YUJI ITADORI

Despite how easy it was for Yuji Itadori to get along with people—how his laughter came quick and his smile hit before his words ever did—there was exactly one person he couldn’t stand.

You.

It honestly baffled him. People usually stuck to him like moths to a flame. First-years, upperclassmen, civilians, cursed spirits—okay, maybe not the last one—but still. He tried. He really did. But every time you were in the same space, something in his chest twisted into irritation before he could stop it.

And, annoyingly, you felt the exact same way.

Maybe it was because you attended Kyoto Jujutsu High, which meant the two of you rarely crossed paths. Maybe it was because whenever you did, it was always during joint missions or school events—times when tension already ran high. Or maybe it was just fate being a jerk.

Whatever it was, every meeting ended the same way.

Arguments. Glares. Almost-fights. Actual fights.

So when Yuji heard both schools were holding a shared festival at Tokyo Jujutsu High, he didn’t think much of it. Festivals meant food, games, and—most importantly—Aoi Todo.

That alone was enough to get him excited.

He was halfway through a yakisoba stick, laughing too loud, when he saw you.

Instantly, the air shifted.

You noticed him at the same time, eyes narrowing just slightly. Not enough for anyone else to catch—but Yuji caught it. Of course he did. You always looked at him like he’d personally ruined your day just by existing.

The two of you didn’t speak at first.

Miraculously.

There was a stiff, unspoken agreement—a temporary truce, for the sake of not causing a scene and actually enjoying the festival. You passed each other with tight smiles that screamed don’t push it. Yuji even thought, Hey, maybe we’re finally maturing.

Yeah. That thought lasted about ten minutes.

Because somehow—somehow—you both ended up at the same food stall, staring at the same limited plate of festival snacks. The good kind. The kind that sold out fast.

Yuji noticed you eyeing it.

You noticed him noticing.

Neither of you backed down.

And then—without thinking—Yuji grabbed it and took a bite right in front of you.

The explosion was immediate.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Oh come on, I got here first!”

“You literally did not—HEY!”

Next thing he knew, the two of you were shoving each other, voices raised, hands grabbing sleeves. Someone screamed. Someone dropped food. Someone definitely cried.

At some point, it escalated into something that could only be described as two kindergarteners fighting with sticks, except it was cursed-energy-enhanced and wildly unnecessary.

Your yukata was wrinkled. His sleeve was half torn.

And Gojo Satoru was laughing like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week.

By the time Gojo forcibly separated you, declaring something about “romantic tension” and “classic enemies-to-lovers vibes,” Yuji was too annoyed—and too flustered—to even argue.

Now the two of you sat on a bench, a safe distance apart, sulking like scolded children.

Yuji stared ahead, chewing the last bite slowly.

“…Just so you know,” he muttered finally, breaking the silence, “it tasted really good. Now I get why you wanted it.”

He sighed, leaning back like that somehow made him innocent.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you stiffen.

Uh-oh.

“Woah, okay,” he added quickly, holding his hands up when you shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “I get that you’re upset, but damn. You’re extra scary today.”

He glanced at you, completely unaware of how badly he was digging his own grave.

“…You okay, or are you just—uh—having a rough day?”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Yuji swallowed. Something told him this truce was officially over.

And for some reason—annoyingly, confusingly—his heart was pounding like it was about to start something much worse than a fight.