Chapter Text
Rain is falling heavily in sheets, each drop drumming against his already pounding with headache skull. Yuuji huddles deeper into his thin jacket, teeth chattering as he hurries down the neon lit street on his way to Omote-Sando station, hoping against hope that he will make it in time for the last train for the night toward his dorm. He pulls out his phone, pressing on the power button with cold, rigid fingers. He is greeted with the same unresponsive black screen as he was the previous time he tried it, right after he'd found himself on the street, in the rain, without enough money for a cab and no way of calling anyone for help.
He lets out a muffled groan as he wipes his runny nose with the sleeve of his jacket, the motion opening his collar enough for cold water to drip down his neck and bare chest. A bone deep shiver runs through his whole body, skin prickling as he thinks wistfully of the warm, soft sweater he'd abandoned on the floor of Zenin Naoya's living room in his haste to run out of the apartment, escape as far away as possible.
The thunderous, panicked beat of his heart has mostly settled now, leaving only residual adrenaline and a choking mixture of humiliation and anger at his own stupidity.
What the hell were you thinking?
Yuuji grimaces, fist clenching in frustration as his sneakers squelch in the puddles, teeth chattering. The motion only pulls at his smarting knuckles, reminding him of the surprised sound Naoya had let out when Yuuji's fist collided with the side of his face. He hadn't seen it coming, that is for sure. A tiny part of Yuuji could even find it funny after a while, the part he'd probably feel less resentful of if he wasn't freezing his ass off and shivering like a cat dunked in an ice bucket that is.
How could you be so stupid?
He shakes his head harshly, pulling the collar of his jacket higher in a desperate attempt to stop the rainwater from running down his back. He picks up his pace, the sign for Omote-Sando station now finally visible at the end of the block. Thankfully, Naoya had not followed him out, he'd been too busy picking himself up from the floor and Yuuji had not lingered long enough to find out how long that would take.
He breathes a sigh of relief when he finally enters the station, a welcome reprieve from the merciless rain as he fumbles for his wallet, counting out enough coins for a ticket from the ticket machine. There are four minutes to his train so he allows himself a moment of self-pity and futile frustration as he rests his forehead against one of the columns lining the platform. Water is plastering his hair to his skull, running down his neck, dripping from his jacket and trousers on the floor. It forms a little puddle at his feet as he squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to breathe through his nose as flashes of the night's events play out in his mind in garish, jarring detail.
The unsettling glint of Naoya toothy smirk in the dark, enclosed space of his car as he picked Yuuji up from his dorm.
The barely contained smugness in his voice when he'd said there was a change of plans and they were not going to see the movie Yuuji was so excited about in the cinema. They were going to watch something at Naoya's place instead.
The way Yuuji had felt so small when he'd walked into the opulent, sterile space of Naoya's apartment for the very first time. The way Naoya had dimmed the lights, the sudden shift in atmosphere from casual date to something charged and uncomfortable.
The way Naoya had steered him towards the plush couch, the way his hand had lingered on Yuuji’s shoulder, a tight, possessive grasp, fingers digging in. He’d leaned in, his breath warm against Yuuji’s ear, whispering things that were probably supposed to be seductive but sounded crude and vulgar.
The feeling of Naoya’s hand, sliding under Yuuji’s sweater, the unwelcome heat of his skin against Yuuji’s as he'd pulled it over his head and discarded it on the floor. The way Yuuji’d flinched, pulling away, and the flicker of annoyance that had crossed Naoya’s face, quickly masked by a practiced smile.
The sound of his own voice, thin and wavering at first, as he’d tried to explain, to reason, to say no. The way Naoya had dismissed him with a condescending chuckle and a roll of his eyes.
The way that possessive hand had travelled to his hip, a purposeful unmistakable pressure pushing him down, pinning him against the couch as panic rose in Yuuji’s chest. The way Naoya had leaned in, his eyes dark and insistent. The sharp, hungry quality of his voice.
Just relax, darling. It'll be fine. I'll make it feel good. I promise.
It had sounded more like a threat.
It makes Yuuji's stomach turn just recalling it.
