Chapter Text
Yuta wipes the sweat from his forehead, certain this suffocating heat will kill him before the walls that threaten to crush him and Toge ever can.
He thought that a mission to retrieve a cursed object would’ve been simple. Oh, how wrong he was.
Precious Gojo-sensei had given them next to nothing about the artefact they were told to retrieve. All he’d said was, “It’s an easy job, just try not to get yourselves killed,” followed by a dark chuckle.
How charming.
The artefact turned out to be a knock-off prison realm, laced with compulsion effects that pull in anyone nearby. As if it was the sun, and Yuta nothing more than a helpless planet caught in orbit.
Inside is worse. Endless mirrored walls stretch with no beginning or end. Strange whispers drifted through the air, low and insistent, their words impossible to catch. No matter how hard they try, neither he nor Toge can make sense of what the voices are saying.
There isn’t anything Yuta and Toge haven’t tried. They’ve combined their energy and thrown Yuji-style blows at the walls. Yuta’s even called on Rika to break the realm. Toge first tried ordering it to open, then fired his cursed speech like bullets.
Not even a ripple crossed the mirrors.
“Is it just me, or is it getting warmer in here?” Yuta breaks the silence, watching Toge search fruitlessly for some kind of seam in the mirrors.
“Salmon,” Toge affirms, still dragging his hands over the glassy surface.
Sweat beads along Toge’s jaw, his bangs plastered to his forehead. Yuta resists the sigh that threatens to slip out as he takes in how cool his role model looks, even while on the verge of heatstroke.
“I was thinking, maybe we should gather our cursed energy and—”
The air itself cuts him off. The space tightens. Yuta gasps, stumbling as the world presses in around them.
Toge whips his head toward him, then frantically scans the realm again. “Salmon, roe.”
So it isn’t just in Yuta’s head. Toge feels it too.
At his wits’ end, Yuta mutters an apology and yanks off his jacket, leaving only the thin white shirt beneath, soaked through, nearly transparent.
“Mustard leaf,” Toge reassures, insisting he’s fine. But then he strips off his own uniform jacket too.
Against his will, Yuta’s eyes flicker down. Toge’s lean and strong, not bulky, with the kind of lithe grace only athletes carry. His role model is so effortlessly cool. Yuta has to clamp down hard on the urge to ask about his workout routine, because now is very much not the time or the place.
He forces himself back to scanning the mirrors, cursed energy coiled in his fist. The instant he strikes, the realm jolts him back so violently he nearly topples over.
The mirrors are closing in again.
“Cod rice!” Toge shouts in warning.
“Shit,” Yuta yelps as he stumbles to the ground. “We’re running out of time.”
Toge is instantly at his side, steadying him.
What takes them both by surprise is the gasp that slips out of each of them at the contact. And then—the shrinking stops.
“Am I tripping, or did it just… stop?” Yuta breaks the silence first.
“Salmon,” Toge confirms. Then, after a pause; “Rice… salmon rice?”
“You want to let go to test it?”
“Salmon.”
Their eyes lock for a desperate beat. Yuta swallows his panic and gives a stiff nod.
The moment Toge lets go, the walls snap inward, faster this time, merciless. He grabs Yuta’s hand again, their fingers weaving tight, and the crushing halts. Relief floods in, but it doesn’t make the situation less suffocating. Their proximity is… uncomfortable. Too close. Too hot. Too much.
As if Yuta isn’t already mortified, now he’s pressed against his idol, sweaty hand tangled in his.
He opens his mouth to suggest they try standing, but Toge beats him to it. “Tuna mayo,” he asserts, eyes scanning upward.
Yuta blinks. And then it hits him. The whispers have sharpened.
‘Pulse in sync… breath as one… pulse in sync… breath as one…’
“What?” Yuta scoffs, half-gasp, half-laugh. “That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”
Toge’s frown is carved deep, calculating. “Caviar…”
“So we have to… solve it? That’s it?” Yuta asks. When Toge nods, hopelessness crashes over him.
Riddles are not his strong suit. Never have been. Once again, he feels useless, a dead weight at Toge’s side.
“I’m sorry,” Yuta murmurs, turning away. “If I hadn’t been so caught up in the cursed object, you wouldn’t be stuck in here with me.”
Toge shakes his head, frown darkening. “Bonito flakes.”
“Okay, but it is,” Yuta argues. “If I hadn’t been so taken by the artefact, you wouldn’t have needed to save me.” A choked, self-deprecating laugh slips out. “You wouldn’t even be trapped here if you hadn’t come to my rescue.”
Toge’s frown softens and without a word, he leans in and pulls Yuta into a brief hug.
It’s careful, yet, the flutter it sends through Yuta’s chest is anything but careful. His cheek brushes Toge’s shoulder, his hand still locked with Toge’s, and suddenly the oppressive heat of the realm doesn’t feel quite so unbearable.
Yuta blinks hard, heart hammering. “I… thanks,” he whispers. The mirrors retreat slightly, leaving them just enough space to sit without suffocating.
Toge squeezes his hand once. “Salmon.” Just a code word, but now it carries a certain warmth to it.
Yuta’s throat tightens. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it feels like the hug itself had pacified the realm.
Yuta, who’s still wrapped up in Toge’s warm embrace, by the way (did he mention that Inumaki Toge was his hero?), shifts his head so that his chin is resting on Toge’s shoulder instead, giving him space to speak.
“Am I right in assuming that physical contact stops the realm from closing in?” Yuta asks cautiously.
“Salmon,” Toge murmurs.
