Chapter Text
It's ridiculously late when Maki is awoken by a knock at her door – her first thought is that of frustration.
The only one bold enough to interrupt her sleep is Panda, and she has no qualms about verbally tearing into him. While Toge does enjoy the odd prank from time to time, he would never go this far. Only those two are potential suspects; Yuuta's due back in the morning, finally returning after a week-long mission down south.
In mere seconds, her lamp is on and she has stumbled across her room. It's with fire on her tongue that she throws open her door, but, well–
Against all of her expectations, it's Yuuta standing there, and that fire is extinguished.
Exhaustion is written across his face, etched into the bags under his eyes – somehow more pronounced than when he left. His hair is a little mussed and oily, but after how he must have rushed to arrive at this time, she isn't surprised.
Maki can't find it in herself to mind this interruption. Ever since Sukuna's defeat, she has felt the distinct gnaw of worry whenever separated from him for too long. It bites at her chest, blade-sharp, reducing her insides to half-chewed scraps. Such a feeling is impossible to ignore, driven by something with its own mind, own mouth, consuming her from the inside out.
The one she loved most is dead, almost followed by their pillar of selflessness and love, a man who she came to respect more than anyone. It was terrifying, almost losing both of the two she cared most about. Her worry has manifested itself again and again, finally settling into an ever-present need to be near him – observing the presence of life within him with her own senses.
Not that she can admit such a thing. An admission like that is much too close to a confession.
While they have been orbiting something, something which had sprouted months ago, to put her feelings into words still feels too daunting. While Maki had realised her feelings a little after the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, Yuuta seems to have taken much longer – if he truly does return her feelings. It isn't surprising, with how overloaded he had been with his introduction to jujutsu, his mission in Africa, and the fight against Sukuna. But now–
Yuuta appears to be taking her in in a way much akin to how she's memorising him – the amount she missed him is something once worrisome, now wholly unsurprising.
“Maki,” he breathes, and he's on her.
The sound of his bag hitting the floor is a little startling, yet it doesn't compare to the feel of his embrace.
An arm wraps around her waist, tugging her into him – and has he always been this tall? Has his torso always been so wide? The other makes its home a little higher, his elbow at her mid-back, so that he can thread his fingers into her loose hair. Fingertips meet her scalp, their press bordering desperate, and nudge her face into his neck. It's terribly gentle, yet his hand shakes with need.
The gnawing of her worry – that deep-rooted part of her selfishly, permanently shaped by him – vanishes.
Maki sets in her place against him, liquid to solid, unable to string together words or to react. It's unfair how perfectly she slots into him. His height leaves his chin at her temple, allowing his nose to bury into the hair at the crown of her head. Tendrils of warmth curl across it – his breath.
Content, his fingers begin to card through the roots of her hair, staying just close enough to still feel her warmth. Mortifyingly, Yuuta sighs in unbridled enjoyment. Maki's face burns. He really must be exhausted if he's this shameless, and it doesn't stop there.
The smell of him is addictive after so long, and he must feel similarly – the way Yuuta deeply inhales at her hair makes Maki want to disintegrate and melt in equal measure.
“I missed you,” he slurs, “‘m finally home.”
And what is she to say to that? Confess that she too feels that his home is here? Divulge how the school felt so much less warm without his presence? Words are not her strong point.
Before Yuuta arrived, Maki had truly believed that she was fine alone and that her friends alone were enough.
However, she and Yuuta aren't even together, but the impact he has already had on her is unmistakable. As the first to recognise her after only she had believed in herself, Yuuta had unknowingly become irreplaceable. Loving to a fault, he was the opposite of what she was taught to admire – what his very existence had shown her was in a league of its own.
Looking back, she wasn't doing as well as she thought. Too easy to anger and struggling with her lack of recognition. Having no one to practise sparring with was infuriating; her drive outmatched that of her comparatively relaxed classmates.
As much as it flusters her to think about, he is someone who Maki can't let slip through her fingers. No one else can match her the way that he does, gentle around her frayed edges and strong enough to keep up with her. There is no doubt that he will continue to push her to grow, the way she will for him.
