The impression of the infinite

He pushed her against the hallway wall, where the warm lamplight traced delicate waves across her face. His hands, strong and broad, slid up beneath the fabric and seized her breasts, squeezing hard as he kissed her neck with urgency. Yuzu moaned, tipping her head back, arching her spine.

"If you stop me now, I'll leave right away," he said, still at her neck.

"And if I don't stop you?" she whispered.

He froze, and looked at her. He looked at her with those endless eyes, as if in that very moment she had become his prey. But something in his gaze changed. He seemed more frowning, angrier. There was something in the taut muscles of his body, in the way he clenched his jaw, that had nothing to do with calm.

He grabbed her arm, hard enough to leave a mark. Yuzu snapped her eyes up; he moved in close to her face.

"Do you know what you do to me?" he whispered through gritted teeth. "Every time you pretend you don't know how much I want you?"

Yuzu's heart leapt, but she didn't move, didn't back away. Her eyes held his.

"And do you know how much I'd like to see how far you can go?"

That was the last rational sentence of the evening. Gojo completely lost control.

He lifted her into his arms with ease. He carried her to his room and dropped her onto the bed, letting her fall from above. With one hand and a quick motion, he grabbed the curtain by the window and pulled it closed. The room dimmed slightly. With another fluid, swift movement, he opened a drawer in the nightstand nearby and took out one of his many black blindfolds. He moved closer to Yuzu.

"What do you want to do, Gojo-sensei?" she whispered, her eyes bright with anticipation.

He studied her for a moment, a sharp smile on his lips. "From now on, I'm in charge. If anything doesn't work for you, tell me once."

He lifted her chin with his thumb, brushing her lips. "Now, silence."

Yuzu's heart leapt into her throat. "Yes."

"Good girl." Satoru pressed her against the wall with deliberate calm, his fingers weaving her wrists above her head without harshness. "Look at me."

He kissed her deeply, harder than before, taking her breath and giving it back on his rhythm. He spoke in her ear, voice low:

"I've wanted you too long to stop now."

"Y-yes…" she managed.

"Then be quiet." Another, deeper kiss, and his command—soft but inescapable: "Let me take care of it, Yuzu. Obey…"

He didn't hesitate at all: he wanted her. And she had always wanted him.

He undressed her with urgency, as if he'd wanted her his whole life. He stripped off her shirt quickly, kissing her. His mouth moved over her with obscene, almost cruel precision. His tongue traced paths slow, then fast, then slow again. His gaze shouted with impatience.

Yuzu trembled beneath those sure hands, but she didn't retreat; she met him, answering every touch as if she had been waiting for it forever.

Satoru unfastened her button and slid off her pants with implacable calm, as if everything had already been decided. The red lace hugging her skin wiped the smile from his face and darkened his gaze. He brushed the elastic with his thumb, gave it the slightest tug, and drew a sigh from her.

"Good girl. Now hold still… and look at me." His voice, low and warm, ran down her back like a promise.

He stood. He took off his hoodie with easy nonchalance. The black fabric slipped away quickly, revealing fair, smooth skin mapped by lean, defined muscles—sculpted with patience. There was something almost ethereal about his physique, as if the light sought him on purpose: broad shoulders, the line of his chest, shoulder blades shifting beneath the skin with the precision of a practiced motion. No trace of vanity. Only a raw, almost alien beauty.

Yuzu forgot to breathe for a moment. She, for her part, was beautiful.

She was there. On her knees on the bed, in the golden half-light. Back straight, hands resting at her sides. Her breath slipped out in slow gasps, as if every mouthful of air were heavy with anticipation. Strands of her very long hair fell over her bare shoulders. The red lace clung to her skin as if it had been drawn for her—refined, delicate, almost at odds with the force the gesture implied. There was no vulgarity, only a deliberate choice. A silent declaration.

"Oh God, what am I seeing…" he whispered, running a hand through his hair.

Then, gently, he swept all her long hair over one shoulder, leaving the other side of her neck bare. Satoru's warm breath brushed the exposed skin before his lips did. And when he bent to kiss her, he did it unhurriedly. Sweet, soft kisses that contrasted with the barely restrained urgency. Every touch was a promise. Every sigh, an intention.

