"By the way..." Aiko broke the tension, lifting herself up with her torso, her blue eyes fixed on him. "You don't need to worry, I'll never go into details with you. But... there's one thing I can tell you."
Yuji tensed, then slowly nodded. "Tell me."
"It's just a power game, that's all." She shrugged, as if trying to lighten the mood. "Sukuna wants to see me give in, he wants to convince himself that he can control me. But he never will."
Yuji glared at her, biting his lower lip to hold back his words. "I don't like it. I don't like at all that he even tries to..." He shook his head, clenching his fists.
Aiko touched his arm, a faint smile on her lips. "Don't worry. He doesn't matter. I'm here with you, and we're together. That's the only thing that matters."
Yuji lowered his gaze, squeezing her hand. Then he nodded.
The subway slowed down in the tunnel. "And you?" Aiko asked. "How are you? You're not pretending, are you?"
Yuji thought for a moment, then tilted his head. "I feel... like when I'm about to throw a punch but would rather get a hug. But I'm okay, because you're okay. It's because you came up with the idea of the little bell, too. It's brilliant. Simple. Just like you."
"The only way I know to keep him from hurting you." Aiko replied firmly.
A little later, they emerged from the subway. About two hundred meters ahead, the karaoke sign was waiting for them in all its slightly kitschy colors. The entrance led into a narrow corridor: dark carpet, purple lights, and the mingled scent of lemon, beer and electric cables. At the reception, Yuji spoke with the woman, wearing that comically serious air of 'I'll take care of everything.' He picked up two wristbands and slipped one onto her wrist carefully, as if it were made of porcelain.
"Ready?" he asked, trying not to stare at her mouth too much.
"Always," Aiko replied—tough but sweet in the same breath.
The corridor was an aquarium of doors. They stopped in front of number 7. Yuji let out a breath, then opened it and made room for her with a gesture that was part theatrical, part awkward; Aiko went in first, him right behind. The door closed with a soft click.
Box 7 welcomed them with its soft suede couch, framed by a low table on which two microphones and a remote control rested. Next to the gigantic TV, a stack of microphones in different colors hung idly.
"AAAH! I'm taking the orange one!" Aiko exclaimed.
"I'll take blue," Yuji replied, sticking his tongue out.
They chose their songs the way you choose sweets: a light one to start, a silly one to laugh at and a duet because it was inevitable. The first started with a fast beat. Yuji, true to himself, sang off-key on purpose on the high notes, then made up for it with a goofy dance step that made Aiko laugh from deep in her belly.
"See? I told you: carefully planned embarrassments," he said, pretending to bow.
"Perfect," she replied, her eyes shining with laughter. She fixed his fringe with thumb and forefinger, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
For the second song, it was Aiko's turn to sing: a clear, steady voice, like a thread of silk under the purple lights. She looked like a princess. Yuji watched her, spellbound, a shy smile curling the corner of his mouth. "Okay, I've decided," he murmured when the score flashed on the screen. "I'm becoming the head of your fan club. Number one. Number only."
"Membership is by invitation only," she said, pressing the microphone lightly against his chest. "So you'd better earn it."
The third was the promised trashy duet. The lyrics scrolled by, but they often skipped them to make up new ones (mostly Yuji—his creativity was outrageous); they leaned closer to read from the same monitor, shoulder to shoulder, then forehead to forehead when the track slowed down. There was laughter, yes, but also a warmth rising slowly, like the volume when no one notices.
Yuji tried to keep his voice steady, but his gaze kept slipping to her lips every time she leaned toward the microphone. Aiko noticed, and placed her palm lightly on the back of his hand—a brief, deliberate touch. "All right, Itadori," she whispered on the chorus, "you're killing it."
"Me?" he blushed instantly, the color rising all the way to his ears. "I'm... I'm just keeping the rhythm."
She took his wrist and spun him halfway around, laughing; but she bumped against the couch, making the tambourine jingle. Aiko laughed even harder. The song ended, but they stayed there, close, forehead to forehead, their breathing not yet aligned with the silence.
