A thread of music was still emanating from the restaurant when Yuji led Aiko down the half-empty street. They walked close together, their shoulders occasionally brushing, their hands searching for an innocent touch that wasn't innocent, they knew it well.
At the front door, the key jingled between her fingers and hung suspended in midair. Aiko looked up at him, a smile that had more courage than patience. The kiss took them by surprise and then held them there: deep, slow, the kind that makes you lose track of time. Yuji's hands found her waist, the line of her back, the nape of her neck; Aiko responded by squeezing his jacket, not wanting to leave any room for air.
It was then that a dark trail ran across Yuji's skin, at the level of his sternum, like ink coming to life. A mouth opened between them.
"Tsk… pathetic. An insect deluding itself into thinking it has a spine", Sukuna's voice resounded like a decree, heavy with disgust and supremacy.
Aiko moved back a foot, more annoyed than surprised. "You weren't invited."
"And yet here I am", he hissed. "Vivacious, determined… You should stay with me, girl. I don't tremble when I touch you."
Yuji clenched his jaw, holding back a breath. "Enough."
Aiko leaned toward that tattooed mouth as if it were nothing more than graffiti to be ignored. "I want Yuji. Not a nightmare intruding like mold creeping under the skin."
For a moment, silence. Then Sukuna's laughter rumbled, low and cruel. "Mold? Insolent girl… I am no parasite hiding in the dark. I am the ruin beneath all flesh. The stench of gods dead and forgotten! When your defiance rots away, brat… it is my name you will scream! Ahhahahah"
The black line closed, slowly fading. The echo of Yuji's heartbeat remained a little too loud.
Aiko cupped his face in her hands. "Don't let him confuse you. Don't let him eat you. I'm not afraid of him, ok?"
Yuji looked at her, then gave a small nod and kissed her again—more gently, like someone returning to himself. "I'll walk you to the door."
Outside the apartment, Aiko inserted her key into the lock and turned with a sly smile. "I'll come by tomorrow. Breakfast. No missions, no unwanted guests."
"I promise." He touched her forehead with a light kiss. "And you... text me when you get under the covers."
"What a romantic boy..." she teased. "Go, before your tattooed roommate starts again."
Yuji smiled and walked away down the hallway. Aiko followed him with her gaze until his shadow slid down the stairs.
Later, the sheets still had the warmth of the day, the window ajar letting in a breath of night. Aiko, wearing a T-shirt and her hair loose, curled up on her side, her phone in her hand.
In the other room, somewhere, a low, distant laugh. Sukuna was bored and alert. "Lively, determined"… he said. Let him get used to it: the choice wasn't up for discussion.
Aiko closed her eyes. "I want you, Yuji. Only you", she whispered and tomorrow, in the light of day, she would remind him of it without any shadows to disturb him.
Aiko: Are you here?
Yuji: Already in the shower (without guests). Tomorrow, 9?
Aiko: At 9. And bring a snack 🙂
She lay down, her cheek on the pillow, imagining Yuji's heartbeat against her ear. Her fingers traced absentminded lines on the fabric. Her heart, despite everything, was still racing a little.
Outside, the city was drifting into calm. Inside, everything was falling into place—at least for tonight.
Sukuna's POV.
I scent her before my eyes claim her.
Not the stench of flesh—merely human, cleansed, veiled in the breath of a damp night—but the cadence. Every mortal is a metronome unto themselves: most beat in dull straight lines, shackled to their own predictability.
Not her.
She veers, hastens, falters, twists. Unruly. Excessively alive.
The vessel looks at her as if it's about to forget to breathe.
Pathetic.
Then his mouth joins hers and the two of them are lost on the landing, between iron and mold plaster. A single twitch of my will would make them skip aside like leaves in the wind. I don't do it.
I prefer to study.
I rend my chest asunder, a gash of living ink and part them. "Tsk. Pitiful… a crawling insect lost in the delusion of spine", I proclaim to him, "and yet a single glance from her unmakes you…"
She moves but a palm's breadth, silencing me. She does not yield. Her gaze holds the stillness of one who has looked upon horror and did not break. At her lips rests the shadow of amusement—no borrowed courage, but courage worn as flesh. The ignorant would brand her 'impudent.' I name her… untamed flame.
"You weren't invited", she says, her tone no sharper than some doorkeeper shooing away peddlers. A low laugh slips from me. Ah, little one—were I ever to invite someone, legions would answer!
I draw near as I may: a voice, a fissure, a promise. "You should be with me", I test her. It is no offer.It is an experiment. What shatters when struck at the right spot?
She tilts her head, grasping the game and denying it with elegance. "I want Yuji." The name weighs heavy, set between us like a milestone. Then she adds a sting: "Not a nightmare mouth erupting like mold beneath the skin."
Mold...
I halt. I almost laugh in truth. For centuries they sought names for me: King, Calamity, God. And she calls me a stain that spreads when the air is foul. Is it insult? It is worse: it is diminishment. Most either kneel or scream. She makes me small.
I could show her what true scale means—just the faintest brush of Domain and this stairwell would rise as an altar. Yet curiosity tastes sweeter than cruelty when the prey proves… interesting.
And she does.
I cast a sidelong glance at the vessel. He trembles faintly—not from fear, but from conflict. Were it mine to do, I would tear open his chest and lay bare the heart within: it would still beat her name even as he strives to guard mine. Comical. Tender. Vexing.
She severs my attention once more. She leans toward me—toward my mouth etched upon his skin—and speaks softly, coldly: "Do not let yourself be deceived. Do not let yourself be devoured by him."
Devour. Ah, child… do you know the word you wield? Do you grasp how many worlds find their end within it?
