Aight, I need y’all to follow me out on this.
Inumaki’s technique’s called cursed speech, isn’t it?
I mean, it's not named cursed language or cursed communication, right? Therefore, I assume nothing happens, in terms of cursed energy, when he writes instead of talking - this opinion is also reinforced by the fact he sometimes makes gestures indicating i.e. a phone call and sends sms -
Thus, having written communication as the only way of expression, I think he’d be prone to keeping a diary, using a large vocabulary to leave a clear trace of every single thing he can’t verbally express, trying to capture their essence with an accurate calligraphy, to imagine what those words would sound like coming out of his mouth.
Eventually, Yuta finds out about it and starts leaving him notes here and there, accompanied by a pen; at the beginning, it’s just random info about Yuta's day or simple yes and no questions, to put Inumaki at ease, which happens to occur way faster than Yuta would have expected; Toge actually starts not only to enjoy Okkotsu's updates about his days, but also finds himself opening up more and more.
In a matter of months, they are basically having whole ass conversations in the middle of everything and everywhere: on the bathroom mirror, the basketball, the fridge, the tables... leaflets and slips of inked paper just keep popping out of nowhere. )They also slid them into each other’s notebooks during lessons, to Gojo’s amusement).
And when Yuta decides to go to Africa, they obviously keep that habit alive: texting would have been faster and easier, but Inumaki loved imprinting his handwriting, his scent, his feelings in every single word, imagining Yuta’s long fingers carefully tracing every letter, as if to caress the graceful hand they had been written by.
He could almost see Inumaki's slim figure leaning against the headboard, the ice blonde of his hair slightly warmed up by a lazy ray of sunshine, whispering melodious words to the paper.
And oh, how many injuries and commands Yuta would have endured for a blessed hint of that cursed voice softly sighing those forbidden words in his ear in a warm, desert night...
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