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Kokichi swears he has been waiting for this moment his entire life.
Seventeen years and fifteen days (because he’s had ample time to count) of living every second in blinding agony, bound to the machinery that kept him alive if not well, have led up to this : functioning limbs (ones he can move and feel), skin that doesn't peel like tissue paper, the sun raining down on him like the breath of the so-called god who gave Kokichi this Heavenly Restriction in the first place.
Each time Kokichi looks down at his palms, opening and closing his fists, it gets a little more real.
Rationally he knows, now that Mahito and Suguru Geto have been defeated and Kokichi fights to catch his breath inside of Mechamaru Mode: Absolute, that the first thing he needs to do is follow through with his plan to contact Satoru Gojo. Kokichi knows he needs to go and talk to Utahime and try to explain his side of the story, of how he took the risk of cooperating with the cursed spirits in order to gain the healthy body he now possesses. He knows he will need to bear the brunt of his classmates’ anger and disappointment and confusion all the while.
But damn it, the only thing Kokichi wants to do is go and find Miwa.
If anyone will understand the choices he’s made, it would be her. So kind-hearted and eager-to-please, never failing to throw herself into the face of danger if it meant her friends and loved ones were safe. And through it all she put herself down, labeling herself useless without a technique, training a bit longer and harder every session to hopefully one day become as powerful as her classmates.
Every time he saw Miwa exhausting herself in the training grounds - always through Mechamaru’s eyes, of course - Kokichi wanted to scream. She was more than good enough! She was smart and loving and beautiful and -
And fuck , if Kokichi hadn’t done all of this in part for her…
He isn’t ready to answer questions. He isn’t ready to be subjected to scrutiny and interrogation. So Kokichi briefly glances at one of a myriad screens, where Miwa sits on the Kyoto campus beside Mechamaru, chatting contentedly with him despite his lack of response. She gets up after a beat and walks away, and Kokichi wants this to be the last time he sees her face through the puppet’s eyes. She has no idea what’s just transpired, and for that, Kokichi gives a moment of thanks.
It buys him time to get there, somehow, and find her - and tell her everything that currently weighs on his heart.
*
It’s early evening by the time Kokichi arrives in Kyoto, the scent of rain and greenery overwhelming his sensitive senses as he walks through the campus. It’s quiet, and Kokichi doesn’t detect the presence of anyone (or anything) nearby. Perhaps the other students are in their dorms, or in the training grounds; perhaps they’re not here at all. In his haste, Kokichi hadn’t bothered to check where Miwa had gone, and he now kicks himself inwardly for his impulsiveness. Please be here, please be here, he repeats in his head like a mantra, alongside a prayer that nobody else pick up on his arrival. He needs to get his thoughts together, get his emotions together, and he needs Miwa more than anyone to help him do it.
Even if it’s his first time here, he knows the campus like the back of his hand; he’s taken Mechamaru around this place countless times. His very own dorm room, complete with a bed, desk, and television, is a little down the hall from Miwa’s quarters. The building is just as mercifully quiet inside as out when Kokichi enters, tip-toeing through the corridor like his life depends on it.
Well, maybe in a way it does.
He swears he’s more nervous about knocking on her fucking door than he was to fight that bastard Mahito. Is that crazy? Yeah, it’s pretty crazy. But Kokichi thinks he’s going a little bit mad himself, anyway. His heart pounds in his throat as he finds himself outside of Miwa’s dorm room. She’s decorated the outside with a little whiteboard, complete with a carefully-calligraphed greeting of “Welcome” in pink marker and various doodles of hearts and butterflies. She’s the only one who’s bothered to personalize the door, and it makes Kokichi’s stomach jump all the same. He’s really got it bad, fuck.
She’s never seen his face before. She always talked about wanting to visit, and Kokichi always had an excuse as to why she couldn’t. It was too far, he was too sick, he was too swamped with missions. But he knows the reason why, and it was that he didn’t want her looking at him like the doctors and nurses did when he was a child: the poor, disabled, sickly boy whose only hope of being useful was as a jujutsu sorcerer. Miwa only knew him as the strong and capable Mechamaru, and Kokichi so desperately wants her to retain that image.
On that note, he raps his knuckles against the wood of her door three times and waits, swallowing back nerves and bile. What if she preferred the robot over his flesh-and-blood body? What if she kicked him out the moment she learned what he’d done? What if she didn’t even know who the hell he was? He’d never even told her his real name! Gods , Kokichi realizes he hasn’t prepared for this at all , he’s going to make a veritable fool of himself -
And then Miwa opens the door, and Kokichi thinks he’s going to pass out. Nothing on Mechamaru’s screen could ever compare to the sight of Kasumi Miwa standing right before him: blue bangs dangling in bright eyes, the confused pout of her lip, her figure still clad in her tracksuit from an afternoon of training.
