Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Get back here!”

Yuuji had already been trying to shut the door when a foot blocked its path. He stared at it and weighed his options for a moment. If he scuffed the shoe, he may actually die tragically young, even by a sorcerer's standards. And yet, this seemed like a viable option to guarantee escaping the conversation. 

“Nobara, please, I have homework,” he tried weakly, pushing gently against the door.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Nobara snapped, shoving back against it. The wood creaked ominously under the combined strain, eventually Yuuji relented, sparing them all splinters. Nobara struts in with a swift sidestep, arms crossed like a bouncer outside a club. “We are finishing this conversation!”

Yuuji threw his hands up. “It’s not even a conversation, it’s harassment! I already told you I’m not going with you!”

“You’re coming shopping with me tomorrow.” She dropped her bag by his bed and headed straight for his closet. “I need someone to carry my bags.”

His amber eyes darted around his room like a cornered animal, desperate for any other escape route. He eyes the window with a glimmer of hope. Maybe he could make it out the window if he was fast enough.

Megumi caught the look and moved in front of the window, blocking it with a shake of his head. He’d already been cornered by her and he refused to suffer alone.

“I’m not your damn pack mule,” he protested weakly, the last of his defiance bleeding out under resignation.

“Too bad. Consider it repayment for my very generous services of helping you pretend to care about yourself. I refuse to allow you to continue dressing like a hobo.”

“You’re so rude!” Yuuji sputtered. “My clothes are comfortable, there’s nothing wrong with them!”

“Don’t care. You can be comfortable and be fashionable. Just because you’re poor doesn’t mean you have to dress like it.” Nobara shot back. “And I refuse to be seen with someone who dresses like he got mugged behind a dumpster.”

“I don’t need your help, I already have plenty of clothes!”

Nobara advanced on him, all perfumed menace. “You’re so full of shit. There’s no way you have actual clothes and just refuse to wear them. You don’t wanna go? Fine. Prove you don’t need my help.”

Realizing the trap he just sprang on himself, Yuuji backpedaled immediately as he moved to block his closet door. “Actually, tomorrow sounds fantastic. What time did you want to meet?”

Nobara narrows her eyes dangerously at his sudden obedience. “What ‘cha got in there, Yuuji?”

“Nothing,” he says far too quickly, voice high with panic as he backs into his closet door.

“MOVE!” Nobara snapped, grabbing for him.

“Never!”

Megumi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You already know she’s not going to let it go. Just let her look, Yuuji.”

“Stay out of this, Megumi!”

“You’re both way too noisy.”

Nobara lunged and grabbed Yuuji’s hoodie, trying to pry him away. Yuuji clung to the door handle, legs braced. Nobara grunted, kicking at his ankle. “Let GO!”

Yuuji howled. “You’ll have to kill me first!”

“Oh my god, you two are ridiculous.” Megumi muttered, and slipped beside Yuuji, arms going around his torso. “Sorry, man.”

“TRAITOR!” Yuuji yelled, twisting as Nobara and Megumi finally wrenched him aside. Nobara yanked open the closet door. At first she sees nothing out of the ordinary. Just an extra uniform and some casual clothes, typical thrift store finds. But then she digs deeper, to the darker corner of the closet and her eyes glitter as she strikes gold. Designer labels spilled out in a glittering avalanche.

“What the hell–” Nobara gasped, eyes wild.

Yuuji’s stomach sank as she reached in and pulled out a sleek, black hoodie, the fabric so soft it seemed to glow under the overhead light. She held it up like a trophy, inspecting the label.

Megumi lifted an eyebrow impressed. “That’s brand name stuff.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Yuuji said quickly, half reaching for it.

Nobara swatted his hands away, still holding the hoodie high. “Since when have you had taste this expensive? Are you secretly rich? Or do you just have a sugar daddy?”

Yuuji’s face turned fire-engine red. “I DO NOT HAVE A SUGAR DADDY!”

Megumi chimed in flatly, “That is exactly what someone with a sponsor would say.”

Nobara stared at the designer clothes spilling from Yuuji’s closet, her eyes gleaming. "No way you don’t have a sugar daddy. Some of these still have the tags on. What are you doing? Why aren’t you wearing these?"

Yuuji blushed harder, stammering, “I-I told you, it’s nothing!”

Nobara tilted her head, voice like silk. “Yuuji… does your fructose father like women too?”

Yuuji spluttered. “I never really—WAIT, I DON’T KNOW BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE ONE!”

Megumi shook his head. “That’s not as convincing as you think it is.”

Nobara leaned closer, her grin wicked. “Any chance your pookie would consider being a poly papa instead?”

Yuuji’s jaw dropped. “What? NO! Absolutely not! Leave him—I mean, leave it alone!”

Nobara smirked, victorious. “Relax, Yuuji, I’m not trying to steal your man. I just want in on the benefits. Put in a good word for me, will ya?”

Yuuji turned crimson, fuming, completely ready to shove Nobara out of his room by force when she suddenly paused, staring at the piles of clothes. Her eyes narrowed, scanning one expensive garment after another. She lifted a jacket by the shoulders, turning it over slowly.

“Wait a second… All these clothes are way too big for you," she murmured, suspicion dawning. "They weren't bought for you... they were given."

Her fingers traced the soft material of the sleeve, realization spreading across her face. "I could have sworn I saw someone else wear this jacket over the winter..."

Megumi tilted his head slightly, voice flat. “That’s Gojo-senpai’s. I’ve seen him wear it.”

“Why do you recognize it? Actually, don’t answer that, it’s not important.” Nobara’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she whipped back to Yuuji. “Why do you have Gojo-senpai’s winter jacket in your closet?”

Yuuji stammered, “HE LET ME BORROW IT, I WAS GONNA GIVE IT BACK!”

Megumi, deadpan, said, “Just stop lying man, you’re so bad at it. Besides, it’s summer, when exactly were you planning to give it back?”

Yuuji lunged for the jacket, snatching it out of Nobara’s hands and shoving it back into the closet, slamming the door shut with a loud bang. He threw himself against it like a guard dog, panting, cheeks blazing red.

Nobara’s lip curled in disgust. “Why would that troll even lend you half his wardrobe? He barely even talks to people unless he’s messing with them.”

Yuuji shifted uncomfortably.

“He’s… not like that when we’re alone.” His voice dropped softer, almost shy.

Nobara and Megumi exchanged a look.

Megumi let out a slow exhale. “So… you guys a thing?”

“Ew, Yuuji,” Nobara gagged as she crossed her arms, eyeing Yuuji in disgust. “Are you really dating that idiot? God, we need to have a talk about your taste in men.”

Yuuji looked away, cheeks flushed but no longer burning. “He’s not a bad guy, he’s just… shy,” He said, so quietly it was almost a whisper. “He’s actually… really sweet.”

Nobara stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same person, Yuuji. Because the one I’m thinking about purposefully puts your favorite mug higher than you can reach just to watch you struggle.”

“He does like to tease.”

She stared at him in disappointment, “He called you stupid to your face like three times in the same conversation.”

Yuuji scoffed at her, waving her away. “You do that too, you know.”

“Hey!” Nobara yelled indignantly. Her lip curls in irritation, fist clenched in the air like a threat.

“I think the point she was trying to make is that when he does it, it sounds genuinely mean.” Megumi said flatly.

“But he doesn’t actually mean it,” Yuuji insisted, a tiny furrow between his brows. “He just says mean things when he’s embarrassed.”

Megumi shifted, the faintest crease of concern between his brows. He sighed, deep and long suffering, completely unimpressed. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” he said, cheeks turning pinker. “He’d be upset.”

"Can’t say I understand what you see in him. Your boyfriend sucks, Yuuji." Megumi says, voice quiet and dull, like he was trying not to show he's disappointed.

Nobara piggybacked on Megumi's complaint, her disappointment far less subtle. "Seriously, Yuuji, how did this even happen? You two could not be more different."

“Well…” Yuuji rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "We kind of grew up together, well, a bit anyway. My uncle and I used to go to the Gojo Clan estate sometimes, and I'd play with him during the visits. He was spoiled even then, but he meant well. It's just how he shows he cares. He wasn't as shy back then; that only started right before he enrolled here—when he started getting more mature, I guess. Like, he didn't want to be as close to me anymore? He got a little awkward, but I don't really know why."

Megumi and Nobara exchanged a look. Nobara's brows shot up so high they nearly vanished into her bangs, while Megumi just pinched the bridge of his nose like he was fighting off a headache. Neither could quite believe Yuuji was this oblivious.

Yuuji kept going, obviously missing the implication. "We didn't really see each other for a while until I started here too, and then it was like he was trying to make up for all the time we missed. He's different but... still the same, you know?"

Nobara squinted at him. "Okay, but... are you actually dating though?"

Yuuji went very still, looking deeply uncomfortable as he wrestled with how much he was allowed to give away. “...Yes?" It came out like a question, barely above a whisper.

Nobara groaned, rubbing her temples. "Oh my god. You’re in a situationship and you don’t even know it. I should corner that bastard myself and sort this out."

"Don’t!" Yuuji blurted out, panicked. "Please, just leave him alone. You both can be mean, but he might actually be worse. It’d be a disaster. I don’t want him to be uncomfortable. Please… please don’t say anything."

Nobara folded her arms, sighing heavily. "Fine. I won’t… If you come with me tomorrow and carry all my bags without complaining."

Yuuji groaned. "That’s blackmail."

"Yup," Nobara said sweetly.

"Fine, I'll go."

Nobara tilted her head, a glimmer of determination replacing her earlier exasperation. "And for the record, I’m not just dragging you shopping just because I want a pack mule. You’re getting some clothes of your own. Stuff that actually fits you—and that you can wear on a date."

Yuuji’s entire face flushed bright red. He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again, cheeks burning. Finally, he sighed and muttered, "If that’s what it takes for you not to say anything, then I guess that's okay."

Nobara flipped her hair over her shoulder with a wicked grin, looking thoroughly victorious. "Be ready early tomorrow. We’ll need every hour if we’re gonna hit the best shops."

Yuuji groaned, looking like he’d just been handed a prison sentence. Megumi stared off into the distance, eyes vacant, as though his spirit had already left his body.

Finally, Nobara departed with Megumi, throwing Yuuji a wicked grin over her shoulder and flipping her hair. "I’ll see you bright and early, so don’t even think about skipping out," she called, half promise, half threat.

Yuuji sighed, exaggerated and exhausted, and collapsed onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling, racking his brain for an escape route, but came up empty. Satoru was even more terrifying than Nobara, and this sacrifice felt necessary to protect her from that.

But still, the thought of sending the text to say he’d be busy tomorrow filled him with dread. Satoru never announced plans, usually just assuming Yuuji would be free. He could only hope Satoru wouldn’t be too mad about the unexpected change.

Despite agonizing over it for an hour, Yuuji never actually sent the message. Instead, he resolved to try softening the blow over breakfast tomorrow.

There was no shortage of dread for Yuuji facing this day. He woke well before sunrise, bleary-eyed and unable to sleep, each minute of quiet amplifying his anxiety. Dragging himself from bed, he dressed in his favorite jeans, a comfortable but worn-in shirt, and his trusty sneakers, his movements mechanical.

His gaze flickered to the corner of his closet, where the designer clothes Satoru had given him hung untouched. He wanted to wear them—wanted the warmth of Satoru’s choice against his skin—but the thought of making their relationship so obvious made his chest tighten. He respected Satoru’s unspoken wish for privacy even as he ached to display that connection.

Chewing his lip, Yuuji felt his heartbeat stutter between longing and obligation, his chest tightening at the thought of wearing something given to him. Part of him ached to let the world witness this quiet proof of the feelings he knew were there.

Yet with a soft, reluctant sigh, he reached for the black zip-up hoodie from the corner. He knew it might be a risk, but this small indulgence felt worth it. And since it was early, he told himself no one would see—and if they did, he could slip out of it before any questions came.

He slipped it on and was immediately delighted. It was soft, impossibly comfortable, though the sleeves were so long they flopped past his hands. He pushed them up and headed for the kitchen.