I close her off. I withdraw. I let the inked line smooth over again—this is no farewell. The brat kisses her softly, repentant. She opens the door, promises a breakfast without intruders. I take note. Normalcy is the opium of the living; it is there the finest cracks are made.
Later, when the vessel stills, I rise to the surface just enough to watch through his sternum the phone's light flicker in his room. A pale rectangle, brief messages—the ritual of the weak, soothing themselves. I would be bored… were it not for her.
Why her?Because she dares to laugh without leave. Because she names things in ways that shift me by but a fraction—and at my height, a fraction is a landslide.
I recall her gaze: it was no shouted challenge. It was the regard of one who knows fear—and keeps it on a short leash. I have seen sorcerers break themselves against me, chanting sacred names as though they were chains. She does not chant, she does not beg. She names things—nothing more. She defines me. Narrows the field. It is a way of fighting.
I wonder how much it would take for her to cease being human in the ornamental sense and become human in the interesting sense. I do not mean wicked—evil is tedious, geometric. I mean: lucid. That is where the true game lies: in the moment you decide which part of yourself must live and which may be the first to die.
I see her again as she spoke it: "I want Yuji."
If I take the vessel from her, what remains? Pain, of course. Rage. But after that? There are those who hollow out and those who swell with some new substance. I would know of what matter she is wrought. I would press her—break her.
No, not yet.
The vessel dreams. I keep count: the times he looks at her without speaking, the times his hands tremble at the thought of losing her. I mark his frailties like nails driven into wood.
The difference between possession and choice amuses me: he chooses her, each time and that makes him strong and vulnerable alike. I, by contrast, possess and all that I possess, sooner or later, sings with my voice.
She did not sing, however. She whispered—and the whisper carried weight. "Do not let yourself be devoured."
Good people speak in such ways. But I have seen the good speak even as they sharpened knives. I never underestimate one who can wield words like bones.
What then is to be done? To wait. To watch. Press the edges, never the center. The center is reached only when the edges no longer hold. Tomorrow's breakfast is an edge. Their little ritual, an edge. Friends, teachers, corridors that reek of disinfectant: edges. I am patient only as long as it takes to make them creak.
And if, in the meantime, she keeps calling me mold?
So be it.
I grow in the dark. I love the damp corners of consciousness. And when the sun returns, many pretend not to see what still clings to the walls.
Do I grow weary? At times. Then I recall her gaze upon the landing: that fraction of a second in which she granted me the barest respect and all the disdain required. A paltry tribute. A magnificent invitation.
I am not jealous of the vessel. Jealousy is a hunger with little imagination. I have imagination in excess. What I desire is rarer: to discover what shape her spirit will take when the room grows too narrow, when the corridor no longer suffices, when the promise of breakfast collides with the hunger of the world.
If she endures, I will laugh. If she breaks, I will laugh. In either case, I will understand. And understanding is a luxury I gladly permit myself.
For now, I withdraw. I let them sleep within the definitions they have granted themselves. Tomorrow the light will do its work, as ever: exaggerating the outlines, pretending all is simple.
I prefer twilight. There, things are what they are—and something else besides. There, people reveal their true step.
Spirited. Resolute, if you insist. But you...let us see if you still dance when the music ends! Ahahahha!
***
That day, Aiko held her phone face down, tucked between her notebook and the sleeve of her sweater. Every now and then, under the pretense of turning a page or grabbing a pen, she'd slide it a little more into view to check for a reply. She kept it carefully hidden, just enough to escape the watchful gaze of the teacher who continued explaining as if nothing could escape her.
Across the city, in the silent classroom of the Institute, Yuji sat hunched over his desk. A crumpled handout covered his desk, but it was only a screen: his gaze was elsewhere and his fingers were already on the screen, ready to type. Every vibration of the phone made him smile faintly, a quick smile, like a flash of lightning that quickly faded away so as not to be noticed.
Yuji: I'm in class but it's like you're in the front row.
Aiko: Concentrate, Itadori. I'm in the second row... giving you a little heart and telling you "well done" 😇
Yuji: Look at me carefully, then. Last night didn't end up in my head. You stuck with me. (…I managed on my own, thinking of you 🙈)
Aiko: This is how I want you. We'll repeat it tonight, but live. 😉
Yuji: 4:30? I'll come get you. I have a place in mind.
Aiko: Tell me, so I can go into "Aiko-focused-on-you" mode.
Yuji: The Sendai Forest. The one with the broken path.
Aiko: Where you act tough with curses and then get emotional when I hug you?
Yuji: Yep! Today I want just us. No audience. Just the wind and us.
Aiko leaned back, a smile in her eyes.
Aiko: Okay. And you decide the dress code?
Yuji: Of course!… Do you have any… short… dresses? 🙈
Aiko: I have one. Black.
Yuji: And… maybe… without… that thing… underneath… only if you like 😳
Aiko: I'm fine with you.
Yuji: If you ever want to change your mind, just "stop" and I'll stop. I promise.
Aiko: I know. It's one of the reasons I love you.
Yuji: I love you too. A lot. Too much. (I can't attend any class today 😵💫)
Aiko: Follow along a bit, my love. So you don't pass out later.
Yuji: I'll try. I'll bring water, repellent and... courage.
Aiko: Especially bring that face with you when you blush. It drives me crazy.
Yuji: I'm not blushing! (Maybe a little) 😅
Aiko: That look suits you. 4:30 pm in front of my house. If you're early, even better: I like being your priority.
Yuji: I'm already early with my heart ❤️
Aiko put the phone face down, a smile warming her cheeks. Yuji copied two lines at random, then returned to the screen: 4:30 pm never arrived and yet it was already there, like her breathing in his ear.