“Miwa,” Kokichi blurts out when she finally opens the door all the way. “Miwa, I…” His voice dies, words catching in his throat before he can get anything out. He should have rehearsed this on the way. You’ve years to rehearse! Say something, you idiot! Before she -
Suddenly, Miwa’s eyes widen. Her complexion pales, her grip on the door wavering as she steps back. She gazes over Kokichi’s form - wearing the uniform that matches Mechamaru’s almost perfectly - and her jaw drops. “It’s you…” she breathes, covering her mouth. Miwa gives a little laugh, more a noise of shock and disbelief. “Mechamaru…?”
“Y-yeah.” Kokichi can’t find the words to introduce himself properly, so he just goes along with it, taking the chance to step forward each time Miwa steps back; until he is in her room fully, unconsciously shutting the door behind them. Kokichi can’t decide where to land his gaze: his feet, the wall, Miwa’s flushed and bewildered expression…
Miwa makes the choice for him, at last apparently mustering the courage to walk up to him and inspect the human body she’s never seen before. “I always thought…you always said you were too sick…?” she whispers, shaking her head, unable to form the whole question. Her fingers reach out, as if to touch him and verify that he is, in fact, really there. Kokichi wants nothing more than to meet her hand and grab it, bring it up to his chest or his lips, but he restrains himself, too stunned to move anyhow.
“Miwa,” Kokichi babbles, and now that she’s asked, it’s like the floodgates have opened; he can’t hope to stop himself. “Miwa, it’s…it’s complicated , I-I…nobody knows I’m here, not yet , and I - yeah, I was sick, but then…” He forces himself to say it. “...you know that cursed spirit, the one they all call Patchface? Well…he…I - he healed my body, and then - ”
“...Mechamaru?” Miwa speaking his name, the name she’s always used, breaks Kokichi from his rambling. He notices now just how close they’re standing to one another, bodies mere inches apart as she looks up at him. She licks her lips, like she’s deep in thought, and then, ever-so-slowly, Miwa slips her right index and middle finger with his. “I don’t understand, but…I promise - whatever happened, it’ll be alright. I promise.”
Her thumb brushes against his knuckles in soothing, repetitive motions, but her gestures of comfort do little to assuage Kokichi’s ever-growing guilt. “N-no, Miwa, you don’t - you don’t understand , I - I…the Exchange Event…that was… my fault, and I…”
Miwa cuts him off this time by throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace, burying her face in his scarf, and Kokichi’s mind goes entirely blank . He doesn’t know what to do or say or where to put his stupid hands, but eventually he manages to place a hesitant palm on the small of her back. “Maybe I don’t understand, or I’m just as naive as everyone says, but I’m just…” she mumbles softly, voice muffled by fabric, “...I’m just so happy you’re really here. Everything else, it’s…it doesn’t matter.”
Kokichi feels time slow to a crawl. He knows Miwa had long wanted to come visit him, wanted to grow as close to him as she was with their other classmates, but to see her now overcome with emotion at finally being able to make that wish a reality…it’s too much for Kokichi to bear. Briefly he regrets not letting her come to him sooner, sickly fragile body and all, but he’s not about to waste time with the “what-ifs” - not when he has Kasumi Miwa in his arms at last.
One last time, he tries to gather his thoughts, to explain everything to her. “Miwa -”
“Kasumi,” she corrects quietly, glancing up at him at last. She tilts her chin to rest on his chest, hair feathering across her shoulders, cheeks red and eyes glistening. Kokichi doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, doesn’t know the first thing about all of this, but…he swears he sees her eyes flicker back and forth to his lips. His face burns crimson at the realization, and it’s the only push he needs to press his lips against hers.
Fuck, it’s the softest sweetest sensation he’s ever experienced, even if he doesn’t have the faintest idea of what to do. It’s like everything save for the feeling at his lips has fizzled out, pins and needles, and all he can focus on is the taste of her lip gloss and how she freezes at first but finally kisses him back after a shaky breath. Kokichi tries her best to copy her motions, moving his mouth in tandem with hers, losing himself a little when Miwa - Kasumi - runs her fingers through his hair and lets his ponytail loose.
