The restaurant had returned to its slow, restorative noise: the broth simmering gently in the kitchen, chopsticks clinking against salad bowls, a few low laughs in the distance. At the table in the back, Nobara pushed away the empty plate with a strange frown, still incredulous about what had just happened.
"What a pathetic man," she snorted, then winked at Aiko. "But the lasagna… as usual, di-vi-ne!"
Megumi looked up. "There's a little CE on the floor. But not much."
Yuji ran a hand through his hair, his ears already red. "Already fixed, Megumi!" He turned to Aiko, unable to suppress a smile. "And you were… very good today."
Aiko burst into a giggle and touched his arm. "Thanks, my love. Shall I bring you a little dessert? It's on me for the mess earlier."
"Two," Nobara decreed, pointing to the menu with an outstretched index finger. "And one to go. For your boyfriend on a mission," she added, winking at Yuji who turned tomato-red.
After paying and saying goodbye, in the back—beneath the darkened sign—Aiko met Yuji in the service corridor. They stood in the half-light; the storeroom was cool, carrying that damp and saucy smell that drove Aiko crazy. The glow from the emergency exit lit up both their faces.
"Are you okay?" Yuji asked softly.
"I'm fine," Aiko replied and slipped a finger into the waistband of his sweatshirt, pulling him closer. "I just resented the whole review thing. We need the place packed tomorrow."
Yuji caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, awkward and tender. "It'll be packed. And if there's anything... text me right away, okay? Even Megumi or Nobara. You don't have to do it all alone."
Aiko nodded, her pale eyes staring at him. "I know. You know this is my second home... And now you're part of it, too."
He lowered his gaze, smiling. "Then we defend it together." He adjusted her sweatshirt around her shoulders—their ritual—and rested his forehead against hers for a second. "I have to go back... the afternoon mission is calling."
"Go," Aiko said, and took his wrist for a moment, as if to hold it there. "Be careful, shy one. And try to be quick."
"I promise," Yuji murmured, red as a pepper but happy. He kissed her on the forehead, quick and sweet. "I'll text you as soon as I can."
"I'll wait for you," she said, smiling. "And afterward... ramen for two."
"Ramen for two," he repeated and hurried out before his ears could get any redder. Aiko followed him to the door, let out a deep sigh and gently closed the service door.
***
The phone vibrated as Aiko was still counting the change in the register. She held a coin between her fingers, then answered without looking at the display.
"Hello?"
"Hey!" Yuji's voice was low, airy with tiredness and relief. "I'm done now. Everything's fine. Um... I missed you."
Aiko leaned her forehead against the back doorframe. "You too. In which moments did you miss me the most?"
"Like... all of them," he said and she could feel him smiling under his breath. "Want some... ramen? I'll pick you up in a bit. Casual or divine?"
"Come as you please. Just come to me."
She just had time to close the drawer, turn off the tea machine and wave to her parents from the kitchen. She went to the bathroom to fix her hair and when she stepped out the front door, Yuji was already on the sidewalk in a black sweatshirt and white track pants. His hair was a little messy and his hands didn't seem to know where to go (as usual whenever he saw Aiko). He caught sight of her blue eyes and straightened himself up with a clumsy gesture.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi, love."
They approached with the ease of those who do it a thousand times a day. Yuji tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, barely touching her face. "You're..." he searched for a word that wasn't overbearing and wouldn't ruin the moment. "You're the beautiful part of today."
Aiko looked at him with a half-smile that made his heart skip a beat. "And you're standing there in one piece. Thank goodness, I'm crazy about this version."
They walked slowly, hand in hand, toward the ramen-ya on the corner. That evening the sky was dark, heavy with the feel of rain; the traffic had almost disappeared. Aiko took his hand without looking at it: fingers interlaced, thumb against thumb. Every so often, Yuji squeezed it a little tighter, as if to feel her closer.
