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The evenings around Tokyo Jujutsu High are never boring. Whether it’s the weekend, some sort of holiday, or a regular weekday filled with the usual training sessions, missions, or the abundant opportunities for mingling provided to the students to encourage social interactions and get everyone out of their dorm rooms – it’s never ever dull!
But since this particular evening is not fit for the usual roaming around outside because of the undeniably bad weather, accompanied by plum-sized hail, it’s no wonder that the students are burrowed in their rooms like hibernating bears, each with varying degrees of productivity.
In your opinion, the said level in your room is exceedingly high. With Nobara sprawled out on your bed, which allegedly makes her brain work better, the plan you two have been hatching for some time now seems to come to life very fast. After all, she is a local, and frankly the only available, relationship expert. So who else could possibly be a better fit for the job you have in mind?
She looks at you with a critical eye and an expression worthy of portraying the straining effort of thinking about the world’s deepest philosophical questions. She judges every change in your appearance with the seriousness of a prosecutor dismissing evidence in court. Even when she treats your bed like a pedestal for herself and eats cashew nuts she’s found stashed deep in your bedside drawer, she manages to not only sound convincing but also look the part.
“Okay…,” she drawls out. If she had a beard, she would probably be stroking it right about now. “Wait, do another twirl for me,” she goes on, vaguely moving her forefinger in a circle before diving into the bag with her entire hand for another bite.
With no questions asked and under her attentive gaze, you do a slow spin on a fuzzy rug under your bare feet. The view of your room sluggishly rotates with you: the bed that still looks presentable despite the intrusion, a low table beside it, a fancy enough vanity table, a tall dresser in the corner and the exit right near it, some posters on the wall, a glass door leading into a tiny fenced-off area that now looks like it’s an hour away from being flooded, and finally the bed again with Nobara perched up on it like a queen looking at her personal jester.
She squints and even pauses her chewing for a bit.
“Yeah, you definitely need to put your hair up. Maybe a ponytail, maybe a bun,” she concludes. “I can guarantee, Fushiguro is the kind of guy who’s never properly seen a girl’s ankle before, much less her neck, so do that and he’s all yours by midnight.”
You furrow your eyebrows at the comment, but move closer to the vanity table mirror and a hairbrush beside it.
“Does he really?” you ask skeptically, all while hoping that her perception of him is not actually that. “With an assessment like that, are you sure you even like guys?”
The question is clearly entertaining to her, she even laughs a little before remembering her role as a tough judge. The laugh quickly changes into an indignant huff and a weird look your way.
“Believe it or not, not everyone has a thing for moody hermits with weird hairstyles.”
A bit offended on Megumi’s behalf, you turn just enough to glance back at her without looking away from the mirror completely.
“A hermit? Doesn’t that imply that he is antisocial? He is actually really interesting to talk to, he knows a lot about many topics, he-“
“Yeah-yeah, whatever, no need to get defensive,” she cuts you off and practically rolls her eyes at the ramblings. For better or for worse, the bag she’s been eating from is finished. With a defeated sigh she twists her back just enough to put the empty package onto the bedside table. “Besides, it’s not like I’m judging. If him looking the way he does is what gets you going, who am I to stop you?”
“I just like him as a person.”
Nobara laughs again, very clearly not convinced. In fact, she suddenly starts looking at you with more interest, while you manage to put your hair up into a high enough ponytail.
“I know what you guys are up to. If I turn away for long enough when I’m around you two, you’ll be having fun playing tonsil hockey in five minutes or less.”
You even stop adjusting the hair tie in response, very much not a fan of the tonsil imagery provided, and even less of a fan of the sudden smugness she says that with.
“Where did you even hear a phrase like that?”
She doesn’t bother answering and instead busies herself with a new, more hands-on type of assessment, no twirls required this time around. With no food incentivizing her to stay in bed anymore, she reaches for the nearest pack of wet wipes before strolling over to you and beginning to fix something without even asking.
