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“Give it back.”
The voice is too familiar to Nobara’s ears, but it’s much more displeased—and a little unhinged—than usual. It makes her lift her head curiously from inspecting her latest post to look at the man in question. Her eyes land on the antique fireplace instead. Although, she supposes, everything in this house could be considered antique since it is a Victorian home that’s a few hundred years old; a beautiful piece of architecture that continues to be timeless even in this modern age, one that her friends managed to buy with an unreasonably cheap price.
She blinks her eyes to follow the man standing in front of the fireplace with hands planted on his hips. A mop of white hair shines as brightly as his skin does—which is unfair for how minimum his skincare routine is compared to Nobara’s—wearing sweats in neutral colors that somehow made his unreasonably beautiful blue eyes even more beautiful that she wants to hit the man in irritation. He has been her mentor once, though, and now her best friend’s lover, so Nobara holds back on violence as much as she can.
(there is also the undeianble fact that he’d win easily if put to the test but that would result to a lot of trouble related to a certain pink haired someone that they both desperately want to avoid.)
“Give it back, you punk!” Gojo Satoru, the graceful and legendary giant in both the business and entertainment worlds, glares childishly at the grand painting above the fireplace. It’s an old relic that came with a house; a beautiful stolen moment of a teenager with silver hair and big violet eyes—he’s stunning, absolutely enthralling and looks utterly like a doll against the whites of the background. His face is expressionless save for the air of hauteur surrounding him entirely along with the noble vest and shorts he’s wearing.
It doesn’t escape Nobara, however, the many signs that this boy is haunting the house. It isn’t her house and she’s been relentlessly teased by the mischievous entity that keeps hiding anything Nobara sets on any surface inside—she’s learned the hard way not to bring anything except the necessities with her anymore. It’s a risk she isn’t willing to take, so she can’t begin to imagine how bad it is for Yuuji and Gojo.
It’s also entertaining to see, though.
The actress’s lips quirk up into an amused smile while Gojo’s eyes harden into a glare. Whatever the boy—Inumaki Toge, the latest owner of the house—has stolen is important enough to warrant Gojo to be caught up. Which, to be fair, can be anything; from an important business document to a remote control. Gojo satoru is as unpredictable as the ghost in his house. It’s why, when Nobara sees the man pick up the painting that’s twice his size and starts to violently shake it, she isn’t surprised and promptly opens the camera app and start taking a video of the scene.
“I said,” Gojo grits out, his voice full of annoyance and irritation, “Give it back, you punk!”
Hilarious, Nobara audibly snorts then covers her mouth wih her free hand. It’s primarily why she keeps visiting them instead of hanging out outside like normal people. Such moments never fail to be a highlight of her week or month; a moment of absolute hilarity that winds her down better than any champagne or bath can.
Gojo scowls at the painting when he notices the small quirk of Inumaki’s lips, then stops shaking the painting. Instead, he turns around—mow his face is on full display in the video—and steps toward one of the burgundy armchairs. Nobara, impossibly curious and a little miffed, opens her mouth to ask him what the hell is he doing before freezing once Gojo starts hitting the painting harshly on the armchair. The woman blinks, stupified, then bursts out laughing at the sight.
Gojo ignores her so he can continue murdering the boy with his eyes, “listen to me, you little shit.” he pauses his assault to glower and make sure the ghost sees that he meant every bit of his next words, “I’m sure you know we have a winery of very inflammable alcohol. If the box doesn’t appear in three seconds, I’ll be taking very drastic measures.”
“Which are?” Nobara asks.
“Torture.”
Amused, Nobara chuckles, “didn’t a lot of priests try doing that?”
Gojo lifts his head, glancing up at her through his opaque, rond sunglasses, and huffs, “None of them were me, and none of them has my current determination.”
At that moment, the sounds of footsteps draw both of their attention to the man that appears—pink hair, amber eyes and a towel around his shoulder. Yuuji must be done with working out and showering, Nobara concludes while watching her best friend pause and blink at the sight. He tilts his head, eyes darting from Nobara (who aims the camera at him0 to his lover who looks a little less than manic but definitely on the edge of becoming one.
“What’s happening?” the athlete asks, far too casually, as he approaches them.
“Your pet ghost stole something from your pet lover,” Nobara supplies, happily.