Once there, he opened every cabinet and cranked the fridge door wide, methodically scanning for ingredients. Finding a bag of glutinous rice flour tucked behind some noodles gave him a spark of inspiration—mochi pancakes would be perfect. It might be cheap to use food as emotional cushioning, but he was confident it’d work on Satoru.

He measured the ingredients carefully and mixed it into a smooth batter, then flipped through his mental recipe list: a traditional Japanese spread for everyone else, and mochi pancakes just for Satoru. He whisked eggs with mirin and dashi for the savory dishes, then set the pancake skillet on low heat. He meticulously sliced fresh strawberries, blueberries, and bananas from the fridge, tossing them with sugar and a splash of almond extract. His plan came together piece by piece, and he felt a small, hopeful smile tug at his lips—this was exactly what Satoru would love.

With the fruit prepped and the batter bubbling gently in the pan, he arranged the traditional meal on trays, then piled the mochi pancakes onto a separate plate, drizzling them with maple syrup as a final touch. Just as he wiped his hands on his apron, Satoru finally shuffled in.

Satoru wobbled in like a half-asleep cloud of bedhead and sunglasses, his yawn echoing off the cabinets. He grunted a terse greeting—then halted mid-step.

Yuuji felt the heat rise in his cheeks as Satoru’s eyes widened behind those dark lenses. It wasn’t just surprise; something softer flickered there, like tenderness struggling to break free from a shell of stubborn pride.

For a heartbeat, Satoru looked almost vulnerable—awkward, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with this unexpected sight: Yuuji wrapped in Satoru’s hoodie.

Then his head whipped left and right as if checking for witnesses, all the while a blush darkened on his cheeks. Yuuji couldn’t help a soft laugh at the absurdity of it all.

His shoulders tensed, fingers twisting at his sides. Finally, he spat out, “Seriously… why are you wearing that?”

His question lingered, sharper than casual curiosity—Yuuji caught Satoru’s eyes flickering nervously toward him as if he couldn’t stop looking. Even beneath the bite of his tone, Yuuji could hear how pleased he was.

Yuuji let the moment stretch, then teased, “I thought I was allowed to wear it since you gave it to me. Did you want it back? I can take it off if that’s—”

Satoru cut him off with a sharp exhale, cheeks flaming. “Don't be stupid. Keep it on,” he muttered, voice low and strained. He looked away, pouting, but Yuuji caught the satisfied gleam in his eyes. The audacity of Yuuji’s tease had worked; he was right—Satoru couldn’t bear the thought of him removing it.

In the sudden quiet that followed, Satoru peeked over the counter and frowned. “Why are you making so much damn food so early? And why such a weird mix?” he grumbled, tone softer but still edged with petulance.

Yuuji grinned as he spooned the batter into the pan. He gestured to the savory spread. “That’s for the vultures that will descend soon.” Then he swept his hand to the sweet treats. “And this is just for you.”

Satoru blinked, a blush spreading beneath his sunglasses. “Huh?” he managed, caught off guard.

Yuuji’s smile turned hopeful. “It’s been a while since I cooked for you,” he admitted. “I wanted to today.”

Satoru’s face flared, a storm of irritation and warmth swirling in his eyes. He wanted to reach out, but couldn’t quite work up the nerve to do it. So instead, he simply nodded and turned away.

Yuuji watched him struggle, then with a gentle sigh, moved on to setting the table—granting Satoru space to sort through the whirlwind of his feelings.

They lingered in that gentle hush, the only sounds the soft sizzle of batter on the pan and two hearts learning to speak the language they’d both been too shy to say aloud.

But Yuuji saw through the cover like he always did, his lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. He cleared his throat and nodded toward the kettle. “Want some tea?”

Satoru blinked and glanced toward the cabinet. “…Sure.”

Yuuji stepped over and opened the upper cabinet, reaching for their mugs. Of course, his was in the back of the top shelf—out of reach once again. He sighed, rose onto his tiptoes, and stretched his arm as high as he could.

Satoru watched, amusement flickering across his still-flushed face. After a moment of watching Yuuji struggle, he rolled his eyes and moved beside the shorter man. “Oh my god, just ask for help dummy.” With a gentle shove, he took Yuuji’s place and plucked the mug down effortlessly, setting it on the counter with a quiet scrape.

“Oh, uh, thanks!” Yuuji said brightly, flashing him a bashful smile.

“Honestly, you should learn to let me help you more,” Satoru mumbled and looked away, cheeks burning darker. 

He took a hesitant step forward, closing the scant inches between them. His chest fluttered with nervous hope—was this the moment for a hug? Maybe finally a kiss? He must have let too much of his thoughts bleed into his expression because the next thing he knew Satoru had gone rigid again.

Satoru’s breath caught and his eyes went wide. His heart thudded so loudly Yuuji thought he might hear it. He blinked rapidly, panic flickering across his features, and his stance stiffened—their proximity suddenly too much for him to bear without action.

Swiftly he reached for the infuser teapot, eager for the distraction. Then quietly he added, “I’ll make it—um, so it steeps right.”

Yuuji watched, not quite disappointed, but curious. Everytime he tried to get close, he slipped away again. They’d been doing this dance for ages now. Maybe he was moving too fast for him again?

Satoru’s eyes stayed trained on the tea but they weren’t really watching. He was too lost in his thoughts and too distracted by being close enough to act on these feelings that his usual precision slipped. He spooned tea leaves into the infuser haphazardly, more concerned with calming his racing heart and steadying his breath than the task at hand.

“Satoru, isn’t it a bit early to be making tea for everyone?” he asked, confusion coloring his tone.

Satoru snapped his gaze up, lips curled in a dramatic sneer as he balanced the pot in one hand. “Eh?! This ain’t for them. Why the hell would I make tea for people I don’t care about?” he retorted, voice sharp—completely unaware of the impact of his words—then his hand stilled, spoon freezing in midair as he processed that statement.

By the time Satoru realized what he’d done, he was already in too deep. He was naturally good at everything—mistakes simply weren’t something he did—but being so close to Yuuji had distracted him so completely that he couldn’t admit the truth. Now he was forced to act as if the whole thing had been on purpose.

Yuuji’s heart thumped in his chest as he recognized the implication, his cheeks warming at what lay beneath Satoru’s harsh reply. “Satoru.”

Realizing his slip too late, Satoru cleared his throat and turned away. “I don't—I didn't mean— ugh, doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, forcing a brusque tone. “I just… want it up to my standards.”

But Yuuji saw through the cover like he always did, a soft amused smile gracing his face. “Of course you do, sorry for doubting you.“

He stepped back and returned to the pan, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. He hummed a soft tune as he worked, the kitchen light and warm despite the morning’s jitters. Whenever Satoru glanced his way, Yuuji caught those shy looks and offered a bright grin—each stolen glance a silent promise neither dared speak aloud.

They stood too close, arms nearly brushing, and Satoru studied Yuuji’s profile in the silence. Sensing the weight of his stare Yuuji turned to meet his gaze only for Satoru to look away. From what he can see out of the corner of his eye, the taller man’s face is a bit pinched; like he wants to ask something but is holding back. Yuuji has to stifle a laugh when he turns again only for Satoru to whip his head away before they could face each other again.

Yuuji huffed a laugh and turned back to the pan, lifting the final golden pancake with care and setting it beside the stove. With a trembling hand, Satoru reached out as if to steady Yuuji’s arm—then froze when Yuuji’s eyes widened, cheeks flushing to match his own. Panic bloomed in Satoru’s chest, and he yanked his hand away, pivoting toward the burner instead. In one swift motion, he shut off the flame and jabbed a finger at the pan.

“Idiot, you left it on,” he snapped, though his voice cracked in places. Sweat slicked his palms, and his eyes flickered with embarrassment and something softer—something like relief.

Yuuji’s heart fluttered at Satoru’s frantic scolding. “I mean, I was going to turn it off,” he whispered, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Satoru huffed and glared, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, obviously you forgot,” he muttered, before clearing his throat and looking pointedly away.

Yuuji leaned in just slightly, letting the warmth from Satoru’s tense form brush against his own. “Yeah, you got me,” he whispered softly.

But as Yuuji stacked pancakes on the serving plate, his gaze drifted to the infuser teapot—and realized the tea had been steeping far too long. The deep amber liquid glowed ominously. He watched Satoru’s posture stiffen when he caught Yuuji noticing.

Without a word, Satoru jabbed a finger toward the kitchen table. “I know what I’m doing,” he snapped, voice sharp. “Go sit down.”

Yuuji chuckled softly, gathering mugs, plates, and cutlery with ease. “Right,” he said, amusement in his eyes, and carried everything to the table in one steady stack.

In the kitchen, Satoru’s cheeks were still pink as he fished out his phone and furiously Googled solutions. He muttered under his breath as he scoured the results, letting out a pleased hum when he found something he liked. He poured the oversteeped brew into a glass full of ice, added milk and sweetener, and stirred with determination.

Moments later, he returned to the table and slid the new milk tea across to Yuuji. “Here,” he said quietly.

Surprised, Yuuji’s face lit up. “Oh, this is unexpected! Thank you,” he said sweetly, wrapping his hands around the cool glass. A smile—bright enough to catch Satoru off guard—spread across his face, sending a fresh flush to Satoru’s cheeks.

Yuuji then nudged a plate of mochi pancakes and fruit toward Satoru. The fruit was artfully arranged, and the pancakes were perfectly stacked.

Satoru accepted it with a small nod, picking up a pancake. Yuuji cleared his throat, about to explain, “So about today—” when the door swung wide and other students began filtering in.

Both of them jumped back with a squeak, chairs scraping against the floor as they hastily put distance between them. Yuuji’s hands flew to his hoodie, yanking it off and shoving it under the table into his lap as though hiding evidence of a crime.

Yuuji looked up and waved a greeting to Nobara and Megumi as they entered. His eyes then flicked back to the chair Satoru had been sitting in moments ago and was startled to find it empty. Instead, he was across the room, plate in hand, eating while standing. His smile faltered for just a heartbeat, a pinch of disappointment tugging at his features, but he quickly recovered and kept his expression neutral.

Nobara paused mid-step, arms crossed and brow raised. She was decidedly unimpressed; expression already twisting into silent ire. She stared first at Yuuji—her gaze sharp and assessing—then at her senpai across the room, her eyes narrowing in judgment. Back to the table, and once more at Yuuji, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Yuuji’s eyes went wide, darting between them in a silent plea. Nobara’s eyes flashed with mock outrage. He shook his head in a frantic ‘no,’ then took it up a notch—mouthing the word so clearly it was practically captioned. She leaned in with a warning gleam in her eye. Yuuji’s head shook again, even faster this time, desperation written across his features.

Nobara gave a mischievous grin and plopped into a chair with Megumi in tow, flipping her hair and tucking it behind her ear. “Mmm, breakfast looks divine,” she announced, grabbing a piece of tamagoyaki and nibbling theatrically. “Yuuji, you really outdid yourself—this is exactly how a good wife behaves! If my standards were dramatically lower, I'd scoop you up for myself.”

Across the room, Satoru snapped rigidly, a cough rattling out so fierce he nearly lost his grip on his plate. He swallowed hard, cheeks deepening to a fiery shade, and fixed Nobara with a cold glare. "Really, Kugisaki? Lower your standards? Let's not pretend who'd be doing the real charity work in this situation."

Yuuji flushed crimson, nearly dropping his mug. "Come on guys, cut it out—"

"Let’s not pretend," She spat venomously and waved her chopsticks dismissively, eyes glittering mischievously. "The real charity here is Yuuji being so kind as to allow a dog like you, senpai, to eat with us. Really, Yuuji's so thoughtful and considerate, just the picture of domestic bliss." Her gaze flicked pointedly toward Satoru, eyes narrowing like a predator sensing weakness.

Satoru's response was swift and acidic. "And yet for all your desperate attempts to meddle, I don't see anyone lining up to make you their bride. Jealousy is a terrible look, even for you."

