Work Text:
Saturday, September 29th
12:03 pm
Yuji Itadori was hunched over in an uncomfortable, wooden booth, sulking into an oversized hoodie he'd found at Shinjuku's BookOff. Between the black cowl and an old buddy's baseball cap, his quiff haircut was totally covered, hiding its signature pink top from the other McDonalds' customers. Yuji tapped his pointer finger on the plastic table in front of him, one long leg bouncing with pent-up energy beneath its white top.
He'd been training with Gojō-sensei for days, trying to get the hang of his newly discovered cursed energy.
Unfortunately, things weren’t going well.
Reaching past a black surgical mask lying abandoned on the table, he grabbed a single, extra crisp fry from a Happy Meal and popped it in his mouth, chewing distractedly.
How on Earth was he supposed to move the energy faster? It felt like trying to squeeze dense frosting through a piping bag. Sure, it got there, but the harder he pushed, the more it clogged, until it let loose in this giant, explosive mess.
Reaching for another fry, Yuji went to dip it in the ketchup pile smeared on the wrapper of his sukiyaki egg burger, only to notice it was already scraped clean. Sighing, he stretched forward to grab one of three spare packets hanging out near the napkin dispenser.
There was sudden pressure on his extended shoulder, and he twisted in place.
Latching on to the source of the stimulus, the jujustu sorcerer pulled it down into a grapple, only to come face to face with a pair of extremely startled, electric-blue eyes.
“Eeeeeh?!” Yuji exclaimed.
He hadn't meant to do that! All that movie training with the principal's cursed doll had left him jumpy, and this poor stranger had paid the price. Belatedly, Yuji recalled the sensation from his shoulder. It had been nothing more than a light touch.
Yelping, “Sorry!” he released his awkward “hug” with all the grace of a malfunctioning robot and scoot-jumped away. “I didn't mean to grab you like that!”
Even though his guest’s bent-over posture screamed guilty, not irritated, Yuji still felt a compulsive need to explain himself. “I've just been doing this weird martial arts training lately,” oh wow, the guy was tall standing straight, “where something punches me every time I,” he had at least twelve centimeters on Yuji, “stop paying attention and—” and look at that square jawline! With those killer blue eyes he could totally pass for a—wait, he wasn't even Japanese! “Aaaand you didn't get a word of that, did you? Eehhh. Eto. I amu beri sari! Ai supiku no Iingurishu!”
For that matter, why did this foreigner even come up to him? Sure, Yuji had an approachable face, but right now it was half covered by his I'm-totally-still-dead-don't-notice-me disguise.
Maybe he was overthinking things; the dude was probably just lost on his way to a modeling gig at Free Wave or something.
As Yuji rationalized the situation, an old smartphone with a cracked screen suddenly slid onto the table between them with a slight clack.
Ah! Soka! So that's what this was!
Sure, Yuji might not be the next Yōsuke Sugino, but he was attractive enough.
“I'm flattered,” he continued in Japanese, grinning broadly, “but not,” he formed an “x” with his forearms, “into,” a heart with his hands, “guys.” Finally pointing to himself, then the stranger's chest and back, he joked, “My type leans more towards Jennifer Lawrence, if you know what I mean?” Smile dimming to match apologetic eyes and a shrug, he cocked his head. “I appreciate the thought, though.”
Abruptly, English sounded from the phone, the “F” at the center of the screen lighting up in rhythm to the words.
The stranger went deer in the headlights. Face tinging a shocked, sickly green, his distressed eyes darted to Yuji's light brown ones.
“Whoa, sorry Bro! I didn't mean to offend you!” Yuji put up both hands in surrender. “I get that you're really attractive, and would totally be out of my league if I were gay, but—”
As the phone started to churn out a second translation, freezing-cold hands slammed over Yuji's mouth, sending shivers up his spine. The now-nearly-puke-green American squawked, “Stop!” followed by more English that Yuji didn't understand until the phone spat out, “I wasn't hitting on you; I just wanted to talk!”
Sugoi! That was a crazy good translator! Maybe Yuji could download it from the app store if the guy told him what it was called!
“Mmmphmmnhu!” he exclaimed in excitement, prompting the stranger to groan, before releasing Yuji's face.
