On Saturday, at Tramonto Rosso, the shift started uphill right away. Full tables, orders pouring in, glasses to polish to the frantic beat of voices and the clinking of cutlery. But that day, Aiko had a different kind of energy. The kind that makes you breathe a little deeper and laugh half a second earlier than you should.
Thanks to a message she'd received that morning.
-Yuji: I'm coming today. But this time I deserve the smallest slice. Although, spoiler: I'm still going to steal yours anyway.
It was silly, sweet, direct.
And Aiko had read it at least three times, somewhere between her first sip of coffee and the moment she tied her apron.
At 1:47 p.m., the entry bell jingled and her gaze lifted on its own, as if her body already knew who was about to walk through the door.
Yuji was the first to step in.
Red hoodie, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair slightly messy as if he'd been running. His smile was the same as always, but with a new shade to it—more open, warmer, as if the moment was special for him too.
Right behind him came Nobara, in full punk runway black, with an air that said "don't talk to me unless you're worth my time." And finally, a few steps back, Megumi—wearing the resigned look of someone who already knows that, one way or another, they'll end up dragged into something embarrassing against their will.
"Mission: Diplomatic Reconstruction in progress," said Yuji, raising his hands in a sign of peace, his eyes searching for Aiko's like an anchor.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too much. "Did you book under 'guilty parties seeking forgiveness'?"
"No, under 'hungry, repentant customers.' Table for three, slightly bruised heart."
"Perfect. There's a free table under the sunset painting. Fits the mood."
As she led them over, Aiko felt Yuji's gaze brushing against her back, her hair, even the way she slid the menu between her fingers. It wasn't intrusive. But it was there. And it burned slowly.
During the service, they traded little things: she refilled his water glass before he asked, he left her on the napkin a ridiculous drawing of a muscular fork—"Fork-sama, protector of carbohydrates."
Nobara watched them out of the corner of her eye. Megumi sighed.
Aiko approached with a pizza to share. "Careful, this one burns. Not the pizza—just the tension in your little corner under the sunset."
Yuji laughed, openly. "Megumi's just jealous because me and pizza have a stable relationship."
"Megumi's jealous because the pizza understands you better than you understand him," Nobara shot back.
Then, just as Aiko bent down to pick up a fallen napkin, Yuji brushed her arm and whispered, "Hey… thanks for last night. For texting me. You… fixed me a little."
She turned slowly, met his eyes. No words were needed. Eyes were enough.
And from there, between plates arriving and jokes bouncing back and forth, Aiko realized they were finding their way back to something. Not what they'd had before. Something truer.
00:00
That night, the restaurant had been closed for an hour. Aiko had already removed her makeup, was wearing her favorite hoodie, and was scrolling through her screen, watching funny videos and laughing at dumb memes. Not really reading anything.
The lights were low, the room quiet, the computer still on, and the steam from her herbal tea curled lazily from the mug on the table.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed. A message.
Yuji: Can I call you?
She didn't reply with a yes. She just called him.
Yuji picked up on the first ring. His voice was low, like he was tiptoeing between words.
"Hey."
"Hey, you. Spoon-kunai."
Aiko adjusted the pillow behind her head and smiled, even though he couldn't see it.
"Tired?" Yuji asked.
"Sort of. But also… not. You know when your body's on the ground but your head's floating? Like that."
He made a small noise. "Exactly how I feel."
There was a pause. But it was the good kind.
Then, without much preamble, Yuji's tone turned serious.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"It's… kind of… personal."
"Alright, shoot."
"Okay… mmm… what's a secret you keep? But a real one. The kind nobody knows. Not even your mom."
Aiko stayed quiet for a few seconds, then rolled onto her side, as if the position could help her speak better.
"I have one," she whispered. "But it's weird."
"Perfect. We're two weird people."
A breath.
"So... there was a girl in middle school I really liked... I often imagined being with her, and when that happened, I masturbated, thinking about her. I never told anyone. I was afraid everyone would judge me badly."
Silence.
Aiko added, "Now it's your turn."
Yuji took a long breath.
"Alright… then… I'm… the vessel of Sukuna," he said, smiling.
"I already know that! Nobara told me. Doesn't count. Give me another one," Aiko replied, amused.