Her smile tightened, sharp as steel. "That's rich coming from you, senpai. All your pretty looks are wasted the second you open your rotten mouth."

Satoru's eyes flashed dangerously as he tilted his chin upward, voice dripping with disdain. "And your dreams of being a model would almost be charming, Kugisaki, if it weren't for the harsh reality stopping you. Perhaps investing in a mirror that doesn't lie to you might help."

Yuuji tried to interject, raising his hand nervously. "Guys, seriously, you don't have to—"

"Shut up, Yuuji!" they both snapped simultaneously, turning identical glares on him. Yuuji shrank back, muttering quietly to himself as the two resumed their battle.

"You know," Nobara began, voice dropping low and dangerously sweet, "you seem awfully defensive—I wonder why that is? Perhaps it's because—"

Satoru stepped closer to the table, jabbing his fork at Nobara for emphasis. His gaze stayed locked on her as he spat, “Perhaps it’s because entitled little cretins like you forget your place—which, by the way, is at the bottom, in that backwoods dirt you crawled out of.”

Nobara's eyes flashed with fury, voice shaking with barely restrained anger. "You just can't stand him knowing there's other options—"

"Funny," Satoru sneered coldly, eyes narrowing, "I'd assume you're projecting your own disappointments onto Yuuji, since clearly, no one has ever cared enough to waste their time on you."

Nobara slammed her chopsticks onto the table, the playful glint in her eyes vanishing instantly, replaced by genuine anger. "Excuse me? Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?!"

Their spat echoed in the kitchen, both too stubborn to yield, and Yuuji watched helplessly as their petty war raged on around him. Eventually they both quieted as they focused on their meal, glaring at each other occasionally.

Satoru’s jaw clenched as he munched silently on his breakfast, cheeks stuffed like a particularly greedy chipmunk. He was determined to finish and get the hell out of there.

But when Nobara reached for one of the pancakes, his already thin patience snapped. “Hey! Hands off my pancakes!” he snarled.

Nobara rolled her eyes and scoffed, plucking a pancake of her own. “They’re on the table—that means they’re for everyone.”

Satoru slammed the plate down and rose to his feet, closing the distance to the table. “No, the fuck they aren’t!” he spat, snatching back the pancake from Nobara’s plate. “These are mine—no one else touches them!”

Nobara rolled her eyes at his theatrics and shot back, “Dogs aren’t welcome at the table, Gojo-senpai,” she retorted, taking a bite. “I’ll have what I want.”

Satoru’s face twisted in anger; he snatched the plate from Nobara and started confiscating the remaining treats. “Nuh-uh, back off, Yuuji made these for me!”

Nobara’s eyes gleamed, victorious. “Oh, did he now? Is that why you’re so flustered? Don’t want anyone else eating your special kibble, huh?”

Before the room could erupt again, Megumi threw up his hands. “Oh my god, will you two just shut the hell up? This is embarrassing,” He glanced at Yuuji sympathetically. “Thanks for breakfast, but we really should go if we want to beat the rush.”

Satoru turned icy, folding his arms. “What rush? Where are you going?” he demanded, voice low and hard as stone.

Yuuji opened his mouth to explain, but Nobara folded her arms and stepped closer, voice sharp: “Why do you care what he does? What business is it of yours?”

Satoru shrugged, attempting indifference though the tick in his jaw betrayed him. “I don’t care,” he snapped, tone brittle. “Yuuji can do whatever he wants.”

Nobara stood abruptly, a triumphant glint in her eyes. “Damn right he can,” she retorted, voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

He paused, narrowing his eyes as he tried to sound casual. “So… where exactly are you two going today? I’d hate to run into my annoying little kōhai on my day off.”

Nobara stood abruptly, a triumphant glint in her eyes. “Three, actually—he’s coming too,” she announced, nudging Megumi into the frame. Her grin widened as Satoru’s expression flickered with displeasure; she knew perfectly well how much he’d hate that he was tagging along.

Satoru fixes Megumi with a scathing, jealousy-tinged glare—he’s practically seething at the thought of him being so close to Yuuji today—while Megumi remains entirely unimpressed.

Nobara leaned in, utterly unbothered by his discomfort. "We'll enjoy our day much more if we didn’t have to see your stupid face either. Stay the hell out of Harajuku—if you ruin our outing, I’ll personally kick your ass.”

Satoru smirked, folding his arms. “As if you could. Don’t worry though, I’ll save you the embarrassment of losing—it won’t be a problem. I have my own plans for the day, and they certainly won’t be spoiled by you. Besides, I’d never be caught dead in one of those cheap discount stores you can afford.”

He gave them a mock-pleasant grin. “Enjoy your little outing, then.” The words sounded almost friendly—if you ignored the sharp edge of menace beneath them. Megumi was the only one who registered it as a threat, his eyes flicking nervously between the two.

Then with feigned polite calm, he gave a casual wave and stepped away, his expression cool and unbothered as he exited.

Megumi sagged in his chair, shoulders slumped, clearly worn out by the morning’s drama—and all too aware of Satoru’s jealous glare burning into him.

Nobara polished off another piece of tamagoyaki, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. "Seriously, your boyfriend sucks, Yuuji," she declared with theatrical flair, her voice dripping with annoyance.

Yuuji let out a long, weary sigh. They’d been doing so well before this chaos erupted. He lifted his glass of milk tea, swirling the ice cubes thoughtfully before taking a careful sip of the sweet, chilled brew. "He’s just shy," he offered softly, though his tone wavered, betraying his own doubt.

Nobara snorted, rolling her eyes. "There’s shy, and then there’s that—he’s a total asshole, Yuuji. Don’t make excuses."

Megumi sighed loudly, setting down his empty plate with a clatter and leaning back in his chair. He shot Nobara with a pointed look. “You grew up knowing about Jujutsu society, Nobara, but you’ve never lived that life inside a major clan. Satoru’s behavior might seem over the top to you, but in his world, influence and power are shown—not spoken about. Pushing him into a corner for a laugh? That always ends in a show of force.”

Nobara bristled, crossing her arms. “I’m doing this for Yuuji’s own good,” she snapped. “He deserves respect, not to be kept as some dirty little secret.”

Yuuji’s chest tightened with gratitude. He reached out, voice soft, “Nobara—”

“Shh,” she cuts him off sharply with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Yuuji froze, jaw slack and brow furrowed in confused disbelief—did she really just hush him like that? His shoulders slumped as he let out a quiet, exasperated grumble.

Megumi pushed away the remains of his breakfast and began tidying the table. “Yuuji asked you to drop it, Nobara. You chose to ignore his wishes—offer him some respect, at least.”

Nobara huffed, flicking a lock of hair from her face. “He needs someone to watch out for him—he’s hopelessly naive and makes terrible calls.”

Yuuji bristled and stood abruptly, and the black hoodie slipped off his lap. He snatched it back reflexively, clutching it tightly against the surface of the table. “I don’t need to be protected like some little kid,” he shot at Nobara, his voice taut with restrained irritation even as he held the damning proof of his feelings.

Her orange eyes zeroed in on the garment—proof of everything she’d suspected. Megumi rolled his eyes at the charged atmosphere, while Nobara’s gaze flitted from the hoodie to Yuuji’s defiant stance, relishing the moment. Yuuji's brow furrowed in confusion, then followed her gaze down to his hand. Realization hit like a punch to the gut. His cheeks flamed a vivid shade of red in embarrassment.

She snorted in amusement.

He swallowed and offered a resigned half-smile. “I… I’ll meet you at the gate,” he mumbled, turning to leave and trying to tuck the hoodie out of sight.

Nobara raised a single brow at Megumi, triumphant. “See? He’s practically clueless.”

Megumi shook his head with a patient exhale. “It’s none of our business who Yuuji spends time with. He trusts Gojo-senpai for a reason—so you might as well respect that.”

Her lips pursed, but she slid her plate to the table’s edge. “Fine,” she said, tossing the responsibility back at him. “But if he gets his heart broken by that jerk I’m blaming you. Clean this up.” She stood and left, the click of her shoes fading into the hallway.

Megumi sighed in the sudden quiet, muttering to the empty room, “Really, they’re both so troublesome.”

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

A few hours later, the trio found themselves amid the neon bustle of Harajuku. Nobara led the charge, dragging Megumi and Yuuji from boutique to boutique, each one more fashionable (and expensive) than the last. Both boys trailed behind her, arms laden with shopping bags, even Yuuji’s shoulders were sagging as his enthusiasm waned.

They slumped into the single row of folding chairs outside the latest store, minds as worn out as their legs. Megumi let out an exaggerated sigh, head dropping into his hands in mock despair. Yuuji sat beside him, too mentally drained even to form words. How many stores had they been to? How long has it been? Is it even the same day anymore?

Nobara eyed her companions with mock disdain. “Honestly, you two have no stamina,” she teased.

Yuuji rubbed his temples. “Can we take a break please? We’ve been looking at clothes all day. Can we just do literally anything else for a bit?”

Nobara tilted her head and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Fine, after this one,” she announced. “This store's for you.” Her grin promised mischief.

Yuuji’s heart fluttered—he braced himself. “And why is that?”

Nobara leaned back, surveying his wary face with a smirk. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

She waves a dismissive hand at the mountain of bags. “Leave those with Megumi—he clearly thrives on heavy lifting.” She grabbed Yuuji’s arm and practically dragged him inside the narrow doorway, leaving the others to collapse on the bench.

Inside, the lights were bright and the racks knelt under rows of cropped sweaters and jackets, an alarming amount of micro skirts, and articles that seemed more hole than cloth. Yuuji’s eyes widened. He’d expected something “cool” or chic—this felt more like a candy shop for clothes.

"This can't be the right place," he said warily as his eyes tracked the increasingly scandalous options. It was like the further they went in the smaller things got.

Nobara grinned and looked through the racks with an appraising eye. She began pulling items off hangers, thoughtful in her selections. Some pieces were closer to Yuuji's usual casual style—simple jackets, comfortable shirts, things that while bright, were still modest. But just as the store grew more scandalous the deeper they went, so too did Nobara’s choices.

Yuuji felt his unease growing with every item she picked, a creeping suspicion tightening in his chest. He glanced around, certain someone was going to think he belonged here—or worse, that he wanted to.

Nobara, wearing a grin that could only be described as concerning, ushered him to the changing room and shoved him toward it. Yuuji protested half-heartedly, clutching a tiny scrap of cloth she tried to convince him was a shirt. "This... is a lot." His voice was thin with distress as he eyed the fabric in his hands.

Nobara was having the time of her life. She ignored his discomfort entirely, rattling off pairing suggestions for each piece she'd chosen, some color combinations, and accessories he could try. "Exactly. You always wear the same kind of stuff. You're missing out on so many options."

"I'm not sure about these."

"You won’t know until you try." She gave him another shove. Yuuji drew in a breath and ducked behind the curtain.

Inside the changing room, Yuuji began trying on outfits. To his surprise, some of Nobara's choices actually suited him. The colors popped against his skin, and the cuts complimented his body. Nobara's glowing praise and delighted claps every time he stepped out gave him unexpected confidence, turning the ordeal into something almost fun. When she especially liked an outfit, she'd make him pose for a photo, teasing him until he cracked a smile.

Still, a few items sat untouched in the pile. Yuuji kept hoping Nobara would forget them, but she noticed eventually. "Hey, you skipped these!"

"Nobara, no. These are… too much."

"Don't be a coward. You've looked good in everything I gave you so far. This will be no different. Now get back in there!" she demanded, shoving the clothes toward him.

First, he emerged in a tight midriff shirt paired with stylishly ripped jeans, cheeks warm but not entirely embarrassed. Nobara nodded her approval. She was loud, clapping her hands and laughing. "See? And you're kinda ripped, you know! It's a crime to hide all that behind baggy clothes all the time."

Then came the last outfit: a short off-shoulder crop top that barely reached his ribs, paired with high-waisted shorts that, while covering the essentials, left him feeling wildly exposed. Yuuji stayed hidden behind the curtain, clutching the scraps of fabric and shaking his head.