Toge has said the word ‘salmon’ many times. This time, strangely enough, the word hit Yuta like a pulse. Toge’s voice was raspy, deep, vibrating through his chest. Yuta feels a flutter in his stomach he can’t explain.
“What now? Do we just sit here and hope for the best?” Yuta asks, his tone veering on frustration. His nerves were really getting the best of him, and staying wrapped up in Toge’s arms wasn’t exactly helping.
Toge’s answer comes in the form of another rare display of comfort. He slides his hands down Yuta’s damp back in slow, deliberate movements, grounding him. The warmth of Toge’s touch, combined with the closeness, sends a shiver racing through Yuta’s body.
And then, before Yuta can stop it, a choked whimper escapes from his throat as Toge’s fingers brush against a particularly sensitive area on his back.
Toge freezes immediately at the sound, his hands stilling on Yuta’s back.
Mortified, Yuta automatically scrambles back, cheeks burning. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammers, wishing he could disappear into the floor because what the fuck was that sound?
But the realm has other plans. The mirrored walls pulse violently, and the floor beneath them shifts. Yuta and Toge stumble, and before either could adjust, the walls’ pressure pushed them together once more. The motion left their limbs tangled, their bodies pressed close as they both try to regain balance.
Yuta can feel the mirror pressed right against his back now, and the feeling is too much. Not to mention, no thanks to this realm (and Gojo), he’s somewhat sitting on top of Toge.
Yuta dared not to say anything, lest some other embarrassing noise decides to make itself present.
The issue is… Toge wasn’t saying anything either, and that's somehow so much more awkward. Yuta, who was too busy staring at his hands, looks to the side, and their reflection leaves him feeling rather… stunned.
It’s actually quite scandalous.
And Toge’s staring up at him.
From the angle, he can’t really see what expression Toge has on his face. And Yuta really doesn’t want to look, okay? Because becausebecause—
He caves.
Yuta’s breath catches. Toge’s pupils are blown wide, the usual frown completely gone, and he’s gazing up at Yuta with such an intensity that sends Yuta’s heart palpitating. They’re so close, Yuta can make out the tiny specks of color in Toge’s greyish-lilac eyes.
“Pickled plums,” Toge says softly, not breaking eye contact.
Yuta blinks. Toge doesn’t really use pickled plums that often, so he’s a bit lost.
Toge inhales, then gestures behind them with his chin. “Pickled plums.”
“You know what to do?!” Yuta accidentally shouts. Toge nods, and Yuta briefly closes his eyes in relief. “What do we do?”
The next turn of events nearly send Yuta into a fit of psychosis.
Without breaking eye contact, Toge’s hands move decisively. He clasps Yuta’s thighs and, with controlled strength, pulls him fully onto his lap, leaving no space between them at all.
Yuta’s chest flutters violently as Toge wraps his legs around his waist and hoists him up, impossibly closer. Their chests are pressed flush together, and Toge’s warm breath hits Yuta’s throat.
Yuta’s too young to die. Yuta is too fucking young to die. Toge is gonna give him a damn heart attack at his ripe young age. How embarrassing, just imagine the cause of death on his tombstone saying ‘Death By Forced Proximity.’
And then, Toge slots his face within the crook of Yuta’s neck, and Yuta’s mind has gone haywire.
Toge’s plump lips are pressed against his skin and his long lashes are tickling his throat and his warm breath is sending goosebumps down his spine and the weight of his chest pressing Yuta’s is making his mouth dry and distantly he can feel something throb in his lap and he does not want to think about it, let alone anything at all.
This is dangerous.
As a way to quash his growing sense of overwhelm, Yuta gulps and whispers, “It’s hot. I feel hot.”
Toge’s hands pause for a second, then slowly, he relents just enough to begin peeling off his own shirt.
Yuta’s eyes widen, and he instinctively pulls back. “W-wait! I said it’s hot, I didn’t mean—that.” His voice falters, breaking between protest and embarrassment.
What he really wanted was some damn space, some breathing room from the closeness.
Toge’s eyes don’t waver, and there’s the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Fish flakes.”
“Shut up,” Yuta mutters, turning his face aside, desperate to ignore Toge’s teasing.
But through the mirrored reflection, he suddenly sees Toge’s hand reach for Yuta’s shirt and unbutton it. The sight makes his stomach flip, and heat rushes to his cheeks. He hadn’t realised he could look so… exposed.
His shirt is peeled away, and against his will, a soft, involuntary sound slips free.
There’s no room to breathe, let alone feel embarrassed, at this point.
Then Toge turns his head as well, and their eyes lock in the reflection.
They stare at each other for a heartbeat, the mirror capturing every subtle shift; the tilt of Toge’s head, the way Yuta’s chest heaves.
Yuta’s body is betraying him. He can’t ignore the aching hardness pressing insistently against their lap, and he can only hope Toge never brings it up once they leave this hellish realm.
“Toge, I—” Yuta starts, but his voice falters, lost somewhere between panic and something else entirely.
“Yuta,” Toge murmurs— low, soft, sultry, and Yuta’s breath hitches. This is only the second time Toge has ever said his name aloud, and the effect is obscenely arousing.
Then Toge shifts his gaze from the reflection, looking directly at Yuta. His gaze, even from his side profile, impossible to ignore. “Look at me.”
Yuta’s eyes widen at the use of the command. Heart hammering, he turns to meet Toge face to face.
‘Pulse in sync, breath as one, pulse in sync, breath as one…’
The whispering has grown insistent, morphing into a mantra.
Oh.
Understanding finally dawns upon Yuta. Pulse in sync, breath as one.
Oh.
Yuta reckons he’s going to die today.