A faint trail of spit connects them when she draws back to catch her breath, pupils blown and her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “M-Mechamaru -”
“Kokichi.” His voice is taut, but he lets himself smirk at how his own little introduction of sorts mirrors hers. He shouldn’t be this worked up and this relaxed all at once, should be running off to find Gojo if not the higher-ups and telling them everything -
But then Kasumi peers up at him again, her hand cupping his cheek, the one Mahito, that fucker , left scarred. He bristles, still ruminating about the moment he looked at his less-than-satisfactory reflection in the metal sheen of his robots. He wants to be perfect , perfect for Kasumi, and he closes his eyes, steels himself for her reaction - “I-I’m sorry, I…I wish I looked… better …but -”
Kasumi leans back in to ghost her lips over the scar. The skin there is particularly sensitive, and Kokichi shivers, those self-degrading thoughts on standby for the time being. “You look wonderful,” she assures him, and he can’t find it in himself to doubt her.
His mind is too cloudy to stop himself when he stumbles through his next words: “So do you. Y-you look so beautiful, even more in person, a-and I…” Kokichi stops when Kasumi’s cheeks pinken, fearing he’s embarrassed her, as if they hadn’t just kissed with the intensity of years of pent-up longing.
Kasumi’s eyes well up again, but she’s smiling, a sight Kokichi never thought he’d see with his own two eyes. She’s still so, so close to him, and he can’t stare anywhere but at her face. He’s so lost in her that he barely registers when she hooks the fingers of her other hand with his and pulls him gently towards the bed in the corner of her dorm room. It hits him all at once when she sits down on the edge of the mattress - and tugs him along for the ride. Oh. A blush crawls up Kokichi’s own cheeks, flushing to full heat as Kasumi urges him to straddle her hips.
He’s wanted this so much, for so long, has had more than enough time to guiltily fantasize. In between kisses - and Kasumi’s lips are everywhere all at once, kissing every bit of Kokichi’s exposed flesh from the neck up, nibbling on his ear and trailing her teeth along his jawline - Kokichi’s stomach flip-flops. He’s never done this before (not fucking surprising, given that he’s spent his life in a stupid bathtub whenever he wasn’t bedridden), and he doesn’t want to disappoint Kasumi any further than he might already have.
She knows now he was the traitor. She knows he helped a cursed spirit for his own benefit. And yet, she still wants him in her bed?
“Mec– Kokichi.” Kasumi’s voice is a whisper at his ear. “What is it?”
He can’t bring himself to look at her. “I…I don’t deserve this. You shouldn’t be letting me do this. I just told you everything I’ve done, and you -”
Kasumi places a finger to his lips, a wordless way of shushing him. “I’m not letting you do anything,” she counters. “I-I want it, too.”
“I don’t understand why.”
“Because I care about you!” Her voice is urgent this time when she regards him, her hand finding Kokichi’s right and squeezing it firmly. He can’t help but think of a time mere hours ago where such a gesture would have caused him immeasurable pain - had his right hand even existed to begin with. “I-I have always cared about you, and - and now you’re really here, and I don’t care what you did or didn’t do, but…I-I’m not ready to just…just let you go yet…!”
When Kasumi’s arm wraps around his middle, Kokichi stills and lets her words echo in his head. I care about you. I care about you. I care about you. I’m not ready to just let you go yet. The crown of her head fits perfectly beneath his chin when she folds forward, and Kokichi breathes in her scent, the sweetness of her shampoo filling his senses. A flicker of pleasure he permits himself to experience.
No. No . He doesn’t want to think about what’s coming next. He doesn’t want to think about what he deserves . He just wants Kasumi , wants her so badly, and he shudders as he buckles inward to press himself impossibly closer to her body.
Kokichi takes a deep breath, then another. Kasumi, true to her word, doesn’t seem intent on letting him go any time soon. And fuck , he doesn’t want her to - if he could, he would stay right here, in her lap, on her bed in her room, forever. But then she tilts her head upwards and he cranes his neck forward and oh, her impossibly tender lips are on his again.
This time, he wants to make it count. He doesn’t know, after the higher-ups get to him, if he’ll have this chance again.
Kokichi won’t give himself the chance to think twice. His kisses are hungrier this time, determined to make this something Kasumi will remember. He tugs impulsively at her clothes: the zipper of her tracksuit, the waistband of her sweatpants. She takes the hint, managing a cheeky grin before she opts to be merciful and help Kokichi out; shrugging off her top and shucking off her bottoms. He does the same with his, nearly tearing off his uniform in the process. Kasumi laughs, a beautiful breathy sound, when Kokichi fumbles - nervous and awkward - with the clasp of her bra, and pretty soon, she’s helping with that too.