"I'm not coming out in this. No way."

Nobara folded her arms, leaning closer to the curtain. "If you don't, I'm telling everyone about your stupid boyfriend."

Yuuji groaned, face burning. "Traitor," he hissed, before slowly, reluctantly stepping out, his entire face flushed scarlet.

Nobara froze, then let out a low, appreciative whistle as she saw him. She stepped closer, eyes scanning the outfit with sincere delight. "Damn, Yuuji… that actually looks amazing on you." She made a little twirling gesture. "Spin. Slowly. I need to see the whole thing."

Yuuji did a stiff turn, feeling like every eye in the boutique was on him, even though the place was mostly empty. "I feel like you're actually bullying me. I look so stupid," he griped, voice low and mortified.

Nobara rolled her eyes and gave him a bright, affectionate smile. "You look hot. And you know who'd go absolutely feral if they saw you like this? A certain white-haired fool of yours. He’d probably combust on the spot."

Yuuji stammered, face darkening even further. "N-no way…" But the thought lodged itself in his mind, making him feel shy for a completely different reason. As much as the idea thrilled him, he didn’t think he’d be bold enough to actually wear something like this in real life.

Nobara tilted her head. "You should totally buy it. You pull it off really well."

Yuuji shook his head, inching back toward the dressing room. "Nope. Not happening."

Before he could escape, Nobara stopped him and held up her phone. "Hate to waste a good fit. Let me get a picture of it; in case you change your mind and want to come back for it."

Yuuji paled. "Nobara, no."

She laughs richly. "It's cute that you thought that was optional; it’s not. Pose, now." She lifted an eyebrow at his hesitance. "And put your heart into it—or I’m spilling all your boyfriend secrets to the group chat."

Yuuji groaned, then forced a smile, reluctantly forming a heart shape with his hands while Nobara snapped the photo.

Once changed back, Yuuji bought a few items at Nobara’s insistence but firmly refused the more daring pieces, especially the last outfit. Nobara narrowed her eyes at him but surprised him by not putting up a fight. Instead, she smiled too easily and waved him toward the door. "Go trade places with Megumi, he's not getting out of it."

Outside, Megumi groaned when Yuuji emerged. "God that took forever," He saw Nobara waving him in through the window and slumped in defeat. "Don't tell me..."

"Yup. Your turn."

"I could run," he muttered. "But she’d just make my life hell later. Ugh, what a pain." With all the resignation of a man walking to the gallows, he trudged inside.

Yuuji sank into a chair outside, finally able to breathe. He watched through the store window, smiling to himself as Nobara put Megumi through similar antics, laughing at Megumi’s crabby responses and dramatic protests. He was so distracted he didn’t notice the looming shadow until a hand yanked him upright. He whirled, ready to fight, only to see a shock of white hair, and a familiar, if thoroughly annoyed, face.

"Satoru?! What are you doing here?" Yuuji blurted.

Satoru gave him a flat look. "Kidnapping you, obviously." His eyes flicked toward the boutique, then back at Yuuji, as he started dragging him away.

Yuuji resisted, guilt flickering across his face. "Wait Nobara—she said if I didn’t go, she’d—"

"Don't care." Satoru’s eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting into a pout. "She tried to steal you for the whole day and you let her."

Yuuji started to explain. "It’s not like that, I just—"

"I don’t want to hear her excuses for taking my precious time," Satoru cut him off sharply. "She already sees you all day in class. That should be enough for her."

Yuuji tried again, gentler. "Satoru, that’s not quite—"

Satoru waved him off, voice low and tense. "We’re not talking about this here. We’re leaving now."

Yuuji resisted. "Wait—our stuff is still here! I’m supposed to be watching it."

"It’ll be there when they get out," Satoru shot back.

"Can I at least tell them I have to go?"

"No," Satoru snapped. "I’m not giving Kugisaki the chance to butt in again."

Yuuji pouted, digging his heels in. "How about I send her a text so she knows I’m okay?" he tried, voice small.

"Absolutely not," Satoru snapped immediately. "She’ll come running out the second she sees it."

Yuuji hesitated, running out of options. If he left without her knowing she's definitely going to blame him and tell everyone. He couldn't risk it.

And so he mumbled, "Then maybe I could just leave a note? I don’t want them worrying if I suddenly disappear."

Satoru looked like he was about to tell him no again, jaw tightening, but then Yuuji hit him with wide, glistening eyes and a soft, sweet little, "Please, senpai?"

It was a critical hit. Satoru’s ears went red as he blushed fiercely, stammering out, "F-fine! We'll leave a stupid note, but I’m writing it!"

A flicker of hope rose in Yuuji's chest; maybe Nobara would have mercy on him since it wasn’t really his fault Satoru showed up and dragged him away. He clung to the thought, hoping she wouldn’t consider this a betrayal.

Satoru snatched a receipt from one of the shopping bags and began scribbling something furiously. Yuuji tried to peek over his arm, but Satoru held the paper out of sight, turning his back. Once satisfied, he shoved it back into the bag and snapped a picture of it on his phone, smirking darkly all the while.

Yuuji eyed him warily. "You didn’t write anything mean, did you?"

Satoru snickered wickedly, nearly vibrating with gremlin energy. "I didn’t write anything bad."

He checked the time on his phone quickly, his lips pressing into a thin line before he let out an irritated sigh. "She cost me a lot of time." Then, louder, he commanded, "Come on. Follow me."

They fell into step beside each other. Satoru moved like the crowd parted for him—whether due to sheer presence or Infinity’s influence, Yuuji wasn’t sure. After they’d walked a few blocks the opposite direction of the store, Satoru suddenly pulled out his phone and fiddled with it before shoving it back into his pocket suspiciously.

"Ignore your phone if it starts going off," Satoru said without looking back.

Yuuji blinked, confused. "Huh? Why?"

"Because she's about to be pissed," Satoru said with unholy glee, picking up the pace as if he wanted to put as much distance as possible between the shop and wherever he was dragging Yuuji.

And actually, yeah, that makes sense. Yuuji obediently pulls out his phone and preemptively silences it.

They trudged on at their new pace, but as the crowd grew thicker, Yuuji began falling behind. While they continued to part for Satoru, Yuuji was too polite to shove past people to keep his previous pace. Soon several feet separated them. Eventually Satoru noticed, his eyes narrowing. He doubled back, seized Yuuji’s hand, and started dragging him forward.

"I didn’t come all this way just to lose you in a crowd; stay close to me, dummy."

Yuuji fumbled, cheeks warm. "S-sorry!" He was distracted by how red Satoru’s face was and wondered if his own matched. Satoru so rarely did things like this in public.

Heart thudding, Yuuji glanced at Satoru and thought that since Satoru was being unusually bold today, maybe it was a good time to try holding hands again. Satoru was practically holding his hand already, surely this would be fine, right? With that hopeful thought, Yuuji turned his hand to lace their fingers together. Satoru visibly jolted, flushing harder, but didn’t let go—even as he tried to pretend it was purely practical. "Don’t get any ideas. It’s just so you don’t get lost."

Yuuji didn’t believe him for a second. Amused and smitten, he let him have the moment.

Without warning, Satoru tugged Yuuji’s hand again and wove them through the bustling crowds with effortless confidence. The cacophony of street vendors and chatter faded behind them as they navigated toward the nearby train station. Satoru only released his grip long enough to tap his smart card against the reader and cover both their fares before Yuuji even had a chance to reach for his own wallet.

"Thank you," Yuuji whispered quietly.

Satoru arched an eyebrow with extra sass. “Please,” he teased, “like I'd ever let you pay—you’re supposed to be helping me waste my family’s fortune, remember?” He gave Yuuji an exaggerated shove onto the platform. Even as he played confident, Yuuji felt his hand turning slick with sweat and saw Satoru’s cheeks bloom pink—proof that some habits die hard.

It brought back memories of their youth, when Satoru would spoil him with anything he had dared to desire aloud, just as he still did now. Even going as far as promising to get strong enough to always protect him, and he had. At the time those reckless promises had felt so dangerous then—but now they felt comfortingly true.

Yuuji glanced at Satoru, who led him through the carriage door with that familiar confident grin, and felt his heart swell. He remembered the fierce, spoiled boy Satoru had been—wild, unpredictable, more than a little reckless—and this new version of him he was slowly growing into.

The same mischievous soul peeked through in every gesture and every teasing glint in his eyes, but it was easier to see the care woven into his actions. It seemed that the longer he was away from the clan the more he changed for the better.

 Though Satoru couldn’t see it, Yuuji couldn’t help but smile softly, warmth blooming in his chest. He's come a long way, and Yuuji couldn't wait to see where else they went.

The ride was short and pleasant, the train gliding through the city’s veins until a stop announced “Akihabara.” Satoru grabbed Yuuji's wrist and herded him off the carriage the moment the doors slid open, leading him once more through a sea of neon-lit streets and excited tourists.

Eventually, they arrived at a towering multistory arcade alive with neon and the chatter of game sounds. Yuuji’s eyes widened in delight. He bounced on his toes. "No way! I’ve always wanted to come here! I’m totally playing all the old fighting games we used to play when we were kids."

Satoru grinned, enjoying Yuuji’s pure joy. "Sure. We can play whatever you want… as long as you’re ready to lose again, just like back then."

Yuuji pouted at the teasing, but his competitive spark flared. "I’m so beating you at something today, Satoru!" Before they could stand awkwardly at the entrance, He took charge, tugging on Satoru’s hand, pulling him forward. "Come on, let’s go!"

He stumbled a half step in surprise but allowed himself to be led, his cheeks faintly pink. Yuuji grinned, feeling bold and determined. For once, it was him dragging Satoru into the fun. The arcade doors slid open, neon lights spilling out as they stepped inside together.

They entered, and the first few floors stretched before them, rows of claw machines crammed with both regular and oversized plushies, and walls of gacha capsules jingling with mysterious tiny treasures. Yuuji’s breath caught, and he wandered toward a bank of machines, eyes alight as he ooh’d and ahh’d, mesmerized by the rainbow of prizes.

He paused before one particularly enticing claw machine, glass gleaming under the electric glow, and pressed himself against it to look at the prizes. A soft snicker escaped him as he studied the prizes inside. Satoru leaned in over Yuuji’s shoulder, curiosity piqued by his reaction.

Yuuji’s finger pointed excitedly at the large white plush, with long ears, and big sky blue eyes. “That one kinda looks like you, doesn’t he?” Yuuji asked sweetly.

Satoru scoffed, though a twitch betrayed him. “Pfft. Are you talking about Cinnamonroll?” His sunglasses slipped slightly as he turned his head.

Yuuji nodded eagerly. “Yeah! He’s so cute!”

Satoru’s heart thudded oddly, and his face warmed scarlet. Thinking Yuuji had misspoken, he stooped down, leaning closer. He tilted Yuuji’s head gently so their eyes met over his sunglasses. “Is that so?” he murmured, voice low. “Does that mean you think I’m cute?”

Yuuji’s cheeks flushed as he stared at Satoru’s blue eyes, gaze flicking to Satoru’s lips before returning. Then he processed the question and laughed, a warm, hearty sound. “ Obviously. Was that even a real question? Everyone thinks you’re attractive, senpai.” He delivered an affectionate eye roll.

Inside, Satoru felt his carefully constructed composure shatter—heat rushed to his face until every inch of him burned scarlet. His heart slammed against his ribs as though desperate to escape, pounding so loud he could almost hear it echo in his ears. Words deserted him completely; for a moment, he was utterly dumbfounded, frozen by the enormity of Yuuji’s answer.

What did that mean, anyway? Yuuji thought he was attractive— everyone did—but did that mean he liked him? His mind spiraled into chaos: Did this count? Was Yuuji telling him he liked him back? A thousand frantic questions flickered behind Satoru’s stunned blue eyes.

