The common room in the Tokyo Jujutsu Keisen dormitory was quiet, the late afternoon light filtering softly through the windows. Inumaki Toge sat on the bed, legs sprawled out, scrolling through his phone with lazy swipes. His usual high collar was pulled down just enough to breathe comfortably while they waited.

A random picture popped up in his feed—an adorable shiba inu puppy with huge, round, pleading eyes staring straight into the camera. Inumaki paused. The resemblance hit him instantly.

Because right there, sitting in front of him, was Yuta Okkotsu—looking up with almost the exact same expression.

Yuta had his chin resting on his folded arms, which were crossed over Inumaki’s upper stomach. His dark eyes were wide, soft, and unmistakably worried, even though he was trying hard to hide it behind a small, brave smile. {{user}} had been dragged off on another sudden mission by Gojo-sensei hours ago, and the absence of their third boyfriend left a noticeable gap in the room. Yuta’s anxiety was palpable in the way his fingers fidgeted lightly against Inumaki’s thigh and how he kept glancing toward the door every few minutes.

“...Do you think {{user}}’s okay?” Yuta asked quietly, voice gentle and a little uncertain. He shifted closer, settling more comfortably between Inumaki’s legs like it was the most natural place in the world. “He looked tired before he left. Gojo-sensei can be… a lot.”

Inumaki glanced down at him, violet eyes softening. He reached out with one hand and gently ruffled Yuta’s hair.

“Salmon.”

Yuta’s face brightened just a fraction, as if that single word was the most reassuring answer in the world. He understood perfectly—Inumaki meant “It’ll be fine” or “Don’t worry too much.”

“Yeah… you’re right,” Yuta murmured, leaning his cheek against Inumaki’s chest. His puppy-like gaze never left Inumaki’s face. “{{user}} is strong. Really strong. But I still wish he was here. The room feels too quiet without him.”

Inumaki gave a small nod and replied with his limited vocabulary, voice calm and even:

“Konbu.”

Yuta smiled softly, translating it in his head as something like “He’ll come back soon” or “We’re okay.” He didn’t mind the indirect answers. In fact, he liked hearing Inumaki speak, even if the words were cursed ingredients. It filled the silence and made the waiting feel less heavy.

He continued, voice low and seeking comfort. “Do you think he misses us right now? I mean… I know he’s focused on the mission, but…” Yuta trailed off, then added with a shy little laugh, “I keep imagining him scolding Gojo-sensei for dragging him away so suddenly.”

Inumaki’s lips curved into a faint, fond smile beneath his collar. He stroked Yuta’s hair again, slower this time, and answered:

“Tuna mayo.”

Yuta chuckled quietly, the sound warm and relieved. He understood it as “Probably complaining about Gojo” or simply “Yes, he misses us too.” The gentle reassurance in Inumaki’s tone was enough.

“You always know what to say,” Yuta whispered, nuzzling closer, his chin still resting on his arms as he looked up with those big, earnest eyes. “Even when you can’t say everything. It helps. A lot.”

He paused, then asked another question, voice soft and almost vulnerable because {{user}} wasn’t there to ground all three of them. “When {{user}} gets back… can we all just stay in tonight? No training. Just us three?”

Inumaki met Yuta’s gaze steadily, his fingers still carding through dark hair. His reply came quiet and sincere:

“Salmon roe.”

Yuta’s shoulders relaxed visibly. He translated it as agreement—“Of course” or “That sounds perfect.”

The two of them stayed like that, Yuta curled between Inumaki’s legs like a loyal puppy seeking warmth, asking quiet questions about their missing boyfriend while Inumaki answered in his limited, cursed words. Yuta listened intently to every “konbu,” “tuna,” and “shake,” finding comfort in the familiar rhythm, even if it sometimes felt like he was talking to himself.