Note:

Flashbacks and thoughts in italics

I do not condone or encourage any behaviors in this story. It is simply a fictional story.

"The Art Of Water"

CHAPTER 11

secrets and shivers

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They meet at a bridge by the river that boasts hundreds of scarlet koi fish. It was also the river where the maidens of the old shrine used to plunge in to embrace the eternal afterlife. A fox mask covered the person, and Kasumi couldn't see the face behind it. Yet from that beefy, shredded build in Yukata, she makes out that the figure is masculine.

From this distance, she could see the glint of paper lanterns in the cherry blossoms beyond the other side of the bridge. For some weird reason, the gabled roofs and exteriors thatched with tree barks reminded her that she was late, way past curfew. Himawari can be a cranky woman when she wants to be, and Kasumi is screwed. Her eyes fluttered when the rain descended upon them like a broken curse from hell, some sensual rune on two people about to be doomed.

The person leans towards her, and she takes a step back. The mask falls off as he takes his hand to his head to rub his mane, revealing Gojo Satoru's blessed face. Miwa is unsure how to respond when he takes her chin between his fingers and dips his face closer. "Look at you, all dolled up." He says, his brazen stare boring into her.

She hadn't seen him since their small escape to Shirakawa. He had saved her that day, and she remembers with a grimace that she didn't even thank him for the help. She makes a mental note to thank him later. Kasumi gulps and takes a few more steps back. "What brings you here, Sensei?" She beams, her frame folding into a bow of utmost respect. The light rain soused her whole and made her feel like she wasn't separate—a part of the earth, the ripest mango in a tree, never to be plucked.

Satoru puts a finger to his chin, examining from the tip of her ears to the toes curling on her feet. Miwa found herself forgetting words under the other's overflowing gaze. Shutting her eyelids, she breaks the lock of their eyes. It wasn't the usual look he had given her; it was soft like water, and she wanted to dip her fingers in to feel its depth. Satoru never looked at her like that. This was surreal. When she looked back, the blonde was still gazing at her. All the unasked questions slipped over his face like rain on glass. Kasumi wanted to hear them pour out of his mouth, but the glass separated them. She felt as if she wouldn't be able to reach him until she could reach out and break the barriers. Just a few months ago, their paths were separate, their futures starkly different, like black and white. She couldn't touch him. He had a huge role to fill, a man needed in this world for it to breathe without choking. She couldn't touch him yet, but she felt closer to him than before, dressed as a princess in a costume that felt a bit too tight and a bit too loose on her life. Asudden, unceremoniously, he turns back and strides, making her part her lips. "Follow me."

She follows after him, bashfully wordless. One. Two. Three. They move three footsteps before Satoru's feet retraced back on the bridge, marching back. She watches as his pace quickens. She blinks, and now he is dashing, coming at her, and in his left hand, she finds, bafflingly, a katana. Her katana that she had lost! She is suddenly knocked to the ground, and he hovers over her, straddling her hips, his body warm over hers. The tip of the katana is pointed at her neck, touching. Tracing. It glides upon her skin to the beginning of her cleavage, stealing her breath. She gasps. "S—sensei?"

"Husband." A devil-may-care grin breaks out on Satoru's face as she looks away from his hooded stare, feeling her nerves clamber up. His slow chuckles turn to maniacal laughing, and the katana touches her face, forcing her to face him. "Practice calling that."

"Is this what they trained you for?" Kasumi listens to him with a creased temple, her attention snapping back to him at those words. The strange instruction he gave her a second ago is overlayed by his doubts. "You don't look like you've improved one bit. Perhaps I should train you."

That was all it took to get her dander up. If that is what Gojo Satoru thinks, she shall show him what she's got up her sleeves. He doesn't get to fling mud at her abilities after all the backbreaking work and the uphill battles she went through. Kasumi's determined gaze has him raising an eyebrow with a smirk. Satoru is a difficult opponent to be facing off in a grapple. She cannot deal with him like you'd do in a normal fistfight. She wouldn't even touch a hair on his skin if she approached it like in simple hand-to-hand combat. Nevertheless, by some twist of fate, inside Kasumi resides a curse she'd bet her bottom dollar on in a fight against him. At once, she slips out from under him like liquid.

Water. Her body breaks into the fluid that sweeps and dances away from his grasp. Satoru's eyes go wide, and for a moment, she is fooled into thinking he will fall to the ground below him, but he slows his fall in infinity, guffaws bubbling out from him again. "Hahahahaha! What would you do after I drink you up?"

Losing the grip on her curse—Kasumi turns back to her original form in a trice—the flesh, skin and bones. Her face glows like a pink sunset, and even at night, Satoru sees her blush clearly from the strings of bulbs lighting up the bridge from east to west. "What would you do, Kasumi?" He repeats his question.