You can feel her loosening your hair tie just a tiny bit more before having a very clear mental debate on whether she should pull a strand of hair out from under the band or not. The latter option clearly wins once she takes a step back and gives you another once-over.
Her usual expression changes just enough to be concerning.
“Uh…you know, before I say anything, promise not to get mad,” she says, waits exactly three seconds, and then continues: “Remember how I said that you should totally do your makeup like this, that it’s one hundred percent your look, foolproof and suits anything and everything ever no matter what?”
You stare back at her blankly, the words you’re about to hear are obviously inevitable but you still don’t accept them just yet, since a good half of her almost-two-hour-visit was spent on it.
Seeing your reluctance, she keeps on going:
“I think we might have found an exception to the whole ‘suits anything and everything’ rule I mentioned.”
With a quick sigh you silently catalogue the products you’ve used and the probability of each one of them being the problem. The sore thumb sticks out in your mind right away.
“It’s the lipstick, isn’t it?”
You’ve always had a bit of a prejudice when it comes to the colors of those often being overly bright. But with Nobara swearing up and down that lipstick is the way to go instead of a regular gloss, you’ve caved.
“Look, I admit, you might have been right,” she says. Acknowledging her mistakes is usually a bit of a challenge for her, so you watch the confession with significantly more interest than you probably should. “We should really try the gloss only, because when your hair is up, you look like you’re about to go on a theater stage with how…rich it looks on your face.”
Her standing consultation does not last long, so the second you take a step back to get rid of the proof of an unfortunate makeup choice, she is back in bed before you can even wipe it off. Though, to her credit, she doesn’t complain about the speed.
Once the change is implemented, she is back in her amplua.
“You’re really going for that effortlessly pretty look now,” she comments, clearly liking the change, while simultaneously enjoying the process. “Fushiguro will definitely be noticing that. He might be clueless about women and have a questionable taste in about anything I can think of, but he’s observant as hell.”
The excessive amount of mentions of him is definitely becoming a bit nerve-wracking, so just to get it over with faster, you rush the whole ‘getting ready’ process.
“Right. Now, listen up. Imagine, that you’re a guy,” you announce, which she makes a face at, but doesn’t argue just yet. “A regular guy with no understand what a subtle look is.”
Even through all the huffing and puffing at the task ahead, she eventually relents. With a pained sigh she plays along, her expression turning into a rendition of a failed stoic look. She even sits differently, which earns her a look from you.
“What? It’s called method acting, I’m manspreading here,” she explains as if it that’s the world’s most obvious explanation. “Now what?”
You don’t question that. In fact, her sudden dedication is almost admirable as she clearly tries her best to play her role well.
“From a perspective of a guy, do I look like I’m trying too hard?”
The question seems to have put the two of you into a bit of a staring match. While Nobara squints and scrunches up her face with an intensity that will give her wrinkles in the next few minutes if she keeps on going, you appreciate her commitment to the cause.
“Damn, she is cute, is what a guy would say,” she announces and does not elaborate any further. The answer is good enough for you.
With significant progress in hair and makeup department made, you can finally move into a brief but tough section of getting dressed. Thankfully, when Nobara just arrived, the top you had on seemed to have quenched her fashion sense demands, so now all you need to do is choose the bottom half.
Even though Nobara regularly scolds you for the lack of good clothing options, at least half of your wardrobe has been worn by her at least once; some of the items even mysteriously vanishing without a trace. Clearly noticing your hesitance, she drops the act for a bit.
“You’re overthinking this, you know?” she states plainly. "It's not like you're actually going on a date. It's just asking about a date, hinting at it.”
No matter what she says, now when it actually comes to dressing, the whole plan seems flimsy at best, and completely unreliable at worst. Sifting through the clothes, you don’t even pay attention to the items you pull out, but when Nobara suddenly perks up like a bull seeing a red cloth, you freeze.
