The impression of the infinite

The restaurant Airi had picked was on the top of a building in the heart of Shibuya. Not too fancy, but meticulous in its details: soft lights, gentle music, floor-to-ceiling windows opening onto the city in motion, and round tables of dark wood. From the terrace, the neon signs looked like electric flowers blooming from concrete.

Yuzu and Gojo were the first to arrive.

She, walking with grace, wore a light satin black outfit—just enough to skim her hips—with her back barely bare, wine-colored lips, and her hair gathered in a high ponytail. Bangs trimmed to perfection, straight across her eyebrows.

Refined.

Always.

Even when her eyes gave away a softer gleam, something that spoke of sleepless nights, but full of other things.

Satoru followed her with his usual languid, showy air: a light shirt unbuttoned just enough to let the imagination speak, a jacket over his shoulders, an unhurried step. But anyone who looked at them, even casually, would have seen the invisible line binding them. Too close to be just friends. Too in sync to be only lovers.

Airi greeted them with a brazen smile, a floral dress, and a half-empty beer in hand.

"Ohhh, finally! Let me guess—you were trying to figure out who was more late?"

"I just wanted to check whether the city was ready to see you in those boots," Satoru said, taking his seat.

Yuzu didn't answer, but shot him a sidelong look—sharp and amused.

Suguru arrived right after, laid-back as always, with a cup of tea in hand and a vaguely bored expression. He climbed the terrace steps as if he were at home, gave everyone a nod, and let a hint of a smile appear when he saw Yuzu.

"You're looking well, Tachibana-sensei. Is it art working miracles, or the gift of relaxation?"

Yuzu lowered her gaze for a moment, letting a smile come on its own. "Let's say I've been doing both regularly lately."

Airi's eyes widened. "Don't tell me you actually—"

"Airi," Yuzu interrupted her gracefully, but without yielding.

Satoru poured himself a drink, tilting his head. "Some mysteries should stay that way. Otherwise reality never lives up to expectations."

"Or far surpasses them," Suguru added with a shrug.

The laughter came naturally. The atmosphere warmed in minutes: between toasts, shared dishes, invented memories, and jokes that flew light as air. But beneath the surface, something could be felt. A new, subtle intimacy running between Yuzu and Gojo like a taut silver thread: in the accidental brushes of their hands, in the glances that sought each other even when they pretended not to.

At one point, Airi got up to go to the bathroom. Suguru followed her with his eyes, then turned to them.

"So… since when?"

Yuzu pretended not to understand, but Satoru spoke before she could.

"Long enough to know it's not just a stumble."

Silence. Brief. Intense.

Suguru merely nodded. "It's about time."

When Airi came back, she broke the moment with her usual enthusiasm. "I've decided that tomorrow we're all going to karaoke!"

Yuzu ran a hand through her hair. "I only promise to listen."

Satoru whispered, low, close to her ear: "But I've already heard your voice. And it sings beautifully."

She turned, very slowly. Dark eyes. Slow. Burning.

"Don't you dare!"

But she was smiling. And she was beautiful.

***

Dinner had ended a while ago.

Shibuya's lights, still on, no longer shone; they seemed to breathe softly, like the slow heartbeat of a city finally easing down. Satoru and Yuzu's footsteps on the sidewalk were soft, as if they wanted to respect that quiet rhythm.

Yuzu walked with her hands tucked into the light pockets of her pearl-colored overcoat. Hair gathered with precision, her profile calm. In her eyes was that subtle light of someone who thinks more than she says.

"Airi and Suguru seemed in good shape," she observed, as if speaking to the wind.

Satoru looked at her from the side. "Did you notice Suguru looks at her in a way that isn't just friendly anymore?"

Yuzu raised an eyebrow slightly. "Of course. But Airi notices and pretends not to."

Satoru laughed softly, with that unspooling, nonchalant sound that was his. "Like you do."

She stopped.

"Do you really think I pretend nothing's going on?"

He took a few steps back, then turned to look at her. He stopped right under the warm light of a streetlamp. His eyes were covered by the usual pale blindfold, but his voice was lower. More direct.

"Only when you want to keep me on the edge."

Yuzu tilted her head. A lock of hair had come loose and brushed her cheek. She said nothing. But she didn't lower her gaze.

"And does it work?" she asked, level-voiced. As if speaking about a book, or a shade of color.

Satoru moved a little closer. His fingers brushed hers. For a moment. A subtle gesture, almost imperceptible. But felt.

"Every damn time."

Silence settled between them again. There was no hurry. No need to declare anything. Only that thread, invisible, drawn a little tighter each day.

Yuzu turned, slipping free of that touch with her usual grace that left nothing to chance.

Then she simply said: "Walk me home."

Satoru nodded. And smiled:

"Let's go."