“My bad!” Yuji tilted back in the booth to let loose an embarrassed chuckle as his hands laced behind his head. “I just thought with the phone and all…” he waved the rest of the sentence off into the air, then his eyes suddenly started to sparkle as he leaned in, hands dropping to clutch the table. “Uhm, if you don't mind me asking, where did you get the translator? It's sick!”
“This?” Color returned to the guy’s face as he tapped the cell once, clearly latching onto a chance to change the subject. “My parents coded it. I’d send you the file, but I doubt it’d work on your phone. Sorry, Kid.” Hand slinking up to rub a lean neck—must be a nervous habit—the stranger half shrugged.
“Dang! Too bad, I would’ve loved to have had that for Retelling.” At a confused look, Yuji clarified, “Uh, it’s this thing we do in English class where you have to take turns describing what’s in a picture. It’d be a good way to double check that I wasn’t spewing nonsense.” Realizing he didn’t really have more to say on the topic, and the silence stretched a heartbeat longer than it should, Yuji stuck out his hand. “By the way, the name's Itadori Yuji; please be good to me.” Once again, the foreigner's touch brought chills; however, the pressure and surety behind the clasp gave Yuji a good feeling, so he smiled again.
“Danny Fenton. First name Danny, last name Fenton.”
“So what'd you need, Fenton?” Yuji asked. “Directions?”
“Er. Uhm. Well.” Subtle emotions flitted across the other man's face—anger, guilt, frustration, empathy—before ending on forced calm. “This is kind of hard to explain. You mind if I sit?”
Oh no. This wasn’t going to be one of those long, complex conversations that made Yuji's head spin, was it?
He’d come to Makku to clear his brain, not fry it. Still, it was fun to meet new people and the guy did seem nice. Maybe if Yuji was lucky, this convo might refresh instead of drain him.
“Uh, sure. Go ahead.”
As the newly named Fenton pulled out the lone, crappy yellow chair across from Yuji’s booth table, the stranger admitted, “I’m having trouble finding the right words. No matter what, you're gonna think I'm crazy.”
Oh!
“Don’t worry about that.” If the last couple weeks had taught Yuji anything, it was that he could handle crazy. “My life’s been crazy lately. I bet anything you say can’t beat the Lazarus experience.”
Yuji laughed, expecting Fenton to ask what that meant, but the other boy just mumbled, “So that’s why…” face screwing up in this expression Yuji couldn’t quite place.
“Why what?”
“Well at least now I know you’re gonna believe me.” The stranger frowned out the window, observing the bustling foot traffic of Asakusa’s covered street mall for just a moment, before turning back to level Yuji with serious eyes. “I’ll cut right to it, then. A ghost has forced an illegal contract on your soul.”
Yuji’s jaw dropped.
“I intend to break it if you’ll let me.”
Ghost?
What did he mean by that? Like, occult stuff?
…Or was this guy sensing Sukuna?
Did America even have jujustu sorcerers!?
Oh, duh, they had to. Curses existed everywhere.
But what did he mean by contract? All Yuji did was house Sukuna’s fingers?
“Ah, Fenton! Hold on!” Yuji threw up a hand in a flat stop. “I think you got something wrong here; I’m just a normal dude.” Gojō-sensei had warned Yuji to lie low. He’d already messed up by giving out his name; he definitely shouldn’t tell some random stranger that his body hosted the King of all Curses. “There’s nothing special about me, so I’m pretty sure—”
“The contract’s written all over your face, and there are chains binding your soul.”
What?
“Considering the terms between you and ‘Roh-men Suh-koo-nah?’ include regrowing a heart, giving up your body to possession whenever he feels like, and forgetting that you ever agreed to the above conditions, I’m going to assume you were tricked.”
Yuji froze, going pale.
What? No. No, no no no—Sukuna couldn’t have, right? But then again, Yuji did come back to life. There’s no way that evil bastard would do something like that for free.
A past conversation with Gojō-sensei marooned itself in Yuji’s brain.
“Oh right; did you talk to Sukuna while you were dead?”
“Talk?”
“When he fixed your heart, did he propose any conditions or contracts?”
“Oh, I think we did talk about something…but I can’t remember what it was.”