Yuji set the microphone down next to the TV; he would have liked to pick another one, maybe in a different color, but as he did, his forearm brushed against Aiko's side. The contact shot through his body like a spark; his mind flashed back to indecent moments, to when she was on top of him, naked, her legs brushing his hips. He tried to adjust his hoodie, to shift his weight, to pretend nothing was happening—but he couldn't.
He grew hard, right there in his jeans, the tightness giving him away, his breathing suddenly out of rhythm.
"Hey," Aiko said, a subtle sweetness in her voice. "Are you okay?"
Yuji lowered his eyes for a moment, then returned them to her, still with that look of a mixture of courage and awkwardness, just like his. His cheeks were burning. "I..." he swallowed. "I want to...Now. Here." He said it softly, like a truth he no longer wanted to hold back.
She looked at him, the silence of the stall beginning to heat up. Aiko ran a thumb slowly over his jaw, then took his hand and placed it on her hip, gently guiding it. Her smile was a controlled flame.
"Okay, love..."
The music remained low, a thumping sound beneath his skin. Aiko held her gaze on him a second longer, then took his chin between two fingers and kissed the corner of his mouth, slowly. "Then let's do this," she whispered. "You sit. I'll lead."
Yuji swallowed shyly. "Okay... okay."
She turned off the base with a tap on the remote and slid it back onto the couch. Yuji sat on the couch, and she climbed onto his lap effortlessly, her knees on either side of his hips, the perfect weight, the steady rhythm. His hands searched for a place to rest; Aiko took them and placed them on her hips, holding them there. "Leave them here for now, love..." she said, a sweet, warming smile. "Leave it to me."
She kissed him for real, this time, deeper, and Yuji responded as he was: with pure passion, a hint of sweet awkwardness. Every now and then he took a breath to ask her softly, "Is this okay?"
"Very good," she murmured against his lips.
She brushed her nose against his neck, trailing down to the hem of his sweatshirt; beneath, his skin was warm. She lifted the hem just enough to reveal a bit of his abdomen and placed her palm there. Yuji tensed, then relaxed, a short sigh. "Sorry if..."
"Don't apologize," she stopped him, amused.
She began to move slowly against him, a slow wave, fabric against fabric, heat building. Yuji tightened his fingers on her hips, then released them, afraid of squeezing too hard. "You can," Aiko said, guiding him again. "Like this. Great. Hold me."
The red lights made the edges glow. Aiko took his hand and brought it to where her heart was pounding, under her light-colored shirt. "Do you feel it?"
"Yes," he said, almost in a whisper. "It's beating... fast."
"It's your fault."
She kissed his jaw, then his ear; a shiver ran down his spine. 'You're incredible,' Yuji murmured—still awkward, still real. His hand slipped beneath her shirt to cup her breast. This time he moved with more certainty, seeking and finding her rhythm. The press of him through his jeans drew a low moan from Aiko. Yuji held his breath, as if afraid of being too loud. "You can moan for me," she said with a soft laugh. "We're at karaoke."
"You're terrible," Yuji sighed and as he said it, he let himself go further, his hands finally secure on her.
Aiko unbuttoned his sweatshirt, then lifted his shirt just enough to touch his chest with her fingertips, slowly, carefully. "Do you like it?"
"Yes... a lot."
She took his lower lip between her teeth, lightly, and kissed him again until the world narrowed: skin, breath, the couch that held them. Every time he hesitated, she brought him back, with a hand, a word, a look. I lead. You follow me. Together.
Aiko moved her hands to Yuji's pants, the belt slipping out of the loops with a rustle; the zipper followed, slowly, a small noise in the red room. Aiko wasn't looking at the clothes: she was watching him, how he reacted, how his hands searched for space and then found it on her hips, where she held them.
Yuji tried to reciprocate: with uncertain fingers, he undid the buttons on her shirt, one at a time, as if counting the stars. When the last one gave way, Aiko let the fabric slip from her shoulders; the soft light traced her skin like silk. He swallowed, red all the way to his ears.
"You're..."
"Shhh." She brushed his lip with hers. "Look at me."
The T-shirts fell beside the tambourine, then other layers followed with patience: a rustle, a metallic click, the dull sound of jeans hitting the floor. They were left almost bare, warm, so close, their breaths tangling halfway between them. Aiko took Yuji's hand and placed it on her bare side, guiding it in a short, sure path; he trembled just slightly, then gave in, finding the right rhythm.