Yuuji's lips twitched as he watched the meltdown he’d triggered (no surprise—he’d seen this performance countless times) and sighed fondly. He was deeply amused by how all of Satoru’s practiced confidence had shattered in an instant. He gently patted Satoru’s arm in mock sympathy, mouth pinched to avoid cracking a smile. “Come on, let’s hit the higher floors and play something together. ”

His calm voice cut through Satoru’s internal freak-out like a lifeline. Satoru blinked, cheeks still aflame, before nodding dumbly and letting Yuuji lead him onward.

They navigated the neon-lit stairwell and cramped elevators up to the seventh floor. By the time they reached it, Satoru had recovered most of his composure, though he stood a hair’s breadth farther from Yuuji than before, shoulders a touch more rigid.

“Let’s warm up with a few games,” Satoru suggested, voice regaining its usual playful confidence. “You’re gonna need the practice.”

Yuuji stuck his tongue out in challenge and scanned the packed room, which brimmed with every kind of game imaginable. The far wall housed old arcade shooters, the middle row showcased retro fighting cabinets, and the opposite corner was filled with sleek racing simulators. He weaved through aisles of blinking screens, mentally weighing his options until he stopped before a pair of adjoining cabinets emblazoned with the title Armadillo Racing.

The graphics were crisp enough to evoke mid-’90s nostalgia—blocky polys rendered into charming little armadillos that rolled like balls across winding tracks. Best of all, it was two-player. Yuuji turned back to Satoru with a grin. “Best two out of three?”

Satoru’s grin went cocky. “Armadillo or vehicle, doesn’t matter. I’m wiping the floor with you either way.” He tapped his card to cover both their credits.

The screen flickered to life. “Roll to steer, pick up speed, and avoid obstacles. Seems simple enough,” Yuuji murmured, settling into place beside Satoru.

3…

2…

1…

GO!

His little yellow armadillo launched forward with surprising speed, darting between tree root hazards and dodging the pig formations around the track curves. He managed to skillfully weave around the grey CPUs, even closing the scant distance and overcoming Satoru’s critter. He was closing in on a narrow ramp, focus locked, and aiming for precision on the only fast way up to the next section of track.

He just barely whips onto the narrow ramp when suddenly a blue armadillo barreled into his side, sending him careening off the ramp and into the wall beside it.

Yuuji let out a melodramatic gasp, hand over his mouth. “NO, MUSTARRRRRRRRD!” he shouted in mock horror.

The yellow armadillo skidded sideways, bouncing on the ground before coming out of its ball to scale the wall slowly. Its claws scraped the wall as he climbed slowly, finally tumbling back onto the track in third place.

Satoru threw back his head and laughed like a gleeful villain. “‘Mustard?’ Oh my god, did you name your armadillo? You still do that?”

"Uh, yeah." Yuuji threw him a faux-offended look. “What, you don’t?”

Satoru scoffed, “No! Why the hell would I do that?”

“It’s tradition!” Yuuji shouted as he leaned towards him, eyes still glued to the screen. “Come on, you have to name it, everyone does.” He tapped the machine impatiently, eyeing the glowing finish line in the distance.

Satoru rolled his eyes, hands flying over the controls. “That’s definitely just a you thing, Yuuji. No one else does that.”

Yuuji shrugged, unbothered. “Really? Huh. I guess I never really asked anyone else about it.” His hands fly over the controller ball, whipping it to try to regain speed while passing the CPU. “I just can’t imagine it's as much fun unless you can scream a name at the top of your lungs.”

Satoru choked, hands faltering on the trackball, and abruptly veering his blue armadillo into the wall. The creature skidded along the barrier, bouncing wildly off each edge before, somehow, against all odds, it straightened out and rolled triumphantly across the finish line still in first place. He then whipped his head around to look at Yuuji, eyes wide and mouth agape completely aghast as if trying to decide whether that stunt had been intentional or not.

Yuuji's armadillo crossed the line in second place. He groaned dramatically, sending a half hearted glare at Satoru. “I would have won that if you hadn’t played dirty!”

Satoru stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. It was a slow realization that Yuuji probably hadn’t meant it in the scandalous way his mind had imagined. His racing heart finally slowed, and that familiar mischievous glint returned to his eyes as he added with a wink, “Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that.”

“You won’t get me with the same trick twice, Satoru,” he said, eyes alight with determination.

Though two matches later, Yuuji’s little armadillo still crossed the line in second place—Satoru’s blue critter weaving past him on the final lap each time, as if it knew exactly when to snatch victory away. The machine chimed broad casted his victory again, and Yuuji let out a long, theatrical groan.

With a forlorn sigh, he tapped the side of the console. “Ugh, it’s so much worse when you think you’ve actually got it! You always just zip by at the last second—Every. Single. Round. I nearly caught you twice!”

“But you didn’t.” Satoru grinned and cackled obnoxiously. Then he gave a rather serious and frankly terrible impersonation, “It doesn’t matter if you win by an inch or a mile—winning is winning !”

Yuuji rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Oh my god, you’re so ridiculous,” he teased, shaking his head between peals of laughter. He leaned closer, amber eyes ablaze with determination. “Enjoy your victory. I’ll definitely get you next game.”

“Pfft. You can try, but good luck beating me. You shouldn’t get cocky though, you're still going up against the best.”

Yuuji chuckled, “Aren't you humble?” He knocked his shoulder into him playfully. “Alright, you won so it's your turn to pick the game.”

Satoru shrugged nonchalantly, the smirk tugging at his lips was anything but. “Nah, you pick. It’ll be more humiliating when I beat you again.”

"We'll see about that," Yuuji huffed, pouting adorably and marching resolutely over to the row of Street Fighter cabinets, dramatic flourish included. He slid onto the stool and beckoned Satoru over. Once seated, they each punched in their credits and selected their characters.

Yuuji chose Sakura, her energetic kicks matching his excitement. Satoru, ever the tease, picked Dan— the joke character. Yuuji shot him a skeptical look. “Really? Dan?”

Satoru leaned back, arms crossed, confidence radiating. “Hey, he’s got spirit. And you’ll see.”

The match began. Yuuji’s Sakura dashed forward, closing the gap in an instant and cornering Dan with a flurry of punches. “See? Practiced plenty before coming to your school. Notice the difference?” he boasted, preening with each successful hit.

Satoru’s grin never wavered. “You’ve improved,” he admitted. “Just a shame you’re facing the strongest.” He slammed the joystick, the buttons clacking in rapid succession as Dan broke free, countered with a perfect Koryuken, and turned the tide. In seconds, Sakura was on the ropes, and Satoru dominated the round.

Yuuji’s jaw dropped. “Of course. Why am I even surprised?” he muttered, determination flaring. “I’ll just have to try harder!”

Round two started, optimism swirling in Yuuji’s heart—until Satoru moved in, pressing with a relentless attack. Eventually his guard failed. Satoru's untouched health bar spelled another crushing defeat. He gloated, nudging Yuuji affectionately.

Yuuji groaned, scrubbing his hand down his face. He liked playing Sakura—her bright, energetic style suited him—but she wasn’t his strongest. There was a character he understood far better, though he’d always resisted using them on principle alone. But today, nothing short of his best would topple Satoru. He squared his shoulders and met Satoru’s gaze. “Rematch,” he declared, voice laced with playful desperation and steel.

Satoru’s eyes lit up in delight. “Bring it on.”

Yuuji waited until Satoru locked in Dan again, then, with a sly smile, selected Akuma. Satoru raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you play Akuma?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yuuji said without looking away, his focus absolute on the monitor. The timer counted down… and the battle commenced. Satoru waited in an open guard, expecting another quick onslaught. Instead, Yuuji feinted a reckless rush, fumbling a combo on purpose to lure him in. When Satoru pressed forward, Yuuji pivoted, landing an overhead smash and shattering his guard.

Then, channeling every ounce of frustration from past losses, Yuuji unleashed a blistering combo—fireball into demon palm into aerial juggle—until Dan’s health bar was a mere sliver. Satoru’s astonished gasp echoed through the arcade: “What the fuck Yuuji?! Oh HELL no!”

They circled each other, tension crackling, until Yuuji threw a perfect fireball, dashed behind it, and struck the final blow. Akuma’s victory statement boomed through the cabinet’s speakers.

“Let’s fucking GOOOOO! ” Yuuji shouted as he sprang up, pumping his fist. “YES! Finally!” His face was split with laughter and triumph both as he celebrated his hard-earned win.

Satoru’s mouth twisted into a mix of astonishment and seething determination. This was… unexpected… but he refused to let it happen again. He waved Yuuji back to the stools. “Sit down and take up your stick—there’s still another round. The match isn’t over yet.”

“Oh, right, yeah!”

They slid back into their seats, the glow of the screen reflecting in their eyes. The next match began with an explosive exchange: fireball after fireball arcing across the screen, Akuma and Dan trading punches in a blur. Each tried to dominate the field, neither willing to yield an inch.

Finally, Satoru ducked low and unleashed two rapid Gadoukens, spacing them perfectly so Yuuji was forced to hedge on his guard. With no room to dodge, Yuuji’s Akuma braced—just as Satoru wove between the energy blasts, closed the distance, and struck with a lightning-fast overhead.

He barely managed to block before Satoru dropped low—just in time for the second fireball to slam into his guard, shattering it completely. Cornered and helpless, Akuma was juggled in the air like a circus act through a flawless combo until his health depleted entirely and the round concluded.

“Oh come on! How the hell did you do that with Dan of all characters?! He’s so slow!” Yuuji slammed a fist on his stick, exasperation lacing his voice.

Satoru threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing off the arcade walls. “Don’t blame your skill issues on Dan, Yuuji.”

Yuuji grumbled, locking in for the final round—the tiebreaker. The countdown began, and when “Fight!” flashed on the screen, Yuuji unleashed the most aggressive keep-away tactic he’d ever attempted: a barrage of fireballs and hit-and-run dashes, chipping away at time more than health. The clock ticked down mercilessly.

“Quit milking the clock and fight me!” Satoru taunted, eyes narrowing as he lunged forward.

Yuuji ignored him, maintaining perfect spacing until barely twenty seconds remained. He finally went all in, pressing the attack and forcing Dan into the corner, fingers moving in a furious dance of joysticks and buttons. Satoru met him blow for blow, but at six seconds, Yuuji fumbled—his combo whiffed, leaving Akuma open.

Seizing the moment, Satoru executed a seamless combo and snatched victory. Yuuji let out a dramatic sigh, sliding down in his seat like spilled milk.

Satoru chuckled triumphantly, but when he saw Yuuji’s disappointed slump, his tone softened. “That was incredible, though. You played Akuma like a pro—I’m surprised.”

Yuuji managed a tired smile. “I learned by accident. When you get your ass kicked by the same character over and over, you pick up a trick or two, right?”

“You’d have to log a lot of hours in to learn like that. Who were you even… Oh my god—don’t tell me—”

“Yup.”

Satoru’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “That’s surprising, I didn't take him as a gamer. So you’ve been secretly training against Sukuna this whole time?”

“Dude, his competitive streak is worse than yours. I’m pretty sure he only plays games so he can beat my ass in them too.” Yuuji’s laugh was rueful, but not upset. "But we used to play a lot so I could practice. Not like it helped that much. I don't really play him all that much, Akuma I mean. I'm just so used to getting my ass kicked by him that I remember the combos."

Satoru didn’t like seeing that small letdown in his eyes. Stepping closer, he nudged Yuuji’s shoulder. “Well if you hadn't been fighting a god, you probably would have won. You did well. Unfortunately, I still won, so I get to choose the next game. Let’s play something else.”

He led Yuuji across the room to the back wall, selecting two light guns on the House of the Dead 2 cabinet.

"A co-op?" Yuuji’s face brightened. “That's a great idea; we can work together instead of trying to kill each other. Plus I haven’t played this in a million years. Great choice!”

They grabbed the guns, side by side, ready to take on the undead as a team.