“I see.”
At the time, Gojō-sensei hadn’t really seemed all that concerned, so Yuji had shrugged it off, but now that he was thinking about it, Sensei never seemed concerned. About anything. He was the definition of flippant.
“Are you really sure you want to keep playing ignorant when I only have like five minutes left to help you?”
Yuji gulped, breaking out in a cold sweat, until all of a sudden something dampened his senses, and it felt like the rest of the room faded away.
Fenton had such a pleading smile, and for some reason, Yuji could feel his sincerity and underlying fury at Sukuna. Not like how people describe it in books; it wasn’t empathy or exaggeration. This went beyond that. He could literally feel the other man’s intentions.
Fuck.
He was doing this, wasn’t he?
Dumb enough to get tricked by a literal embodiment of evil, and he still hadn’t learned his lesson.
Seeing the possessed boy settle on a determined nod, Fenton smiled something savage.
Which left Yuji worried he’d been too rash, until out of nowhere, the foreigner bafflingly grabbed one of his spare ketchup packets.
“What do you plan to do with—”
Fenton tore the edge of the condiment with his teeth, shoving it in Yuji’s face with a, “Hold still! You’ve got something riiiiight—” It didn’t matter how quickly the pinket dodged, his opponent was faster and stronger. “Here.”
“Ugh! What?! Whyyyyy?” Yuji groaned, squirming in place as Fenton’s free hand latched onto the side of his head and held him steady for another big smear.
“Sorry Man, the contract’s literally written on your face.”
“That son of a—but why ketchup?!” Yuji demanded, trying to not flinch away from the disgusting, sticky mess this stranger was wiping across the bridge of his nose like red war paint.
“Well, I'm short on time, and gosh golly gee, I left my emotional support white-out in my other pair of pants today,” Fenton sassed with a grin.
That was it. Gojo-sensei must have sent a friend after him for shits and giggles. Any minute now, someone was going to jump out from behind the order counter and yell, “You've been Punk’d!”
As it was, the commotion drew the attention of a couple sitting two tables down who gave each other flummoxed looks. While the otaku guy meekly turned away and tried his best to look fully engaged with a big mac, his bob-cut, “I need to speak to a manager” girlfriend not-so-subtly side-eyed Yuji and grabbed out a cellphone to start recording.
Yuji tensed, prompting Fenton’s eyes to follow his gaze.
He was supposed to stay incognito! He couldn’t risk going viral over this!
About one second from freaking out, Yuji suddenly heard the girl whine, “What’s wrong with my phone? Why’s it all staticky?”
When Yuji glanced back at Fenton, the other man winked, and stole one of his fries.
What. the fuck.
Seeing his face, the foreigner laughed. “I can’t break a pact without a sacrifice. What did you want me to take, your finger?” Abruptly, Fenton double-tapped the side of Yuji’s temple with a, “Don’t touch,” before letting him go. Head turning away to scan the restaurant, the increasingly unhinged sorcerer mused, “Now I just need something to…Oh, that might work?”
Fenton got up and quick-walked to the silverware stand, inspecting a cheap, metal butter knife like he was weighing his options. With a quick grimace and less than enthused side headbob, he palmed the knife and headed back toward the table.
“So, this next part requires a ceremonial sword to cut your bindings, but since that’s not really an option here, I’m just gonna wing it.”
“If we're lucky, I'll be able to combine exhibit A,” Fenton lifted the butter knife and gestured to it like a promotional model at a car show, “with this handy, dandy blessing,” sounds started to pour from his throat that were distinctly not human, “infuse it with a little supernatural energy,” sclera bleeding green from the edges, color splashed across his eyes until there was nothing left but dual pools of toxic, glowing waste, “to turn this average, everyday utensil into a big ol’ F U.”
A second passed in which Yuji and Danny both stared at the knife, one expectant, one incredulous.
“Hopefully.”
Then red-rimmed, black letters? symbols?—Yuji had no idea what else to call those near-formless, eerie shapes—crept up from the handle and shifted across the open blade, an oil slick of unnatural shadows eating away at the harsh McDonalds potlighting.
A devilish grin lit the stranger’s face and something shifted in the atmosphere.
Bloodlust?
