Aiko closed her eyes for a second, within the hum of the classroom. On her body, right there where the hem of the apron brushed her side, she remembered the warmth of the night before, at the point of the seal on her groin. For her it had been like feeling a breath that wasn't normal air: it seemed more like a warm shadow on the skin, an attention that didn't ask permission and she—knowing it—hadn't moved. She had accepted Sukuna's breath and the thought had struck her, clear as a glass cup: "if he were to breathe again now, I would stay to feel it again."
She felt a shiver of cold run down her back, her memory warm, remembering perfectly what they had said to each other the day before. That was all. Simple and sharp. No dramatics, no embellishments. At midnight, as agreed, the seal had dissolved like ink in water. Then she thought to herself: I must stay calm. Not because the seal is his, but because the way I carry it is mine, she told herself. She took notes while the teacher explained, as if she were drawing a road.
After school, the air smelled of soy and freshly baked bread. Aiko came home a little later; her mother was at the window with the aromatic herbs, her father at the table with the newspaper open, intent on reading the latest news.
"Hi, love," said her mother. "Do you want something to eat?"
"In a bit. I'll go put away my backpack, then I'll join you."
After several quick kisses on the cheeks, Aiko headed to her room, walking down the hallway that smelled of laundry and dry moka. In her room, she set the bag on the chair and stopped in front of the mirror. She stared at herself for a long time, then just slightly shifted her belt, a tiny gesture, only to look at the spot where the skin, the night before, had breathed together with her. There was nothing left to see and yet she thought she could feel it: a ghost, a word stuck in her throat, a breath from the King of Curses. Sukuna's phrases came to mind like shallow cuts: I would make you choose; hunger in the eyes; I want you alive. She let them slip away one by one, as one does with lemon seeds in dough.
Suddently, the phone vibrated.
Yuji: Did you get home?
Aiko: Yes. You?
Yuji: They gave me homework. I said "ok" but I was thinking about you and when we'll see each other again.
Aiko: I'll come by later. Or you come to me. Let's see who finishes first. 🦸
Yuji: A race? Prize?
Aiko: Prize: you tell me out loud what you didn't write in class.
Yuji: …Okay. Red face included. 😛
Aiko: Extra points for the blush.
She went down to the kitchen, tasted a slice of bread with oil and salt, talked with her mother about the basil that was "blooming again," with her father about an article he had read halfway through. From time to time the phone drew her attention, like when a coin is tossed onto a table. Each time, Yuji's name opened a window of air in her heart.
Yuji: I was thinking about last night… About when you got on top of me and said, "let me take the lead."
Aiko: I'd add an *"again"… I'd do it all the time.
Yuji: Only with me… Always.
She leaned against the doorframe, looked at the house that carried the smell of every Sunday. She thought about the way she hadn't wanted to take off that symbol, how it had stayed under her skin more than the ink of a ballpoint pen. She thought that if the buzzing of the man with the smell of alcohol came back, she would know what to do; if Sukuna's voice returned, she would know how not to give it more space than it deserved.
The sun shifted its angle on the floor. She put in her bag the apron (clean), the notepad and the pen she used at the restaurant. The phone vibrated again.
Yuji: I'm done at six-thirty. Should I come pick you up?
Aiko: Come earlier though, please, I have something to do.
Yuji: Do I need to be there?
Aiko: Yes, I have to talk to Sukuna.
Yuji: …
Aiko: Don't worry, love. Come without worry.
A little later, Yuji arrived.
Aiko looked at the clock on the register: 4:12. She was restless and couldn't explain why. She put on the apron, tied it firmly behind her with a knot and positioned herself beyond the threshold of the kitchen, as always: she in the kitchen, he—when he arrived—nailed to the couch in the living room to respect the pact.
"I will say this," she repeated to herself inside her, as she looked into his eyes. Her voice came out low, almost a whisper trembling with intention.
4:14. She felt the cord cold under her fingers. In the living room there was still no one, only clean glasses and chairs in line. The silence made a strange sound.
4:15. Aiko pulled, just a little.
Ding.
------
SUKUNA'S POV.
I will speak.
Ding. The sound pulls me up like a hook. Are we in the dormitory? No. In your kitchen. The lights are low, the steel clean. You still on the threshold, your back straight. My vessel in the living room, foreign and useless. Perfect.
"In a hurry, brat?" I hiss, cold. "You had twenty-four hours to respect the pact. You had only a few left."
Her hunger walks under my skin. I look at her the way you look at a new katana: I want to press it with my thumb and feel if it cuts.
"So...the pact?" I continue, my voice rasping. "You must confess the thought. That indecent one, about me. Now."
You do not lower your gaze, you do not tremble. "Yesterday," you say, "at the point of the seal. I felt your breath brush my skin… And instead of moving away, I decided to stay still and feel it. I mean, I felt almost pleasure."
My smile opens on its own, sharp. Heat slides down low, fast. I take a half step—too much—and the pact with that sorcerer with white hair rips my shoulder back. I laugh under my breath. It is enough for me to see your eyes, which for a beat glide down and then back up: you saw it. You saw the tension pressing against the zipper of my pants, stubborn. I let it speak, I do not hide it.
"Do you like what you made swell, brat?"
"I like clear truths," you answer. Tough. Sweet just enough to hurt me.
"Then here is another one." I tilt my chin, predatory. "The pup is not for you. It is easy. You want me."
I move up to the edge of the pact, the leash tugging taut like a leash. "That night at the cinema, in the bathroom, you with your back to me, on top of me: did you like it when I took you from behind and you wanted not to be good? We will do it again. Whenever you want. Today. Tomorrow. Until you learn to call me without the pact."