Yuuji’d shoved him away then, the surprise on Naoya's face turning into something ugly and furious. He’d lunged forward, completely unprepared for the desperate, instinctive punch that had connected with his temple, knocking him down on the floor.
Yuuji had scrambled to his feet, not wasting a second, heart pounding as he fled.
You little, slut! Where the fuck do you think you're going?!
The sound of Naoya’s stunned, betrayed growl of fury burned into his memory as he ran out of the door like the devil was chasing him.
He should have seen it coming. Fushiguro had warned him about his cousin. Told him to hold his ground and not relent when Naoya had first asked him out. Then the expensive gifts had come, the constant barrage of texts and Yuuji had slowly, tremulously folded. He'd thought there was no harm in giving the guy the benefit of the doubt. There was no harm in giving Naoya a chance. What was the worst that could happen?
How could you not see it sooner? How could you be so naïve? You idiot. You nearly got yourself ra-
He cringes before he can finish the thought, his self-flagellation cut short by the sound of the train approaching, then stopping at the platform. The train car he enters is deserted, so he collapses in the nearest seat, rests his elbows on his knees as the doors slide shut. He buries his fingers in his hair, pulls until he grimaces as shivers continue to ravage his frame.
As little as he likes to admit it he knows the reason he had overlooked all the signs, misinterpreted manipulative, self-serving intent for genuine interest and attraction. Yuuji had been needy, easily swayed by compliments and so starved for affection that he'd lost himself in the carefully laid out net of Naoya's attention. Now regret comes to gnaw at him, bitter and cold and all he wishes is he could take it all back. He wishes he could take the past month and a half back and he wishes he had blocked Zenin Naoya's number when he had received that first text.
He changes trains as if in a trance. Yuuji is so absorbed by his thoughts that he nearly misses his stop as he suddenly realizes he's reached Gokokuji station and runs out of the train car with barely a second to spare before the doors slam shut and the train takes off for it's next stop. He walks the remaining ten minutes to his dorm in a sullen but brisk pace, already imagining the scalding hot shower he is going to take, not only to warm up but to scrub the feeling of Naoya's hands off his skin. He walks past the front door, makes his way to the elevator, wet sneakers squeaking over the floor. He's so cold his hand is shaking as he presses the button impatiently.
"Itadori-kun, is that you?"
Yuuji freezes, his hand still hovering over the elevator button. He turns slowly, shoulders stiffening as he faces the dorm manager, a middle-aged woman with a stern but not unkind face. It takes him a second to muster the energy for a sheepish, apologetic smile as the woman gives him a sharp look and adjusts her glasses over her stubby nose.
"Aoki-san, good evening." He bows slightly, water dripping from his soaked clothes, creating a small puddle on the pristine floor. A puddle which Aoki-san observes with narrowed eyes. She seems equally, if not more annoyed by the mess Yuuji is creating on the floor than him breaking curfew.
"Itadori-kun, it is past curfew. You know the rules."
Yuuji straightens only to bow again, a little deeper this time.
"Yes, Aoki-san, I know. I am very sorry. I-I lost track of time." He avoids meeting her eyes, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his soaked jacket, cringing internally. Yuuji's always been a terrible liar, but that does not mean he could not try for sympathy. A shiver wracks his frame, one he deliberately exaggerates by wrapping his arms around himself as he looks at the floor, before casting Aoki-san a short pitiful look from under strands of his soaking wet hair.
"Lost track of time?" The dorm manager raises an eyebrow, her expression softening at the miserable display before her. "It is an hour past midnight, Itadori-kun, this is not acceptable. You know that curfew is in place for your safety and the safety of the other residents."
"I understand." Yuuji says quickly, his voice laced with sincerity. "It won't happen again. I promise." He bows once more, his head lowered in genuine apology. "There was... an emergency. I had to deal with a private matter." He trails off, not wanting to divulge the specifics of his encounter with Zenin Naoya.
The dorm manager observes him for a moment, her eyes scrutinizing his every movement. "An emergency?" She repeats, her voice laced with concern. "Are you alright? You look... distressed."
"I'm fine, really." Yuuji forces a smile. "Just a bit... tired. And wet. I'll go straight to my room and dry off." He shifts his weight, hoping to subtly move towards the elevator whose doors had only just slid open.