“Wait a minute, Fenton,” Yuji started to inch away, trying to reposition himself in a way where he could spring over the tables blocking him in. “I'm not so sure—!”
Suddenly, Fenton's free hand—the one not holding the knife—latched onto Yuji’s wrist with inhuman speed.
This time, the icy hold was not so comforting.
Shit. Forget being pranked, Was Yuji about to get stabbed? Just what had he agreed to?
Saturday, September 29th
12:08 pm
GORE WARNING
Danny Phantom had not expected to come across someone like Itadori-kun on his travels. Most ghosts knew better than to mess with Geas Law these days, so imagine his surprise at happening upon an illegal pact just hanging out in a McDonalds.
Seriously, what was with today and unethical contracts?
This poor kid got screwed, and Danny was about to raise some Hel over it.
Opening his eyes, the half-ghost found himself ankle deep in blood.
Sukuna’s soulscape was just as grotesque as his contract. The “walls” of this Inner Lair were made up of a giant ribcage, and at its center was a mound of bovine skulls.
Atop the morbid “furniture” sat a warped version of Itadori, peering down with a twisted smirk that didn’t fit the boy’s sweet face. Tribal tattoos ran the length of his entire body, a second set of eyes hidden within the ink on his cheekbones.
And while sure, the prick was unsettling, Danny’d fought Pariah Dark before.
Taking advantage of the fact that curses were a subspecies of ghost, Danny used The Dead Language to bypass his need for a translator.
“Roh-men Suh-koo-nah,” he commanded upward in guttural, snarling chirs that were directly injected with anger. “You have violated Infinite Realm Statutory Law. ‘Humans Under Contract’, chapter two, Geas Requirements, clearly states that forcing a predatory contract under duress is a crime of the highest order. As is contracting with a minor without prior court approval or an extenuating circumstance appeal. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Cocky Brat. You touch my soul without permission just to prattle on about drivel I’ve never heard of?” Sukuna tilted his head, pillowing it into a supporting hand while giving Danny the most deadpan look.
“It’s recent.”
“And I’ve been sealed for a millennium.”
“Ignorance of the law is no excuse for breaking it, Punk,” Danny quipped back, finally understanding Walker just a tiny bit.
“Punk, huh? That’s a cute insult.” Still bored, Sukuna swept a hand lightning fast in Danny’s direction. “But I think I’ve heard enough.”
The halfa doubled over as immense pressure bore down on his core, a conceited smirk the last thing he saw before black bangs veiled his vision.
That absolute piss-head!
Livid green glare piercing through the shadow of his hair, Danny drew on the soulforce of the entire Ghost Zone and pushed back.
The bones of the Inner Lair went pyroclastic, exploding into calcified shrapnel that Sukuna had to dodge and smack away even as he fell from his missing seat. The bloody floor melted into nothingness before he could land, sending the entire world into a senseless blackout.
Sight, touch, taste, sound, smell—it was all gone, until slowly, far-off specks of fire filtered barely perceptible light into the emptiness.
“Well, since I’ve given you a chance to explain yourself, and you’ve chosen to forgo your rights by attacking the presiding judge, I will now detail your sentence.” Grinning in a vicious mockery of Sukuna's earlier smile, Danny let his transformation eat away at his flesh and replace it with ectoplasm, knowing full well that his white glow would be blinding against the void between stars.
Just for fun, he even changed his aura into an aurora, manipulating it into angry, green and pink flares that shimmered and shifted along his body.
Sukuna looked uneasy, but not entirely off his game. Probably thinking he could still defend against any attacks like he had earlier.
So Danny pushed harder.
Clutching his chest like he couldn’t breath, the curse suddenly exhaled, during which, his mouth hung open a split second. That was all it took for steam to erupt, flash-boiling his tongue. Sukuna’s eyes widened—all four of them—and he started to shiver, staring hard at his hands. Seeing the flesh begin to expand and sunburn, he coated himself in furiously circulating negative energy.
Adopting an authoritative tone as if nothing had happened, Danny continued, “Since you are soulbound with Yuji Itadori, your twenty-thousand year, mandatory prison sentence will be postponed. However, upon your host’s death, the Fused Core Services sector will separate you two and the sentence will begin. Until then, I deem it necessary to officially annul this contract and restrict your ability to form new ones. In addition, since your healing ability was your main bargaining chip in the first contract, it will serve the same function in your new, court ordained one.”
