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Spit

The Bitter Taste of Distance

The air in Yuta’s room, once a sanctuary of soft whispers and shared breaths, felt stifling. The incense he usually lit to calm his mind had long since burned out, leaving behind a cold, ashy scent that mirrored the heavy silence sitting between them.

"It’s not just training, Yumi," Yuta said, his voice straining with a weariness that bordered on irritation. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his dark circles appearing more like bruises under the harsh fluorescent light. "Maki-san is one of the few people who can actually push me. If I don't stay sharp, people die. That’s the reality of being a sorcerer."

Yumi stood by the door, her small frame trembling. Her long, straight black hair hung like a shroud around her face, obscuring the hurt swimming in her eyes. "I know what you do, Yuta. I’m not stupid. But you spend every waking hour with her. You come back smelling like her sweat, talking about her techniques, laughing at jokes I don't understand. It’s like... when you’re with her, you’re the Special Grade Sorcerer, and when you’re with me, you’re just trying to recover from being him."

Yuta snapped. It wasn't a loud explosion, but a cold, sharp fracture. The pressure of the higher-ups, the constant threat of Kenjaku, and the lingering fatigue of a twelve-hour sparring session culminated in a sudden, jagged burst of temper.

"Maybe I need someone who understands the stakes without me having to explain them every five minutes!" he retorted, his voice rising. He stepped toward her, his cursed energy flickering involuntarily, a cold shadow that made the shadows in the room deepen. "I come here for peace, Yumi. Not for a lecture on who I spend my time with. If you’re going to be jealous of Maki, of all people, then you clearly don't trust me at all."

Yumi flinched as if he had struck her. The sheer intensity of his presence—the very thing she usually found comfort in—now felt like a crushing weight. "It’s not about trust, it’s about—"

"It’s about you being selfish," Yuta interrupted, his eyes hard. He was looming over her now, his exhaustion stripping away his usual gentleness. "I have the weight of the world on my shoulders, and you’re worried about a training partner? Grow up."

The silence that followed was different from their usual quiet. It was jagged. Yumi’s breath hitched, a small, broken sound. A single tear tracked down her cheek, followed by another. She didn't argue. She didn't scream. She simply looked at him—really looked at him—and saw a stranger wearing her boyfriend’s face.

"I see," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She turned the handle and slipped out of the room before he could say another word. The sound of the door clicking shut felt like a gavel coming down.

Yuta stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving. He waited for the anger to sustain him, but it evaporated instantly, leaving behind a hollow, sickening pit in his stomach. He reached out a hand toward the door, his fingers trembling. "Yumi?" he called out softly, but the hallway was silent.

The next morning at Jujutsu High was gray and drizzly. The dampness of the Tokyo morning seemed to seep into the very stone of the buildings.

Yuta sat on the steps of the main courtyard, his head in his hands. He hadn't slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the look of pure devastation on Yumi’s face. He felt like a monster—not the kind he fought, but the kind that hurt the only person who truly loved him for who he was, not what he could do.

"Whoa, Okkotsu-senpai, you look like you got hit by a truck. Or maybe a very angry Panda."

Yuta looked up to see Yuji Itadori standing there, a light jacket pulled over his hoodie. The younger boy was holding two cans of coffee, offering one to Yuta with a characteristic, lopsided grin.

"Thanks, Itadori-kun," Yuta muttered, taking the can. It was warm, but it did nothing to take the chill out of his bones.

Yuji sat down beside him, popping the tab on his own drink. He leaned back on his elbows, looking out at the training grounds. "So... I saw Yumi-chan earlier. Near the library."

Yuta stiffened. "Is she... how did she look?"

Yuji winced, scratching the back of his head. "To be honest? She looked like someone died. I tried to say hi, but she just gave me this tiny little nod and walked away. Usually, she’s asking me if you’ve eaten lunch or if I can make sure you don't overwork yourself. It was... weird. Did you guys have a fight?"

Yuta took a slow, shaky breath. "I was a jerk. I said things I didn't mean because I was tired. I made her cry, Itadori."

Yuji went quiet for a moment. He knew Yuta was a kind soul, perhaps the kindest person he’d met in the sorcery world, but he also knew the sheer power Yuta carried. Being on the receiving end of that person’s anger had to be terrifying.

"Well," Yuji said, standing up and patting Yuta’s shoulder. "You're a Special Grade, right? You figure out how to kill curses that can level cities. Fixing a heart shouldn't be that much harder. Just... don't let the distance get too wide, Senpai. Those gaps have a way of filling up with things that are hard to get rid of."

Yuta watched Yuji walk away, the words echoing in his mind. *Those gaps have a way of filling up.*

He spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze. He tried to focus on his studies, but the kanji blurred on the page. He skipped training with Maki, sending a short text that he wasn't feeling well. She didn't reply, likely knowing exactly what was wrong—Maki was observant like that.

He found Yumi as the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges. She was sitting on a stone bench in the small garden behind the girls' dormitory, a place where the scent of wisteria usually hung heavy. She was staring at her hands, her long black hair tied back in a messy knot, looking smaller than ever.

Yuta approached slowly, making sure his footsteps were audible so as not to startle her. He suppressed his cursed energy entirely, pulling it deep inside until he felt as mundane as a regular human. He didn't want to be a sorcerer right now. He just wanted to be Yuta.