From the first wave, Yuuji discovered playing this style game with Satoru was almost as cutthroat as playing against him. Every time a coveted power-up flooded the screen—rapid-fire, shotgun blast, health pack—Yuuji had to fight Satoru’s ridiculous aim to scoop it up himself.

They fell into an efficient division of labor: Yuuji focused on shepherding fleeing civilians to safety, while Satoru targeted the extra monsters that swarmed the alleyways.

His aim was terrifyingly immaculate—each headshot earned him high accuracy marks, and every boss they faced crumpled quickly under his precision, weak points lit up by flawless pinpoint shots. Yuuji grumbled whenever he had to hog the health packs “out of necessity,” but couldn’t help laughing with Satoru when the cheesy dialogue blared, or when the grating voice acting shrieked, "Get down! They're everywhere!"

The only penalty Satoru took all game was one particularly brutal moment when he shot a rescue NPC dead—purposely—for being too annoying. Yuuji recoiled in horror. “Did you just shoot him? You monster!”

Satoru shrugged. “Mercy kill. He was gonna die anyway. Besides, you’ve shot at least three civilians in the leg this run.”

Yuuji’s face went red. “Those were accidents, not first‑degree murder, you sociopath!”

Despite the cheeky back‑and‑forth, they soared through level after level, covering each other’s backs and cracking jokes over every zombified jump scare. When they finally confronted The Emperor in the final stage, it was a seamless dance of strategy: Yuuji focused on the abomination’s minions while Satoru unloaded a barrage of shells into its weak point.

With a final, echoing roar, The Emperor collapsed, and the screen cut to the co-op ending sequence. Satoru sighed in satisfaction, shoulders slumping with relief—and something like pride.

He turned to Yuuji, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “You know, the co-op ending is the canon one. They wrote it for both agents to be present—so I actually haven’t seen it before, since I always ran single-player.”

Yuuji tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his amber eyes. “I thought the other seniors would come with you? You’ve mentioned going to arcades with them before.”

Satoru hummed, a fond smirk tugging at his lips. “They do sometimes, when we all manage to get time off together. But a game like this with either of them? Nah. If you think I’m bad with the hostages, you’d never want to see Suguru play.”

Yuuji emitted a surprised noise. “Ehh? That’s strange—Geto-senpai always seems so nice.”

Satoru threw back his head, laughing obnoxiously. “Suguru? Nice? HAHAHAHA! Oh man, that is funny. No, Yuuji—that guy’s a master liar. He hates people.”

Yuuji’s brows knitted as he tried to process the claim. Calling Geto-senpai “cruel” felt extreme—he’d always been kind to Yuuji. Part of him trusted Satoru’s words, but another part wondered if jealousy was coloring the picture. In the end, it didn’t matter much: Yuuji didn’t know him well enough for it to change anything. He offered a small nod and a warm smile. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Yuuji offered a small smile before adding with a dreamy tilt to his voice, “It sucks you missed out on this experience earlier, but I’m really grateful we’re doing it together now.” He stepped a touch closer, close enough that their arms nearly brushed, and a soft heat crept up Satoru’s neck.

Satoru quickly turned away and fished out his phone, checking the time. After a moment’s frown, he made a disappointed noise. “We need to get going if we’re going to make it to the next place on time.”

He cleared his throat and nudged Yuuji playfully towards the elevator. Yuuji yelped indignantly but let himself be guided. “Come on, quit dragging your feet, let’s go! And quit squawking, you sound like a damn bird.”

Sometime later, the pair found themselves across Tokyo in Hibiya, standing before the bright marquee of TOHO Cinema. Yuuji rocked on the balls of his feet, eyes darting over the posters plastered across the facade, while Satoru waited less than patiently in line to buy tickets.

Yuuji teased lightly, leaning in. “You know there were theaters closer to us we could’ve gone to.”

Satoru scoffed, folding his arms with a self-satisfied smirk. “I refuse to go to a shitty cinema, Yuuji. I demand quality.”

Yuuji chuckled quietly and settled against Satoru’s side—not quite a hug, but close enough to make Satoru freeze in sudden vulnerability, cheeks flushing.

“What are we even seeing?” Yuuji asked, voice soft.

Satoru stammered, words catching in his throat. “J-just… something that looked interesting. A new horror movie.”

Yuuji’s grin spread as he brushed lightly against Satoru’s arm. “Ah— Hereditary? I’ve been wanting to see that, but Nobara and Megumi didn’t want to go. This is so awesome, thank you, Satoru!” He opened his arms for a hug, only for Satoru to step forward in a panic—taking his turn at the ticket window.

Yuuji stumbled but caught himself. He pursed his lips, casual disappointment playing across his features as he muttered under his breath, “Damn, I was close that time too.”

Moments later, Satoru reappeared clutching their tickets. Without a word, he grabbed Yuuji by the scruff of his collar and practically dragged him inside. Yuuji fell into step easily, grinning at the warmth of Satoru’s hand at his neck.

They raided the concession stand, and got a bucket of popcorn, snacks, and sugary sodas. Satoru led the way to their row, and they settled just as the lights began to dim and trailers rolled across the screen. In the darkness, they nibbled and whispered running commentary on each trailer: Yuuji gushed at the over-the-top action, and Satoru mocked the cliched one-liners.

“Mmm, the melon flavor is really good!” Then Yuuji, ever bold, tipped his cup to Satoru. “You should try it, senpai!”

Satoru’s throat caught, cheeks flushing as he struggled for words. He opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head, unable to meet Yuuji’s warm gaze. Inside, his mind spun— what is he trying to do? Their closeness today felt different, and Satoru felt both guilty and exhilarated, convinced he was projecting his own hopes. Surely this too was one of them.

Yuuji pouted in the dark. “Please, just try it? I picked this flavor just for you.”

Satoru’s heart thumped, and after a beat he relented, tipping the cup to take a careful sip from the straw. Yuuji’s soft delight was almost audible as he leaned in, stealing a sip from Satoru’s cup, in return. “Mm, is that strawberry? Pretty sweet, but tasty—thank you!"

He froze, pulse hammering in his ears as confusion and hope fought in his chest. This felt a lot less like friends sharing a drink and more like a date. His mind spun with guilt— I must be imagining things —yet he couldn't deny the warm buzz spreading through him.

Satoru’s mind raced—he vowed to separate his feelings from the moment and not let his panic ruin their night. It's just a movie, he told himself, not a date. Stop projecting. As the opening credits rolled, the chilly blast of the theater’s A/C prickled his skin, but he focused on the strange, thrilling storyline instead of the flutter in his chest.

He sat through each jump scare with a calm exterior, yet inside, he wrestled his heart. It seemed like every time something ‘spooky’ happened, Yuuji used it as an excuse to scoot even closer. Confused and unable to tame his racing pulse, Satoru seized the moment to steer back to safer waters and teased, “Seriously, are you trying to body slam me to death? It’s not even that scary, Yuuji. God, you’re such a baby.”

Yuuji huffed defensively, arms crossed. “I’m not scared; I’m cold. Why do they have to crank the air?” He shivered dramatically, quite possibly the fakest Satoru had ever seen, and shuffled impossibly closer to him, making Satoru’s pulse leap again. At this point Yuuji had edged so close that their hips touched.

At one particularly tense moment, Yuuji’s hand slipped onto Satoru’s on the armrest. Instantly his pulse spiked; he tried to stay still, sweat prickling at his palm. He swallowed hard, determined to remain composed even as his chest tightened. But then Yuuji noticed, and gave him a warm, encouraging, and doe-eyed smile, slowly leaning closer as if waiting for something more.

Satoru’s breath caught in his throat—he stared at Yuuji in the dim glow, convinced he was hallucinating; did Yuuji really want to kiss him? His heart pounded in his chest, so fast it could put the rhythm games in the arcade to shame. Touching Yuuji felt electric, a live wire that could fry their friendship if he lingered too close for too long. In a rush of panic, Satoru gently pulled away, shrugged out of his jacket, and draped it over Yuuji’s shoulders before sliding over to create some much-needed space.

Yuuji’s lips curved into a small, disappointed smile—this was expected; he knew how shy Satoru could be. Still, the promise of the day had made him foolishly hope for something more. He sighed softly, letting a steady patience settle over him: he could wait. Satoru was worth waiting for.

Tugging the jacket closer around his shoulders, he inhaled the lingering scent of Satoru’s cologne and muttered a quiet “Thank you,” treasuring the care behind the gesture even if it fell short of the one he’d longed for.

By the time the credits rolled, it was as if the intimate moment never happened. They laughed together, dissecting Hereditary ’s twisted plot and sharing theories, as Satoru led them back to the station. For a movie as thrilling as it was there were surprisingly few jumpscares. It was late, and they walked close, arms brushing and spirits high under Tokyo’s night sky as they made their way back to the train station.

Eventually they reached the familiar gates of the school grounds, the path dimly lit. Neither seemed too worried about running into anyone; the hour was late enough that the halls were silent.

They paused near the entrance to say goodbye. Yuuji turned to Satoru, eyes bright and full of warmth. “Thank you for today, Satoru,” he said sweetly, batting his eyelashes. “I had so much fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.” Satoru’s chest tightened as his heart threatened to combust. He glared, voice spiking with bratty possessiveness. “Oi, next time make sure your stupid little friends know you’re busy. I don’t like them thinking they’re entitled to our time. I don’t care what you tell them, just make sure they remember their place, which is second to me. Got it?” He snapped, half-embarrassed by how territorial he sounded, even as the younger man clung to every word.

Yuuji gasped softly, cheeks flaming. “Yes, I understand.”

It sounded like Satoru didn’t want their dates interrupted again—like he wanted to make sure they knew. Emboldened, he threw his arms around Satoru in a tight hug. “I’ll make sure everyone knows so there’s no confusion. Thank you! I can’t wait to go out with you again,” he murmured into Satoru’s chest. 

Satoru nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d never been so shocked—and his face glowed brighter than any ember. He didn’t pull away, but his hands hovered awkwardly, shaking with nerves. Finally, fearing he would try to kiss him if he stayed, Satoru reluctantly hugged back—just barely—and then swiftly disengaged, refusing to meet Yuuji’s eyes. Face still blazing, he stuttered out a quiet, “G-goodnight, Yuuji,” before bolting toward the dorms, leaving a very confused Yuuji standing in the street light.

Yuuji blinked after him, jacket still warm on his shoulders, heart fluttering with both hope and bewilderment.

Meanwhile, Satoru skidded to a halt by the dorms—only to freeze at the sight of Shoko and Suguru leaning against the wall outside. Shoko took a long drag from her cigarette, and when they spotted Satoru, both broke into slow, knowing smiles as if they held some delicious secret. Satoru’s stomach twisted.

Suguru straightened, eyes bright with faux innocence. “So, Satoru, you’ve been missing all day. Kinda weird you didn't invite us. What'd you get up too?”

Satoru stiffened, defensively crossing his arms. “I had stuff to do. Nothing you’d care about.”

Shoko tilted her head, a sly smile curving her lips. “Interesting that someone else was also gone all day.”

Suguru’s smirk widened. “Yeah—what did you two get up to?”

Satoru bristled defensively, “N-Nothing!”

Neither Suguru nor Shoko let it go, their amusement clear. Shoko raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Satoru’s eyes darted away before he could stop himself. “Fine. We went to an arcade and then the movies. It's not a big deal.”

Shoko chuckled softly. “You're right, it's not a big deal… but it's kinda cute you two went on a date.”

Satoru’s face flared crimson. “It wasn’t a date!” he snapped, voice cracking on the denial.

Shoko leaned closer, voice teasing. “Then why weren’t we invited?”

Satoru huffed, scowling. “Because I didn’t want you there!”

“Because it was a date?” Suguru asked with a lifted brow.

Satoru’s denial was instant. “No!”

Shoko’s eyes glinted dryly. “So next time we can come too?”

“What? NO! You’re out of your damn minds!”

Suguru leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. “Did Yuuji even know it wasn’t a date?”

Satoru looked dumbfounded. “What do you mean? Of course he did! We’re not dating—why would it be a date?”