“Court ordained contract?!” Sukuna snarled, bolstered by the fact that he’d found a way to “beat” Danny’s soulscape. “Like hell I'd agree to—” he lunged forward, or well, tried to, tipping forward in a zero-G spin.
Feeling no pity, despite his own personal familiarity with the circumstance, Danny lifted a brow, forcing the environment into vacuum so he could watch Sukuna scream in silence.
The curse had finally realized there was no way to push his Inner Lair outside his “body”, and therefore no way to stabilize, maneuver, or even fix his voice. His energy was pressurized like a fish in the depths of Danny’s soulforce ocean.
The halfa smirked as Sukuna straightened to cross his arms and glower, mouth snapping shut.
There was a reason the Ghost Zone had “Infinite” in its real name.
Satisfied, Danny restored sound, using just a bit of gravity manipulation to end the other man's spin.
Man, he loved how much control he had inside his soulscape. It sucked that the space powers didn’t extend outside his core, but then again, maybe that’s where the portal ability stemmed from: wormholes. Gravity manipulation might well be on the horizon; he already had flight, after all.
Waiting a second more to make sure Sukuna would stay mute, Danny continued, “As I was saying, your healing ability will be the focus of this new contract. You’ll be required to teach Yuji Itadori regeneration to the best of your ability. Should he not be capable of doing so with his own power, or cannot learn within the next six months, you must lend him your own ability any time he asks or is in mortal danger. In exchange for your cooperation, I’ll beat you up a little less than I originally planned. Sound good?”
Sukuna's glower intensified into a death glare.
“I think it’s only fair that since you forced a geas under duress, you be bound by a geas under duress.” Having said his piece, Danny swept a palm-up hand toward Sukuna, as if to say “go ahead”.
“That’s bullshit! If I hadn’t offered that pact, this brat would be floating around in specimen jars somewhere. I saved his life!”
“Yeah, no.” Danny snapped his fingers, and a spacial distortion imploded one of Sukuna’s feet.
“How did you—” This time, there was more fear than hate in the sorcerer's gaze.
Danny could tell he hadn't even perceived that attack until it was too late, and his cursed energy sure as heck hadn't blocked it.
“See, the thing about saving someone’s life is: the person only owes you one if you didn’t kill them in the first place. Now I suggest you clench your teeth.”
Saturday, September 29th
12:08 pm
Fenton’s eyes stayed green for roughly thirty seconds, during which Yuji desperately tried to pry his hand free. It didn’t matter how hard he pulled, though; this guy might as well have been made of steel—and that was coming from a kid that could punch holes through concrete without cursed energy.
When they did finally bleed back to blue, the stranger slipped into an oddly chipper smile and released Yuji’s wrist. “Okay, Itadori-kun. Now that Sukuna’s been served, I need to cut the bindings to render the contract null and void.”
Okay, so Yuji hadn’t been stabbed. Yet.
Rubbing feeling back into his hand, he stared hard at the knife with a suspicious squint.
But that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.
Before he could decide to run or not, the knife slashed the air in front of him.
But like, a meter away; near Fenton’s feet.
What?
Yuji’s eyes widened as the sorcerer started humming, swinging the blade to the left and right of his booth seat. Not just because it was ridiculous, but because he felt lighter with each swing.
Locking eyes with some random McDonalds employee cleaning a table nearby, dishrag frozen in place, Yuji saw his own dumbfounded stare looking back.
“Oh, hey, Itadori-kun? Can you get up for a sec? I can’t reach the last two chains ‘cause they’re running down through the bench.”
“Uh, yeah sure.” Nodding numbly, Yuji stood up and shuffled several steps forward while Fenton scooted around him in the narrow space between their little table and the neighboring one. Teetering sideways on one foot, the alleged contract breaker hacked at “nothing” two more times.
“All done!”
Instantly, everything felt crisper and some indescribable ache (that Yuji didn’t realize he’d been ignoring) lifted. It was like an old injury: most noticeable when the pain was gone.