Aiko lingered on top of him for a moment longer, her warm breath against his lips, her touches slow and sensual. Then she brushed his cheek with her nose and slowly trailed down, kiss after kiss: his throat, his chest, a slow line that made him close his eyes.
In silence, she slipped between his knees and knelt on the carpet, the colored lights from the television painting her shoulders. She placed her hands on the sides of his thighs, a calm invitation to breathe with her. Then she looked up—that steady gaze that never wavered—and gave him a brief, confident smile.
"My turn now."
She kissed him again, lower down, on the tip, patiently. Yuji's body responded immediately, a whisper escaping his lips: her name, broken in half. He instinctively reached for her hair; Aiko took his wrist and guided it to her shoulder, a firm touch that said, "This is okay." She set the pace: slow, deep enough, then softer, like a song you know by heart and want to sing well. He reached her throat, then slowly rose, then back down again, deep inside her mouth.
Yuji trembled slightly, his head lolling against the backrest, his fingers clutching the sofa to keep from getting lost. "Aiko..." His voice came out lower, almost incredulous. "You—" He paused to breathe, so as not to ruin the moment with small words.
When she felt his body change, Aiko slowed and moved her kisses up to his chest, then to his mouth, bringing him back up with her. "Are you okay?" she murmured, her thumb brushing away a tremor from the corner of his lips.
"Yes," he managed, his eyes shining with a smile he couldn't contain. "I... I love you..."
"Me too, love." she replied.
He straddled her again and entered her in one stroke, all the way.
The first movement was a slow rocking, a back-and-forth that took its measure. She searched for his rhythm like a musician tuning an instrument; she took his hands from her hips and placed them on her breasts, tilting her head back. Her body registered, corrected, tried again. Yuji tilted his hips slightly upward, feeling her approach and then retreat a breath.
He didn't take the lead; he followed her, lending his strength to hers.
Every time she came down, he tensed just slightly—as if holding a breath—then released. Invisible to the eye, but tangible: a thread pulling tight, then loosening.
"Look at me," Aiko said. He looked up, eyes locked. Those blue eyes that drove him crazy. The embarrassment dissolved in that invisible line stretching between two pupils. Not many words were needed, but the few counted.
"Yes," he said when she changed her pattern and, from rocking, began making faster circles with her hips. "Yes, like that."
His breathing grew deeper. It almost surprised him—he hadn't expected that position to make him feel so involved while remaining still. His shoulders relaxed, and his hands found both courage and trust. They slid along her sides, then stopped there. He held them, realizing they were just as always—soft and slender.
Yuji felt short waves beneath his skin, a shiver rising from the base of his spine to the nape of his neck. Without realizing it, he tilted his head back slightly, his mouth parting in the need for air. She watched him and smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. When the current rose too quickly, he felt it coming like a wave swelling on the horizon. He didn't want it to pull him under too soon.
"Wait, Aiko... stop. I don't want to... too soon." he said.
She stopped immediately, remained there, close and still, hugging him. Three breaths at once. One, two, three. He opened his eyes and nodded. "Okay."
Aiko began to move faster, placing her hands on either side of his head. Her scent was closer, her voice lower:
"Now... I won't stop anymore..." she stated. He looked into her eyes, ecstatic: "If you have to cum, cum inside."
Aiko returns to a straight position, her back high, two hands on her thighs to anchor herself. The movement becomes circular, broad at first and then more intimate, like when the frame tightens. He accompanied her with micro-thrusts that didn't steal the show. When she accelerated, he slowed his own pace; when she slowed, he allowed himself a hint of extra thrust. It was a dance between two that needed no external music.
She felt him bigger and harder, everything became clearer. The pauses shortened, the voice grew ever closer. He felt the point of no return like a luminous boundary.
"Aiko... Ah... I think... I might be cumming...." he said. She, with a confidence born of listening, adjusted the rhythm to that margin. Two slower movements, one more decisive, a very brief pause. His body tensed, his breathing caught. Then he let go. He was trembling. His head fell back and then came forward, seeking her forehead. They remained in contact until his breathing returned to a regular line.