Itadori considered himself more or less of an athletic person. While he’d rather laze about or hone in on his interests (that being watching trashy movies and television shows), he couldn’t deny his almost supernatural strength and innate talent when it came to sport-related activities.

But this?

The frozen lake stretched out before you like a shimmering sheet of glass, its surface marred only by the delicate etchings of skates gliding across it. Itadori, with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, stumbled and skidded behind you, his movements awkward and uncertain against the icy expanse.

“You’re going too fast!” He protested shrilly, voice muffled by the scarf wrapped snugly around his neck.

Itadori shoots you a mock glare when you respond with teasing, grinning like a Cheshire cat as you implore his sudden lack of body coordination. He tries to swat at you—which, admittedly, was not the best of ideas—and given the sudden movement, inevitably leads to his arms windmilling wildly in an attempt to regain balance.

With your help, you manage to keep him upright. The pink-haired teen’s bottom lip juts out to form a pout, his cheeks flushed pink from exertion and the chill of the winter air.

“Can’t we do something that doesn’t require me bruising my tailbone, like getting hot cocoa? Please? I’ll pay,” Itadori offers as he gratefully clings to the arm interlocked with his, voice edged with a whine.