***

They returned to Satoru's villa late at night. The door closed behind them with a muffled click. With quick, sure movements, Satoru switched on the soft lights in the living room—just enough to slip off their coats and set their shoes in order.

He took off his jacket with a slow, practiced motion. He removed the blindfold, then turned toward her. Yuzu was already barefoot, her overcoat over her arm, her gaze resting on him as if truly seeing him only in that moment.

She smiled at him gently, lowering her eyes. No one spoke. But the air between them was already filling with something that had no name, no urgency—only certainty.

"Home sweet home," he said softly, tucking his shirt into his pants. "Though for me, home is wherever I see you barefoot."

Yuzu turned just slightly, her eyes glossy with fatigue, but her voice steady. "Don't say it with that doomed-poet air. You left your shoes in the middle of the hallway."

Satoru chuckled. "I like to think you trip over me, even just walking."

She rolled her eyes, but her lips trembled into a half-smile.

"Tired?" he asked, moving closer, his voice low.

"Only of the noise. Not of you."

His fingers found hers. And that touch—that delicate contact—was enough to set them moving together.

She kissed him first, but he was the one to lead her further.

"Hands on the wall," he whispered softly in her ear.

He guided her gently toward the nearest wall, her back to it. His hands on her hips, his mouth finding hers with a hunger that pretended to be patience. Clothes came off with movements that were decisive, but not rough. Time bent around every touch, every whisper.

"I want you, Yuzu," he murmured against her skin, at her neck.

At those words, she moaned but said nothing. Her breathing quickened, her hands began to tremble.

"Eyes on me." She gave a nod. "Good."

"Satoru…" she said. He looked at her and stopped at once. She lowered her gaze to his hands, then looked him in the eyes.

"Tell me… did something happen?" he asked, brushing her cheek with his knuckles.

She shook her head. Turning toward him, she was the one who led him to the bedroom that night. Without closing the door, they reached his bed hand in hand. She gave him a gentle push toward the mattress; he sat down, his gaze lost in her eyes and in her sensual movements. With slow, delicate motions, Yuzu began to caress her neck with both hands. She slid them down to her breasts, which she cupped, breathing a little harder, tilting her head back.

Enraptured, he rested his elbows on his knees, a hand between his mouth and chin. Then he ran a hand through his hair, impatient.

He couldn't hold back anymore, but he didn't want to ruin the moment.

The light satin set Yuzu wore that evening was so sexy it traced every curve of her body with elegant ease. Her hands slid a little lower, to her hips. Slowly she began to pant, but she didn't stop. It was a dance she was doing… she swayed with that deeply sensual body… Gojo Satoru was lost for her. He'd completely lost his head.

Yuzu had had a bit to drink that night, yes—but more than anything, she wanted to show herself as she truly was. She wanted to reveal herself the way he made her feel: beautiful.

She caught the light hem of her dress and lifted it just above mid-thigh. Her hands glided over her legs, brushing them lightly, unhurried. One thin strap slipped off her shoulder by accident, but she didn't put it back.

Her caresses drifted a little higher, to her most intimate place—just a soft touch, no lingering.

His breathing grew heavier by the minute.

She brought her hands to her hair, took the elastic she wore on her wrist, and gathered it into a high ponytail, still moving slowly, hips swaying. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright from the small yet noticeable amount of alcohol, and she was filled with a wild desire to make love to him—to feel his hands on her warm body again.

"Oh my God.. Yuzu…" he said.

He didn't have time to finish his sentence. She approached, softly, barefoot, silently. She knelt before him, trembling. With both hands, she unbuckled his belt, never taking her gaze from his eyes.

Blue.

Infinite.

He couldn't take his eyes off her, he craved her skin, her flesh.

She pulled off his pants, without saying a word, communicating only with her breath. She slipped his boxers off with ease. They fell to the floor without a sound. Yuzu's face was already between Satoru's legs, dancing, but this time it was with her head. Her movements were warm, sensual, never rushed. Satoru held her close with one hand behind her neck, helping her go deeper and deeper.

She didn't say anything, she just let him do it.

Yuzu intensified her rhythm, determined to drive him wild with pleasure. Her movements grew more confident, more insistent. Satoru tilted his head back, gasping—his breath catching in a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of all the desire he'd been holding in. His breathing trembled, along with the rest of his body.

His fingers closed in her hair, but without guiding her. Just to feel her closer. Even more.

"Look at you… so good…" he whispered.

She continued, until she felt him throb with pleasure. Then Yuzu rose slowly, slipped off her black thong, and let it fall gently onto the warm floor.

"Are you planning to let me survive this, Tachibana-sensei?" he murmured, as she straddled him with calm, deliberate grace.