“WOAH! This feels amazing, Fenton!” The teen squeezed fully past the foreigner to get further away from the table and did several test stretches, exclaiming in delight. “Duuuude, I’m not gonna lie, the ketchup had me half convinced Gojo-sensei sent you here as a joke, but you sure fooled me! This is sick; thanks!” Left hand holding the joint in place, his right shoulder swung in several, full-range-of-motion circles. “Oh yeah! Speaking of, do you mind if I take a selfie? I need proof you exist or he's never gonna believe this happened!”
“Not unless you want her taking one, too,” Fenton chuckled, tilting his head over to their resident gawker, who took that as her cue to leave, finally relenting against her boyfriend's insistent upper-arm tugs. A quick stop at the trashcans, and the couple was out the door.
“So there’s two more things I wanna do—you can wipe the ketchup off now, by the way—”
“Right!” Yuji grabbed a napkin from the dispenser.
“But I’m running out of time. The first is super important. I need to set up a new contract between you and your ghost,” Yuji's sudden gut clench must have shown on his face because Fenton immediately elaborated, “as a punishment for Sukuna’s crimes. Trust me, you’ll love it. That tattooed prick,” how’d he know Sukuna had tattoos?! “is going to teach you how to heal yourself. Or supply you with healing. Either one. And I beat the crap out of him to make it happen.”
Fenton’s grin just oozed feral satisfaction, and Yuji felt a flash of pity for Sukuna.
No wait. What was he thinking? That asshole tried to steal his body and kill his friends! Piece of shit had it coming!
But did Yuji really want to form a new contract? Let alone one initiated by a complete stranger?
As he mulled this over, the begrimed boy pulled out several more napkins, one after the other, and finished cleaning his face. Piling the used wads of paper together on the table, he lifted his palm, flexing his fingers toward himself as he marveled once again at the lack of tension and pain in his joints.
If the way he was feeling right now meant anything, it was that Fenton seemed to be telling the truth and had already done him a completely unprompted solid. He even seemed in a rush to leave, so this couldn't have been convenient for him.
Once again, it felt right to trust in his intuition, so Yuji tilted that hand around to hold out a fist toward the other man.
Smile shifting into something more jolly than sinister, Fenton bumped knuckles and grabbed his cracked phone off the table, running over to the cash register to talk with the clerk for a second.
Yuji rubbernecked, trying to see what he was up to.
Another embarrassed rub of the nape and a quick bow forward later, the American returned with a pen.
Yuji’s stomach chose that exact moment to rumble. Glancing down at his abdomen, then back up at Fenton, he blushed, one hand instinctively grabbing the source of the noise.
Now that scents besides sugar and tomato were clamoring for his attention, burger was pounding at the gates of his nose and high metabolism.
Huh. Actually. Was he crazy, or did it smell even better than before?
“We can sit back down, and you can keep eating if you want.”
“Sure,” Yuji readily agreed, shuffling back into the booth as Fenton re-commondeered the mustard-yellow chair, twirling it around to straddle it backwards at the table.
“Let me see your arm.” He held out a hand. “I gotta write down the terms of the geas.”
Having already made up his mind, Yuji was quick to comply, pushing up his sleeve. Arm was way better than face, anyway. Still, he had to comment, “If you knew you could try for a pen, why’d you use ketchup earlier?”
As Fenton jotted down a surprisingly long amount of words in more of that weird script from the butter knife—this time unmoving—he answered, “One, ketchup wipes off, pen doesn’t—you’d be walking around for days with ink on your face—and two, look how skinny this tip is!” The man stopped writing just long enough to wiggle it in the air for emphasis. “You have to cover every last bit of contract to nullify it. What if my scribbles missed a spot? Now sush. It’s hard enough to think of airtight legal jargon on a time limit, I don't need you bugging me, too!”
Fenton got back to work as Yuji fell silent, using the break to eat his burger. He spilled a lot, only having one, non-dominant hand in use, but that’s what wet wipes were for.
Fenton only paused once over the next three minutes, pursing his lips together for a moment to think before going back at it. Only when Yuji's arm was almost completely covered in black script did he finally stop, snatching a napkin to write on that, instead.