"You—you cannot drink all of me!" Soon after she utters her answer, Kasumi loses her footing on the slippery wood and her kimono she was dragging around, but her hands find something else to touch: Satoru's neck. His smooth, beautiful shoulders were firm under her touch. His hands ended up on her back, pulling her upward until their faces almost met. But not quite.

Hearing her reply gets him to bite his lips, a hand flying to hers to pull her to him, the other cradling her face. Kasumi's heart hammered in her chest as the man's digits crept down and held her by the hips. "Does this feel good?"

"What?" She thought. "Yes," she answered without thinking.

Clearly, Satoru wasn't finished with the torture. "Then I guess this would feel good as well." Then he does something that makes her forget his inconvenient question. Kasumi screws her eyes shut when he catches her bottom lips between his teeth and draws them into his. The loud smooch left on her makes her whole body tingle. She shivers. It's the wind, she tells herself, not some other powerful, enigmatic force that she's finding herself incapable of handling.

Her nails dig into him as she clutches to his neck. One slip, and she would fall.

Satoru's lips parted hers, his tongue enveloping hers, making her taste heaven. Kasumi's head tipped as the blonde pressed roughly. The reality of what they were doing hit her like a train. But when Satoru drew back, she still felt fuzzy from the kiss.

Miwa places her touch on his chest, panting. "Whaah," she squeaks, almost falling back, only to be caught again. He yanked her up again, her hair tangling as it gets threaded around his fingers and pulled.

"Fallin' already?" He snorts, and his blue gaze makes her feel naked—like there isn't a secret she could bury away from their spell.

"Why?" She spells the question that fills her mind. But what she gets in return is another question.

"Are you attracted to me, Kasumi?" His baritone rings, sending a wave of heat pulsing through her.

"U-uh?"

"You had always been, weren't you?" Had she been that obvious with her ogling? She ruddies even more until there's nothing left in her to be crimson. Kasumi doesn't answer his embarrassing accusations. She wasn't ready to confess. She hadn't prepared for one. Not when she didn't expect to see him today.

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Inside the car, Itadori sags against the shotgun seat. His hands are folded, and Miwa can hear him exhale and inhale, a trickle of sweat slinking down his forehead. She looks up, hoping to glimpse the person behind the wheel, but her own reflection is all she sees on the glass. "Itadori?" she calls out.

At the sound of her voice, Itadori snaps out of whatever nightmare he is indulged in. He flashes her a tired look and goes back to sleep. Yuji told her that he had accompanied his classmates on a joint mission with the new Kyoto kids and that he hitched a ride with the most unexpected person on his way back to the meet-up place, a lil surprise for her. The same mysterious guy had asked him if he wanted to ask his friend to join them, catching him goggling at the girl walking by.

Eyes on the mirror slip to her. Just as she thinks she remembers those eyes, the man's head pops up, peering at her. She can see the face now. Iridescent lashes, angled jaw, dark lips and eye shadow. And she knows where she had seen it before. High school. Hamamatsu. Her back goes stiff, her body shrinking on the seat. "Ryusei." The man she should never see again.

Itadori snores, oblivious to all the dangers and her suffering. When Ryusei said he was an old friend and they used to attend the same school, Yuji's jaw dropped to the floor, and he asked her to elaborate on what he had said. When she denies knowing the demon, he asks her to think carefully. That sends the good ol' shivers down her spine. Yuji had jumped at the opportunity of a lift from Ryu, the man half of the country would die for? He said it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to get an autograph on his white t-shirt, which he planned to keep unwashed. Would he believe if she told him his favourite idol is a psycho he shouldn't have trusted or even had a conversation with? All she can do is wait until they reach the school to get far away from him in the car awaiting her! Today was a good day, or so she thought. Now, she feels like she's about to spill her guts out, her stomach churning.

"You're sleeping with that six-eyed bastard, aren't you?" Sukuna makes his appearance and runs his mouth at the worst time possible.

Yuji's eyes pop open, and he stammers out a string of apologies. "—It's just—Nobara saw you guys—" He shakes his head, trying to correct what he said. "I mean, it's nothing. Uhh." Panic sets in when he finds nothing more he can add to make up a better story than the real one. What's said was said. "Don't worry. This fucker has a habit of saying that to everyone." His hand goes behind his head to rub his neck, his left eye twitching.

Processing the things she just heard, she bites the inside of her mouth. "Really?" Her lips curl confusedly, a rattle in her throat.

"Yehehe." When Yuji snickers, she cannot bring herself to laugh along.

Ryusei grips the steering wheel tight and hears it all. The car makes a sharp turn, hauling a yelp out of their mouths and knocking their heads against the window.

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Author's Note:

Gahh! Gotta edit but I'm too tired right now. Gonna get some sleep. See ya tmrwww!