A moment later, he took her by the nape, her chin forced up. "Straight. Look ahead."

His breath grazed her ear. "Open your mouth."

She obeyed.

The ribbon slid between her lips; he drew it taut with a sure hand and tied it behind her neck, deliberately slow, tight enough. "Like that. Now I talk, you listen."

He guided her wrists behind her, holding them in place. "Stay where I put you. Don't move until I tell you." A brief pause. "Good girl."

His voice allowed no reply; neither did his rhythm.

He was behind her, panting. He was kissing her neck, ran the tip of his tongue behind her ears, and stroked her arms with his fingertips.

"Uh… mmm…" Yuzu moaned for the first time, and it was right then that he stopped, his breathing quickened, he gripped her breasts and clenched his jaw. He couldn't take it anymore.

With a push she fell onto her back on the bed, face up; he slid off her thong with one hand, while the other rested at her neck, not squeezing.

They looked at each other for a long time, not breathing. Their gazes crossed in the silence heavy with what was about to happen. Eye to eye. Satoru looked at her as if he were reading every smallest tremor, every beat, every hidden thought.

Yuzu, naked before him, didn't look away.

There was no shame anymore, only that electric tension that comes before the beginning. Her breathing slowed, but her heart beat harder.

The metallic sound of a belt, then the zipper sliding down.

Yuzu's heartbeat quickened; her legs trembled.

Satoru leaned down, his mouth a breath from hers, without touching. "Look only at me."

A pause. "Nod."

She nodded, eyes fixed on him.

"Good girl." He positioned himself over her, hands on her hips to hold her still; quick, hungry kisses, given when he wanted and taken away when he decided.

"Don't move."

He lined himself up and, when he chose, entered her with a single thrust, clean and deep, forcing her to his rhythm. He pinned her with his body and his hands, a steady guide.

Yuzu arched her back; a tremor ran along her belly. Her fingers clawed at the sheets.

A sound escaped her, choked by the fabric on her lips—more eloquent than any word. Satoru barely smiled. "That's it. Keep your eyes on me… and take all of it."

At first, he set the tempo: slow movements, enforced silence. Yuzu half-closed her eyes; he opened them again with his thumb. "On me. Always."

He kissed her shoulder, then the corner of her mouth; then he braced his forehead to hers, pinning her face. "You close them when I say so."

Their breath became one, but the rhythm was his alone. Listening to her—the muffled sound, the tremors—Satoru changed pace: deeper, faster, granting her no respite. Her breathing turned uneven, and with every beat he drew her closer, more his. Control became a lucid need.

Yuzu moaned louder, smothered by the ribbon; and the more she did, the more he accelerated, demanding answers from her body, stroke after stroke.

"Give me everything, Yuzu. Don't hold back."

When she obeyed, his smile said he wouldn't let her escape.

But he stopped. He withdrew, took her by the wrists, and turned her so her back was to him: "Hands on the bed, back arched."

Yuzu obeyed. Without waiting a second longer, he entered her deeply from behind, gripping her firmly by the hip with one hand while, with the other, he gathered her hair and let it slide down the length of her back. He wanted that hair right there, in front of him.

At that precise moment, he began to pound into her, violently—almost painfully. Each thrust echoed through the room. Yuzu threw her head back, her screams muffled by the fabric. Satoru's breathing, meanwhile, turned ragged. He twisted Yuzu's hair around his arm, pulling her toward him, heedless. With his other hand, he still held her by the hip…

"It's okay… You can moan… for me…" He leaned closer to her ear, panting.

Yuzu shook even harder, screaming with pleasure. She had reached orgasm, and Satoru had sensed it from within.

"Let me feel how you like it," he whispered in her ear, breathing deeply as Yuzu screamed, never slowing down.

Satoru felt it in the way she closed around him, in the heat dripping down her thighs. He held her still and guided her through the wave. "Good. Like this."

He touched the back of her neck. "I'm not finished." A half smile. "I want more."

