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It had been an accident, really. An honest mistake made by innocent, wandering eyes.
Takuma’s face erupts into a brilliant shade of red as the memory replayed in his mind. You had just retired to your bedroom as Takuma had announced his own plans to grab some beers from the nearby convenience store--an unspoken invitation you had politely declined. “I can’t drink like I used to, Takuma,” a playful gleam lights your eyes, “but let me know when you’re back… I might steal a sip from you.” Even after five years, the playful tease in your tone is exactly as he remembered it. Light and airy, like the butterfly-shaped technique you wield. It stirred up butterflies in his own chest. He wondered if you wielded some of your power on him then, too.
He had watched you walk into your room and gently close the door behind you. He only started to head through the hallway past your room and his own, and towards the front door after your form had fully retreated. In the fraction of a second that he was passing your room, a sliver of your body reached his eyes through the crack of the door and the doorframe. Clearly you were getting ready for bed, having spent the better part of the previous hour chatting together on the couch as you two caught up after years of being apart. Back bared as you pulled your shirt off, smooth skin nearly glistening under the warm glow of your ceiling light. And was that… a butterfly tattooed on your lower back? Takuma had tripped over his feet at the sight, stumbling ungracefully on the hardwood floors. The commotion earned a question of gentle concern from you that floated through the crack in the door. “Nope, totally fine! Be right back!” Takuma ran out of the apartment like a bat out of hell.
Even now, thirty minutes later, as he sits on the bus heading back home, a 6 pack of Sapporo’s perched on his lap, Takuma can’t scrub away the image of you that has practically seared itself into the back of his eyelids. Suffocating waves of guilt flood over him as he wills the metal-plated floors of the bus to swallow him alive. You are his upperclassman, having looked out for him throughout his first year at Jujutsu High--on top of your own third year duties, no less. Takuma cringes. He pulls his beanie down over his face, earning a concerned side-glance from the middle-aged businessman sitting in the seat next to him. After everything you had done for him, this is how he repays your kindness? By being a creep?
Takuma nearly misses his stop. He has to shout frantically at the bus driver, “stop here, please! Sorry!” as he watches the familiar roadside station roll past the window on his right, earning a harsh, abrupt stop, much to the chagrin of the other passengers. He doesn’t realize his ski mask is still over his face until he’s hopped off and the bus has pulled away. He groans to himself in embarrassment, pulling his beanie back up to his forehead. Beer in hand, he begins the brisk walk back to the apartment complex you’re temporarily sharing.
Boarding arrangements had been made for the sorcerers traveling into town in the days leading up to the mission in Shibuya in order to account for the time needed for debriefing and preparation. Due to costs and the timeline of the mission, most rooms were shared. You and Takuma were lucky enough to get a unit with two separate bedrooms, and Takuma was extra fortunate that he got to room with you. It was a struggle not to fist pump at the sound of his name with yours when Nanami was reading out the list of rooming arrangements at the initial mission meeting yesterday. The grade 1 sorcerer had said something else, but it was drowned out by Gojo’s groan as he lamented why Takuma “got the hot roommate.” You had raised your eyebrow wordlessly and Nanami shot him a look of warning before continuing on. It was hard for Takuma to pay attention to the last three hours of that meeting. Familiar feelings of giddiness began to stir in his chest as his old crush on you--long-dormant after you left to work in Kyoto following graduation--awakened once again.
Takuma shakes his head. Planting his feet firmly into the sidewalk, he grits his teeth and slaps his cheeks with his hands, a feeble attempt at burying his personal feelings in the face of a professional matter. The mission was an urgent one; he couldn’t risk anything for this. Not for the safety of innocent civilians or his allies. He sucks in a deep breath, holds it for a second, before forcibly exhaling air, imagining his fondness for you leaving his body along with it. He stands there for a moment as if waiting to see what happens next. At the thought of you, his chest comes alight once again and his stomach flutters. Takuma groans.
Panic rising in him, he does the first thing that comes to mind…and downs an entire can of beer. The ridiculousness of the action doesn’t hit him until the beer does, a pleasant buzz washing over him about fifteen steps later. It occurs to him that drinking so much probably wasn’t a great idea, but the alcohol stops any further worry. By the time he reaches your shared apartment five minutes later, the memory of your bare back and the cute butterfly etched on it has escaped his mind.
“I’m back!” He calls out, kicking off his shoes at the front door and setting the beer down near the entrance. When you don’t respond, he ambles over to your door and raps on it gently. The door softly swings open under the force. “Hey, got the beer,” he hiccups, “did’ya still want some?”
“Wait, Takuma-”
Your sleepy-voiced warning comes too late, and Takuma steps into your room before he can comprehend your words. The lights are off, but the hallway lights filter in through the open doorway, illuminating your bed in the far corner. He can see your mused hair and naked shoulders. Whatever decency is left after Takuma’s carelessness has clawed it away is saved by the thin white top sheet that you’ve pulled up over your chest right before his eyes land on you. The sight shakes the sorcerer awake, momentarily bringing him to sobriety.
“I’m so sorry,” he musters, face turning beet red. He immediately whips around and turns his back towards you. “I didn’t mean to intrude, I hadn’t realized-”
“Takuma, it’s fine, I know it was an accident.” The gentle tone in your voice reignites the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy. They frolic amongst a field of panic-shaped flowers and grass dewed with alcohol. It’s too much for him.
“I’m going to go,” he’s halfway out the door when you call out after him.
“Hang on.” He freezes, hand on the door knob. He’s caught in a chaotic game of tug-of-war. It’s taking everything in him to ignore the instinct that’s screaming at him to flee, and heed your command.
“Can you grab my clothes for me? It’s on the dresser right there.”