A flutter of self-consciousness flashes through him - he’s looking everywhere on his bare body, making sure Mahito didn’t fuck up anything else - but it’s quickly silenced by Kasumi tugging him down onto the bed till he’s looming above her. Her blue hair is splayed out on the pillows like a halo, and Kokichi wouldn’t doubt her if she told him she truly was an angel; this feels like heaven . But it’s real now, really happening - and despite the fact the blood has pooled between his legs, Kokichi’s mouth goes dry with nerves, and he can’t bring himself to move.
Kasumi’s hand is on his scarred cheek again, and she cranes her neck to rise up and kiss him softly. “It’s okay,” she croons, like she can sense Kokichi’s anxiety. “It’s okay. You can touch me.” She loops her hand around his wrist and guides it to her own sex. She’s soaked, absolutely dripping , and Kokichi shivers and groans with the realization. That was his doing. He’d made her feel good.
He isn’t about to let her down.
Kokichi bends down to nip at her collarbones, basking in Kasumi’s breathy moans as his reward. His hand doesn’t move from her sweet spot, though, even as his lips ghost down her breasts and back up to her jaw; he saturates his fingers in her slick, rubbing them up and down, carefully attuned to the sounds of Kasumi’s pleasure. Every single one of her heady whimpers encourages Kokichi further, like music to his ears, winding her up as he feels himself begin to lose control.
He has dreamed about this for so fucking long. It’s not even the sex; it’s the rapt adoration that floods his veins when he realizes Kasumi Miwa is flush against him, skin on bare skin, that he is alive and living and he wants nothing more than to stay this way forever.
Kasumi whines as she grinds her lower half on Kokichi’s hand, a wordless request to move things along. Kokichi doesn’t want to, really - he wants to savor every bit of this, to draw it out, in case he’ll never have it again. But he can’t say no to Kasumi, and his own arousal throbs hot with desire. So he withdraws his hand, awkwardly fumbles to line himself up with her entrance, and plants his palms on either side of her head as he slides in.
Oh, fuck. It’s absolutely indescribable, nothing Kokichi’s fantasies could ever match. She’s impossibly warm and soft and tight, and it’s Kasumi herself, and he wishes she wasn’t lost in the throes of pleasure with her eyes fluttered shut so he could see the way she looks at him, mirroring his affection. Kokichi dry swallows as he fights to gather his bearings: easy, careful, he doesn’t want to finish the minute he begins to move. He’s been waiting seventeen years, he can wait a little longer.
Kokichi’s rhythm is slow and deep; Kasumi wraps her legs around his waist to keep him in place, till he’s only drawing slow circles with his hips, nestled in the furthest part of her. He can barely register his own grunts and groans of euphoria, so distracted is he by hers. When she keens and squeals, he tries to hit the same spot again; when she shudders and buries her face in the crook of his neck, Kokichi holds her tightly, trying not to cry from just how fucking much he loves her.
He really, really hopes he gets to hold her like this again.
He’s close, teetering on the very edge as he fights to not fall off. And when Kokichi feels Kasumi tense and tremble in his grasp, he leans down to wrap his arms around her waist, and brings his lips up to the crook of her neck, teeth grazing the flesh there. “I love you,” he whispers, voice husky and cracking, and Kasumi can barely manage a slurred reply of “‘ love y’too” as she reaches her own climax then and there. Every single nerve ending of Kokichi’s is on fire at the sensation of her tensing and relaxing around him, and it’s all he needs to let himself go, blood going hot and cold and hot again, Kasumi still pulled tightly against his chest, her legs quaking as they remain tight round his hips -
Kokichi swears his vision whites out, stars dancing behind his clenched eyelids. He’s panting when he comes down from it, Kasumi finally gingerly untangling her calves from his body and rolling over onto her side. The air is heavy with longing and sweet sweat, and it’s like he’s run a marathon; Kokichi all but collapses beside Kasumi, an arm snaking its way across the curve of her waist to pull her close. He kisses the back of her hair, and she turns to look at him, exhausted but smiling. She doesn’t need to say anything; their eyes meet, an understanding is exchanged, and Kokichi lets his eyes flutter shut in momentary bliss.
He holds Kasumi tight, too in love and terrified to let her go just yet.
Kokichi is no fool; he knows he will have to present himself before the higher ups sooner rather than later. He will have to face his punishment, whatever that may be, no matter how severe it may be.
But for now, he is with Kasumi Miwa, nuzzled protectively against her, grateful for this moment more than ever. Whatever happens next, nothing will ever take this memory away from him.