“So, what you need to know is,” Fenton started transcribing his words, “Sukuna is required to teach you how to heal yourself with reverse cursed technique. If you can't wield that technique at a proficient level in the next six months for any plausible reason,” locking eyes, Fenton double underlined the stressed words, “being physically incapable of learning it, having a lack of skill, and/or no time to practice are all considered plausible reasons, by the way,” he marked a star at each point in the list, “Sukuna must lend you his own self-regeneration ability on command.”
“All you have to do is think or say the phrase, ‘It's not lupus,’ in English,” Another underline, this time paired with a small quirk of Fenton's lips. “He's also required to heal you if you're in mortal danger, regardless of how much time has passed—keyword here being mortal—unless, of course, healing you causes a situation you would find more distressing than death. Bottom line is, don't expect him to kiss your boo-boos without asking, because this is the most ambiguous clause of the contract, and the one he's most likely to try and twist how he wants. It was the best I could do on short notice, but I had to make sure you had some insurance for the first six months. Otherwise, he'll try and pull something while you're still learning and can't heal yourself well.”
When Yuji heard Fenton talking about the geas earlier, he’d been a little too overwhelmed to mentally digest it, but now that it was being explained so thoroughly, he was grinning from ear to ear.
This was the best! What sweet revenge to have Sukuna forced into giving up the very skill he'd blackmailed Yuji with for free!
At the young jujutsu sorcerer's obvious delight, Fenton continued, maintaining his serious air, “Now I know it sounds like a win-win-win for you, and that the easiest thing would be to just sit on your hands and wait until the six months are up, but don't do that. There is one way, and one way only for Sukuna to break this contract. That is if you don't even try to learn the technique. To satisfy the requirements of a geas, things can't be completely one-sided. Sukuna gets two things from this. Less of a beating from me, and one way out of the contract. If you intentionally try to not learn his technique, you won't be holding up your side of things and it dissolves on its own. Kapeesh?”
“Question!” Yuji raised his hand.
Fenton only paused awkwardly for a second before instinctively pointing to the highschooler like a teacher might, “Uh, yes, Itadori-kun?”
“So what's the benefit of learning the technique myself versus just siphoning off Sukuna and saving my power?”
“Excellent question.” Fenton clapped once, making it really feel like class time. “Sukuna is only required to heal you, for one,” his slender hands tipped forward in a “v” to point at Yuji with the vertex of fingertips, “whereas reversed curse technique is kinda open-ended.” His palms parted, balancing an invisible scale. “Yeah, you'll be slower at healing yourself than Sukuna would be, but you'll probably speed up as time goes on. The main advantage is that if you make the technique your own, you can potentially tweak the power in various ways or teach someone else how to use it. Who's to say you won't be able to heal your friends in the future if you get good enough? There's a lot more potential in learning than waiting for handouts from a guy you don't trust.”
Oh! Soka! That made sense.
“Second question!”
“Shoot.”
“What's lupus?”
Fenton suddenly grinned, ruining the serious atmosphere.
“Have you seen House?”
“No?”
“Look it up.”
It must be a movie or something. Yuji would have to try and figure out what the foreigner was referencing later. Maybe he could use it for his doll training.
“Any other questions?”
“Uhh, I can't read what you wrote, but what you said sounds great!” Yuji gave his benefactor two thumbs up.
“Right. Language barrier. Sorry you'll have to get a translator for this,” Fenton tapped the napkin with the back side of his pen, “but I don't know Kanji and it'd be catastrophically bad if you forgot the terms or they got misinterpreted.”
“Are you seriously apologizing for doing me a favor right now?”
“Sorry, habit,” Fenton chuckled. “I deal with idiots on the regular that complain no matter what I do.”
“That's super frustrating.” Yuji's face screwed up. “Who would get mad at someone for helping them?!”
“Bureaucrats.” Fenton went back to the contract arm with a very done look, turning it over. “The answer you're looking for is bureaucrats.” Using the pen on the last of Yuji's untouched skin, he drew some kind of little symbol that looked like a “D” with three prongs on its back, filling it in. “Let me give you some advice, Itadori-kun. Never work for the government; the benefits are a trap.”
Suddenly, before the highschooler could react, Fenton swiped the abandoned butter knife off the table and slashed the back of his own forearm.