The dorm manager doesn't move, her gaze unwavering. “Itadori-kun, you know I must record this. Breaking curfew is a serious matter. Please explain, briefly, what caused you to break the rules. I am not trying to pry, but I must document the reason.”
Yuuji sighs, running a hand through his wet hair. "It's... complicated. I had to help a friend. There was an emergency...I had to help them get home. It took longer than I expected." He keeps his explanation vague, choosing his words carefully. It is technically not a lie.
The dorm manager nods slowly. "An emergency..." She repeats, writing something down on a notepad she'd pulled out of the pocket of her cardigan. "And this friend... is safe now?"
"Yes, they are." Yuuji confirms, relieved that Aoki-san does not press him for details. "Everything is... resolved."
Not a lie, either. Yuuji would rather eat his own hand than come within a mile of Zenin Naoya ever again. They're done. For good.
The dorm manager looks up, her expression softening slightly. "Alright, Itadori-kun. I will record this as a first offense. However, please remember that curfew is not to be taken lightly. If this happens again, there will be more serious consequences. Please go to your room and dry off, and please try to be more mindful of the time in the future."
"Yes, Aoki-san. Thank you for your understanding, Aoki-san." Yuuji smiles and bows, a wave of relief washing over him. He enters the elevator, letting his forehead thump against the mirror on the back wall of it as the doors slide shut, finally able to escape the scrutiny of Aoki-san's inquisitive stare.
His dorm room might be tiny and simple but in this very moment it feels like a sanctuary, a safe haven of his own. Yuuji allows himself a shaky sigh of relief when he closes the door with a soft click and leans against it for a moment, gathering his bearings.
He plugs in his dead phone in the socket by the bed before starting to strip off his soaked clothes, the cold fabric clinging uncomfortably to his skin. Yuuji turns the heating up before entering his tiny but functional bathroom, he grabs a fresh towel and is just reaching over to turn on the hot water when he notices a mark on his shoulder. Upon closer inspection in the mirror above the sink he comes to realize it is the beginnings of a bruise, a finger shaped bruise in fact and as he turns slightly to the side he finds several more to match on the back of his shoulder.
Bastard. Should've kicked him while he was on the floor for good measure.
A similar pattern is visible on his hip. He prods the progressively darkening skin with his index finger and grimaces before turning on the hot water and climbing under the shower. The sound that leaves his throat as the scalding spray hits him could only be described as a relieved whimper and for a moment he just stands there, lets the heat envelop him, steam quickly choking the small bathroom. When he eventually starts washing, his movements are urgent, hands harsh with the desire to wash off any semblance of Naoya's touch.
To think at one point he thought that this was going to be it. To think that he was going to have sex with a man for the first time and it was going to be Zenin Naoya. Talk about dodging bullets. His fingers clench into fists as he leans his head back, lets hot water cascade down his face.
It will feel right with the right person.
Kugisaki's uncharacteristically sappy words come into mind and he hums, breathes harshly through his nose. He'd let out a snort at the time, dismissed her with a wave of his hand but it is those words that had saved him tonight. Because when Naoya had touched him it had felt anything but right. It had felt oppressive and demanding and wrong and Yuuji's whole body had roiled against it, rebelled with acute, sudden revulsion. The way Naoya had reacted to him saying no only solidified Yuuji's realization. The man is a manipulative creep and he wants nothing to do with him.
By the time he shuts off the water his skin is flushed, steaming with residual heat even as he exits his tiny bathroom. He dries off quickly, before slipping into a pair of sweats and a warm long sleeved top before huddling under the covers with a sigh. It is when his head hits the pillow that he realizes how bone tired he is, utterly exhausted.
He shuts off the lights, stares wistfully at the darkness of his ceiling for a while before he feels his eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Yuuji is just about drifting to sleep when he remembers to turn his phone on and set his alarm for the morning. He had to be up early enough to visit the market and buy grandpa fruit and his favourite daifuku before visiting home prior to his afternoon classes.
As he huddles under the duvet, eyes finally sliding shut pieces of conversations with Fushiguro drift through his mind, quickly turning into a distorted jumble.