Takuma glances stiffly to his left at the aforementioned dresser stationed next to the door. He picks up the pile and walks over to you, eyes trained sharply on the clothes in his hand lest he look at you again. This doesn’t seem to work any better for him though. On top is the shirt you were wearing earlier, along with your shorts and another article of red fabric--Oh god. He swallows thickly at the realization as he hands it to you. You murmur your thanks, quickly throwing the shirt over your head and placing your shorts and red underwear to the side. Even though you’re decent (at least in the parts that are visible to the eye), he still can’t bring himself to meet your gaze.
He kneels to be level with you, nevertheless, and bows his head deeply, “I’m so sorry I walked in on you like this. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable. I also glanced at you while you were undressing as I left, but I didn’t mean to. I would never want to disrespect you after everything you’ve done for me--not that I would spy on you if you hadn’t done anything for me,” he’s babbling now, urged on by nothing but nerves and shame. If he were sober, he would be embarrassed by the tears currently welling in his eyes. Perhaps he’s embarrassed now, but a part of him feels like it’s deserved. He ought to feel this way after the despicable way he’s acted.
“Takuma,” your tone is firmer now. Tear stained cheeks are cupped with warm hands. Only then does the sorcerer look you in the eyes.
“It’s okay. I’m not upset with you, I promise.” A shy smile makes its way on your face. “The locks on the doors here are a bit wonky. Nanami had warned us as much during yesterday’s meeting, remember?”
Takuma pauses, is that what Nanami said? He can’t recall that at all, but then again, who knows if he was paying any attention.
“And to be honest,” a blush erupts along the tops of your cheeks, “I also caught a glimpse of you too… earlier this morning as we were getting ready to leave… It seems like neither of our locks work very well.” You avert your eyes, “I’m sorry too.”
Takuma isn’t sure what goads him on to speak. Maybe it’s a sudden swell of confidence? Or perhaps it’s brashness? Regardless, the words come out before he has the chance to identify their source. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I don’t mind you watching,” he breathes. He clamps his mouth shut when he realizes it’s the alcohol talking, but it’s too late. Your lips open in surprise, but you aren’t pushing him away. In fact, he almost swears that you pull him in a little closer.
After a moment, you speak. “I don’t mind you joining me either.” You whisper earnestly.
Takuma freezes. Unsure of what to do. His gaze is locked on you and the way you inspect his face in return. You’re the one to break the silence, “Takuma Ino. How much have you had to drink already?” Your tone is less chiding and more inquiring.
His reply is honest and low, “just one beer.”
“Tsk, tsk.” you shake your head, “this is you one drink in? I thought your tolerance would have improved since high school.” Your teasing elicits a smile on his face.
“You can tell?”
“Mhm,” you hum, “I can smell it on you.” Your hands slide down his face. He relishes the feeling of your fingers gliding down his neck to his shoulders. Your hands stop there, squeezing lightly, reassuringly.
“My offer for you to join me stands,”
“Wait, what?” Takuma can’t believe his ears. Is he imagining things? Did he pass out on the street somewhere, and this is the result of him drunkenly dreaming? He stares at you dumbly, unsure of what to think.
“But,” his full attention snaps back to you, “I don’t want you making any decisions now that you might regret later.” Heat rushes to his face at the thought, the implication. “You can join me tomorrow once you’ve made your decision, sober.” There’s a slight emphasis on the last word. Takuma nods, distracted once again.
He begins to stand and once again, he can’t help but blurt out, “I’ve liked you for a long time.”
You laugh gently. It’s like music to his ears. “I know… I’ve liked you too.”
Dreaming. He’s definitely dreaming.
“Drink some water and go to sleep. Nanami has a meeting called at 8 AM and it’ll take us at least half an hour to get there so be prepared to be up early.”
Takuma nods in a daze. He stands up and does exactly as he’s told, almost as if he’s in a trance. He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
--------------------
The next morning, the two of you continue as if nothing had happened. You make no mention of the incident of the previous night and you speak to him so casually that Takuma is absolutely certain that he must’ve dreamt up the entire interaction. He does his best to forget all about it once the two of you reach the meeting room. With the mission set to begin the next night, it’s quite easy for him to do so. The entire day is spent reviewing plans, backup plans, and backup-backup plans. By the end of his day, Takuma’s mind is left swimming in battle tactics and group assignments.
Later that night, after you’ve returned back home, Takuma is changing in his room when your words float to him, clear as day, “Takuma, have you thought about my offer?”
He stops, shirtless. Did he just imagine that? He hasn’t had anything to drink today… is it possible he’s hallucinating? Suddenly, the memory of last night comes back to him in a flood, and his breath hitches.
Shirt in hand, he cautiously slinks over to your door, which sits slightly ajar.
You must see his shadow hesitating at the threshold. “You’re welcome inside, you know.”
At the invitation, Takuma slowly walks in. The room is dark, just as it was last night. There’s your dresser… with your clothes piled neatly on top. And then there’s you, propped up on one arm, watching him with your bed sheet held up to your chest with your other hand.
“Um...Can I?” His voice trails off. He makes a vague gesture in your direction. Takuma hates how uncertain he’s being, but he can’t help it. You look breathtaking like this. What else is he supposed to do?
You laugh, and his heart flutters. “Only if you want to.”
It takes a moment for reality to sink in. He calmly shuts the door before rushing over. He pulls his clothes off haphazardly and throws them in the general direction of your dresser, not caring to check if they’ve landed on their mark.
“Takuma!” You squeal as he pounces on top of you, laughing as he engulfs you in a tight embrace. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling your scent.
His clothes sit tangled with your own on the dresser, where they remain all night long until 7 AM the next morning, October 31st.