"But… this one… I'm not sure if…"
"Come on, Yuji! It's fine. Open up," Aiko urged, still smiling.
He sighed.
"Okay... so...mmm...sometimes I have trouble sleeping. When that happens, I call numbers I find in magazines... and talk to women on the phone. Come on, those hotlines where they talk dirty to you. And... well... I masturbate while talking to them. It's kind of a vice... that I have. I mean, it doesn't happen every day... but quite often...yes."
Aiko stayed silent.
Not shocked.
Just… listening.
Then she spoke quietly.
"Well… everyone's got their own, right?" she answered, smiling.
There was a moment of silence. Not heavy, not awkward. Just full.
Full of everything they still couldn't say.
Full of what, maybe, they were starting to understand.
"Aiko?" Yuji murmured.
"Mhm?"
"Thank you. For… all of this."
She smiled, eyes closed against the pillow.
"You too. Thank you."
"It sounds stupid, but… I feel lighter. Even though I said things I never thought I'd tell anyone."
"It's not stupid, Yuji. It's… nice. It's what happens when you trust someone."
He took a long breath, like someone finally letting themselves relax for real.
Then his voice came again, softer.
"Goodnight, Aiko."
She rolled onto her side, the sheets brushing against her legs.
"Goodnight, Yuji."
A small silence lingered, as if neither of them really wanted to end it.
Then the gentle click of the call ending.
And in the dark room, a faint smile still resting on her lips.
That night, neither of them felt alone.
***
The next day, Aiko went to school with her mind elsewhere.
The teachers talked, the pages of her notebook filled almost on their own, but she was absent. She kept replaying that call in her head. Yuji's voice, timid at first, then telling her about his "secret."
The women on the phone. Those unknown voices whispering dirty things to him. Making him excited.
Aiko didn't feel disgust. Or shame.
Just a new kind of restlessness—hard to pin down into a single emotion.
The thought that Yuji—the boy who blushed in front of her, who looked away when she laughed loudly, who pretended not to watch her when he really was—might need something she could maybe give him… unsettled her.
At 11:13 a.m., her phone buzzed in the pocket of her hoodie.
Yuji: You alive?
She pressed her lips together to hide a smile and typed back under the desk.
Aiko: Present in body. Absent in mind.
Yuji: Same. I think about you like every two minutes. Actually—every one.
Aiko froze for a second. Fingers over the keyboard. Heart a little higher than usual.
Then—
Aiko: I can't stop thinking about last night.
A minute later, the notification popped up.
Yuji: Me neither. Like, I kinda want to call you right now—from the second floor bathroom.
Aiko stifled a laugh, lowering her gaze.
Then she typed: And what would you do? Exactly?
Three dots. No message.
Then—
Yuji: I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe I'd just ask you to talk again. Just to me.
She lowered the phone, holding it in both hands.
Her palms were warm.
She had an idea in her head. Maybe crazy. Maybe not.
Maybe… she could be that voice.
Maybe she could help him.
Not just to turn him on.
But to really trust. To let himself go for the first time with someone who wouldn't judge him.
She was thinking about it.
She hadn't decided yet.
But inside her, the answer was already starting to take shape.
7:12 p.m.
Yuji: I can't get out of my head the way you told me your secret last night.
7:13 p.m.
Aiko: Funny… I keep hearing in my head your silence afterward.
7:14 p.m.
Yuji: That wasn't silence. That was panic. The kind of "I can't say out loud everything I'm thinking right now" panic.
7:16 p.m.
Aiko: And what were you thinking? Come on, we're in secret territory now.
7:18 p.m.
Yuji: That if you'd been there with me… I would've needed all my self-control. But maybe I wouldn't have used it.
7:20 p.m.
Aiko: Who said you would've had to?
7:22 p.m.
Yuji: Aiko…
7:23 p.m.
Aiko: Yes?
7:24 p.m.
Yuji: Don't text me like that. You make me want to do something stupid.
7:25 p.m.
Aiko: Like?
7:27 p.m.
Yuji: Like call you. And keep you on the phone until you say my name like that… slow, quiet, almost whispered.
7:28 p.m.
Aiko: I wouldn't whisper it. I'd say it slowly… but with my lips very close.
[Seen by Yuji at 7:29 p.m.]