He might look nice at first. He might look like he cares but he's a snake bidding his time until he gets to sink his teeth.
Yuuji groans under the covers.
Fushiguro will never let me hear the end of it.
No matter. What is done is done. He yawns into his pillow, quietly resolving to make sure he stays away from Megumi's lecherous, sleazy cousin from now on.
The shrill, insistent whine of his alarm slices through the thick fog of sleep. Yuuji groans, a low sound he muffles against his pillow as he fumbles for his phone, fingers clumsy and uncoordinated as he swipes the snooze button. Ten more minutes. He needs just ten more minutes.
It feels like he has barely closed his eyes again when the persistent wail of his alarm pierces through the blissful silence of his room again, refusing to be ignored. With a heavy sigh Yuuji surrenders, throwing the covers back and stumbling towards the bathroom. The cold tiles under his bare feet waking him up further as he grabs his toothbrush and squeezes a dollop of toothpaste onto the bristles. He brushes mechanically, movements sluggish and automatic as he absently unlocks his phone, intending to check the time.
The screen explodes with a barrage of notifications, a chaotic combination of missed calls, DMs, texts and emails. Yuuji nearly chokes on the foamy toothpaste, a strangled gasp escaping his throat as he stares at the sheer volume of alerts. He's left his phone on DND last night, just in case Naoya tried to harass him further. He'd expected a missed call or two but this...this is-
"What the-" His eyes widen in disbelief, heart hammering against his ribs as he checks the missed calls first. None from Zenin Naoya thankfully, but then ten missed calls from Kugisaki and 3 from Fushiguro. There is a voicemail message from Fushiguro just from half an hour ago and Yuuji dials in his inbox with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
"I saw what happened. I'm coming over. Don't open the door to anyone else but me." Megumi's voice comes in sharp, clipped tone and Yuuji catches the underlying fury in every word as he feels a nervous tremor in his fingers.
"What the hell happened?!" He asks out loud within the confines of his tiny bathroom. The trembling in his fingers only intensifying as he scrolls through his Instagram, stomach twisting into a knot of dread.
When the image of his own naked body splays on the screen Yuuji nearly drops his phone. His legs feel suddenly weak as he sinks on the cold tiled floor, curling into a sitting fetal position by the sink. He skims through hundreds of comments frantically even though he knows he shouldn't.
Look at that little slut, begging for it.
Whores like that deserve to be exposed.
Bet he whines like a little bitch when stuffed-
Toothpaste is dripping from his mouth, white and foamy down his chin and onto his shirt but he barely notices. His vision blurs, tears pressing hot and angry behind his eyes as he opens his DMs. He's greeted with a multitude of explicit lewd messages and unsolicited pictures of strangers' junk. Some of the men who've messaged him look as old as his grandfather.
Be my sugar baby and you'll never need to work a day in your life.
Come to daddy sweetheart and I'll make it worth your while!
The sudden humiliation that overwhelms him feels like a physical weight, pressing down on him, crushing him,choking him. Shame burns his face as tears finally spill over, roll down his cheeks in hot lines and the phone slips from his numb fingers, landing on the floor with a dull thud.
The pictures. He'd forgotten about the pictures. How could he forget about the pictures?!
He'd said no at first. He'd never taken nude pictures of himself before. Never even thought of sending such pictures to anyone.
Just for me, darling. Just a little something to keep me warm while I'm away at Kyoto. You're so beautiful, Yuuji-kun. It'll be our little secret.
Naoya had insisted and goaded and pushed until Yuuji, in a weak moment of nervous excitement at doing something even remotely naughty for once in his young life, and a desire to please, had finally relented. He'd taken the pictures. He'd sent them and blushed furiously, pressing his thighs together during class the following morning while reading the lewd, vulgar messages Naoya had sent in response.
Now something he thought he'd shared with a single person in a moment of what he'd deluded himself was intimacy but has now turned out to be weakness is all over the internet. For everyone to see. There is nothing he can do about it.
Nothing.
