyes him, a tiny downturn on the corners of his mouth as he shakes his head.
“I haven’t been anywhere that you haven’t taken me, little brother. What is this…star…”
“Bucks,” Yuuji finishes, the corners of his eyes scrunching up in glee. It’s been a long time since he messed with Choso (about 72 hours, give or take) and he’s due for some more little sibling shenanigans. “It’s a coffee shop. Let’s go. I’m in the mood for something sweet.”
You see, Choso already agrees with anything Yuuji says or wants. But when it comes to driving Gojo’s car, which he graciously loaned to Choso for the time being, his older brother is more than willing to go along with whatever Yuuji plans.
That’s how they ended up in the drive-thru line, slowly creeping forward to the speaker that would be taking their order. Yuuji expertly schools his expression, plastering on his composed face as the Starbucks employee says through the loudspeaker, “Hello, welcome to Starbucks. What can I get for you today?”
Choso whips his head toward Yuuji, one brow arched in question as he awaits his little brother’s response.
“You’re going to have to repeat after me, okay? She won’t hear me from where I am sitting in the passenger seat.”
God bless him, Choso nods dutifully, taking his new task as seriously as always.
“Can I get a double dragon white chocolate mocha macchiato with five pumps of peppermint syrup and make sure it’s double-blended with pink sprinkles on top? Oh, and let her know to make it a Trenti,” Yuuji says, not once breaking character.
He mentally pats himself on the back for that one.
Choso’s jaw drops halfway through the order, pure panic the likes of which Yuuji hasn’t even seen during their missions together forming in his eyes. If there’s one thing that Yuuji knows for sure about his brother, though, it’s that he won’t ever back down from a challenge. Even if it’s something as dumb as asking Yuuji to repeat his Starbucks order.
“Can you please make me a double…” Choso pauses, his front teeth briefly gnawing into his bottom lip. Then, too quietly for the employee to ever hear him, he says, “Double chocolate macchiato with five, uh, peppermints?”
“What kind of macchiato?” the employee immediately responds.
“A…um, a double dragon doppler chico?” Choso tries again, squeezing his eyes shut in pre-determined defeat as Yuuji fights the shit-eating grin that is threatening to emerge.
The other end of the speaker is quiet for at least ten, agonizing seconds before the employee finally says, “Can you try that again?”
At this point, Yuuji can tell that Choso is growing nervous with the way his fingers are simultaneously holding the steering wheel tight and twitching, along with the subtle hitch in his chest as he attempts to inhale.
“It’s just a Trenti double dragon chocolate macchiato with five pumps of peppermint syrup, double-blended, with pink sprinkles, oh and actually, I would like some pumpkin cold-form on top. It’s autumn, after all,” Yuuji explains seamlessly, masking his expression with something akin to boredom. As if he goes to Starbucks and orders this every day.
“A Trenti dragon macchiato…” Choso suddenly stops, looking toward Yuuji with a silent plea in his eyes.
“Go on, chocolate, double-blended with pink sprinkles and…” Then, to be supremely unfair, Yuuji rushes out his next words, “Five pumps of peppermint syrup, double-blended.”
Unadulterated fear slides onto Choso’s face and Yuuji swears he spots a bead of sweat gliding down his temple. The laughter that has been building up in his belly is pushing against his ribs and lungs, begging to be released.
“Five pumps pepper syrup—”
“Do you mean peppermint?” the employee interrupts, a certain shrillness to her tone.
“Yeah—” Choso mumbles, a furrow between his brows as he concentrates. “Double-blended chocolate Trenti dragon with, uh, sprinkles, and—”
“I’m sorry, are you saying you want a Frappuccino? A double chocolate one?” the employee interjects yet again.
“No,” his older brother exclaims quickly as if Yuuji receiving the wrong beverage would be the worst thing to ever happen. “I think it’s a Trenti double chocolate dragon double with sprinkles, and shit, what is it? Maybe some kind of foam?”
“Sir, I really don’t understand what you’re trying to order.”
Yuuji has never heard a service worker sound so defeated. One precursory glance at his brother reveals him to be just as defeated, if not more so. The grimace on Choso’s face is picture-worthy and Yuuji can’t hold back his amusement any longer. Giggles flow out of his mouth uninhibited, until it turns into deep-belly laughs. Tears stream down his cheeks as he watches Choso opening and closing his mouth like he’s a fish, his knuckles white with the strain of how tight he’s gripping the steering wheel.
Having mercy on both his brother and the poor employee, Yuuji leans precariously over the center console, and loudly orders, “Can you just make me a grande double chocolate Frappuccino, please? Thanks!”
“Gotcha. It’ll be 750 yen at the next window, please.”
The tips of Choso’s ears are pink and his cheeks are flushed as Yuuji reclines back to his seat. Nevertheless, as he pulls up to the window, Yuuji also sees the minuscule makings of a smile appear. And if he hears a disbelieving chuckle coming from Choso on their way home, neither of them comment on it, either.