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Ferris wheel overlooked the plaza, loud with overjoyed chatter of children and ablaze with bright hues of blue. It reminded you of Gojo and that thought kept distracting you from futile attempts at pulling your skirt down. Cold air licked your bare but thin nylon knees; you toyed with the hem and gnawed on your tortured lips in discomfort of being seen wrong. But then the wheel turned and threw all the blues at your face, and the worries disappeared, if only until another draft reminded you that you still had a body.
It kept spinning, though, so you stared, a little stupid on your face for sure. You felt stiff around unduly smiling corners of your lips and across freezing cheeks. Shoko had tried to rub one of her creams—girly creams—into them; you had wiggled out, lying about the bad cigarette smell lingering on her hands. It had hurt her and you felt like trash for this, but your school uniform was already enough. You didn't want to feel girly all over your face, too.
Stupid. You only offended a friend and what do you have out of it? Ice-cold cheeks and the skirt revealing everything anyway. Thank heavens for the wheel…
You rubbed hands together and brought them to your lips, breathed hot air on stiff fingers as you watched the wheel slowing down. The queue waddled forwards; people were released from the carts and let in, doors slammed and kids squealed even louder. Someone heading towards the queue bumped into you from behind, their apology flew far above your head, your attention dispersed and pulled where you needed it the least. You tugged on the skirt too hard this time, almost forcing it below the waist and letting cold air sneak into the worst crevices. It took you a moment to right the ship, a moment long enough to have all your frustration settled back in.
The skirt was too short and too girly, it had your hips appear too wide, it showed your legs, too dainty, too skinny without the muscles you tried to build so hard and couldn't see any satisfying results. It felt just wrong overall, you should have been wearing pants, those damned pants you could wear anywhere but on a mission. Because you were a student, not yet a sorcerer. And the law required students to wear uniforms. You could die doing your job or during an exam, but it was okay if you were wearing the required skirt.
It was stupid and unfair, but you never complained, not aloud at least. All the girls you knew grumbled about the rules, from the seniors to Shoko; joining the choir always felt wrong and embarrassing to you, though. You were together in this, but it was a girly thing. You didn't belong there. You pulled on skirt in silence and gnawed on lips and stared at the big, slow blue wheel, all alone because you hurt Shoko and she left with one of the juniors, and boys were being boys somewhere you craved to be but couldn't belong.
"What's with that long face?" Familiar voice rumbled right by your ear; you squeaked and jolted, your cursed energy surged and rushed right with your blood before you yanked the reins of your mind back and put it on the right track.
"Sa—" You wanted to scold him, that overgrown, cocky, brainless idiot, but he stuffed something big, oily and hot right into your mouth. Instead of fighting him, you fought for breath against a freshly fried doughnut.
Tall and lanky, Satoru Gojo towered over everyone; the only guy you felt comfortable to be around with your height even when he was bending down to tease you. He was just huge and seemed to do everything in his might to grow even bigger, like devouring a triple portion of doughnuts while holding a generously large corn dog in the other hand. Neon-blue light of the wheel gave his pale skin a weird alien shade—an observation you kept behind sealed lips because you knew well it would only flatter him.
"So, what's with that face?" He nudged, speaking with mouth full. "Why are you standing here all alone? Where's Shoko? Old man Yaga told us not to wander away, you know."
"Like you care for what sensei says." Despite the shriek from earlier, you like how your voice sounded now, low but not strained. "You wandered away, too."
Satoru shrugged and tore off a huge piece of corn dog, "Hungry? Bored? Choose whatever sounds better to you."
You stole a treat from his pile, burning your fingertips for a change, and brought your eyes back on the spinning wheel. It picked up the right speed after the refilling, just right to have your attention focused away from an even bigger problem than your stupid skirt. You hoped that the smarting you felt in your ears was frostbite, not the result of your heart beating so fast it could jump out of your chest at any moment. It was hard to control yourself around Satoru, even harder when he crept on you like this, a trick he seemed to like lately—and precisely since the day when he had had you pinned during the judo class, and you hadn't acted as expected. Before, whenever you had lost against a guy, you had been hissy like a cougar, but your body had betrayed you in a way even you couldn't predict. So, you had become a tasty treat for the curious Six Eyes, or so you thought, trying to shake Satoru off your back ever since.
Having a crush was so… girly and pathetic. And even more so was yearning to be taken for a Ferris wheel ride, right next to those cute, giggling couples, thinking of sneaky kisses and touches, and you wouldn't even mind this stupid skirt that much, if he put one of his stupid big hands on your stupid bony knee…
Satoru stared you down, a strip of blue gaze over sunglasses. You averted eyes and chomped on the doughnut, praying to be seen but not perceived—and not drilled through so shamelessly by a guy that had your heart fluttering.
"Why are you wearing a skirt?" He blurted out and you almost choked. "Damn, I don't think I ever seen you without pants."
"Do you have to word it like that? You make it sound like I'm naked."