At that moment, Yuuji stepped into view several meters away, still wearing Satoru’s jacket and fiddling with his phone. He hadn’t seen them yet.

Shoko smirked. “Are you sure about that? Because it certainly seems like it was a date.”

Satoru stiffened. "It's not what it looks like."

Suguru crossed his arms, stepping forward. “I'm pretty sure it's exactly what it looks like. C'mon man, it's a bit ridiculous isn't it? Just admit it.”

Shoko chuckled, flicking her cigarette butt. “Come on, fess up. Don’t think we haven’t noticed the way you stare at him. Now you’re marking him like a dog with your clothes.”

Satoru’s mind raced, tongue tied. He opened his mouth, closed it again. Heat flared across his cheeks as the realization he was hopelessly exposed sank in. He tried to stall, voice squeaky. “This—this is normal. He borrows my clothes all the time, okay? We’re just friends—friends share clothes. It's not weird. Don’t make it weird. ”

Shoko and Suguru exchanged glances, barely containing their laughter. Suguru leaned closer. “Seriously, dude? How long has this been going on? We’re your friends, we deserve answers.”

Satoru’s eyes snapped with annoyance. “Seriously, stop reading into everything! This is totally normal—friends share clothes, end of story.”

Yuuji strode down the path toward them, the jacket still snug on his shoulders despite the warm summer night. This time he looked up and offered a shy grin to Satoru. He tugged the fabric closer, nodding politely in greeting to the others.

Shoko and Suguru waved, watching him pass with fond amusement at how happy he looked. Satoru buried his face in his hands, utterly mortified.

Once Yuuji disappeared around the corner, Shoko and Suguru turned back to Satoru, brows raised, faces alight with twin smirks. Their silent challenge lingered in the air, daring him to explain himself.

"That's not— It wasn't like—" He gave a frustrated growl and grabbed them both by the collars, voice dripping with defiance. “Fine, I’ll prove it! Come on, let's go!”

Too amused to truly protest, they let Satoru drag them toward the dorm entrance. He released them and marched inside, stalking the halls until he reached Yuuji’s room. He shoved the door open and stepped in like he owned the place.

Shoko and Suguru froze in the doorway. “Hey man, you probably shouldn't just barge in—” Suguru began.

Satoru snapped, defensive. “Shut up! I can do what I want. This is fine.” He swept toward Yuuji’s bed, spotting the bags from earlier still strewn across the foot of it. “Perfect.” He didn't hesitate to tear through them, snatching the first thing that looked like a shirt.

Shoko’s eyes drifted to the closet, and she couldn’t resist.

Suguru frowned. “Shoko, you shouldn’t let his bad manners rub off on you.”

"What? He said it's normal for them and now I wanna know. At this point I’m too invested not to. Yuuji's a good kid, I'm sure he'll forgive me." She opened the door and ignored the hanging uniforms to dig deeper into the corners, uncovering a treasure trove of Satoru’s shirts and jackets neatly hung in the back. “Oh my god, you weren’t kidding.”

Meanwhile, Satoru yanked off his own shirt and wrestled into what was proving to be an absurdly tiny top. He frowned, pulling at the scant fabric, mind tripping over itself with questions. Where was the rest of it? Was this really it? What had Yuuji been thinking? There was barely enough cloth to cover his chest, and it stopped just under his pecs. Did Yuuji buy this? Did he even try it on first? The thought sent his mind spinning—and his cheeks flamed bright enough to shame a stop sign.

Yuuji enters through the doorway, jacket still over his shoulders, only to freeze at the sight before him. Satoru was half-naked in that ludicrously tiny top, the same one Nobara had tried to convince him to buy and had apparently bought anyway, Shoko was practically burrowed into Yuuji’s closet like she’d struck gold, and Suguru was collapsed on Yuuji’s bed, clutching his sides and laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

Yuuji’s jaw dropped, eyes widening in embarrassment. He could hardly look at Satoru in that ridiculously small top—his own face taking on a similar shade of red. Between stolen glances at the scant fabric and the absurd chaos going on around them, he barely managed to shakily breathe, “What the hell is even happening? Why are you all in my room?!”

“I—I’m trying to prove a point!” Satoru blurted, hands flailing, the perfect caricature of embarrassment incarnate. 

Suguru wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “This idiot is seriously trying to convince us you’re not actually dating.”

Satoru stomped a foot. “That’s because we’re not!”

Yuuji tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. “Eh? I’m confused. Did you change your mind already?” He glanced down at the jacket. “That’s… very unfortunate. I literally just announced it to the group chat.”

Shoko and Suguru howled with laughter. Shoko doubled over, shoulders heaving in uncontrollable laughter, almost falling into the closet while Suguru collapsed on his back on Yuuji’s bed, clutching his sides and wiping tears from his cheeks.

“You what? ” Satoru wheezed.

Yuuji shrugged innocently. “You said earlier to make sure Nobara and Megumi knew, so I told them.”

Satoru’s heart thudded like a drum solo. “I didn’t mean it like that! Why would you even say that? We’re not even dating!”

Yuuji frowned, even more perplexed. “...We’re not?”

Satoru snapped, almost frantic. “No! ”

“...Are you sure?” Yuuji asked, brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “We literally just went on a date—why would this even be in question?”

Satoru’s voice cracked. “What do you mean ‘am I sure’? Of course I’m sure! Why would you even think that was a date?!”

Shoko and Suguru exchanged glances and politely excused themselves. “We’ll leave you lovebirds to it,” Suguru teased with a wink as they backed out.

Left alone, Yuuji spoke with calm bewilderment. As casually as he could, he started listing things off, “Well—there’s the jacket thing—”

“We’re friends—friends swap jackets all the time. Duh.” Satoru cut in, cheeks warming. He shoved a hand through his hair.

Yuuji raised an eyebrow. “Okay… but what about the hand holding?”

Satoru waved a dismissive hand, voice lighter though his heart fluttered. “You’re directionally challenged, that’s all—holding hands helps you not get lost.”

Yuuji blinked slowly, he wasn’t that bad. “Right… So what about all those other ‘dates’?”

Satoru flushed deeper and huffed, trying to sound casual. “Just hanging out. No big deal.”

Yuuji tipped his head thoughtfully. “Ok, sure… Then why do you get offended every time I try to pay for something?”

Satoru’s denial stumbled out, more bashful than he intended. “You know my family’s loaded and I—I like doing nice things for you.” He grimaced, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.

Yuuji’s smile softened as he stepped closer. “And why do you get so upset when anyone else tries to join us?”

“I like it better when it's just us. I don’t like anyone the way I like you." Satoru’s voice cracked into confession before he could stop it. He slammed a palm over his mouth, mortified.

Yuuji’s cheeks tinted pink as he studied Satoru’s shamefaced expression. "So you see how maybe this could look—"

Satoru waved a shaky hand. “Okay! Okay! Stop analyzing. I didn't intend for that, it's just how we roll. Nothing about this is, like, b-boyfriend-level.” He swallowed, eyes avoiding Yuuji’s. “So I don't know why you… and it's not like we've ever… you know.”

Yuuji’s soft smile hinted at hope. “True, but that's not for a lack of trying. You always run away before I can."

So it hadn’t been in his imagination—Yuuji really had wanted to kiss him today. Satoru’s breath caught in his throat as he looked up at Yuuji, heart hammering. “I—I thought I was just projecting," he confessed, voice shaking.

Yuuji shook his head slowly, still smiling, a light blush on his cheeks. “I’ve been trying for a while to get closer to you,” he admitted softly, stepping within arm’s reach. “And now that you say that… yes, I really do want you.”

Satoru’s eyes widened. Now that Yuuji mentions it, he had noticed the behavior change, but it's been happening for so long now, he hadn't been sure what to make of it. “I figured I was just making it up—that I was the one with all these weird feelings,” he whispered, hope and panic colliding. "But that raises a question…” He glanced at him, voice strained and trembling, “Just how long have you thought we were… dating?”

Yuuji gave a bashful laugh, looking away. “Well… we don’t really need to—”

“Yes, we do,” Satoru pressed, cheeks aflame. “How long, Yuuji?”

Yuuji sighed dramatically and scrubbed a hand down his face. “It was around winter, I think—close to your birthday. My favorite hoodie had that hole in the sleeve, and you got mad and made me take one of yours. You were all, ‘How the hell does your clan have so much history and are still poor?’ then you said, ‘When we’re older, we should merge our clans together so I can take care of you.’”

Satoru was speechless.

Yuuji, amusement dancing in his eyes, teased softly, “How exactly do you merge clans, Satoru?”

Satoru’s voice tumbled out, tongue-tied. That was years ago. Years… Yuuji thought they'd been dating for years? Because of that?

"Yuuji, I was twelve —why do you even remember that?”

“People don’t forget, Satoru," Yuuji snorted a laugh and leaned in. "Uncle almost crashed the car on the way home when I told him.”

Satoru’s jaw dropped. “You told Sukuna I said that?! Is that why he hates me?!”

Yuuji burst into laughter. “He doesn’t hate you!”

Satoru crossed his arms, indignant. “He threatens to kill me at least once each visit!”

Yuuji wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Okay, that might be because he keeps asking how things are going between us and well... I guess now I know why things weren't moving forward.”

Satoru rubbed the back of his neck, exasperated. “So this entire time he thought I was a shitty boyfriend? That’s not better!”

Yuuji sighed thoughtfully. “Well—probably? Though I’m sure he’ll be forgiving once he understands the situation. Oh man, that’s going to be an awkward conversation...” He froze, eyes widening with sudden realization. “Oh my god—we have to tell your parents.”

Satoru’s world tilted as if the floor had dropped out from under him. He blinked rapidly, breath catching in his throat. “My parents know? Wait, shit, no—they think we were dating?”

Yuuji’s lips curved into a playful smirk and he gave a small nod, eyes dancing. “They think we’re engaged, actually.”

Satoru reeled back, hand flying to his chest as if to steady a wildly racing heart. “But why? Why would they even accept that? You—You can’t even give me an heir!” His voice cracked on the last word, equal parts indignation and disbelief.

Yuuji gaped at him, cheeks flushing a soft rose. “Yeah—pretty sure that was a topic for a while. I think they found a compromise that made everyone happy.”

Satoru’s confusion spiked, eyebrows knitting together. He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Wait, what? And they just accepted it?”

“Yup.”

“That doesn’t seem like something they’d willingly—wait. Sukuna? ”

Yuuji nodded sagely. “Sukuna.”

“Is there anyone he can’t scare the shit out of?"

“Probably not.”

Satoru sagged in defeat. “But why did no one talk to me about this?!”

Yuuji offered a gentle shrug. “I’m sure they tried—but, well, we both know how you can be.”

Satoru winced, recalling every missed call and the mass of ignored texts from his household. “That does explain why they asked about you every time... oh my god, this makes so much sense.”

They stood in stunned silence, the weight of revelations settling in the quiet of Yuuji's bedroom.

Satoru’s voice was a faint whisper, laced with uncertainty. “I don’t understand… If all this has been going on for years, why did you never push me for more?”

Yuuji stepped forward, expression soft and understanding. He reached out, taking Satoru’s hand and holding it gently. “I know you’re shy,” he said, his smile reassuring. “I never wanted to pressure you. I wouldn’t have been a good boyfriend if I forced anything.”

Satoru’s chest tightened at the word boyfriend, echoing in his mind. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst as he looked from Yuuji’s earnest eyes to his lips and back again.

Sensing Satoru’s hesitation, Yuuji’s smile grew a little wider. “So… what do you want to do?” he asked softly, stepping closer until their bodies were just inches apart. “Just say the word and I’ll handle all the embarrassing stuff—so you don’t have to.”

Satoru closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. There was so much to unravel—feelings, clans, engagement rumors—and making a decision right now felt completely overwhelming. But looking at Yuuji, he realized there was one thing he’d wanted all day.

His blue eyes fluttered as he leaned in slowly, cheeks aflame and palm slick with sweat as he entwined his fingers with Yuuji’s. The soft sound of Yuuji’s surprise at the gesture broke the hush that had fallen.