She didn't reply—she kissed him, deeply, releasing everything she had been holding back. She climbed onto his lap, her hands on his chest, searching for her own rhythm.

Satoru let her, for a heartbeat, his eyes locked on hers. Then he tilted his head slightly—just a brief, dangerous smile.

"That's enough."

He grabbed her hips, holding her still. "Now it's my turn."

He moved with precision beneath her.

"Remember. Two taps, and I stop. Otherwise—keep up. Understood?"

Yuzu nodded.

"Come here."

He took her chin between two fingers, a touch that allowed no escape. "Say it."

"Yes."

"Good girl."

He reached for a red ribbon and tied her wrists to the headboard. He kissed her when he chose to—first softly, then deeper, controlling the pace, stealing it from her. And every time she tried to follow, he held her down with a firm hand on her chest.

"Don't get ahead of me."

He looked at her, serious. She was to receive, to surrender. Nothing more.

"Yes, Gojo-sensei."

"Good… good girl."

He was on top of her and entered her suddenly, imposing his tempo; every advance was a choice, every pause an order.

"Eyes on me."

She nodded, a breath caught in her throat like a sob. She tried to take control, to guide him—but he held her firmly by the hips, gaze locked with hers.

Then he moved, deliberately—slow, controlled, just enough roughness to make her tremble. He didn't rush. He didn't speak. He simply was, and in that silence, he overwhelmed her.

He held her there, making her take every motion as it came; when she reached for more rhythm, he slowed. When she trembled, trying to hold on, he quickened. His breath burned against her ear.

"Good girl… take all of me."

His fingers slid between her thighs, his thumb on her clit, and Yuzu arched against him, bound and happy to be bound. At her nod, he untied the ribbon, kissed her marks, and lifted her:

"Come on. I want to watch you while I fuck you again."

They rose to their feet. Satoru turned to look at her—then his voice dropped, deep and commanding.

"On your knees."

She nodded and obeyed without hesitation.

He moved behind her, close, burying his face in her hair. One arm wrapped gently around her waist—not tight, just present—and he embraced her from behind.

He kissed her shoulder softly, inhaling her scent, holding her in a silence that said everything.

He watched her for a moment, then gave a faint smile.

"Tell me if I'm wrong…" he murmured, gripping her hips as she moved into position, "but you like it when I'm the one who decides… hmm? Answer me."

"Yes… Gojo-sensei…"

He slapped her buttock, hard enough to leave a faint red mark on her skin.

Yuzu moaned, moving her hips slightly. He entered her again, violently.

"Good… like this."

He pushed her away and brought her back quickly and violently, forcing her into his stride. The sound of their breath filled the room; the world outside faded away.

"Oh, Satoru..."

"What's wrong...huh?" he asked. He grabbed her hair and looked her straight in the eyes as he entered her.

"You're really...a good girl..." he said.

He picked up the pace: faster, deeper, more forceful. One hand gripped her hips like an anchor, the other in front, playing with her clit.

"Spread your legs. Say yes."

She nodded, her eyes on him. "Yes."

She spread them as wide as they would go.

"Good girl. Don't move until I tell you to."

He resumed without hesitation—precise, relentless. But his breathing grew uneven, his voice rough as his control stretched thin. Yuzu felt him tremble against her, his forehead brushing her shoulder.

A single, low moan escaped him—held back, almost hidden—and his fingers gripped her hips again, grounding her, calling her back to his rhythm.

"Oh, yes... Yuzu..." he murmured. "Now I'm going to fill you up..."

She nodded again. "Yes, Gojo-sensei... please..."

A single, low moan escaped his lips—a hoarse, suppressed sound, as if he wanted to hide it and couldn't. Yuzu, knowing he would fill her, felt the pleasure well up in the center of her chest. A jolt, then she threw her head back, moaning loudly, and she came, too, along with him.

Then silence.

He slowed down. He stopped. He went out.

***

Satoru let himself fall beside her with a half-dramatic sigh, his chest still rising with uneven breath. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and, in that tone of his that always danced on the edge between serious and playful, murmured:

"You're a problem, Yuzu."

Yuzu turned her face slightly toward him, lips still flushed, her breathing calmer. "In what way?"

He looked at her—a second longer than necessary.

"Because with you… I lose control. And no one makes me lose control."

She turned a little more, a bare shoulder grazing the sheet. "Seemed to me you handled that control just fine."

Satoru chuckled softly, but in his eyes something real flickered. Something quiet. "Trust me. If you really knew who I am, you wouldn't be lying here so calmly with me."

Yuzu watched him. Poised, composed—but with a trace of curiosity in her gaze. "Maybe it's better not to know, for now."

Satoru turned toward her, moved a little closer. "Or maybe it's already too late."

He shrugged, smiling. Then kissed her.