A sob tears itself out of his throat, ragged and broken and he curls tighter around himself, body shaking with a mixture of futile rage and crippling shame. The image of Naoya's smug face flashes in his mind and his fingers dig into the cold tile, the sharp edges of pain grounding him as a wave of pure unadulterated anger washes over him. He wants to scream, to break something, to go back to Naoya's posh apartment in Aoyama district and to trash the place. His eyes slide to his phone lying on the floor, the screen is lit up as a constant onslaught of alerts and notifications jump over each other in an endless cycle. Yuuji presses his forehead against his knees, anger quickly simmering to crushing despair as another sob erupts from his chest.
He wants to disappear, he wants for the ground to open up and swallow him whole so he doesn't have to face his shame, live with the ridicule and humiliation of-
A loud, urgent knock sounds against the door of his room and Yuuji gasps, nearly jumps out of his skin as he raises his head, looks around blearily. He doesn't move, suddenly so disorientated he is not sure what he's supposed to do. Another knock follows, this time more urgent and he is just about to curl in tighter on himself and ignore whoever has come to harass him more than he already is when a familiar voice reaches his ears.
"It's Fushiguro. Let me in."
For the briefest of moments Yuuji does not move. Mind reeling at the sudden realization that yes, Fushiguro knows what's happened. Fushiguro has seen the pictures, the images of Yuuji naked and flushed with his legs spread wide open and his fingers-
He shakes his head harshly, a small distressed whimper leaving his lips as he pushes himself upright and exits the bathroom on shaky legs. His hand hovers over the handle of the door to his room as he hesitates, the urge to tell his best friend to just leave him alone warring with the need for solace, for the need to have just one person on his side.
"I know you're in there, Yuuji." Fushiguro's voice comes firmly through the door. "You're not alone, okay? I'm sorry for what happened. Let me in."
Yuuji swallows hard before answering.
"Just...give me a minute," he manages to croak, voice barely above a whisper.
He stumbles back into the bathroom, splashes cold water on his face, trying to wash way the tears and lingering feeling of total despair. He's greeted with the face of a stranger as he looks at his reflection, his eyes red and swollen, his face pale and drawn as he takes a deep shaky breath and returns to the door. He unlocks it and pulls it open before he can change his mind again to reveal Fushiguro standing in the hallway, brows knit together in an unreadable expression. It's the fire in his green eyes that betrays the anger simmering under the surface as his gaze sweeps over Yuuji's dishevelled appearance, the toothpaste stains on his shirt, the redness of his cheeks and swollen eyelids. He doesn't say anything, just steps into the room and closes the door behind him, his mere presence suddenly making Yuuji feel a tiny bit more grounded.
Yuuji just folds, sinking to the floor, back against the wall as he buries his face in his hands while Fushiguro remains standing, looming over him, posture rigid. The silence stretches thick and heavy and Yuuji forces himself to breathe through his nose, fight off the press of tears at the back of his throat.
"Tell me everything." Fushiguro speaks up finally, after what feels like an eternity, voice low and raspy. "Spare no detail."
Yuuji hesitates, words catching in his throat, thick with shame and humiliation until his friend sinks beside him on the floor. Fushiguro's fingers curl around his shoulder, squeeze firmly but gently and Yuuji finds himself speaking up in a small voice, words broken and fragmented.
The longer he speaks the tighter Fushiguro's jaw clenches. By the time Yuuji explains his wet and miserable journey home and waking up to his phone exploding with notifications the expression on his friend's face is so incensed Yuuji thinks he will grind his teeth to dust.
"Vile, manipulative, lecherous monster." Fushiguro grits through clenched teeth. "I should have put my fist through his skull months ago-"
"You told me what he's like. I should've listened." Yuuji mumbles as he stares at the floor between his knees, chest clenching as he tries to even out his breathing. If only he'd listened, cut off things at the very beginning he wouldn't be facing his current predicament.
Fushiguro sighs, lips parting as he is about to speak up when the little receiver for the dorm's PA system by Yuuji's door crackles to live with Aoki-san's voice.
"Itadori-kun, this is the dorm manager. Please, report to the dean's office on campus immediately. The matter is urgent."
The announcement cuts off abruptly, leaving the the room ringing with the echo of her voice.
"Shit." Fushiguro rasps and a bewildered expression crosses Yuuji's face before he catches his friend averting his eyes, a flicker of panic crossing Fushiguro's usually stoic features.