Yuuji makes a face, “Neither of them is a pet.”
“Yuuji!” Gojo wails, throwing the painting harshly and with a lot of force before continuing to whine, “he stole my box!”
“Box?” Yuuji repeats, frowning, “what box?”
“My box of sweets!”
Yuuji pauses, blinking twice before slowly turning his head fully to Gojo, “the one I bought for you?”
Gojo nods gravely, “Yes.”
“Huh.” Yuuji lets out before mirroring his boyfriend and nodding with a blank face, “Alright, satoru, bring a barrel to our backyard. I’ll bring the entire winery.”
Gojo grins at those words. It’s an evil grin, Nobara notes with little concern. Actually, a lot of concern; Gojo and Yuuji aren’t ones to get too caught up in Inumaki’s petty pranks, after all. They, in fact, more than encourage it when it’s against each other—Nobara had caught Gojo or Yuuji whispering to the painting sometimes. She thought they were little razy at the time. (she still does. After all, who in the world would buy a Victorian house with the full knowledge it’s haunted, if they don’t have a few screws loose?)
“Uh. Yuuji?” Nobara says, confused.
Yuuji pauses in his march towards their winery and glances back at her, then says solemnly, “I waited three hours in line for that box.”
Alright then.
Nobara nods, her expression just as solemn, and stands up to pick up the painting—or more accurately, drag it across the floor while walking to the backyard. She ignores the bleeding hand marks starting to appear on it, while making sure the camera captures it for a moment before she continues walking. The actress has been to their backyard twice before—both times for a barbecue party the couple threw between close friends and family for two different celebrations. Both times had been at night too and quite organized—which is still a huge shock, considering both males didn’t give a shit about things like that. Especially between friends and family.
This time Nobara can observe the two in their natural habitat; two beanbag chairs situated beneath a willow tree that held a lantern in one of its branches; two noticeable stands of spongebob and patrick next to what seems like a chess table (but there’s absolutely no way those two even know chess rules so she suspects it exists for when Choso and Nanami come visit); a pool and a jacuzzi next to each other illuminated in dim, aesthetic lights. It’s all very them that makes her lips curl into a smile.
Gojo enters the backyard through another backdoor that leads to the basement, and there’s a light blue barrel on his shoulder. Nobara huffs, further amused by the determination on the man’s face, and wonders just how fucking delicious those sweets must be. Once Gojo puts the barrel on a free patch of grass, the actress wastes no times throwing the painting in; it doesn’t fit because of how it is but neither of them cares.
“So,” Nobara tilts her phone to focus on the barrel, “How are we going to do this?”
“How else?” Gojo hums boredly, “dump wine on it and light it up.”
Nobara raises a brow. “Are you not worried it’ll try to kill you later?”
“He,” Gojo stresses, “is already doing plenty of that.”
“What?” Nobara startles, shocked. As far as she knew, Inumaki only did petty pranks on the couple, not murder attempts. What she’s seen of the ghost so far is mischief and borderline cute attempts to rile the couple—or, to be fair, anyone who crosses the fence surrounding this ridiculous house—and make them throw a small fit that’s very entertaining, considering they both are the most dramatic people she knows. (a match made in the depths of hell, many of their friends and acquaintances agree wholly on that.)
However, this is an entirely different matter she can’t even begin to comprehend; the reason they still live here despite continuous murder attempts by a petty ghost, the reason neither of them has never, even remotely, told her or any of the others about this concerning fact. Many other questions swim in her mind that neither of the other two seem to realize the severity of that statement by the way they move into opening a beer bottle and starting to dump it on the deserving painting.
“I’m worried about Okkotsu’s reaction to this.” Yuuji laughs nervously but it’s overshadowed by Gojo’s unrepentant laugh. “He’ll get over it. He knows what Toge is like.”
Despite all the other concerning facts, Nobara laughs at the blatant disrespect Gojo shows by using the entity’s first name. He’s a smart man, usually. But—Nobara narrows her eyes at the couple—who the hell is Okkotsu?
“Who’s that?” she demands.
“Uh.” Yuuji blinks, realizing this is another piece of information he hid from her, “Inumaki’s boyfriend? Husband? He lives in the basement mostly.”
