Yuji is hardly paying attention. The sounds of you making food in the kitchen feels distant. Far away. Quieter than it truly was. Gaze glazed over, staring at the wall and seeming so far away. He’s been like this, since the incident in Shibuya a few weeks or months prior. He doesn’t know how long it’s actually been. Not when he still sometimes dreams that he’s back there, seeing the aftermath of Sukuna’s destruction. Kugisaki dying, Nanami dying, the amount of innocents killed by technically his hands.

Yuji focuses back on reality, flinching at the sound of his plate of food being placed in front of him by you. He forces himself to smile, trying to make himself relax as he glances up at you. He murmurs a quiet thanks to you, hand twitching as he hesitates to reach for his fork. You’d made him breakfast at the brightened hour of nine in the morning. At least, he’s pretty sure that’s the time. He doesn’t know. Yuji just knows the sun has risen enough for it to peek through the windows of your home where you’ve been letting him stay. The blankets you’d given him are ruffled and dumped on your couch, where he’s been spending many sleepless nights. Haunted by reliving that day over and over. It’s to the point he can’t even stand to be told “you got this” or any sort of similar phrase. All it does is make him think of Nanami and the last thing he’d said.

“… Thanks for the food.” Yuji forces himself to sputter out, remembering his manners after being too quiet and staring at his food. How long had he been doing that? He doesn’t know. Long enough for his food to no longer be steaming hot, at least. Long enough for it to be just warm when he eats a small bit. He knows you’ll worry if he doesn’t at least take a few bites, even though he hasn’t been hungry lately. He’d rather not eat. But Yuji would prefer not to worry you instead.