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It was way too early yet.
Saturday and with barely five of the shops open here.
Should he wait until he reaches the airport to get some very well-deserved food? His mission had been kind of a pain in the ass, but it wasn’t that hard either. He was the best, after all.
“Hey, Oji-san, are you from the Yakuza?”
Satoru halted his steps. Those were two barbaric assumptions. Oji-san and Yakuza.
First, Gojō Satoru was definitely not over forty years old yet. Actually, he was far away from that; he wasn’t by any standards old as shit. Not a single wrinkle or eye bag like Nanami's or Ijichi's. Pretty fair skin like the photoshopped model on big billboards but real. And honestly he didn’t have—in this very healthy body of his—the slightest sign of premature aging. It was outrageous to be subjected to the civil kid behind him in such a way, wrongly calling THE Gojō Satoru as part of a higher demographic age group he didn’t form part of. It was rude, really! It sounded like such an impolite term. (As if the boy had called him ‘Ossan’ instead).
He would expect such treatment from someone like Megumi or Maki, saying the term in some little too-rude way, but from strangers as well?
Ugh. Were brats these days calling ‘Oji-san’ to anyone taller than them? (Satoru totally overlooked the fact that having his white blindfold and very white hair maybe made it harder to distinguish his age and his flawless skin, no-eye bags under his eyes.)
Second, Satoru maybe had acted a little too meanie sometimes, behavior close to how any high member of the organized crime community perhaps behaves these days, with all the oops-not-so-subtle death threats he liked to make and the verbal bullying to his lower peers—poor, talentless Ijichi, specifically—and his earned petulant personality, but he wouldn’t ever associate his name with such dishonorable figures. (The higher-ups—the decrepit bunch of self-claimed authorities in the Jujutsu world—on the other hand… Well, they all were dishonorable figures indeed, just another reason for Satoru to look down at them with deep disapproval.)
So he was about to say something meanie to the boy behind him (pink-haired head as surely juvenile delinquents did these days, in a yellow hoodie, apparently noisy, and apparently with a low sense of survival because surely it wasn’t wise calling out adult strangers as gangsters in broad daylight) before Satoru once again could resume his steps to find his designated driver—Ijichin, of course.
Yeah, he was about to tell the pink-haired boy, ‘You’re the ugly one, delinquent!' before making his way to drink some water and get a little rest in the back seat of the very comfy car until Ijichi and he could reach the nearest airport, then head back to Jujutsu Tech in Tokyo so he could knock on Shōko’s office who had been also working 24/7 lately when—
When—
(Oh, shit. This is wrong.)
…when nothing meanie came out from his mouth but the horrible sensation of vomit. He didn’t even realize that he had been hunching forward for a while.
Then he threw up. Just a little but…
“Oji-san! Do you need help?”
Of course! What else? If someone were spitting disgusting fluid from their mouth, then obviously something was badly wrong with them, but Satoru couldn’t utter a word before everything around him went dark.
.
At some point, passing through the most boring park he had ever seen in his life, his large body resting on the back of the pink-haired boy while being uncomfortably dragged to some unknown place (his luxury leather shoes scratching the dirty ground), Satoru briefly regained consciousness.
This was not logical. Was this teenager increasing his blood flow and oxygen to muscles in a way Satoru couldn’t understand? Having this strength? The boy couldn’t be a high schooler yet—cheeks still too rounded, baby fat in them.
But just as he opened his eyes, they were closed again in the next few seconds, only to wake up again in an unknown place. Dried drool caking the corner of his mouth. How disgraceful, he thought as he rubbed the back of his hand against that nasty spot.
But, okay, so a… fourteen…? (Yeah, he looked around the same age as Megumi, he realized).
…so a fourteen-year-old boy carried him all along on his young back to a cozy and small house in Sendai. Infinity wasn’t malfunctioning, it seemed, but instincts had filtered the boy as a non-dangerous little thing.
Weird, of course.
Should Satoru take a close look and evaluate for traces of some kind of troubling energy inside the boy? Although he pretty much knew that possessed people were usually deformed or had scary emotional reactions… Instead, this boy—stronger than average and with the nicest aura ever—was in no way deformed and actually was… good-looking, with squishy cheeks and… well, yeah, not ugly like he was about to call him before.
Anyway, Satoru pushed any thought to the back of his mind in favor of reaching his hand out into the air, waving it as if asking for a servant, and already whining like a small child.
“Ugh, can you give me back my white bandages, like right now, kid?”
“Oh, sure! Wait, just, uh...” Satoru, still with his eyes closed, could see how the boy went somewhere else in the house, seemingly searching for the large piece of fabric. The white-haired man finally opened his eyes, following the boy with his superior technique, seeing him moving around with the smallest frown on his rounded face until he halted and the brightest and most spontaneous smile bloomed on the boy’s lips just because he found a stranger’s blindfold. However, when he came back to Satoru—who was on the most uncomfortable couch ever created by humankind for his large limbs—his youthful expression shifted into embarrassment.