“Boyfriend.” the actress repeats slowly. It makes so much sense now—-that mysterious room locked in the corner of the basement which she fought with Gojo to open and satisfy her curiosity. The man had been strangely insistent that no way in hell is he doing something so crazy. Nobara had snorted at the time, reminding him that as a person who went around proclaiming to be Yuuji’s lover in hundreds of lifetimes, he’s already crazy. So, Okkotsu is another ghost then? A more dangerous one, considering how protective the two were of that room, but even more than Inumaki who apparently wants them dead?
“Why the fuck are you two still living here?”
“Hey!” Yuuji pouts, “it’s cheap and nice here!”
“Plus,” Gojo chuckles, amused, “It’s pretty fun to escape those murder attempts. Keeps us on our toes.”
These fucking idiots.
Nobara blinks owlishly, awe in her voice when she asks, “are you two insane?”
“Eh.”
“Probably.”
“Right.” she sighs, tilting her phone as she uses her other hand to run her fingers through her hair in exasperation.
“Come on.” Yuuji urges in response, his hand still spilling the bottle of beer, “help me, you two. Don’t just stare.”
“No way.” the actress laughs, “unlike you two, i don’t want a ghost haunting me. I’m too pretty for that.”
Gojo huffs at that but he does step forward to take a random bottle of alcohol and open it then starts spilling it too. Nobara watches dully, aiming her camera in the perfect angle and deciding that she will post this on her socials instead of the group chat they shared with Megumi, Maki and Suguru. She won’t ask for their permission, either, since they practically lost that luxury the moment they admitted to hiding so many important things from her.
“I think this is enough.” Yuuji declares, unsure.
“Hm.” Gojo lets out a soft, contemplative hum while his gaze travels from the barrel to Yuuji who frowns at his lover’s silence. “What?” the pink haired man blinks, “Not enough?”
“You did spill five bottles on it.” Nobara reminds, somewhat kindly.
Gojo doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns around and reveals a stack of wood behind him. The two best friends blink in surprise—where did those come from?---and the white haired man bends down to pick up a stack of them then throws it in the barrel as if it was a magic cauldron and the three of them are experienced witches making history’s best elixir. “Now, that is enough.” Gojo nods with a shit eating grin that gives Nobara an inexplicable urge to punch him.
She takes a breath instead and wonders aloud, “You said he has a boyfriend, right? Are you sure this won’t be a problem?” because as much as these two idiots make her want to commit mass murder, she doesn’t want them to get hurt, or worse.
“It’ll be fine.” Yuuji assures with a wide smile, “Yuuta-kun is a sweetheart.”
Gojo sniffs as he tries to light a match, “He’s also, sort-of our adopted son.”
“You have a ghost as your adopted son?”
“Because he’s a sweetheart.” her best friend insists numbly.
“Mmhm.” Gojo agrees, “also an asshole when he needs to be. We’re raising him well.”
Yuuji nods, “Inumaki? Not so well.”
“He’s stubborn.” Gojo hums.
“Very.”
Nobara stays silent, deciding not to question any further for the sake of her sanity and worry of being involved with these two. To be fair, she should’ve been worried about that ever since they met in university—when the two were hiding from the cops for the petty crime of stealing way too many handcuffs (the girl didn’t dare ask why they needed ninety handcuffs then, and she still doesn’t now). Many instances after that smacked her face over and over with the realization that the strange couple is an abomination of humanity’s frustration with reality and normalcy so the universe spat out two absurdly attractive men with the self preservation of a crazy panda.
Despite it all, though, the actress can't deny the fact that there couldn’t be a more perfect match for Yuuji than Gojo.
The fire feels like a living thing that burns the air and coils around the painting that isn’t burning or rotting. There must be an effect, however, because Inumaki’s frown turns into a displeased scowl while the orange burns brighter and turns into a darker red. The scene is fascinating and she makes sure to capture every bit of it along with Gojo and Yuuji’s satisfied faces at he sight almost like psychopaths, she notes wih amusement and chuckles as she ends the video. It’s more than thirty minutes long yet it felt longer when she’s living every bit of it.
Nobara smiles when her fingers tap on the keyboard, writing a title for her new instagram post then posts it with a satisfied gleam in her eyes that matches her friends’.
TWO IDIOTS LIVING IN A HAUNTED HOUSE: A MOMENT. (30:28)