7:32 p.m.
Yuji: Guess I'm not sleeping much tonight.
7:33 p.m.
Aiko: You don't have to sleep. Just close your eyes and picture it clearly.
📱 Messages – mid-morning, during class, the next day.
Yuji: You're my number one distraction today. (Even more than the curses teacher who looks like a demon with a cold.)
Aiko: Then think about how I'm saving you from visual trauma. You owe me…
Yuji: You could make me pay in very creative ways.
Aiko: Like forcing you to bring me a mochi every recess?
Yuji: Or like… reading you the mochi recipe slowly over the phone. Around midnight.
Aiko: With that rough "I just got out of the shower" voice?
(Pause of a few minutes)
Yuji: Oh god, I'm blushing at my desk. Is that normal?
Aiko: For you? No. But I kind of like it.
Yuji: So you see me blushing and think, "aww, cute—let's make him suffer more"?
Aiko: Not exactly… but I might want to test how much you blush if I tell you that this morning I chose my underwear thinking about you.
(Silence. No reply for a while. Then…)
Yuji: Okay, Aiko. I don't know if I can make it to lunch alive after that message. I hate you. A little.
Aiko: Only a little? I'm losing my touch.
📱 Messages – afternoon, during a break
Yuji: Do you ever think about how crazy it is that some things… you just write them, and it's like you can already feel them on your skin?
Aiko: Yeah. Like your name—if I read it too often, my stomach gets all twisted.
Yuji: Twisted, or lit up?
Aiko: Maybe both. But I think you're not doing so great yourself.
Yuji: True. You know that feeling when your body remembers something that's never actually happened?
Aiko: Yeah. Like when I read "incoming call from Yuji"… and my heart's already in my throat.
Tokyo, Friday night – 8:10 p.m.
The Tramonto Rosso was packed, but Aiko seemed to glide between the tables as if she were dancing to a melody only she could hear. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, apron knotted snug around her waist, tray balanced on her arm—she was in full "record-night" mode.
But her smile—that smile—had something different about it. Warmer, lighter, more… radiant.
Every so often, as she set down a plate or refilled a glass, her eyes drifted to the phone resting near the register. She had it on vibrate, sound off. And it was the third time in half an hour that the screen lit up with: Yuji 🐼
📱 Yuji: Everything okay over there? Are you under siege from hungry people or is it calm?
📱 Aiko: A disaster. Two customers argued over who ordered the steak first. I'm about to request political asylum in the kitchen.
📱 Yuji: I'll bring you a white flag. And a mochi. Or two. You recovered from this morning yet, or is your heart still going wild?
📱 Aiko: Let's just say my heart decided to work the night shift. And it's doing overtime.
Behind the counter, her father was polishing glasses as if they were raw diamonds. He saw Aiko smiling as she typed, and without even looking up, commented:
"That phone makes you happier than perfectly baked puff pastry."
"Stop it, Dad."
"No, no, not a criticism. It's cute. Kind of like when you were ten and talked with your friends about cartoons—except now you blush and pretend you're not."
Aiko tossed him a pen, which he caught mid-air, laughing.
From the kitchen, her mother shouted:
"Aiko! Take the ravioli to table 4—and stop smiling at that phone!"
"Yes, coming! And I wasn't smiling at my phone!"
"Sure, sure… and I'm twenty-five with a gold record."
"Dad, enough!"
As she set the ravioli down in front of a couple of tourists, Aiko felt the phone vibrate again. She finished up, then slipped behind the counter to read:
📱 Yuji: I picture you there, all glowing, in your apron, hands smelling of basil. Not sure if I'm hungry—or if I'm getting hungry for you.
Aiko pressed the phone to her chest, biting her lip so she wouldn't laugh too loudly. A customer signaled for the check, and she nodded, still with that flush in her cheeks.
By the end of the shift, while she was closing the books with her father and her mother was putting away the clean pots, Aiko sent one last message.
📱 Aiko: Tonight I served thirty-seven plates and smiled at about ninety strangers. But the best smile I had was every time you wrote to me.
📱 Yuji: I'm smiling now. Badly. Hard. Like suspicious-in-public hard.
📱 Yuji (after a pause):can I call you...when you close?
📱 Aiko: I'll be waiting.