‘Oh’, Satoru could only think. Was the boy actually pretty shy?
Even if Satoru was used to people looking at him with that kind of eyes or blush, usually it was because he was in way better conditions—never after vomiting—or because they already knew he was The Strongest. Somehow, now, it felt different.
Satoru blinked, the blindfold being placed in his left hand.
“Here, I—uh.”
Ah! Perhaps it was his blue eyes? He could guess that striking eyes like his weren’t a normal feature around here.
“What?” He rasped, trying to encourage the pink-haired boy to say what he was trying to transmit amidst his hesitation.
“Well! I mean, it kinda stank before ′cause, you know, some of the vomit splattered on it, so I quickly washed it. It’s all good now; I washed it with a lavender softener. I hope you... don’t mind? I even heard from my lady neighbor that some people, apparently, could be allergic or something.”
As if in automatic response, Satoru brought the fabric to his nose and took a deep breath.
Ah, that instantly relaxed him. It was sweet. It reminded him how much he liked sweets.
“Thanks,” he said, taking just one second to consider all this and deciding to stop being a jerk with a nice teenager, pushing any thought of how disgraceful he had looked to him before to the back of his mind. Then, finally sitting upright, the words slipped out before he could stop them. “You’re too nice. What’s your name?”
“Um, thanks." The boy averted his gaze, his face lightly burning as he bowed. “Itadori Yūji.”
“Name’s Satoru.” And he grinned, big, all white, pretty, and perfect teeth exposed.
But then there was a pause, with Yūji-kun cocking his head a little and staring at him again, watching the very tall man—maybe coming to understand how wrong he was by calling Satoru by such a mistaken previous name—while Satoru thought if he should disappear right then and there or stay on the couch that was starting to feel less like the most uncomfortable couch ever created by humankind.
Satoru, finding this funnily enough, said, “Thanks. For helping me, I mean. You shouldn’t have. You’re too sweet.”
Oh, he liked hearing that uh? The flush creeping up his cheeks was a dead giveaway.
“Thanks, I guess,” Yūji replied, rubbing the back of his nape. But then his eyes narrowed a little bit, a little more serious, though it wasn’t particularly menacing combined with that adorable flush. “But you didn’t give me a last name.”
“Uh? I didn’t?” And Satoru pursed his lips in a self-satisfied smirk, opting for standing up in one swift motion, tying the large blindfold around his head and placing himself in front of the teenager. Then he leaned forward to peer over at his face, even if he wasn’t ‘normally seeing'—no respect for personal space as the pink-haired boy slightly stepped back, cheeks reddening more at the sudden proximity. (Mm, interesting… very beautiful honeyed eyes. And no commentary about Satoru’s odd use of the fabric around his obvious sane eyes.) “You can tell me to leave if I’m being too petulant for you.”
“N-no need. I didn’t mean that… You can leave when you feel better… uh, Satoru-san…”
“Are you sure?"
"Of course. I’m the one who took you here, so I should take responsibility for picking you up."
‘Picking him up’. Really good genes then, and apparently the boy, by stating that with such a neutral tone, wasn’t even aware he was kind of special.
He should keep an eye on him.
Anyway, Satoru clapped his hands in delight, feeling more interested in the smaller figure in front of him, startling the boy a bit.
“Good. I just have one question, though. You see, you called me…” Oji-san, but Satoru was the adult here, and the boy had just used his name anyway. “...part of the Yakuza.”
Yūji blinked, and Satoru somehow liked the idea of him being embarrassed.
“Oh!” The boy’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything for several seconds, perhaps truly believing that Satoru was indeed offended. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked it like that… Did I offend you? It was the mysterious aura, I guess? You don’t see many guys—eh, sirs like you around here, after all. Also, you still have a blood stain on your left shoe.”
Mm, clever boy, actually. Observant.
Satoru finally pulled back, hand curled under his chin as he kept looking down at the boy’s face.
“Ah. And with all that, you didn’t report me to the police or take me to the hospital?”
“No? Well, I didn’t see you doing anything weird, and I know that some people don’t like hospitals. I’m not an expert, but either way, you didn’t look at risk.” The boy shrugged, but then he smiled at Satoru, offering what could be only described as a sincere gesture. “You just looked like someone who really needs a rest. And even now, you still look like you didn’t sleep at all. Like you wore yourself down. I guess vomiting on the streets is a sign of that.”
Satoru almost snapped at that second-to-last observation because he had kept telling people that no, he had not ‘worn himself down.'
And in case he experienced great fatigue, it was part of the job. And no one better than him, the Six Eyes user, to be aware of maintaining stable energy on a daily basis.
