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The sky was wide and vast, that humid afternoon. It was smothered by clouds, choked with smoke and water vapour wafting up into the gentle breeze from the city. The clouds were grey
Skyscrapers jutted out from the earth like jagged teeth, shining with fluorescent neon lights, obscuring the horizon. The dull silhouettes of Tokyo were black.
More importantly, the sky was blue.
It was a blinding shade of it, too, almost cyan with the purity of its hue. It lightened around the horizon, pastels swept across the boundary like watercolour smeared across a canvas. It darkened progressively, but not neatly, splotches and water spots, flickers of dusk sprayed across the firmament. An endless, swaying, rocking ocean full of clouds and birds and stars.
At the apex, directly above him, the sky was deep, cloudless compared to the rest of the world around him. Deep and slathered in greenish hues, turquoise overtaking the north, overtaking the entire sky.
It was the colour of his eyes…
He shook his head, clutching whatever haphazardly gathered papers he had—they weren't even organised—and resigning himself to the meeting ahead.
Yet again, Ijichi had been roped into a meeting with the higher-ups, even though he was only meant to drive Gojo to and from the meeting. Gojo insisted upon his company for almost everything, including legal matters.
If he recalled correctly, this meeting was about the budget for the Tokyo branch of Jujutsu Tech. (And how a large amount of the money had been disappearing in transactions to various bakeries, clothing stores and meals out. The majority of this was not just for Gojo-san, but also the students.)
Nevertheless, Ijichi would likely be asked to comment on these mysterious withdrawals, as he was usually witness to Gojo-san’s various escapades and voracious appetite for sweets. Ijichi often felt less like a manager protecting jujutsu society from collapse, and more like a glorified accountant and chaperone. Not that he minded, really.
His dress shoes clicked as he wandered down the hall to the meeting room, occasionally catching a glimpse of the sinking sun through a window. Gojo-san had already gone ahead of him.
He had to wonder, despite it all, despite the mistreatment and anger he faced on the job… Why him? Why was he the one to go to, when errands needed to be run? Or when the students were hungry or wanted to go shopping? Or in the middle of the night when someone needed company. (Itadori had often found a comfortable spot on his couch on the weekends, when he was still technically dead.)
He found it hard to believe that he was particularly dependable. He wasn't very good at fighting, and he didn’t think he was a very proficient conversational partner.
But that didn't matter to any of them. Especially not him-
“Ijichi? There you are, I thought you got lost! Though, you don't wanna be in there at the moment. I might get ‘conveniently lost’ too.” A loud voice called from down the hallway, long elegant legs quickly catching up to him. Ijichi had to force himself not to huff out a long, desperate sigh.
Gojo-san leaned down, wrapping a long arm around Ijichi’s slim shoulders and tugging his blindfold down to rest around his neck in a black ring, blending into the rest of him, encircling him. The dark clothes he wore only made his pale, shining features stand out more, like a splatter of galaxy on a canvas of inky black.
The sky was getting dark now, the higher-ups would be getting antsy by now. You could just see Polaris begin to shine in the north; the moon creeping into the darkening sky.
He held his breath, savouring the warmth and weight of his superior. Gojo-san was looking at him somewhat expectantly, grinning like a sly fox.
“If you were already in there, why are you here now? Were you bored?” Ijichi said, forced, choked out with the weight of Gojo-san next to him, pressed to him, touching-
“I missed you, and I wanted sweets.” He said simply, letting go of Ijichi, sauntering down the corridor towards the car park. He could still feel the warm weight of his arms, of his chest pressed against him as he leaned down. He could still feel the barely-there breaths ghosting along his cheeks and ruffling his hair.
Gojo-san turned, raising an eyebrow in beckoning. Ijichi let himself follow, as his job required. Ijichi let himself follow, as he wished to do. That sly look was still there, curious and smug all the same.
The drive was oddly quiet, with Ijichi’s superior reclined beside him, spread across the seat like parchment to be stretched over its frame. He did not look out the window, did not look at the road or his phone. Instead, his eyes settled on Ijichi and stayed there, boring deep into his bones, searching his soul.