He resumed with a series of quick, precise thrusts, giving her no respite. He wrapped one hand around her hair and pulled her against him; sweat was running down his forehead, his breathing shallow, his moans low; the rhythm remained his. "Keep your eyes open, and give me everything, Yuzu."

The liquid ran down her thighs, seemingly endless. But it wasn't enough. He wanted her again, and he made it clear to her through his rhythm: firm, relentless, guiding every breath.

Water suddenly splashed from Yuzu's body. Every deep movement, every thrust, was an explosion. Large drops hit the floor, soaking it.

"Ah....wonderful! Good girl..." he exclaimed, without slowing down.

Until, suddenly, Yuzu felt him throbbing inside her. He threw his head back and took a deep breath, enjoying it so much. His body tensed, like a wave crashing against the shore. His voice broke into a low, submerged breath, as pleasure surged through him with the force of something held back for too long.

He came behind her back.

***

Satoru calmly untied the ribbon and set it on the nightstand. He lay beside her, his breathing evening out, his white hair a little mussed but his gaze already clear.

"Do you have any idea what a mess you've made?" he murmured with his usual half-smile.

Yuzu turned slightly, the sheet high on her chest, composed. "What do you mean?"

"Pretending to be professional now will be… complicated. It's impossible not to want you again."

She smiled faintly without lowering her eyes. "Then keep yourself in line. I'm a discreet woman."

"I noticed. About five seconds before I lost myself completely."

He brushed her hand, then grew serious for a moment; the blue of his eyes seemed calmer, more human. "This isn't a trivial thing. I know. And I'll do everything I can not to ruin it."

Silence filled the room; only the wind from the window and the sheet moving softly.

"Satoru…" she said, softly.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh. First name. That usually happens when you're very moved… or very scared."

"Maybe both."

Satoru laid a gentle hand on her cheek. "Then let me be the part that stays. Not the part that scares you."

Then he softened his tone, the smile she knew: "And tomorrow I'll pretend to be impeccable. I promise… more or less."

Next day...

Yuzu opened her eyes slowly. The air was still, scented with a night spent and skin. Beside her, Gojo was still sleeping, turned toward her, his face relaxed—as if the world, for a moment, had forgotten who he was. The sheets barely brushed her side. His breathing—slow, deep—seemed synchronized with her heartbeat.

Yuzu stayed still, watching him.

There were details that struck her every time, as if she were seeing them for the first time: the curve of his shoulder, the very fair lashes, the clean cut of his jaw softened by sleep.

And that peace—so rare in him—left her without words.

She slipped out of bed with an almost dancing motion, retrieving the light kimono that lay abandoned on the armchair. She put it on slowly, as if she wanted to prolong the silence.

The bathroom door closed softly.

Yuzu turned on the water and washed her face. Her skin was still warm, her neck marked by faint traces left by the night.

It was then that the phone vibrated.

A name on the screen: Airi.

With soft steps she returned to the room and picked up the phone from the nightstand. Satoru didn't move.

He slept as if the world belonged to him.

She went back into the bathroom. She answered.

"Hello."

Her voice was low, composed, but carried the veiled echo of something just lived.

On the other end, Airi was lightning-fast: "You sound… suspicious. Don't tell me—"

Yuzu allowed herself a second of silence. Then, simply:

"Yes."

"You did it?!"

The enthusiasm was so obvious that Yuzu lifted her eyes to the ceiling.

"Airi," she said with elegance, "can you at least keep up the appearance of discretion?"

"Yuzu. You. Satoru. And you want me to stay composed? I need to see you. Today. Dinner. I'm interrogating you. I want details. All of them."

Yuzu smiled faintly. "I'll give you only what you can take in with grace."

"I want you at eight. Elegant. And with the truth in your eyes."

When she ended the call, the reflection in the mirror watched her with silent complicity.

Her eyes were lighter. Her skin more alive. Something inside her had finally opened. Like a flower that no longer pretends to stay closed.

She had been up for a while already, dressed in a simple but impeccable outfit: high-waisted, pearl-colored trousers, a black blouse with light, fluid sleeves, big gold earrings. Everything on her seemed chosen with naturalness and grace. The set of her hair, soft yet precise. The perfume, discreet and recognizable: always vanilla and pink pepper, with a blond-wood undertone.