Their faces drew closer until Satoru’s lips brushed Yuuji’s in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was soft and sweet, and Satoru felt a rush of warmth spread through him. Emboldened, he kissed Yuuji again, this time a little firmer, looping his free arm around Yuuji’s waist to pull him closer.

Yuuji melted into the kiss, hands pressing against Satoru’s bare chest—only to squeak when he realized how much skin was exposed beneath the skimpy top. He pulled back with a breathless laugh and ducked his head. “Um… could you put on another shirt? This one is way too distracting. ”

“Sure,” Satoru laughed and stepped back, stripping off the tiny top and reclaiming his own discarded shirt from earlier.

Yuuji politely turned around as the soft rustle of fabric filled the space. “So… does this mean we’re actually dating now?”

Satoru’s arms slid around his waist from behind, his cheeks still tinged pink but brimming with newfound confidence. He hugged Yuuji tightly, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. “Dating?” Satoru whispered against his skin. “No—why would we be dating? You said engaged, remember? I’m not settling for anything less.”

Yuuji laughed softly, melting into Satoru’s embrace. “Okay, engaged, then.”

Satoru held him close, warm and assured. For once, he didn’t have to hold back.

Yuuji sighed in relief, arms settling on Satoru's, squeezing affectionately. “That’s… very relieving,” he murmured, voice soft. “I would have respected your decision if you didn’t want all this, but selfishly, I’m grateful you did.” He pressed his back against Satoru’s chest, pushing back into him with a playful nudge.

Satoru hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head. “So… you only told Nobara and Megumi?”

Yuuji nodded, cheeks still tinged pink. “Just them so far. Is it okay that they know?”

Satoru’s fingers traced lazy patterns along Yuuji’s sides. “Yeah, it’s fine. Actually, it's probably better if everyone knows, so they stop speculating behind our backs.”

Yuuji laughed, the sound light and bright. “You’re right. There aren’t that many students; gossip spreads fast. I can break the news, if you want.”

Satoru shook his head, grinning as he squeezed Yuuji again until he squeaked. “Nah, no need. I’ll handle it.”

Yuuji looked up, surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” Satoru confirmed, planting a gentle kiss on Yuuji’s cheek. He savored the delighted smile that bloomed in response. “Let’s have breakfast together again tomorrow.”

Yuuji’s grin was wide and dopey. “Okay, Satoru,” he replied, leaning back into the embrace, already excited for the day to come.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

The next morning, the fragrant aroma of steamed rice and fish greeted everyone long before they entered the dining hall. True to form, Yuuji had prepared breakfast for everyone and he and Satoru were already seated, finishing their plates, by the time anyone else wandered in.

Nobara paused at the threshold, stunned in her tracks. On the table was yet another generous spread—not surprising in itself, Yuuji’s generosity was well known—but her eyes widened in disbelief at the sight before her. Yuuji sat perched on Gojo-senpai’s lap, wearing a shirt that almost swallowed him in its length—one she recognized from the closet—and the two of them were sharing a single plate of strawberries and pancakes.

Satoru glanced up with a self-satisfied smirk and, without breaking eye contact with Nobara, plucked a perfect strawberry from the stack and fed it to Yuuji with theatrical flair. Yuuji flushed a deep rose but leaned in eagerly, savoring the sweet fruit and the playful pampering.

Dumbfounded by Satoru’s shameless display, Nobara and Megumi hesitated before sliding into seats opposite them. Satoru leaned close and murmured in Yuuji’s ear, “Give me a minute”

“Alright,” Yuuji nodded, cheeks pink. “Don’t be mean,” he playfully admonished.

Satoru chuckled and plucked the final strawberry from the plate. “No promises,” he teased, feeding it to Yuuji with a flourish before releasing him.

Yuuji rose gracefully, gathered their plates, and headed to the sink to start washing up, leaving Satoru alone with Nobara and Megumi. They exchanged curious glances, ready to pick up the conversation now that the two were more than just breakfast buddies.

Satoru pushed back in his chair, adopting a faux-regal posture. “Morning, my cute little kōhais,” he announced haughtily, voice dripping with mock affection, looking down at them as if they were peasants approaching a throne.

Nobara narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “What’s going on here? Yesterday, you two were running from each other—now you’re attached at the hip. What the hell happened?”

"What do you mean?” Satoru asked in a mock stern tone. “Nothing has changed. Pretty sure Yuuji already told you, but whatever, I’ll tell you again. I don’t want any more misunderstandings. I'm his boyfriend and I get priority. In the future I expect everyone else to know their place and not interrupt our valuable time.”

Megumi and Nobara exchanged unimpressed glances. Megumi shrugged. “You can’t just monopolize a person, dude. Yuuji has friends, too.”

“I don't care about that,” Satoru waved a hand dismissively. “You can be friends with him, just don’t get in the way of our schedule. I won't tolerate interruptions.”

“You've got some nerve to say that after you kidnapped him from me yesterday!” Nobara shouted.

Megumi sounded exhausted when he whispered, “He was the lucky one, he got to escape.”

"Shut up," Nobara hissed as she elbowed him.

"Look, maybe we share his time instead of fighting over it like animals,” Megumi suggested in a helpful, if exhausted tone. He was already so done with this nonsense. "You could try joining us sometime."

Satoru's lip curls, face twisting into a scowl as he prepared to argue.

"I'm not entirely opposed to it," Nobara says quickly, cutting him off before he could start his tirade. She pulls out her phone, a mischievous smirk curving her lips. “It could even prove to be mutually beneficial, yeah? You fund some adventures for me and I can help create some for you.” She scrolled and thrust the screen toward Satoru. On it was a picture of Yuuji wearing that tiny top and shorts, flashing a heart at the camera.

Satoru froze, face cracking into a violent blush. His hand covered his mouth as he stared at the image. When he spoke, his voice was low and wry. “You make a compelling argument. Perhaps I treated you too harshly.”

"That's what I thought." Nobara grinned, holding the phone just out of reach. “What’s it worth to you, senpai? Care to work out a schedule?”

Megumi glanced at the photo, eyebrows shooting up in surprise, cheeks warming at the sight. Satoru caught the movement and shot him a jealous scowl, lips twitching in irritation. Megumi rolled his eyes at his reaction and sank back into his chair, moving out of line of sight of it.

Satoru squared his shoulders and met Nobara’s daring gaze. “Fine. We’ll share. I can so graciously sacrifice an hour a month.”

Megumi cleared his throat, voice quiet but pointed: “Shouldn’t this be Yuuji’s choice, though?” only to be ignored by both of them.

"That's hardly fair," Nobara scowled. "Two weekends."

"One," Satoru said firmly, not backing down.

"Fine. One weekend, but you have to come too and sponsor it."

He scoffed loudly, "You're not even pretending to be civil. How is this supposed to be fair?"

“I’m being generous—one weekend a month isn’t exactly stealing the crown jewels,” Nobara teased, thumb hovering ominously over the delete icon. “Besides, you’re always flaunting your wealth. What, scared you can’t afford a little shopping spree at those ‘cheap discount stores’ you talked trash about?”

Satoru’s shoulders slumped in mock defeat. “Fine. One day a month —food and entertainment, all covered by me, within reason.”

Nobara flashed a triumphant grin and extended her hand. “Deal.”

He sighed theatrically before taking her hand and sealing the agreement with a firm shake. Nobara chuckled, swiping her phone screen. Moments later, Satoru’s device chimed with a new message and a single image attachment.

Nobara’s voice dropped to a playful whisper as she slipped the phone toward him. “Oh—and if you even think about backing out, I’ll tell everyone, Got it?”

Satoru rolled his eyes but forced a grin. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Megumi sat back, brows furrowed in quiet disbelief—his glance toward Gojo-senpai spoke volumes about how odd it was to see him agree so readily.

Satoru caught the look and simply met it with a smug, defiant smile.

He glanced down at his phone, opening the message to verify the picture had been received. His cheeks flared crimson again, but he swallowed and powered through the heat—shoving it back in his pocket before he could be tempted to stare again.

His blue eyes then tracked movement outside the door, signaling the approach of the other students. Yuuji dried his hands and reappeared by his side, and a toothy edge crept onto his grin. Satoru rose and stepped forward to stand beside Yuuji, chest puffed out.

The second- and third-year students filtered in, whispers rippling through the crowd as they caught sight of Satoru’s protective posture. Suguru and Shoko exchanged a conspiratorial glance and, with barely contained laughter, offered an encouraging ‘OK’ hand gesture.

Yuuji tilted his head. “So…how did it go?” he asked quietly.

Nobara beamed. “Negotiations were tough, but we reached an agreement. As long as Satoru behaves, we’ll keep everything quiet.”

Yuuji frowned, confused. “That’s not exactly—”

“Shh,” Satoru held up a finger to the younger man’s lips, playful but firm and giving him a mischievous grin. He turned back to Nobara, lips twitching as he fought his growing smile “Thanks for the picture Kugisaki-chan.”

Yuuji’s amber eyes narrowed, “What picture?!”

The taller man merely shushes him again and begins to usher him towards the exit, completely ignoring his protests. At the door, Satoru stopped and called out, “Oh—I almost forgot the most important thing.”

Before Yuuji could question him, Satoru scooped him up in a sudden lift, spinning him around to face the room in a perfect mirror of The Lion King. Perched like a prized trophy, Yuuji’s arms and legs dangled as Satoru bellowed, “Listen up you vultures! I’m going to be very clear so there’s no more confusion on these rumors. This,” he shook Yuuji lightly for emphasis, “is mine! So the rest of you can just stay the hell away from him from now on, okay?!”

A flush of embarrassment and pride colored Yuuji’s cheeks as he offered a jaunty wave to the flabbergasted room, unable to hide how pleased he still was. Megumi huffed, puzzled by the intensity of the glare Satoru seemed to be shooting his way as he spoke.

Suguru and Shoko were practically cackling like hyenas at the display. Suguru wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and called out, “Way to keep it classy, dude.”

Instead of setting him down, Satoru turned Yuuji in his arms, clutching him to his chest like a war prize, and strode out of the dining hall, head held high, leaving a wake of stunned silence—and more than a few bewildered grins—behind them.

They reached a quiet corner in the hallway, and Yuuji finally spoke up, still slightly embarrassed but thoroughly charmed. “So… that’s what you meant by ‘I’ll handle it,’ huh?”

Satoru smirked, brushing a lock of hair from Yuuji’s forehead. “Mhm. Worked like a charm, didn’t it?”

"I suppose it did." Yuuji cleared his throat. “Uh… you can put me down now.”

“No,” Satoru pouted as he hugged him tighter. “Don’t wanna.”

Yuuji snorted softly. “Yeah, okay. I guess that’s fine…” He snuggled into Satoru’s warmth. “What do you want to do today?”

Satoru’s eyes gleamed playfully. “Anything that doesn’t involve letting you go.”

Yuuji glanced up, considering. “Well… I guess we could watch a movie or two on your laptop.”

A satisfied chuckle rumbled in Satoru’s chest. “Works for me,” he said, his voice low though his cheeks betrayed his fluttering nerves, “I might try to kiss you again, though.”

Yuuji’s cheeks colored as he laughed giddily. “Even better.”

With that, Satoru carried Yuuji toward his room, determination in his stride. Today they would take for themselves; just the two of them, no interruptions allowed.

From then on, it was like Satoru took personal offense to Yuuji’s personal space. They did everything together as one inseparable pair. It would have been annoying if it wasn’t so undeniably cute. Their closeness had the added benefit of making Satoru far more tolerable to be around—if only because he had Yuuji as his emotional support human, grounding him with steady warmth, and occasionally curbing his mischief.

And when Yuuji checked in with his uncle not long after, he was delighted to report that Satoru had finally started embracing the very engagement he had (however unwittingly) proposed. The future looked bright, filled with playful teasing and the comforting conviction that, whatever challenges may lay ahead, they would tackle them side by side, just as they always had.