“Do not tell me that’s what you’re planning to wear,” she says, getting up once more, looking less than excited, even shaking her head to show disapproval as she stalks over. “What happened to the whole ‘dressing casual’ thing?”
You look at the item in your hands. Some pants. Definitely not the ones that would be a first choice, but nothing too scandalous.
Though judging by how she watches you as if you’ve grown a second head, it’s a bad look.
“These are literally satin. That’s, like, in the top three of the least casual fabrics I can think of. It’s not the 1930’s, so unless you want to seduce Yaga instead of Fushiguro, give those back.”
The mental image of that is enough to make you give up the hanger without a fight and stand by as she rummages through the many drawers and shelves, all while mumbling under her breath about too many ‘funky fabrics’ and ‘unflattering cuts.’
When she hands you a pair of pants that, according to her, seem effortless enough without looking bad, she acts as if she’s worked at least a ten-hour shift to get them. Though once you do actually put them her vision is fulfilled.
“As subtle as a sledgehammer in the best way possible,” she smirks but decides not to explain any further.
A quick look in the mirror is enough to convince you that it’s a good idea. Especially in combination with everything that’s been done before.
But now that you’re dressed, the realization that the preparation stage of it all is concluded weighs on you heavier than you would like for it to. You even fidget with the hem of the clothes a little, which Nobara raises an eyebrow at, before pulling out the thing that started it all: a long-sleeved dark shirt that very obviously does not belong to either one of you.
A frequent occurrence in the group training sessions that happen at least a few times a week around here, is the sparring sequences that more often than not have people getting out of extra clothes that can provide an unnecessary grip to their opponents. When during the latest one Nobara waddled over to you with something suspiciously big stuffed under her own shirt, you were not happy one bit, because frankly her suggestion and a subsequent plan of taking Megumi’s stuff and then returning it sounded like the stupidest thing ever. But with an art of persuasion and a meaningful look Nobara threw Maki’s way when she overheard enough of the idea to call it something along the lines of ‘pre-school activities’, you were somehow convinced.
“I should probably text him first and ask if I can bring it over, right?” you ask, staring down at the shirt laid out on your bed.
You even ironed it before Nobara came over. Not that you’d ever admit to it.
She hands you the phone instead of answering, clearly ready for whatever kind of entertainment she will get from it.
Having very little resolve left and feeling like you’re a step away from abandoning the plan and doing something better with your free time, you grab the phone before you can change your mind.
With a hand over your chest and a bated breath, you open the message exchange with Megumi. Usually your conversations are pretty short, consist of discussing assignments and you sending him things that you find funny which he never ignores.
Nobara is watching you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, clearly analyzing each word you type out. She doesn’t complain when the message comes out as follows:
‘Hey! Was cleaning up my room and found something that looks like it belongs to you. Can I bring it over?’
The second the message is sent, you turn the screen off and toss the phone down onto the mattress, as Nobara chuckles while watching you throw it as if it’s cursed.
“Hell yeah, very casual,” she muses, her smile growing before she tries imitating the way you talk and nudges your shoulder with hers. “Found your shirt by accident, it’s definitely not a desperate reach, no sir, not at all!”
“Need I remind you that it was your idea?”
Before she can open her mouth to answer, your phone beeps once, the screen lights up for long enough for you to see that he replied. For good five seconds you stare at Nobara and she stares back, clearly not expecting the reply that fast.
The moment you pick the phone back up, she is practically leaning over you to get a peek at it at the same time as you.
“I can’t see,” she whines, uncharacteristically desperate. What is characteristic, is the way she forces your hand with a phone in it low enough for her to stare at clearly after getting on her tiptoes.
‘Hi. Sure, you can come over any time you want.’
There's a brief moment of silence as Nobara processes the text while you just gulp. As a result, she is both surprised and fascinated.
