"Can I... kiss you?" Yuji asked, almost in a whisper, true to himself until the very end. Aiko nodded, her clear eyes softening. "Yes."
And so they found themselves like this: sweet, shy, inevitable. His hands slipped behind her back, the blanket wrapped them in a half-circle. The world shrank to close breaths, the scent of yuzu, the peaceful murmur of the city beyond the glass.
He laid her down on the already warm futon, one hand behind her head and the other between her shoulder blades. He held her tightly. Slowly, he leaned over her and drew the blanket over them both. Aiko's hands were still cold, so Yuji took them, covering them with small, tender kisses, almost just brushing against her skin. Without ever taking his eyes off her.
She looked at him in rapture. He excited her like never before. Yuji was above her, palms pressed to the floor on either side of her shoulders, his breath short as if after a run.
"Aiko..." he whispered, his ears flushed red and his eyes unsure where to rest. "I want you. So badly. I... I can't hold back anymore."
Aiko didn't answer right away. She searched for his eyes and kept them there until he stopped trembling. She brushed her thumbs along his jawline, feeling the warmth of his skin fill her heart. The silence was heavy with unspoken things. Then she nodded—a short, certain gesture. She whispered, "Me too."
They moved together, with that tender impatience that owes no one an apology: the zipper of his hoodie made a soft sound, her tracksuit slipped a little under his hands, a sleeve got caught and they laughed quietly before freeing it. Aiko's blonde hair, streaked with copper, fell over her shoulders; Yuji gently brushed it aside and looked into her eyes.
"You're beautiful," he said, almost in awe. "Up close, even more so."
Aiko slipped her fingers to the edge of his hoodie and lifted it slightly, her movements firm yet unhurried. The fabric gave way under their touch; buttons, elastic, the rustle of cloth. His hands were both cautious and hungry, always asking "may I?"—and she answered with a "yes" that traveled through her skin before it reached her voice. A knee brushed against the other, the blanket slid down to their ankles, their breathing drew closer.
Yuji grazed her cheek with his knuckles, like a sacred ritual. "Tell me if..."
"I'll tell you," she interrupted softly, pulling him down, "and in the meantime, stay here."
The kisses deepened, the breaths became shallower. Yuji lifted her bra with one hand, rubbing himself against her while stroking her hair. He moved his face lower, searching for her nipples. Aiko arched her back, running a hand through Yuji's hair, breathing softly.
He licked and kissed them with a sweetness she'd never seen before. It seemed tender, almost childish. Aiko, on the other hand, ran a hand under him, touching him between his legs. She could feel it: he was hard as marble, as big as ever. Yuji responded to the touch, tilting his head back, looking at her with that flushed face and shining eyes.
Without saying a word, Yuji slowly removed her pants and panties. But with a hint of impatience, he entered her. Gently. Aiko gripped the sheets in her hands, her legs trembling slightly. She looked up at him and realized he was looking at her too. Then, they kissed each other.
The breaths were warm, real, slow. Aiko tried to move from beneath him as much as possible, to feel him deeper and deeper. Yuji, on the other hand, had begun to move slowly, feeling Aiko's movements from beneath him while the pleasure grew ever greater. He began to move a little more, grabbing Aiko's wrists and pinning them to the ground.
He watched her, Yuji's gaze glued to hers. Aiko moved faster and faster, trying in every way to force him to enter her fully. Her legs trembled, her eyes searched for him, her hands locked on the futon. Yuji felt she was about to come. He could feel it in the way she held him, in the warm liquid leaking out. He increased his speed, resting his forehead on her chest.
Yuji's gaze slowly rose to Aiko. His eyes, red and glistening, shone under the dim light of the room. A tear traced its way down his face, sliding gently to his chin, leaving behind a damp trail he made no effort to wipe away.
"Yuji..." she whispered softly, reaching a hand toward him. Her fingers brushed his warm, tear-streaked cheek.
He sniffled, then shook his head, as if he couldn't bear to look at her for too long. His breath trembled in his chest. His shoulders rose and fell in uneven jerks.
"I was afraid..." he stammered, his voice breaking. A pause, a strangled sigh. "I was afraid I... I wouldn't have you anymore. I thought I'd lost you forever."
Each word seemed to cost him a physical effort, a pain that ran through him until it bent him forward.
Aiko slowly lifted her torso and reached for him. She wrapped her arms around him, and Yuji, like a child who had held back too long, gave in. He clung to her tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder, the warmth of his tears dampening her skin. He couldn't stop. His breathing came in ragged bursts against her, searching for air between sobs and short gasps.
"I love you, Yuji," she told him, without hesitation. "I'm yours. Show me how much you care, how much you want me."
He stayed still for a moment, as if her words had gone all the way through him. Then he drew back slightly, wiping his tears with the back of his hand—only for two more to follow right after. A fragile, almost broken smile spread across his face, blending with the flush on his cheeks. He lowered his gaze, drew a deep breath, then nodded. There was a new fire in his eyes, still mingled with pain. He straightened slightly, glanced at Aiko and with a hoarse but resolute voice murmured:
"Turn around..."