As she slipped on her shoes with a measured gesture, the sound of Satoru's alarm broke the silence.

A brief electronic beep, immediately silenced by a long, lazy hand emerging from under the sheets.

"Hm…"

His voice was hoarse, thick with sleep. A breath. Then he turned.

And saw her.

Yuzu was fastening her watch. The light grazed her nape, her shoulder. She was elegant in a way that never tried to be. She simply… was.

Satoru stretched slowly, eyes still half-closed but already bright with that gentle irony that never quite left him.

"I'm not sure I'm awake. Or are you a recurring dream?"

She glanced over for just a moment, a thin smile that wouldn't give in to the game.

"Just a morning apparition. I'll go back to being an illusion after eleven."

Satoru sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. The muscles of his chest drew tight under fair skin, still marked by sleep and the night's touch.

"Who are you talking about today?"

"Tiziano," she answered, calmly tying her hair at the nape. "Color, flesh, and sacredness. It felt like the right farewell."

"Fitting. Spiritual lust and endless brushstrokes. Like us last night."

Yuzu didn't turn. But her cheeks warmed, just a little.

Satoru climbed out of bed with a slow, almost feline grace. He walked barefoot to her.

When he was close enough, he brushed her chin with two fingers and gently lifted her face.

Then he kissed her.

A calm, certain kiss. As if he were saying: "I saw you. I see you."

When he drew back, he stayed there. A few centimeters away.

"You're beautiful…"

A whisper.

She smoothed her collar, composed. "If I don't leave now, I'll be late. And the Renaissance doesn't forgive."

Satoru stepped back, hands raised in surrender.

"All right, go. But promise me that when we're back, you'll teach me to look at a painting the way I look at you."

Yuzu opened the door with an elegant nod.

"Only if you're ready never to look away again."

And she left, trailing light and silence behind her.

Satoru watched her go, still for a moment. Then he sighed.

"Damn… that woman is art."

***

During the drive, Yuzu thought a thousand things.

With her fingers she touched her side, where his hand had been just before. Strong, present.

She wondered if this was a beginning, or only a fire in the middle of the journey.

She recalled the moment he had looked at her with that veiled, ancient hunger, like someone recognizing something that had been missing for too long.

She hadn't pushed him away. She hadn't encouraged him.

She had simply let go.

Once, she would have called that a weakness. Now, perhaps, not.

Perhaps she was learning that letting herself be seen—sometimes—was an act of strength.

The landscape slid past the window while Yuzu sat in silence, hands in her lap, her gaze fixed beyond the road. There was no traffic. Only a dull, suspended light—the kind of morning that doesn't choose whether to be serene or melancholy.

Satoru drove beside her. One hand on the wheel, the other, now and then, running through his hair in a slow, thoughtful gesture.

They didn't speak. But the silence between them was never mute.

It was made of what they had shared. Of what they had not yet dared to name.

Yuzu closed her eyes for a moment.

The night came back over her like a warm wave.

The weight of his body on hers. The sound of breath. Hands that didn't ask permission, but listened.

His sweet, ravenous hunger.

The way he had looked at her, just before taking her in his arms—as one looks at an enigma finally revealed.

She had felt it all.

The respect.

The desire.

And something she could not yet name, but that resembled, dangerously, care.

It wasn't only passion.

It wasn't even love, if she was honest.

It was… presence. A meeting between wounded parts that had stopped running.

She had been afraid, yes. But not of him.

Afraid of what opens when you truly let yourself be seen.

She opened her eyes slowly, her heart a little calmer.

Satoru didn't speak, but he knew.

She felt it in the way he threw her brief, quick glances, as if checking she was still there.

In the way he had touched her face on waking—with a grace you wouldn't expect from someone so powerful.

Yuzu turned slightly toward him.

It was still too soon to say what they had become.

But one thing was certain: they were no longer where they'd been the day before.

The threshold, once again, had been crossed.

And this time, she wouldn't take a step back.