"You know what this is about?"
"I thought you've seen-"
"You do!" Yuuji stares at him intently as Fushiguro fidgets uncomfortably, still refusing to meet his eyes. "Tell me."
"Yuuji-"
"Just spit it out!"
"Naoya... he didn't just leak the pictures on social media." Fushiguro hesitates, voice dropping to a near whisper. "He uploaded them on the faculty of Medicine's official page-" Yuuji's breath hitches painfully as he moves away from the wall only to kneel on the floor before his friend. "...And their Twitter page." Fushiguro quickly adds in a mumble.
"What?" Yuuji's voice cracks, horror settling over him so harshly it feels as if an ice cold bucket's been poured over his head. "He...he did what?
"I thought you'd realized-"
"Of course I haven't!" Yuuji cries, voice suddenly shrill, rising in panic as he fists his shaky fingers in his hair. "The faculty page? Their Twitter? Everyone...everyone's seen them?"
He's hyperventilating, chest tightening as he starts fighting for air. The world spins and he is only vaguely aware of Fushiguro's fingers curling around his shoulders, gently shaking him.
"It can't be true-" Yuuji barely manages to choke out.
It is worse than he realized. This isn't just a personal humiliation. This is a deliberate act of spite, a calculated revenge, the price of rejecting Naoya's advances. He has not only exposed Yuuji's nude pictures in an act of petty pay back for being denied, he's made a public spectacle of him, a scandal so severe it could result in Yuuji's expulsion from faculty.
"No," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Oh god, please no... "
The journey to the campus' administrative building is a blur, each step a leaden weight pulling Yuuji further into his own despair as the catastrophic possibility of being expelled looms larger and larger the closer he gets to the dean's office. He feels the eyes of his fellow students, the whispers that continuously follow him through corridors and stairways even with Fushiguro hovering protectively by his side and glaring daggers at anyone crossing their path. By the time he reaches the imposing double doors of the dean's office his hands are clammy with nervous sweat, heart hammering against his ribs.
"I'll be just outside the front entrance. Will call Kugisaki. She's been messaging me nonstop for the past hour." Fushuguro says in a firm voice. "Let us know when you're done, yeah?" Yuuji just nods numbly as his friend gives him a reassuring nod before heading for the elevator.
For the briefest of moments Yuuji has the sudden urge to run after him. Follow him out of the building entirely. They can't expel him if he doesn't show up, can they? He shakes his head harshly to clear the silly notion out of his head as he steps in before the door, shaky hand hovering over the dark polished wood. With a deep breath he knocks, the sound of it weak and hesitant. For a moment nothing happens and he is just about to knock again when the curt reply echoes from inside.
"Enter."
He walks in to see dean Yaga Masamichi sitting behind his large oak desk, a grave expression on his face as he takes a sip of his tea. Yuuji hovers by the door, clasping his shaky hands together to stop their sudden tremors.
"Good Morning, Yaga-sensei." He mumbles with a small bow and the dean merely motions for him to sit in the chair opposite him. For a moment Yuuji is frozen in place, unwilling to approach until Yaga raises an eyebrow and puts his cup on the desk.
"Sit Itadori-kun. We have a delicate matter to discuss."
Yuuji sinks into the chair, nausea swirling in his stomach as he fixes his gaze on the polished surface of the desk before him.
"The faculty has received...disturbing information regarding your conduct." The dean begins in a low and measured voice. "Information that has been circulated, dare I say, quite publicly."
He slides a printout across the desk and Yuuji cringes, hangs his head even lower. He doesn't need to look. He knows what it is. His hands start shaking harder and he fists them in his sweats, fighting back the bile rising in his throat.
"Yaga-sensei, I-"
"This is unacceptable." The dean continues, his voice laced with judgemental aversion. "It is a gross violation of the standards of conduct expected of our students. Such behaviour brings dishonour to the faculty, to the image of the entire university."
"I-I can explain. If you would just-"
"Do you understand the severity of this, Itadori-kun?" Yaga continues as if Yuuji hasn't even spoken and Yuuji's mouth snaps shut. "This is a scandal. It damages the reputation of this institution. We cannot be associated with such...indecency."