He panted—short, certain.
Aiko looked at him for a moment, then obeyed. She turned on the futon, resting on her hands and knees, letting him see her complete trust unveiled.
He entered her again, grabbed her wrists and pounded her hard, very hard, over and over again. Aiko threw her head back, leaning forward more and more. Yuji didn't let go, he continued to pound her, panting.
Aiko's vulva had begun to throb with pleasure again; she was reaching orgasm. Then one of Yuji's hands reached for her clit, and once he found it, he touched it gently, without pressing.
"Oh, Yuji, fuck me, fuck me hard..." she exclaimed, spasming with pleasure. His other hand was firmly on her perfect, tight, white-skinned hips, gripping her tightly every time he pulled her back against him. His thrusts became deeper, faster.
Aiko held a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, her body shaking as she surrendered to an intense orgasm, which Yuji felt and welcomed fully. But he didn't stop pounding her.
"Aiko..." he whispered, his voice cracking from the constant thrusts. "I...love you..."
Yuji's body stiffened. The thrusts had become more rhythmic, slower but deeper. With one hand, he touched her breast, taking her nipple between his index finger and thumb. Then he massaged her breasts, kissing her back.
Aiko was in ecstasy. She also moved under him, rotating her hips slightly.
"Oh...AIko...now I'm going to cum inside you..."
He grabbed her hips with a firmer grip than before. He had started moaning, those beautiful moans that drove Aiko wild.
"Yes...my love. Give me everything, give it all to me...I want to keep you inside me forever..."
Yuji threw his head back, his body trembling. He increased his speed, then slowed down again.
"Oh Yuji...I can't wait...for you to fill me..."
Yuji kept pounding her hard, and continued like that for another couple of minutes. Then his body tensed again, visibly shaking.
"Here it is...hold it...my love...all for you..."
He let himself go to immense pleasure, perhaps more intense than ever before. He moaned softly and it was audible. As he came, he continued to pound her, all the way to the core. Then he slowed, trembling and came out.
The sheets were still warm, the paused movie cast its light onto the ceiling and filled the room with a gentle glow. Aiko's and Yuji's breathing had fallen into the same rhythm—slow, with that quiet sway that comes after loving so intensely. The scent of yuzu in the cup left on the nightstand had grown sweeter as the steam faded away.
Yuji rested his forehead against hers, his ears still a little red. "Thank you... for still being here," he murmured, shy but happy, like someone who had finally found the way back home.
Aiko brushed a finger along his temple. "I love you, my love," she whispered.
On the phone's dark screen, the time shifted: 11:15 p.m. Yuji's chest hollowed for an instant. The rope beneath his sternum pulled tight, once, precise.
He lifted his head slightly. "The window is opening," he said quietly. The word was the one they had agreed upon, small and exact. "Ten minutes and I'll be back."
Aiko didn't stop him. She drew the blanket over his shoulders, the way you do for someone stepping into the hallway at night. "Go. I'll be here, waiting for you."
Yuji gave her a grateful half-smile, straightened... and the threshold swung wide open.
SUKUNA'S POV.
One: the air changes flavor — less honey, more iron.
Two: the gaze stops blooming at the blush.
Three: the collar clenches its teeth.
"Such care, boy" I think, weighing the yoke. My hands do not reach for her; they sink into the pockets of the hoodie — not out of modesty: out of statute. The room smells of sheets, yuzu, skin; the burn beneath my sternum commands: "go outside."
I turn without saying a word. The girl remains within my perimeter like a flame behind glass: warm, forbidden, not mine. The first step toward the door is a silent laugh: the vow knows how to bite. Good.
I slide along the wall to the vending machine; outside, the night has the color of a pond. I do not count the seconds—they would bore me—but the heartbeats. Every third, the collar pinches, reminding me of the measure. I make a wide turn beneath the pines, listen to the insect-bows; I attempt one step further, toward the avenue... the burning rises inside me. I am so hard, and I smile. It works.
The boy has learned a word—stop—and placed it in the right spot. The girl has answered with the only one that carries weight: "wait."
You are educating yourselves to love as if it were a weapon. It is curious. It is useful.
At the six-hundredth beat — more or less — the fire wanes, though. Time folds back in on itself, like a box. And I take note...
***
Yuji came back in at 11:25 p.m. He closed the door softly, leaned his back against the wood for a second and inhaled as if after a short run. "It's me," he said right away, with that gentle care he had always carried with him. He ran a hand across his chest, where the pain had already eased.
Aiko didn't ask anything. She held out the warm cup to him. "Here, drink a little. It's still good."
Yuji took a sip, then rested his forehead against hers. He kissed her.
They lay down beneath the blanket, shoulder to shoulder. Their hands found each other on their own, unhurried. The movie resumed at a low volume and the room held just enough light to keep them from stumbling.
"I'm sorry for everything," he whispered. "I missed you, and I was afraid. Now... I want to learn how to love you the right way."
