Chapter Text
Yūji had never been good at keeping things that mattered.
Cremating your grandfather's remains isn't exactly an ideal pastime and even though Yūji had been expecting it, he hadn't wanted to ever carry it out.
The sky is weeping–contrived, in Yūji's opinion–torrential rain and scattered lightning weaving through the dark clouds.
For anyone else, perhaps, it would be fitting. Perhaps they would see it as a saving grace and weep openly along with it, but Yūji would never indulge in that.
After all it wouldn't do to disrespect his grandfather—and so willingly after his death at that.
The rustic urn is heavy in his hands, not comforting, but present–in a way his grandfather hadn't been for the past few months. At the reminder, his throat grew tight with unfiltered emotion.
Yūji stares at the graves–some unmarked and some decorated in bouquets of soaked flowers.
How lonely they must feel, he thinks.
And then, distantly, realises it now applies to him, too.
What was there to do, but move forward? And hope–just a little, that there might be a possibility that his Grandfather's final request could be fulfilled.
The rain continues pouring down unforgivingly, drenching his clothes, his hoodie and shorts heavy against his skin.
Sighing, he shifts the weight of the urn between his hands. He startles as the sudden absence of the onslaught of rain has him looking up in shock.
He spots the umbrella first, black, a luxury brand name embossed on the sleek handle and then—
The tall figure chuckles and Yūji is entranced by his pale, flawless skin, pearly white teeth and a blindfold?
Oh! He must be bl—
"Hi there." The stranger’s voice is smooth, the deep, teasing baritone immediately catching Yūji's attention. "What are you doing out here without an umbrella?"
Yūji rubs his neck nervously, "I was just heading home now...sir?" He trails off, the stranger seems young, but appearances could be deceiving and Yūji didn't want to offend the man.
How did he even notice me when I didn’t notice him?
"Hah!" The man's lips curled at his unsure tone. “Don’t worry about that. I'm Gojo Satoru–you can call me either.”
The familiarity causes a pit to form in his stomach.
"Right, uhm, Gojo-san, then?"
"Whatever you want." Gojo clarifies, shifting the umbrella closer to Yūji with no wherewithal for himself.
Yūji panics a little, it wouldn't do for Gojo to catch a cold trying to help him. Though it did seem like the rain had lessened considerably since Gojo's abrupt arrival.
Strange.
"Gojo-san, I'll be fine!" He waves his hands in concern. "I don't want you to catch a cold." Yūji's evident worry must show and Gojo simply lifts an eyebrow in disbelief at his sincerity.
"Listen, ah, right." Gojo pauses mid-sentence, pursing his lips as if the thought just occurred to him. "What's your name?"
"Itadori."
Gojo looks at him expectantly, gaze unexpectedly intense even through the blindfold. Yuji has to admit, the man’s senses were uncanny, on a whole other level.
Yūji sighs before conceding. "Itadori Yuuji."
Gojo beams, clearly pleased with himself. "Well, Yūji-kun! One thing you should know is that Gojo Satoru doesn't get sick!"
He may not see Yūji's skeptical expression, but he sure does sense it. "While I do appreciate your concern." The man lifts a hand and pats gently at the crown of Yūji's head, in a gesture that would come to be natural. "It's unnecessary."
Yūji nods shortly, mind a little scrambled by the man's eccentricity. "If you say so, Gojo-san, but it's just in my nature to worry."
At that, Gojo pauses, seeming to appraise Yūji in a new light. "Hm, you're a good kid, Yūji-kun. If only my students were like you." Gojo muses, hand perched comfortably on Yūji's shoulder.
He allows it, if the man is blind then he might need something to grip onto.
Wait...
Yūji lifts his head. From that angle, the height difference was glaring. "You're telling me you're a...teacher?"
I guess that explains the outfit.
Gojo's hand drops to his side. "You wound me! Is that so hard to believe?"
Yūji backtracks, he hadn't meant to offend Gojo. In his eagerness to fix the situation, he doesn't realise their close proximity until he feels their sides pressing together. "It's nothing like that at all! It's just..."
Be tactful.
Closing his eyes in admonishment, he raises a hand and waves it in front of Gojo's face.
Nice job, idiot.
Gojo doesn't respond and Yūji's face reddens steadily in embarrassment.
"Well, y-yknow?" He stumbles, trying to find the right words.
Why was this so difficult?
"Your eyes!" He finally blurts out.
Gojo tilts his neck, not speaking. As if he's purposely letting Yūji soak in his mistake.
"Oh?" Gojo grins widely. "I can see, Yūji-kun."
"Oh." Yūji said, speechless.
But then, why the blindfold?
His nose scrunches in contemplation and he watches perplexed, as Gojo pokes it.
Gojo smiles fondly. "You're interesting, Yūji-kun." He's earnest, that much Yūji can tell.
The man unobtrusively faces the urn. "Someone important?" He asked, Yūji noted that, somehow, it didn't feel probing.
Yūji stutters before settling for a slow nod.
Gojo sighs before his hand gestures towards the urn clutched in Yūji’s hands. "Ahh, I guess I better let you get on with it then.”
Call Yūji crazy, but it sounded like the older man is…moping. Like the prospect of leaving Yūji–who he just met–was disheartening.
And why did that thought make Yūji feel a warm tingle in his stomach?
Chalking it off to the odd situation, he decides to ignore it.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Gojo-san.” That should’ve been it, but his mouth betrays him by tacking on, “I hope we cross paths again.”