"Yumi?"

She didn't look up, but her shoulders tensed. "What are you doing here, Yuta? Don't you have training?"

The bitterness in her voice cut deeper than any cursed tool. He stepped around the bench and knelt on the grass in front of her, forcing her to look at him.

"I’m an idiot," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m a complete and utter fool, Yumi. I was tired, and I was stressed, but that’s no excuse for how I spoke to you. I took the one person who gives me peace and I treated her like an enemy."

Yumi finally looked at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. "You told me to grow up. You told me I was selfish for wanting to spend time with my boyfriend."

"I know," Yuta whispered, reaching out tentatively to touch her knee. When she didn't pull away, he let his hand rest there. "I was wrong. Being with you isn't 'recovery' from being a sorcerer. Being with you is the only reason I want to be a sorcerer in the first place. If I don't have you to come back to, then none of this—the power, the missions, the training—it doesn't mean anything."

Yumi wiped a stray tear with the back of her hand. "I just felt so far away from you. Maki-san knows parts of you I’ll never understand. She sees you in the heat of battle. She sees the side of you that’s a legend. Sometimes I feel like I’m just the girl in the room who doesn't belong in your world."

Yuta moved from his knees to the bench, sitting beside her and pulling her into his arms. He tucked her head under his chin, breathing in the scent of her hair. It didn't smell like the library or the rain; it just smelled like *her*.

"You’re the only one who belongs in my world," Yuta said firmly. "Maki is a comrade. She’s a friend. But she doesn't know my heart. She doesn't know the way I feel when I’m falling asleep next to you. She doesn't have the part of me that I gave to you that night in my room."

He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in both hands. His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, his touch as light as a feather. "I was rough with you, and I am so, so sorry. I never want you to be afraid of me. I never want you to feel like you have to walk on eggshells."

Yumi looked up at him, her dark eyes searching his. The anger was gone, replaced by a lingering ache. "Do you really mean that? That I'm the only one?"

"Always," Yuta promised. "I’ll cut back on the extra sessions. I’ll make sure that when I’m with you, I’m fully there. No more talking about work. No more bringing the battlefield into our bed."

Yumi leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest. She let out a long, shaky sigh, the tension finally bleeding out of her frame. "I hate fighting with you. It felt like the world was ending."

"For me, it was," Yuta admitted.

They sat in the garden for a long time, watching the stars begin to poke through the darkening sky. The humidity was returning, the air growing thick and warm, but it no longer felt stifling. It felt like a blanket.

"Yuta?" Yumi whispered after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Take me back to your room. I don't want to be alone tonight."

Yuta nodded, standing up and pulling her with him. He kept his arm firmly around her waist, anchoring her to his side as they walked back toward the dormitories.

Once inside the familiar confines of his room, the atmosphere shifted. The memory of the previous night’s fight was still there, a faint ghost in the corners, but it was being pushed out by a renewed sense of devotion. Yuta closed the door and locked it, the sound final and protective.

He turned to her, and before he could say a word, Yumi was already reaching for him. She stepped into his space, her hands sliding up his chest to grip the collar of his black shirt. She looked up at him, her eyes dark and focused, the same intense heat returning to her gaze that had been there the night she made her strange request.

"Prove it," she murmured.

Yuta blinked, his heart skipping a beat. "Prove what?"

"Prove that I’m the only one who gets this part of you," she said, her voice dropping to that low, velvet hum that always made his blood fire. "The part that isn't polite. The part that isn't the 'Good Boy' everyone else sees. I want to feel that mark on me again."

She tilted her head back, her long hair cascading down her back, and parted her lips. Her vulnerability was her strength, a silent command that Yuta found impossible to resist.

The guilt he had felt all day transformed into a searing need to reclaim what they had nearly lost. He didn't hesitate this time. He reached out, his hand tangling in her hair to hold her steady, his other hand pressing firmly into the small of her back.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers. "You’re mine, Yumi. Don't ever forget that."

He gathered the moisture in his mouth, his eyes locked onto her waiting tongue. This wasn't an act of anger or a byproduct of exhaustion. This was a seal. A physical manifestation of a bond that transcended the normal boundaries of a relationship.

Slowly, he let the silver thread fall.

Yumi swallowed it with a soft, needy sound, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned into him. The intimacy of it was overwhelming, a raw, primal connection that stripped away the complexities of their lives. In this moment, there was no Jujutsu High, no Cursed Spirits, no Maki Zenin. There was only the taste of him and the heat of her.

Yuta didn't wait. He crashed his lips against hers, his kiss desperate and hungering. He tasted himself on her tongue, a loop of intimacy that made his head swim. He backed her up until her calves hit the edge of the bed, and they tumbled down together, a tangle of limbs and soft gasps.

He pulled back for a second, his breathing ragged, his eyes searching hers. "I love you," he rasped.

Yumi smiled, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, her touch healing the last of the fractures between them. "I know," she whispered. "And I love you. Even when you’re a jerk."

Yuta laughed, a soft, genuine sound that filled the room. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck, holding her as if she were the only solid thing in a world made of shadows. And for him, she was.

The silver thread of devotion was stronger than any grudge, more resilient than any fear. It was the tether that kept the strongest sorcerer in the world from drifting away into the dark, and as they lay there in the quiet of the night, Yuta knew he would do anything to keep it from ever breaking again.