“So let me get this straight, when I’m texting him, he is suddenly busy enough to take an hour to reply, but when it’s you, he’s available any time of the day?”
Even though it sounds pretty unfair, a sly grin that spreads across her lips makes it obvious that she is far from being offended.
“The dude really wants to see you, huh?”
You practically groan when heading for the mirror once more, all while trying to convince yourself that there’s nothing embarrassing about anything going on, and that you actually have a good shot at whatever is about to go down.
With Nobara clearly noticing that you’re suddenly even less sure than before, she takes measures into her own hands. With Megumi’s shirt hastily folded, she practically tosses it into your arms before forcibly dragging you towards the door out of your room.
“Wait- no, I need to practice my speech, and get ready, and I think I need a bathroom,” you practically hiss, while trying you best not to cause too much commotion.
You even try digging the heels of your feet into the wooden floor but she does not budge. She stops only once the threshold of your room is behind you both.
For a moment she looks completely serious.
“You look good, you need to sound natural, no rehearsing, it’ll come to you. So lose the deer-in-the-headlights look you’ve got going on.”
She turns you around with a surprising amount of strength.
Megumi’s room that always seem so close to yours suddenly feels like it’s kilometers away, when in fact it’s about a total of thirty steps away down an exceptionally long hallway lined with a lot of doors, that lead to mostly empty rooms, that once upon a time belonged to students, but are now collecting dust since not many people are studying around here.
“And don’t hold it like you’re some widow carrying your dead husband’s military jacket!” you hear Nobara whisper loudly enough for you take note of.
You try your best to relax your hold. The result is satisfying enough for Nobara to dive back into your room as if she is the one who owns it.
When the walk to his room finally ends, you stand and stare at his door for some time, and catch your breath before knocking. Since it swings open not even a few seconds later, it is clear he was waiting.
He stands in the doorway, looking every bit as good as he always does, his t-shirt and sweatpants on, the familiar expression that most interpret as vacant now having just a tiny bit of curiosity, which for your own sake for now you interpret as you being delusional. He briefly looks you up and down before beginning to talk.
“Hey.”
“Hi, found this,” you reply, maybe a bit too fast, before bringing the shirt up a bit higher for him to take. “Thought it looked like something that might be yours. Not sure how it got into my stuff.”
He takes it, unfolds it, examines it briefly before inspecting you once more, his expression still unreadable.
“Thank you…maybe I should have come to pick it up myself so that you wouldn’t have to get dressed.”
You glance down at the clothes you’ve got on, suddenly remembering Nobara’s words about sledgehammers and subtlety.
“Oh, I was just going through my clothes to see what still fits and what doesn’t,” you reply with a bit of an awkward laugh.
He nods slowly. It’s hard to tell whether he believes that or not.
“Looks good.”
At that you both freeze.
If there’s anything this conversation shows, it’s that both of you are pretty inept. But he recovers fast, after a quick rub of the back of his neck and a look away, he clarifies:
“The size is good, I mean. Fits.”
With the conversation clearly leading straight into a dead-end, you glance down the hallway, half-expecting Nobara to be there and give you some hint through Morse code or something, but obviously, there’s no one there.
When all hope seems lost, he speaks up again:
“I was thinking…there is this errand I need to run, and since you’re here, maybe you’d want to help?”
Even the rain seems to stop, the clouds seem to clear out and at least three rainbows spring out in the vicinity. The moment you open your mouth, an obnoxiously loud melody interrupts just in time.
You stare at the pocket of this sweatpants, he does too.
“Sorry, I’ll, uh, take that,” he mumbles, reaching for the phone in there.
The second Gojo-sensei’s voice ring out from the speaker clear as day, chattering on and on about some extremely important business that needs immediate attention right now, no exceptions, no questions and definitely no refusals, you know that it’s over for you.
Staring at Megumi as he occasionally nods along to the phone call, you peacefully accept the cards you are dealt: the date mission might have failed this time around, but there’s always a second chance!