Your eyes remain steady in mine, clear as polished knives. "I already made my choice in the past; I make the same choice now."
"You will choose me," I bite softly. Hunger laughs. "Take the good boy away, hang him on the door. You stay with the one who commands. With the one who looks at you and does not apologize. With the one who keeps you upright when everyone wants to bend you."
Time slips by, the leash sings. I feel my blood knocking against the fabric, insistent; I do not hide it. "Does it turn you on that I can't touch you and still want you," I lick the words. "Does it turn you on that I win with my voice. And I will win."
A breath falls from you. You do not step back. "You had your thought," you say softly. "And I had my answer." A short pause, like a sharp knife blow on a cutting board. "Not today."
My smile splits in two, satisfied and furious. "Tomorrow, then. Or the day after. You will come back in the dark, last row or in your kitchen—no matter. You will come back." I look down where the fabric still strains. I give you pure malice: "And you will play for me without the pact, just to hear me arrive."
The halter tugs hard: end of the minute. I leave my smile hanging where I placed it. I slip back behind the glass with your confession engraved in the right spot—there where my seal breathed. Tomorrow you will count hours. I will count heartbeats...and I will win.
***
After a few hours…
Aiko brushed her skin with a light, almost distracted gesture, right where the memory of the seal still vibrated. A thin tinkle in her head made her shake her head, as if to erase from her memory what had happened. She remained for a moment suspended in that touch, as if she wanted to imprint the sensation in her memory, and then let out a breath.
"Stop thinking about it…" she told herself.
She turned toward the softly lit hallway and, with a light step, returned to her parents. The house smelled of jasmine and coffee, of simple and familiar things that had the power to put her thoughts back in order. She greeted them with tenderness, hugging them for a long time, as if in that moment she wanted to hold together two worlds: the one that kept her rooted and the one that pushed her away.
The evening hadn't truly begun yet, but Aiko had already decided the plot of the hours that remained. In silence she had made an agreement with her two greatest forces—the love that consumed her and the hunger that never abandoned her—on how to write the rest of the day.
At 6:30 p.m. the sky had taken on a clean but dark blue. Aiko stepped out of the house with a determined stride, head held high: her long hair loose down her back to her hips, large silver hoop earrings, a tight red dress that fell to her knees and left her arms bare; over it, only a light open blazer. Low heels, her ankles gleaming with light. She was elegant and, without trying, very sexy.
Yuji was waiting for her a few meters away, near the lamppost. Tall, his hair messy as always, a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dark jeans that fit him well and held together shyness and confidence; clean sneakers. When he saw her arrive, his cheeks warmed in that unmistakable way of his: the blush rose to his ears and made his eyes shine.
"Hi," he said softly, and the smile escaped him right after, honest. He took her hands, looked at them for a moment as if to memorize them, then bent down to brush her mouth with a short, precise kiss.
"You're…" he searched for the word and lost it, laughing at himself. "You're amazing."
Aiko rested her palms on his chest, the cool fabric of the shirt under her fingers. "You too," she whispered, amused by his transparent embarrassment. "You look great in blue."
Yuji swallowed. It was clear he was trying to keep composed; it was just as clear he was only half succeeding. He slid an arm behind her back and drew her a little closer, kissing her again, this time longer, like when you remember something important. When he pulled away, his breath was short and his hands trembled just slightly.
"Aiko…" he said, his voice coming out low. "I want you. Now. Badly." He searched her eyes without looking away. "Just tell me where… let's go. Wherever you want. Because if I keep kissing you here," he added with an awkward smile, "I'll make a mess in public."
She ran a thumb slowly along his jaw, as if to calm his heartbeat and at the same time urge him on. "Okay," she said plainly, happy to see him so real. "No public. I've got a couple of ideas."
"Tell me and let's go," he answered right away, all in.
Aiko looked at the street, then back at him. "Your place is convenient and safe. Or—" she leaned closer to his ear with a half-smile "—there's a spot nearby where no one passes at this hour. But we choose now."
Yuji nodded, burning and tender. "Dorm. Right away. And then you'll tell me the other one too, for next time." He couldn't help laughing at himself: "I feel like I'm doing really well."
"You're going strong," Aiko teased him, sweetly. She slid her hand into his. "Subway or taxi?"
"Taxi. I won't risk missing a stop."
She raised a hand; the car stopped with a burst of cold air. Before getting in, Yuji stole another kiss, more determined. "I'm warning you," he murmured, red to the ears but resolute, "I have no intention of… holding back."
"Good," Aiko replied, with that spark in her eyes he already knew. "Because neither do I."
They got in. The door shut with a clean click; the city slid past in the window like a film reel. Their fingers stayed entwined, steady and warm.
They arrived. He grabbed her by the arm with a decisive step, she followed close behind. Once inside the room, still in silence, the door clicked shut behind them. Yuji turned to look at her, for half a second they stayed still, staring at each other, breathless, as if the world had taken a breath and held the air. Then Yuji moved, toward her, impetuous.
He took her by the hips and pushed her gently against the wooden door, not with violence but with urgency, like someone afraid of missing a train already on the platform and about to leave. The kiss was without hesitation: hot, hungry, his mouth seeking and finding hers, again, again. His blue shirt smelled of laundry and evening; Aiko responded to the touch, grabbed his collar and pulled him even closer to her. Yuji smiled against her lips, that brief flash before setting the rest on fire.
"I want you," he managed to say between kisses, in the low voice she loved to death. "I want you now."