Aiko nodded, her eyes tender and shining, yet steady. "I was afraid too. But I waited for you anyway. Not to weigh your absence against you, but to remind myself that one comes back if one truly wants to."
She took his hand and held it lightly. "We're fine, even with things as they are. This is the measure I want."
Yuji smiled in his crooked way, his ears flushing as they surrendered. "One evening at a time?"
"One evening at a time," she confirmed. "And when the window closes... you knock on the door, I'll open and you come back to me, just like you did tonight."
They stayed like that, forehead to forehead, until their hearts settled completely. Beyond the glass the city grew darker and darker: the echo of a distant scooter, a traffic light ticking, short footsteps on the already cold sidewalk. Before closing his eyes, Yuji set his phone face-down, a little farther away, as if pushing danger aside with a silent gesture.
"Tomorrow I'll bring you breakfast," he murmured shyly. "Even if I make it terribly."
Aiko laughed softly. "Normalcy needs that too: a bit of burnt toast. And you—trying ."
They fell asleep without hurry, their breathing in sync and their hands entwined above the blanket. From then on, everything would follow the pace they had promised each other: slow, chosen, entirely their own.
SUKUNA'S POV.
The bed still warm, the breath returned to steady. I, beneath the skin, carrying the taste of their "yes" upon me — not mine, but close enough to make me understand how much it sustains them. It does not sate me. It teaches me.
I revealed myself. Not out of hunger, but out of malice. To remind the living that they walk a tightrope stretched above my teeth.
Curiosity about me is blasphemy. And yet today I wear it like a hidden blade, ready to cut.
Morning. She moves, brushes against him lightly: a domestic gesture, harmless, useless. She rises, gathers her hair.
I surface. An ink-cut along the brat's cheekbone; a half-smile that is not his. The collar bites, but it instructs me.
Perfect.
"Brat," I hiss. The voice runs like iron over velvet. "If you want your little pup to keep breathing on your pillow... if you want your peace not to crumble at the first breath of air... then accept my deal."
She does not back away. Good. Pulling the zipper is not courage: it is instinct. And she turns me on like a damn curse.
"Speak plainly," she dares to say.
"Plainly." Each syllable pricks like a thorn.
"Once a day you summon me. Choose a word and never betray it. I take my place for ten minutes, in the light. You will have boundaries. I will have sight."
I grant her the luxury of hating me.
"It's a vow that bites: if I break it, the yoke tears and the blood sings. You've already seen it at the movies. And yes, I would have liked to go on and fuck you properly: a door is enough to make you believe in shelter."
"Another ten minutes more each day? Isn't it enough that you already show up three times a day?"
I do not answer. Ah, look at the way you are looking at me... admit it little brat, you want it too...
"I'm the one who sets the rules, though." she says. Her mouth neither smiles nor trembles.
Good: the higher the wall, the sweeter the breaking.
I lay down the blades, one by one.
"No contact. No techniques. Two meters fixed, traced by me. If I say stop, the window closes. The payment: for each window, a truth you can verify... or a lesser curse that fades within the day. Silent. Without touching me."
She looks straight at me. She does not yield, does not falter.
That is why I have not broken her: good tools are not to be discarded.
"I choose the word," she counters. "The distance too. Indoors. Never in the dead of night. And never when me and Yuji are... us."
She does not blush. The sharpest tongue is the one that never stumbles.
"Granted," I growl.
Ten minutes of light to carve invisible lines into your pitiful normality are worth the bite of the collar. And the day I choose to tighten it, I will laugh as your peace crumbles.
"Why do you want this?" she asks. Foolish—she believes good can be tallied like entries in a ledger. I keep only books of debts.
"Because I want to have fun," I snarl, stripped of masks. "And I want to see the point where you finally break, looking me in the eyes. And when it happens, it will be my name caught between your teeth."
Silence. On the nightstand the cup still steams: citrus, warmth. Normalcy clothes her skin like a blasphemy. Whole. Too whole. And the more whole you are, the harder I will laugh when the first crack opens.
"I'll talk to Yuji," she says. "And to Gojo. If it works for us, today we draw the boundaries."
"Ah...and remember: no hands on me."
I smile without lips. "One doesn't need hands to break the stride of an insect."
The collar tightens: warning and threat. I slip back into the boy's flesh; the ink fades like sin dissolving in water.
She bends over him, brushes his forehead. "See you tonight," she whispers to the timid one. Then she leaves, trailing behind her the scent of rice and order—left on my tongue like the promise of future dissections.
I remain below, where you believe me sealed. And I count. Not the minutes—trifles for humans—but the cracks. Today you will have chalk, words, circles on the floor.
I will have the first drawing.
And yes, I admit it: I want to be seen. It is not vanity. It is the hunt. The prey must know who chases it, because fear sharpens the flavor of the chase.
I do not love questions. I prefer verdicts.
Here is one: you will accept.
Because you live better when you believe you are choosing. And it is enough for me to choose when to tear that illusion from you.