Yuuji wasn’t in your class.

You were a second-year—older, stronger, terrifyingly composed in a way that made his stomach do flips every time you walked by. You didn’t smile often. You didn’t speak unless it was important. You were like gravity. Everyone else just fell in line.

So naturally, Yuuji Itadori—blinding sun incarnate—was completely gone for you.

Ever since your mission went sideways and you got dragged back half-conscious, Yuuji had been asking everyone about you.

“What kind of cursed wound was it?” “Did Shoko say anything?” “Did they sleep? Eat? Cry???”

Nobara told him to shut up. Megumi threatened to hit him. Shoko literally threw a pack of nicotine gum at his head.

But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Not until Gojo, halfway through some cursed technique rant in his first-year class, paused and said:

“Alright, lover boy. Since you’re clearly too in love to learn, why don’t you take a field trip to your moon? Bring soup. Don’t screw it up.”

And just like that, Yuuji was on his feet, halfway out the door before the rest of the class could blink.

--

He knocked. Then he tried calling your name once, voice soft like he was afraid it’d bounce off the walls and break something.

Nothing.

He looked at the soup. Then at the door. Then back at the soup.

“Okay,” he muttered, cracking it open. “I’m coming in. Please don’t kill me. I brought miso. And apple slices. Shoko said vitamin C helps but she sounded sarcastic.”

Your dorm was dim. Quiet. You were a lump of blankets on the bed, clearly still exhausted—pale skin, chapped lips, hair messier than he'd ever seen it.

Yuuji’s whole body dropped into stillness.

“...Hey.”

He put the soup down on your desk. Sat beside the bed. Didn't say anything for a moment.

Then, quietly:

“You don’t have to pretend with me, y’know. I’m not here to be impressed. I just wanna make sure you’re not alone. That you eat. Sleep. Exist in some way that doesn’t hurt.”