So no, he didn’t need more sleeping time. His schedule was something he could manage, as always. As far as he was concerned, he had been doing things as usual, working as required, reading documents late into the night, attending meetings, removing trash that needed to be removed... The usual, even before his best friend’s death.
He was fine. Really.
He hadn’t worn himself down like Yūji, a stranger, had commented. That couldn’t be. He had always kept his synopsis fresh. His technique could allow it. Like, he was always healthy, always fine.
He had learned he had to since many years ago.
“Let’s not talk about throwing up, alright? And maybe you are awfully putting yourself in danger, don’t you think? Do you often invite older men when you’re all alone?”
Okay, that came out a little bitter, but the boy didn't take it to heart. His honeyed eyes just look up at Satoru with curiosity.
“How do you know I’m alone?”
Because Satoru already did a visual survey of the property, but...
Satoru smiled softly. “You just confirmed it yourself.”
“Oh, right. Right. Heh, you're really smart, and cool.”
“Mm, but I could totally be a gangster, you know?”
“Nah, not buying it.”
“Ha! You’re right. I’m a good Japanese citizen. I do pay my taxes. I’m even a father, can you believe it?”
“Oh, you have a baby?” And of course, as Satoru would expect from now on from the kind boy, he smiled brightly back. “That’s cool! Babies are so cute, and it’s so easy to make them laugh. Do you have a photo?”
No, wait. In the first place, babies weren’t ‘easy to make laugh,' and if that was true, then this boy had a whole high skill level above everyone else, because even THE Gojō Satoru had never made a baby laugh.
But, if Satoru gave a second thought to it, such a ‘skill’ was pretty cute in itself? Like, did Yūji-kun do the peekaboo trick? Made faces? Talk sweet? (Ugh, cute.)
And second, Satoru didn’t have babies, and Megumi and Tsumiki were way too old to truly pass as his children. Or, well, in case he showed one of the thousand photos he had of Megumi looking like a gremlin at the camera, then Yūji would do some math and think that Satoru had been a teenage dad. Or, worse, with how diametrically different they both look to be as family, Yūji might think he kidnapped Megumi, which would bring them to step one, with him being called a criminal.
No, it was better to not talk about highly selective, many times too-serious, and emotionally closed-off fourteen-year-old Megumi.
“Yeah. Phone’s dead, though,” Satoru said, turning on his heels but not before he placed a heavy hand over one of the boy’s shoulders, smiling when the pink-haired boy let him drag him towards the couch. “Mh, see? You’re indeed putting yourself in danger. Now you're letting an older man touch you? Yūji-kun, I think you have little to no self-preservation.”
Now, both seated, Satoru let his arm fall around the back of the couch but not actually touched any part of Yūji.
Yūji twisted on the couch until his upper body was facing Satoru; a small frown creased his brow. “I don’t think it’s like that… I mean, it’s not that I have no self-preservation. I just… I don’t let people hurt me? It’s hard for them, anyway.”
“Uh?”
“Yeah. If someone punches me, I barely feel it.”
Oh? Was it like that?
“Mm, yeah. I can tell you're special and so confident. Yet you’re not a match compared to a man like me~ Next time, don’t be such a sweetheart.”
Yūji pouted, and what the actual hell? Warning bells started going off in his head because Satoru shouldn't find the face at his side this attractive. Really, really pretty.
“Aren’t you being too mean to me, Satoru-san?”
“No? I don’t think so. In fact, I think we have so much in common. Also, I’m a teacher, so I know what I’m talking about.”
“A Sensei? For real? Will you enroll in my high school per chance?”
Satoru tugged up at his blindfold to peep an overseeing eye at the boy, who was looking at Satoru like he had just told him the best profession in the entire world. But before he could answer no, that sadly he wouldn’t be teaching in Sendai, of all the places, his pink-haired host stood up.
“Wait! You must be hungry! I was outside to get a few things, but I can make you breakfast! What do you feel about rice, fried eggs, grilled salmon, and miso soup? If you don’t mind, I can make the miso with silken tofu and dried wakame seaweed, Satoru-san.”
This took him quite aback, but excitement was bubbling inside his stomach. And hungry too, sure.
“Sounds great! And how diligent, Yūji-kun. I'll take you up on your offer."
“Alright.”
“And you call me just Satoru.”
“Oh, uh… no. That’s—” Yūji tilted his head like a confused puppy, and Satoru's fingertips twitched because… because why all of a sudden was he having cuteness aggression? Yūji’s hair looked soft, and through Satoru’s mind crossed the idea of indulging himself and touching it.
“Then Sato.”
“Like, Sato-san?”
“Or what about Sensei?”
“Okay, you aren’t a gangster. You’re actually too nice and funny to be one.”
“You think so?”
Satoru hadn’t realized he was resting his elbows on his thighs, his head held in the palm of both his hands, looking up at him. Shōko wouldn’t believe it.