Hissing in sympathy, Yuji tried to prevent his new friend from more self harm, but once again, was pinned in place by a steely tight grip.
The cut was surprisingly shallow, and welled up only a small bit of blood before shutting. Completely nonchalant, Fenton rolled his spare thumb in the bubbled up liquid, then pressed a red print next to the “D” on Yuji's arm like a stamp, his bright blue eyes going toxic green again.
And that's when Yuji felt it.
It wasn't painful this time, just a bit stuffy. If before his soul was wrapped in chains that rubbed and chaffed, now it was wearing a ski suit—cozy at best, annoyingly stiff in the metaphysical joints at worst—but that was about it.
Still adjusting to the abrupt change, Yuji stared as Fenton grabbed yet another napkin, starting to sketch a big circle with a surprisingly steady hand. Just before closing it, he stopped and added a grape-sized oval into the opening.
What was he drawing? Wasn't the geas complete?
Geometric shapes were added to the center, overlapping and layered atop each other.
WOAH!
“You’re an alchemist?!”
A snort and a look later, Fenton added the finishing touches to his circle. “Sorry to break it to you, but I'm no Fullmetal. This is for something else.”
Attention back on his savior's face instead of the man's hands, Yuji realized Fenton’s skin had a green undertone again, and there was a certain tightness building in his expression.
Suddenly, he gripped his mess of black hair and muttered, "Oh crud, I gotta go.”
“To the bathroom?”
“What? No!” The incredulous look was one Yuji was getting all too familiar with even over their short interaction. “My time’s up. But here, if he tries to pull anything like that again, this is my business card.”
Fenton quickly pressed his fingertips to the circle napkin and slid it over.
"I don't normally give it out, cause I hate being on call, and I'd never get any sleep if more than a few people had it, but I'll make an exception for this. If you need to get a hold of me, just say, ‘I'm trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty.’ ” Writing the sentence down on the margins of the napkin, Fenton tapped the empty grape-oval built into the outer edge of the circle. “Make sure your finger's on this spot when you do, and don't forget a sacrifice! I'll take one of those little fish waffles. The ones with the custard inside. I've never had one before.”
“Taiyaki?”
“Sure.” Fenton half shrugged with an obvious, “not a clue” smile before steamrolling on, making it more and more noticeable just how much of a rush he was in.
“Talking to this circle is like leaving me a voicemail; it's not really for emergencies. It just records and sends off what you say. I'll try to come visit as soon as I get it, but no promises. Honestly, you're lucky I can even form a pact with you. Humans aren't really my specialty, but you're just 'ghost' enough that I think I can fudge the paperwork. With the state your soul's in, you're like me, you fall into a sort of ‘grey area’ with the legality of it all.”
What was that supposed to mean?
“Oh, and Itadori-kun?”
Yuji's question was cut short before he could even think too hard on it.
“One last thing. I missed my chance to tell you earlier, but please, please throw that hoodie out.”
“What, why?!” Yuji grabbed the bottom of the aforementioned fleece with both hands and pulled it away from himself, looking down for a major stain or something.
What was wrong with it?
There was nothing on the black fabric besides the few English letters that had drawn Yuji to it in the thrift store. He loved the thing. It was so soft, and the writing matched his hair, but maybe Fenton had a thing against pink.
“I hate to be the one to tell you,” Danny's face grew solemn enough to tense Yuji's chest, “but you are not, and will never be, a MILF.”
Eyebrows knitting in a confused frown, Yuji watched Danny disappear into the bathroom with a smirk.
Pulling out his phone, Yuji typed the new, new question into Google, a buffering sign practically floating above his brain in time with the loading page.
One second.
Two.
Head flying back in laughter, he lost his balance and fell off the bench.
One forearm propping himself on the edge of the table, he lifted back up into a crouch and wiped a tear from his eye, only to notice everyone in the McDonalds staring.
Yuji couldn't help it, he cackled again, pulling his baseball cap low over his eyes.
What even was today?
Some sort of vivid, hallucinogenic jujutsu?
It just didn't make sense.
The great and mighty Sukuna, Scourge of the Heian Era, forced to serve a guy in a MILF hoodie just because he got his ass handed to him by some ketchup and a butter knife.