Yuuta’s head tips forward, lips pressing to her hair. Her mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
But perhaps it's for the best. Yuuta's grip on her has been gradually loosening, his arms inching down her back as his breathing evens out. That contact must have been accidental.
Finally, Yuuta sags against her and it's her turn to wrap her arms around him. Her arms encircle him easily, pressing his jacket close to his skin – through it his frame is distinct. It's familiar, the shape memorised through the ever-present thrum of cursed energy that presses against the barrier of his skin. While his cursed energy was undeniably ominous, Maki had come to like it. Its tendency to command attention gave her brief moments of respite from all that her senses told her.
Like now – Maki allows herself a couple of seconds to enjoy the temporary quiet and the fact that he chose to surprise her.
Something about how he sought her out instead of returning to his room has her stomach twisting – fluttering. Maybe he had picked up on her concern for him, how antsy she would get while away from him for too long. After all, he had become inexplicably in tune with her feelings.
But that she can think about later, for now, Maki just wants to get back to sleep.
It would be easy to heave him over her shoulder and take him back to his room, but her bed is right there. Maki can deal with sleeping on the floor for a few more hours – the days she spent without him felt much too long.
Besides, what if they're caught? The thought of Inumaki (or worse, Panda) somehow catching them as she carries him would bring a conversation sure to give her a headache.
At least, that's what Maki tells herself. The decision is made.
As slowly as she can manage, Yuuta is lifted off of his feet and carried across her room. She has to lean back a little more than expected, courtesy of his seemingly ever-lengthening legs.
The care that Maki uses as she lays him down would be uncharacteristic, if not reserved for Yuuta alone. She can't exactly help that it's something he brings out of her, a fact that Panda has been gleefully reminding her of for months. Love – which is what this is, she knows it could be nothing else – has truly mellowed her.
Against her sheets, Yuuta looks as soft as she remembers. The urge to brush the hair out of his face, or something equally mortifying, strikes her. It's swiftly cast away, even imagining it enough to leave her feeling out of depth. Of the arts she has mastered, tender affection is not one.
Instead of continuing such thoughts, Maki settles for taking off his slippers, and then unbuttoning his jacket. Simple acts of service. The texture of the fabric is somehow relieving, something that had never occurred to her as a sensation one could miss.
It's odd to think that she would brush against it daily, yet never pay any mind to it. Then, Yuuta left and it was one of the many somethings that would plague her thoughts.
Absent-mindedly, her fingers twist in the fabric, letting herself concentrate on the weave. Old creases rise to meet her touch, and Maki wonders what formed them – what she missed in their time apart.
As she peels back the front panel, her eyes are drawn to the rise and fall of his chest. While Maki has been learning how to tune out the many sounds that her body can now pick up on, that of Yuuta's breathing she often seeks out. It's comforting, another piece of solid proof that he somehow made it back alive.
With practised gentleness, her other hand drifts across his chest. She pauses, just to let it rise into her palm, then fall, before grasping the other side of his jacket. Now, to work it off of him. The task is awkward no matter how Maki looks at it.
Maybe she could try to ease it down under his body, although it would be tedious. Or perhaps she should just leave it on him. Admittedly, that would be a lot easier. But, unfortunately for her, Maki has a soft spot for the man commandeering her bed.
She perches on the edge, inches away from a lax arm. Perhaps lifting him, and then working off the jacket would be better. It sure sounds a lot quicker than inching it down; Maki wants to go to sleep herself, preferably as soon as possible.
However, then she would have to lift him in such a way that it wouldn't wake him up. His head would need to be supported, as well as his back, and as she will only have one arm free for support, well–
There are surely easier ways of going about it, yet none quite so tempting.
As carefully as she can manage, Maki slides an arm up between the back of his jacket and his undershirt. Every inch brings her a little closer, making the amount of him she can feel impossible to ignore. Warmth flows down her arms, heat passed from him to her, and it quivers as she inhales his cologne once more. Through the thin layer of his shirt, she can feel the lean muscle of his back. The image her mind paints, one that Maki knows is accurate from her body's enhanced senses, has her wanting to abandon this entirely – almost.