He looked carved out of marble, long, lanky limbs posed elegantly across the car seat, arms poised over the top of his head like an elegant port de bras, hands curved gently; veins thrumming and throbbing beneath the porcelain skin. His legs were crossed, one ankle over the other, his feet pointed as if he were a dancer, Ijichi his audience.
He swallowed, sharp and dry, and focused on the road once more.
Ijichi ignored him. He had gotten very good at this, overtime. But, the longer those eyes drilled into him—dazzling in their deep sapphire hues—the more anxious he got. He may have run a red light or two, with how antsy he was getting.
Gojo-san leaned closer. Hands coming closer.
Ijichi almost crashed the car.
He swerved, not anywhere close to actually hitting anything, but the car teetered ominously on two wheels before coming to rest on the road, tucked away in the shoulder where Ijichi had attempted to calmly pull into. He gripped the wheel as hard as he could manage, knuckles blanched white and palms prickling with the strain. Gojo-san let out a laugh, short and aborted, before leaning closer still.
Ijichi yanked the keys out of the ignition. He was not fit to drive in conditions such as these. He was far too sweaty, so his hands would slip! And he was too warm, which can cause headaches and he couldn't lose focus on the road. Besides, his heart was palpitating again and, (god he should really see a doctor about that) and… he gulped.
He had to admit, his trousers were feeling a bit tight.
He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath. No! No, he was being silly, he just needed better clothes, his usual suit was pretty old anyway–
A surprisingly cold hand came to cup his cheek. “Ijichi?” He sucked in a harsh breath, resisting the urge to lean into the touch.
The hand slapped him, probably intending to be teasing, but it left a harsh red mark on his cheek.
Ijichi wasn't surprised in the slightest. He was, however, shaking.
He let himself breathe, sucking in aborted breaths, sending himself into a short coughing fit as that cold hand patted him on the back, before rubbing it softly. “You ok? You look like you're about to have a heart attack.” Gojo-san pointed out, only just audible through adrenaline-plugged ears. His other hand came to rest on his shoulder, a mockery of a hug.
He leaned closer again, smirking. “That's probably my fault, hm?” He said, smug as ever, feet coming to rest on the dashboard. He was twisted around in a way that couldn't possibly be comfortable. Ijichi resisted the urge to manhandle his legs off and scold him for disrespecting his car, like he often did with Itadori.
“Yes. It is. That meeting was important, and here you go, whisking me away so I can escort you to the mall!” Ijichi huffed, trying to sound angry. Even he could recognise that the attempt did not reach his words, and left him sounding dejected.
Gojo-san’s grin quickly faltered. A cold hand came to rest on his nape, fingernails raking through the clipped black strands, scratching at his scalp. “I think you’re more important than some stupid meeting.” He said bluntly. Ijichi’s heart felt like it was trying to wrench itself out of his chest..
Ah. So that's how it was.
He was just a chauffeur-
Soft lips pressed insistently onto his chapped ones, pressing deeper and deeper until Ijichi’s back hit the car door with a thud. He was crowded by long limbs, vision obscured by blur and white strands; glasses knocked askew.
Teeth scraped against his lips, the kiss biting and harsh as Gojo gripped his shoulders, crawling into the driver's seat.
Shaky hands rose inbetween their two bodies, trying to wrench them apart, pushing and shoving until Gojo let up for air. “What!” He snapped, licking his lips.
God, why was he always such a baby. So impatient. So…
Ijichi pushed him back into his own seat and undid his seatbelt, righting his glasses. He heaved a sigh before turning and pressing a harsh kiss to Gojo’s lips before quickly pulling away and shoving the keys back into the ignition.
“If we’re going to get food, I'm getting some too,” He said, eyes darting to look at Gojo’s face. “Put on your seatbelt.” He smiled, buckling his own.
Well, at least now he knew why Gojo was so desperate for his presence. He didn't need to be dependable, or a fighter, or a good conversationalist.
Gojo liked him because Ijichi was himself. And Ijichi liked his superior because he was gorgeous. A work of art.
Maybe he didn't mind being a chaperone.