Dean Yaga leans forward, his gaze piercing. "This will be discussed with the faculty officials in a formal hearing but before that I must contact your family. The matter requires their immediate attention."
Yuuji's breath hitches. Images of his sick, progressively frailer in recent months grandpa flashing before his eyes. The shock, the shame of what his grandson has done would be such a blow to Wasuke, a blow he might not recover from and Yuuji would never forgive himself if his own stupidity lead to his grandpa's heartbreak. This could kill him.
You're a good boy, Yuuji. I can always count on you.
He gets up from his chair and finally meets the dean's gaze.
"Please, Yaga-sensei, please, no. My grandfather...he's not well. This...this would destroy him." His voice cracks, tears threatening to spill. "I can explain. I can fix this. Just please, don't involve him-"
"Itadori-kun, this is not a matter you can 'fix' on your own. This is a serious offence that may result in your expulsion from the university. We have a duty to inform your next of kin."
Yuuji's desperation grows into raw, overwhelming panic. He can't let his grandfather find out about this. The shame, the disappointment... it would break him. He can't bear that. He squeezes his eyes shut harshly, mind desperately grasping for straws, frantically struggling to come up with another option.
“Please, Yaga-sensei, instead of my grandfather…could I give you another number?” Yuuji asks, his voice shaking and even the thought of it fills him with unease, with cold, wounded resentment, a dull ache throbbing within his chest. He has no other choice, though.
Better him than grandpa. I can't do that to grandpa.
He will grit his teeth and bear the shame and the ridicule as long as grandpa never finds out about the pictures.
“Who?”
“My older brother.” Yuuji says, a sudden firmness coming into his voice. He's made his mind. There is no turning back now. “We’re estranged, but he’s my closest living relative besides my grandfather.”
“Your brother?” Yaga raises an eyebrow before sliding a sheet of paper and a pen on the desk before Yuuji. “Very well. Provide the number.”
With a shaky hand Yuuji writes down the number, a number he has not dialled in years. A small voice at the back of his mind tells him that it's a mistake, that he will grow to regret it. Yet, what is one more regret in the face of many. If it means protecting his grandfather's already fragile health Yuuji would swallow his pride, he will ask for help the one person who he'd vowed never to expect anything from ever again.
"His name is Ryoumen Sukuna," Yuuji says, handing the dean the slip of paper. "He chose to take our mother's maiden name." He adds when Yaga looks at him quizzically, as if the name rings a bell with the dean but he can't quite place it.
Yuuji does not mention his brother's short temper nor his reputation, he just watches anxiously as the dean dials the number. He hopes that Sukuna will at least answer the phone, he prays that Sukuna will not makes things worse even when Yuuji's every instinct points to the opposite.
His brother picks up on the fourth ring. Yuuji nearly jumps in his chair when he hears the muffled drawl of his voice as Yaga introduces himself before telling him he needs to come into campus to discuss a delicate matter concerning his younger brother Itadori Yuuji. The reply that follows is short, clipped, obviously missing an indication of the conversation being concluded because the line disconnects suddenly and Yaga pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at it in astonishment.
So there it is then. Sukuna's just dismissed him yet again, left him to fend for himself. Even if Yuuji expected nothing less it still smarts, hurts somewhere deep within his chest. A dejected sigh leaves his throat as he leans back in his chair, mind already conjuring the horrified expression on his grandfather's face, the disappointment and shame-
"He'll be here within an hour."
Yuuji's head snaps up, lips parting in disbelief.
"What?"
"Your brother." Yaga elaborates. "He said he's on his way. Bit rude on the phone if I have to be honest. Didn't even bother to say goodbye, just hung up. Not the best way to finish a conversation-" The dean continues as he takes a sip of his tea and leans back in his chair but Yuuji is hardly listening.
Sukuna is coming to campus. Sukuna's the one the faculty is going to discuss Yuuji's potential expulsion from university with.
Yuuji swallows hard, hands trembling as he stuffs them in the pockets of his sweats in a pathetic attempt to cover his anxiety.
That's it. There is no taking it back now.
Here goes nothing.