Her fingers find his hair, then move a little further up to cup the back of his head. Soft locks catch on her fingers, wrapped around as if trying to keep them there. The movement brings her face wondrously, terrifyingly close to his, near enough to see the faint sunspots he had picked up while down south.
Before Yuuta left she wouldn't have even considered an action such as this, something so obviously affectionate. Her old embarrassment at her feelings hasn't quite faded yet, but it's temporarily overshadowed by the need to be near. A week felt so much longer than it should have.
Fortunately, Yuuta doesn't appear to notice, much too exhausted to wake from her cautious touch.
It takes little more than the flex of her arm to lift Yuuta’s torso. Before she can notice something stupid, like the exact purple-brown shade of his under eyes or the length of his eyelashes, she slips his jacket off of his shoulders. It falls easily down his arms, pooling on her mattress for a second, before she whisks it away.
Maki is quick to lay him back down, her arm retracting from its position supporting him. His face meets her pillow and, sleepily, he rubs his face against it. Maki stares. Betraying her, her arm tingles, a reminder of her actions. Of how he felt against her.
That's enough of that – a little distance would be good, this quickened heart rate will make it hard to sleep. With his jacket in hand, she rises. This just needs to be hung up, then she can go find some blankets, and–
A hand, gentle yet insistent, latches onto the hem of her shirt, and she stills. Heat prickles across her cheeks. Ah, he wasn't quite asleep then.
“Maki,” he murmurs, “don't.”
“Do you want this to get wrinkled or not?” Her words don't seem to register. Maki turns back to face him, only to meet reproachful eyes. In an effort to force clarity into his sleep-addled mind, his forehead furrows. It begs to be smoothed with her finger – Maki clenches his jacket with both hands. “... You'll regret it in the morning.”
Half asleep, Yuuta only blinks at her. She can almost see his brain working, trying to decipher the words through his exhaustion. Eventually, something seems to click.
His hand twists in her shirt, then tugs her closer. How delicate his hold is, she dimly notes, yet he guides her so easily. She's far from fragile, yet–
“Sleep.”
“I will. I was about to grab some blankets.” Confusion peters across his face and Maki comes to a halt, knees brushing her mattress. “I won't be far, just on the floor.”
He squints at her, before his hand drops. It takes a little for him to worm his way under her blankets, his fatigued struggle almost endearing, before they're thrown back. The expectant look he gives her resurrects her embarrassment – Maki looks away before it can fluster her any further.
“Go to sleep already, you need it.”
The rustle of sheets she hears is distinctly not that of him following her instructions. It seems that he needs to be chastised, but before she can – a warm hand encircles her wrist and pulls her down to sit. Her eyes snap back to him, to the tender expression on his face, and it becomes apparent that she is too weak to fight back.
“My bed is too small for this.” she warns.
“May I hold you?” he asks.
Maki stares. His thumb caresses the skin of her wrist, comforting, unobtrusive.
The click of her lamp's off switch takes with it the safety that sight brings. No conversation is made as she slips under her covers; no words need to be said.
There is a pointed distance between them, with Maki never one to initiate, but Yuuta understands. Not a second is wasted – his arm drapes over her, careful in its quest to pull her back against him. The sheets are already warm.
Once satisfied, he pulls the blankets over them, tucking her in as best he can in his exhausted state. His hand brushes her neck, her bicep, and then her waist, gliding past as his arm makes its home over her. The comfort it brings is leaden, immeasurable, particularly with the warmth shared between her back and his chest. While normally preferring to be up and moving, Maki thinks she could stay here for a while – a long while.
“Good night.” he murmurs, and she feels the bridge of his nose tuck into her hair. For once, Yuuta falls asleep easily, breathing evening out against her skin. It's unfairly comforting, like his cosiness is seeping into her.
Maki's thoughts should be racing, buzzing alongside her heart. But, nestled against him and still tired from her broken sleep, she's too relaxed to think any further. Nothing seems more appealing than giving in to her heavy eyelids and the peace of her quiet room.
If the morning is awkward, then so be it. Here, with the weight of his arm over her and the calm his scent brings, Maki can't bring herself to care. There is little that could convince her to leave this place she so perfectly fits into.
And – calmer than she has been in a week – sleep finds her easily.