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You ought not to.
But your head falls into his lap so easily.
It's warm and humid out. Sunny too. But oddly pleasant, devoid of the normal sweatiness that would accompany a summer day. There is nothing, simply a good day to spend outside.
You think Suguru agrees, even if he's been quiet for several minutes. The way he's stroking your hair gently seems to corroborate the idea.
You let your eyes shut, and breathe in deeply. There's the light scent of the fruit you brought to eat, trimmed grass, his laundry detergent, and something floral on the breeze.
How nice.
If it weren't for the inevitability of you both being called away by other obligations, you could fall asleep here. Cradled by cushiony green grass and the comfort of his lap beneath your head. But he has a cult. His own family. And you have the good sorcerers of Jujutsu High, who think you're much too moral to do a thing like this. But you do not need their approval. Neither does he, otherwise, he wouldn't be threading his fingers through your locks.
"You smell like smoke." His voice comes out velvety smooth. "You haven't picked that up as a habit, have you?"
"Hm-mm." You make a noise of disagreement and shake your head, peering up with one eye open. "I was with Shoko."
"Shoko, hm? I thought she was quitting. Too much of a bad habit for her taste."
"She's trying, I think. She's just...used to it, is all."
"Old habits die hard, then."
You and Shoko weren't so different, in that sense. You stay quiet.
"Have you eaten? We shouldn't let this go to waste." He said, pausing to reach for the container. He pulls out a piece of peach, downing the bite sized chunk.
He brings a piece to your lips before you need to request it, and you accept, biting into the sweet flesh.
"When I was little, I ate so many of these that I was sick all over my parent's kitchen floor."
"I'm certain you tried to replicate that more than once in high-school."
You snort. "And?"
"I learned that you apparently have a problem with moderation." He declares.
"Peaches are a very okay thing to enjoy in excess."
"I might remind you of that, if your stomach turns." Though he still presses another piece to your lips.
"Sure, sure. Stay on your high horse and consume reasonable amounts of fruit."
"Oh, I plan to." He follows it with your name, a sound you find as much of a delicacy as the flavor of the peaches. "If you're going to get stuck on something, though, maybe the peaches aren't such a bad idea."
He's a bit hasty giving you another bite, you almost wander if it's to keep you from questioning him. You chew and swallow and ask, "As opposed to cigarettes, you mean?"
"As opposed to any habit less healthy than devouring copious portions of fresh fruit."
"I'll keep it in mind, mother hen." You nudge his ribs. "Speaking of, how are your girls?"
"My girls are fine." He wipes his hand clean of any juices and tucks a stray hair back from your face. "You don't need to worry about me."
You look at him distinctly. "So what if I do? I care about you."
"You shouldn't worry." For a moment he is much too stern, then it fades. "I'm doing very well."
"If you insist."
You adjust your head on his thighs and let out a soft sigh. He'll be responsible and insist you both have to leave soon, you know it. Something will need his attention, his effort. And you, he'll say, must go and run back before someone grows suspicious. The spell will be broken, you'll be alone again. But just for a few precious minutes more, you get to stay in the most perfect day, eating peaches with your friend as you rest your head in his lap.