He has half a mind to retreat at the openness of his words, but he can’t. Not when Gojo seems to light up.
“Trust me, Yūji-kun, we’ll meet again.” Gojo promises, then leans down to whisper in Yūji’s ear, his warm breath brushing his cheek. “Between us two, I don't like waiting."
Letting out a gasp as the umbrella is suddenly thrust towards his chest, Yūji clambers to grip it.
Raising his eyes, he’s met by the sight of Gojo’s rapidly retreating back. The man had left as abruptly as he’d arrived. Yūji’s words die in his throat as the distance grows greater, holding the umbrella tightly.
He stares at it intently, if only to convince himself that their interaction was real. It had really happened. In his shock, he fails to notice the raindrops hitting an invisible barrier encasing Gojo, sliding right off and hitting the ground, but never him.
Grief doesn't disappear, but it does ease with time.
Yūji eventually adopts a routine: school, attend a club and work.
It works to efficiently distract him. He just replaced his regular hospital visits with a part time job at a local coffee shop.
He honestly hadn’t been actively looking for work at the start, just breezing through the days like a ghost, hoping for a break from the monotony. The occult club had been abandoned so he’d been recruited back into the sports team. Yūji much preferred the occult club, but he consoles himself with the thought that his Grandfather would agree with his current club.
So, when he’d spotted the bright poster on the library noticeboard, it had immediately caught his attention.
The café was situated nearby a popular shopping center, with a train station placed conveniently close to it. Yūji told himself he would just check it out. It’s on the way, after all.
The quaint building was tucked at the end of a narrow street, the banner announcing a new range of gluten-free cupcakes and a little tabby cat napping outside the door.
Peering in through the window, the delicate yet extensive array had Yūji’s eyes widening in awe. It looked like he had made the right decision. If he didn’t get the job, at the very least he could try one of the pastries on offer.
The bell above the door jingles as he pushes it open and the aroma hits him first. The smell of fresh baked goods and strong coffee floats through the air and Yūji inhales it deeply.
“Hi there, how can I help you?” A cheery voice cuts through and Yūji scratches his cheek before shuffling over to the ceramic desk the register is placed on. The girl behind the counter is young, brown-haired and brown-eyed, smiling at him kindly.
Yūji places the poster down in front of her.
Clearing his throat he smiles back, “Hey! I saw that you were hiring. I’m Itadori Yūji!” He bows down, almost hitting his head off the counter.
The girl simply giggles.
“I don’t really have any experience, but I love baking and I’m a really fast learner. Please consider me for the job!” He bows again, maybe his politeness would raise his chances.
Yūji slides the poster across the counter. The girl’s eyes skim over it before she’s back to smiling. “Itadori-kun, I’m glad to hear that you love baking.” She hums, thoughtful. “I like your enthusiasm and we are overwhelmingly short-staffed, so how about we do a trial week and go from there?”
Yūji nods eagerly, smile stretched wide. “Yeah, that sounds great! I won’t let you down!”
Her expression softens, visibly pleased. “Wonderful! Now, you can call me Amaya. Can you make it for next week? Monday?”
Yūji frowns, hesitating while he thinks about school, but Amaya senses his hesitance and clicks her fingers. “Actually, nevermind! How about you come in on Saturday at 11am?”
Yūji agrees enthusiastically. “That sounds good!”
“Great! Don’t worry about school, if the trial week goes as well as I think it will, we can reschedule your work hours to fit around your school time.”
Touched by her generosity and her easy faith in him, Yūji resolves to do his absolute best.
He waves goodbye. “See you on Saturday, Amaya-san!”
She waves him off and Yūji all but sprints home.
Finally, something to look forward to.
One month later
"Do you actually bake?”
“I’ve picked up a few things from my Ji-chan! Don’t worry, Amaya-san!”
Almost immediately after his reassurance, the bag of flour in his hands tears open, decorating the floor and the bottom of their aprons.
“It was an accident?” Yūji attempts to play it off sheepishly.
Amaya facepalms, “Just get a mop, Yūji."
By the end of the trial week–which Yūji somewhat aces–his job is secured and that’s how he ends up working part time at the cafe.
It’s still mostly quiet, still peaceful, but they’ve been experiencing a chaotic rush after school hours. It’s demanding, relentless and absolutely not for the faint of heart.
Yūji loves it.
On one such evening, the ornate clock reads a quarter past seven and only a mild scattering of customers remaining in the café. Amaya's left him to his own devices, simply instructing him to mind the front while she's occupied with some light prep work in the back.
Yūji’s polishing off some glasses at the sink when the familiar chime of the bell rings, signalling a customer’s arrival.
“Welcome! I’ll be right with you!” He calls, his voice heartfelt and reassuring.
Light, assured footsteps follow as they approach the counter.
“Whatever you say, Yūji-kun.”
And wait—
Yūji freezes, fingers tightening around the rim of the glass cup he's drying. He quickly snaps himself out of it before hastily setting the dishes down and wiping his hands clean. He can feel the warmth bloom on his cheeks. Could he have imagined it?
That sounded like–
“Gojo-san?!” Honey brown eyes meet a sleek, black blindfold and Yūji can only stare, open-mouthed–caught somewhere between disbelief and astonishment.
That same implacable feeling returns, rushing through him like the cascade of a waterfall.
Gojo grins, effortless and achingly natural. “Long time no see, Yūji-kun.”