And see? He was alright.
People might keep looking at him as though he were having a little hard time recovering from a loss (it was true), pushing himself too hard, taking all the missions he could, and going to any meeting with people he disliked, but he hadn’t lost his appetite.
Or his curiosity towards the world.
“You’re a good boy.”
And the new blush on those cheeks only served to further entice Satoru.
He was having a really nice time.
.
Hours later, it turned out that the grandfather of Yūji was very sick in the hospital, so in order to not overstay or use more of Yūji’s precious time, here was Satoru, hands casually tucked into his pockets, feeling all refreshed at the doorstep of the Itadori house.
He knew he had to go. Ijichi had probably called him a thousand times, about to have an aneurysm, and the boy was visiting his grandfather today like he did every day, diligently.
Such a good boy. Too good at cooking as well. After that breakfast, he could eat anything Yūji made without any complaints.
“You feeling alright, right?"
And before Satoru could think better of it, despite knowing about the boy’s compromises, he let out an easy chuckle, saying, “I am! And as I’m very grateful, let’s go shopping now that I’m feeling well.”
“Eh? No, please, there’s no need. I don’t need anything, and in the case that I accept, you surely would think I’m in debt with you and ask for something later.”
“Oh, Yūji-kun, is that how people have behaved with you? How outrageous!”
As it was the turn of Yūji to chuckle, Satoru knew there was no need to push his luck.
Or to neglect his own compromises.
However, one last thing he could ask or be sure about.
“Say, Yūji-kun, has anything odd or ominous happened at home recently?”
“Huh? Ominous?”
“Like any strange feeling around? That only affects you, and no one else sees?”
Yūji’s eyebrows knitted as if in thought, but then he looked a little confused.
“You believe in such things?”
So no, and it felt like tension slipped off his shoulders.
“Mm, so I guess you’re all fine. Good to know. Would hate me if I left you all hopeless.”
Yūji switched his weight between his feet, as though he wanted to say something he wasn’t sure. He finally just commented, “I don’t get it, but even if something strange happens, I’m kinda strong.”
Satoru grinned at the confident affirmation.
“Okay. But one last piece of advice: don’t make pacts with anything weird.”
Yūji laughed, a bright smile, and there was a light, fluttering feeling in Satoru’s chest at the sight. Even more so when Yūji straightened his posture, putting his open palm, horizontally, against his forehead level. He was mirroring a silly salute gesture.
“Yes! Sir!”
Ah, Satoru would love to stay a little longer.
.
.
“I’m already regretting butting in, but who’s ‘Pinky Pumpkin’? With a heart at the end. How unsightly.”
“Oh, hush. Don’t look at other people's phones, Shōko. Rude.”
“You know? Nevermind. I actually don’t care—”
“But! If you’re sooo interested in my romantic love life, Pinky Pumpkin, actually called Yūji-kun, is the most precious soul in this utterly harsh world. You know how none of you wanna go camping with me? Well, little Pinky would tag along in a heartbeat. He can take such good care of me, and it’s always pretty fun, you know? Like having a young pretty wife, pampered without having any worry of this world. I might—”
“Hold on. How old is this Pinky person?”
Satoru even dared to pout. It had been a few weeks, way not enough to make a first move without being crossed out as a creep. Or too soon to really process his quite questionable intrigue towards an amicable young person.
But it was Shōko in front of him; he could mess with her a bit. “Not old enough.”
“Oh, God. Stop misusing Limitless. And you're not fucking a minor in Sendai, right? No, don’t answer. I definitely don’t want to become your accomplice.”
“How you dare. Yūji-kun isn’t that kind of reckless kid. But now that I think about it”—Satoru’s hand moved under his chin—“I have a hunch he’ll wait for me to pop up his sweet cherry—”
“Well, look at the hour… How sad, I need to go. And I might pray for him; it’s a pity he caught the attention of such a bad individual like you…” But there was this tiny smile in the corner of her mouth. “Just don’t let Nanami hear any of this, oookay?”
Yeah, sure. Whatever.
He stood there in the middle of the corridor, watching Shōko walking off, but then he grinned widely, all teeth showing while Megumi’s figure approached behind him.
There was a frown on the boy’s face already.
“Ah! Megumi-chan, are you looking for me? Were you worried I won’t visit you again? I left plenty of money, though? Also, you see, please be advised that it seems that someone close to me believes that you’re my baby son. So, next time I present you both, could you please act cuter and—"
“Please stop. I’m just here to fill in some info for next year…”
“Oh, I wish Yūji-kun could attend here too. I could put him in such a cool uniform!”
“I’ve stopped listening…” But Megumi just rolled his eyes one second later, politely accompanying Satoru along the corridor.
Well, unknowingly even to the strongest, fate always had its own plans.