Inside, the place was small but very clean and orderly. The lights were soft, the air filled with the smell of spicy broth and fried eggs. There were only a few people at that hour, so they chose a table a little more secluded. The cook raised two fingers and an eyebrow, as if to say, the usual? He glanced at them just as a waiter came out from the kitchen, welcomed them and quickly took their order. They sat so close that their knees kept brushing under the table.
"How did it go?" Aiko asked, tilting her shoulder just enough for him to rest his chin on it.
"Not bad, but long and heavy. Megumi did… Megumi," Yuji chuckled, "and I thought of you every five steps. Like: later I'll pick her up, later I'll take her to eat, later I'll hold her tight. It made me go faster."
"Then let's make a deal: after every mission, you pick me up and take me somewhere. I'll sign a contract with the restaurant's stamp."
The steaming bowls arrived almost immediately. Without thinking, Yuji moved half a slice of chashu and the egg with the half-cooked yolk to Aiko's plate. She raised an eyebrow. "You're spoiling me."
"I like... taking care of you," he admitted, lowering his eyes; then, almost in a whisper, he let out one of his sentences that always startled her: "And I like watching you eat. You're... dangerous even when you blow on the broth."
Aiko bit her lip to keep from laughing too loudly. "Where do those things come from, Itadori?"
"I don't know," he said, red all over. "They just slip out."
"Keep them. I like it when they slip out."
They ate slowly, sharing sweet little stories: how Aiko's mother had already soaked the beans that evening for the next day; her father, repeating over and over, "we're not raising the prices, period"; how Nobara had promised to drop by and make some "quality trouble" and even about a regular customer who had complained about "how long the kitchen took with my order", only to leave the best tip in the end. Every so often they stopped just to catch their breath, to lose themselves in each other's eyes. Aiko brushed his wrist with her nail; Yuji, then, adjusted his chopsticks as an excuse to hide the blush on his face.
When they reached the last sip of broth, Aiko wiped her lips with a napkin and looked Yuji in the eye. "Dormitory?"
Yuji nodded, then became serious in that tender way he only had with her. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course, love."
"Tonight I just want to... hold you. Let's put on a movie, I'll hug you and not let go. Not because... I don't want to—" he swallowed: "—I always want you. It's just that tonight I want you here." He touched his chest, with that expression somewhere between embarrassed and sincere.
Aiko placed her palm on his cheek. "I really want to. Tonight, movies and cuddles. Tomorrow you can make up for it your way, if you're brave."
Yuji swallowed, a smile lighting up his eyes. "I'm brave. I'm brave enough."
A little later, the walk to the dorm was unhurried. Every twenty steps, Yuji found some pointless reason to stop: a traffic light about to change, a cat behind a shop window, the knot of Aiko's jacket that needed fixing. In truth, he just wanted to steal a few more minutes for their time together.
They arrived at the dorm laughing; everything felt so simple. Aiko sat down on the bed, making a remark about the poor, crooked cactus. Yuji replied that Nobara swore it was lucky to keep it that way, and then they both laughed together. Yuji hurried to tidy up the room as best he could—shifting a sweatshirt, straightening a notebook. Then he switched on the laptop.
"What shall we watch?"
"Something that makes you laugh," Aiko decided. "So you can fall asleep on me and I can pretend to complain."
"I don't fall asle—" he began, then gave up with a smile. "Okay. Probably."
They settled under the blanket: Aiko tucked into his arm, her head resting at his neck; Yuji pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead now and then. The opening credits rolled by, deliberately ignored, as they focused instead on that stillness between them—warmer than anything else could ever be.
"Thanks for being here," he murmured after a while, still staring at the screen. "I really need this...I really need you."
"It's mutual," Aiko whispered, slipping her hand inside his hoodie to feel for his heart. "Wait. I want to hear you now."
A funny scene appeared in the movie; Yuji laughed, a sign that he was truly melting. After a minute, his voice softer than usual, he added, "Can I tell you something stupid?"
"Tell me."
"When I hold you like this... my head goes out of control." He paused, embarrassed, but didn't retract. "But tonight I want to be good, don't worry."
Aiko closed her eyes and smiled. "Well done. Tomorrow I'll reward you in my own way, the way you like so much."