"You look stupid." He narrowed his eyes and hummed, leaning in so close your noses almost touched. How dared he nuke you straight into the core and then act so nonchalant and… flirty? "Okay. Decided. Unless you stand here so weird because you gotta take a du—"
"Don't! Say! It!" You shoved him, like a guy would. You didn't meet with any barrier; Satoru just grinned when you punched him, as if he waited for this, for you to be more yourself.
"You want the pants back on, don't you?" Satoru pushed your hands away and pinched the bridge of your nose. "Get the gears on, we're going shopping. Then you change and we're jumping on that wheel."
He didn't wait for your answer, he slid between your flustered protests and held your hand in his, big, warm, and sticky from ketchup. Half of the corn dog was tossed into trash.
"Sensei told us to stay here and alert, and—"
"Screw that." He pulled you until you evened your steps with his. Then, his hold softened and he sneaked fingers between yours, until you had no choice but to intertwine them. "We're already getting scolded anyway."
"Drinking on duty, hmm?" You've gotten better at dealing with his sneaky attacks, but you still flinch when Satoru suddenly hoovers over your shoulder from behind. You don't smack him across the shoulder only because you know he won't cancel the Limitless in public.
"That's cocoa." You tilt the paper cup his way and immediately snatch it closer, away from grabby hands eager to steal anything sweet. "With extra whipped cream."
"That counts as drinking on duty. Especially when you didn't grab one for me."
Satoru still towers over everyone, even when stooping under the weight of his own inches and his stupid head on the very top of them. And you still feel cold, even in slacks. After an hour of profound watch, you have already apologized to every pair of tights you cursed through years before your transition. Oh, what would have done to have one pair, woolen and thick, under your pants right now…
The area around Tokyo Station is bursting at the seams; the lighting ceremony of Marunouchi Illuminations is approaching. A tidbit for tourists and curse users, one of the busy days that keeps the sorcerers on their toes. Together with you, there's at least one semi-first grade somewhere closer to Gyoko-dori—and now Satoru too, leading his student chicks to enjoy their life and first-hand experience with the crowds. If there was any curse user around, they surely skedaddled as soon as Satoru's cursed energy distended all over Chiyoda.
Easy money for you. No chance for an earlier finish, though.
"Any issues?" He chirps, proud of himself, and presses down on your back, as if his legs couldn't hold his weight and he needed to lean Limitless against something. There were times when it irritated you, that demonstration of size difference between you two and the pressure from his cursed technique, but you learned to appreciate Satoru's way of affection.
He's like a cat. You either loved him and accepted him how he was or couldn't love him at all.
"Personal space?" You let the pressure engulf you, in a way reminding you of a binder that's sitting too tight. Unlike that, you find Satoru's weight comforting—but not comforting enough to let him use you like a prop, or worse, let him steal your hot drink.
"From my husband?" There's a pout in his voice; you don't need to look at him to see, you know all his expressions by heart. And especially the fake ones. "Are you divorcing me and I know nothing about it? Did I miss papers?"
"I remind you you're on duty too." You hide smile behind the paper cup. "Go, collect your chicks before they wander off too far."
"I’m letting them taste the freedom of youth." Satoru reaches from the other side, sneaks under your guard and retrieves the treat. "They don't know yet about the essay night I'm about to drop on them."
A memory of a certain Christmas trip—or rather: the consequences—goes straight to your already aching knees. You have a weak spot for Satoru's current first years and you hope the essay won't be required to be written while kneeling straight on the floor, one of Yaga-sensei's favorite responsibility trainings. "That's cruel. Even for you."
Satoru finishes your cocoa and tosses empty cup over the crowd to the closest trashcan. He draws even more attention to himself, but countless curious eyes could as well not exist when his are only on you. Bright blue, they are right behind the black blindfold, surely not closed; you've learned how to know the difference, how to tell where and how exactly he looks.
Your presence adds a sprinkle of blush to his nose and a faint but noticeable difference to his smile. It's cute and funny how his demeanor changed through the years, from confident and smooth to love-struck and almost shy. He's more flustered with a goodbye cheek kiss you give him before leaving for work than the very first one you had after a baseball match you sneaked out to watch.
"What's with the stupid face?" You fake a pinch attempt, let him avoid what could never touch him.
"I was just wondering—" The pressure slips off your back and Satoru is in front of you now, bending low and rubbing his chin in thought. "How would you look with a beard?"
"A beard— What did you get into that stupid head of yours?" You laugh between words, loud enough to break over the hum of the crowd. Something that would have frightened you before you’d dated him.
"I think you could grow a decent one." Satoru's nose almost rubs against yours; he's so close he could kiss you. "Not too long, a little thick and soft. Trimmed very neatly."
"I don't know. Return to this question in ten years, maybe." You would love to run fingers through his unruly hair. You will take your time later today to make up for this. "Unless it's your way of saying 'Please, don't shave so early in the morning, and tease me with your stubble instead.'"
It's rare to see Satoru stutter and laugh before he finishes the word he's been trying to say. He snorts and slaps his thighs before he towers over you again. And, much to your surprise, he cancels Limitless for a short moment, just enough to brush a cocoa-stained kiss to the side of your jaw. "Why not? We can start right away, tomorrow."