"Did I deserve it?" he asked, almost seriously.
"You're deserving it now."
They stayed like that, the film casting a bluish glow on the walls and across their faces. Every now and then Aiko's phone buzzed with a reservation for the next day; she answered with her free hand and slipped back into the curve of Yuji's arm, while he adjusted the blanket over her shoulders as if it were the most important thing in the world.
"I love you," he said suddenly, as if the sentence had fallen out of his mind.
"Me too," Aiko replied, not over-emphasizing it, just to give the sentence more weight. "And yes: tomorrow I'll reward you just the way you like it."
Yuji actually smiled, squinting as always. "Deal."
The movie kept playing on its own. They didn't: they stayed still, wrapped in each other's arms. Every so often, one of Yuji's sudden whispers slipped into her ear ("You're beautiful even when you yawn," "Tomorrow I'm stealing five minutes just to kiss you behind the fridge, I swear") and Aiko laughed softly, holding him tighter. When the laptop's glow began to fade, Aiko thought that some nights feel like embers yet are worth more than fire. And Yuji, with his nose buried in her hair, promised himself to earn every long kiss that came after.
Sukuna's POV.
Tsk. What a nauseating sight.
Sitting there… laughing, clinging to each other… as if the world were not already collapsing over their pathetic heads.
Fools.
The amusing part is not the mission. It is what comes after: the shared bowl, the egg pushed onto her plate, the idiotic movie under a blanket. Petty rituals—yet they bind the living tighter than a hundred prayers ever could.
The vessel blushes, stammers, even bites back now and then.
Pathetic… but it will do.
Normalcy—such a disgusting glue, stronger than blood.
And she… so intent on clinging to this miserable illusion of normalcy. Such a weak creature, so utterly… human. What does she expect? That it will last? That the world will bend to her cheap little peace?
…And yet.
There is something in her. Not strength. Not power. She is not even worthy of being called a curse. And still, she moves with that calm… as if she were untouchable. As if I were not here, watching, listening.
Until now I have called her 'the waitress.' Fitting enough—nothing more than a trade, a gesture, a method. But normalcy does not soften her… it sharpens her. She props up the floor, props up him, even props up the fragile lie of sleep. It is not a spectacle. It is survival.
"And if I am to carve into you properly, I must name you with precision."
Aiko.
The name snaps clean between the teeth—short, cruel, stripped of tenderness. Perfect for marking the points where your little routine begins to bleed—reservations, the register, bills, those mornings when you stumble.
I will not step in today. I will wait.
Patience is the blade I press against your habits, savoring the moment I choose where to cut first.
She laughs with that brat, clings to him as if she had found shelter. Fool. No one can protect her. No one can save her from what is coming. Least of all that vessel.
And yet… something gnaws at me. A part deep inside—perhaps the deepest—records every gesture. Every glance. As if it were… important.
Absurd.
If only she understood what watches her through those eyes. If only she knew that I could tear her apart with a single thought.
But I do not act. Not yet.
She undresses before my vessel as if nothing mattered. As if a cursed god were not staring straight at her.
Fool. She has no idea of the gaze that pierces her.
How many women have I taken? Hundreds. Thousands. I have possessed them all. Some wept, others begged. Some bore my children, if they survived. Love… love is nothing but another form of dominion.
And yet this… this woman… moves as if she held control. As if that pitiful human could truly give her something that I cannot.
Such arrogance.
…If I were him. If I were that body…
There would be no caresses. No sweetness. Only pleasure bent to my will. Only surrender. Absolute. Without choice. And she would never forget my name.
He loves her. I do not. I want to understand why I have not destroyed her. Why I keep watching her.
I wonder… is it only well-shaped flesh? Only a fleeting weakness of the vessel that infects me?
Or is it something more vile… like an invisible chain that grates on me every time she smiles?
It is only possession. And sooner or later… she will be mine.
I will break her. I will hollow out every trace of resistance until nothing remains but submission. She will carry my mark, carved into flesh and memory alike.
And she will never escape me.