mae ⋆˚꩜｡ @stwrbreee - Tumblr Blog

Apr 20

chapter 01 - summer in the san fernando valley

ᯓ‎𝄞 ˎˊ˗ that's life - frank sinatra

ᢉ⋆˚࿔ pairing: baseball player greaser! yuuji itadori x cheerleader soc! reader

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 | ch. 7 | ch. 8 | ch. 9 | ch. 10 | ch. 11 | ch. 12 | ch. 13 | ch. 14 | ch. 15

main masterlist | story masterlist | ao3 story link

The blazing summer sun had cast an inescapable layer of heat across the state of California, which meant the temperature had risen high enough for children and adults alike to begin sporting their summer attire. Consequently, the streets of the San Fernando Valley were filled with sunglasses and swimsuits, along with a sense of liberty that had emerged with the upcoming Fourth of July. Amid the bright fashion and patriotism, there was also an undeniable notion of change that accompanied the arrival of a massive U-Haul truck outside Yuuji Itadori’s house.

His next-door neighbor, Mrs. Norris, had moved out three months ago on a random, but pleasant, Tuesday evening.

An evening Yuuji remembered vividly.

The sun had been setting just below the horizon in a beautiful mix of mauve and roseate tones, the kind that lightly dusted his mother’s cheeks on her weekly date night with his father. Fallen bikes, pieces of chalk, and random sports equipment decorated the sidewalks as children, tired from a long day of play, finally sat down to admire the sky and indulge in the kind of mindless chitchat only adolescents could.

Yuuji and his friends were no different; they were halfway through their usual route home from the sandlot, engaged in the most juvenile conversation about a movie they had snuck into the theater to watch the night prior.

“I’m just sayin’, it was a total waste of a perfectly good plan.” Yuuji, charismatic as always, offered a small smile as he shrugged his shoulders.

Nobara had promised the movie was an interesting take on modern relationships. Unfortunately, the boys had taken that promise to mean the film included an obscene amount of sex scenes. They had been surprised to find out that it included none of the appeal that they’d witnessed in Yuuji’s older brother, Sukuna’s, secret stash of a newly released Playboy magazine.

Instead, they sat in the screen room for an hour and forty-three minutes, wondering how strategically they could time their bathroom breaks without Nobara realizing they were taking turns sneaking out back to throw around a flimsy frisbee they’d found beneath a plastic chair in the adjacent alleyway.

By the thirty-six-minute mark, they found that the answer was two boys at a time; they had attempted to make it three, but by then Nobara realized that the obnoxious chewing that accompanied every outing with the boys had been cut to a minimum volume.

When she had marched out, Yuta and Yuuji were in the middle of celebrating before they realized it was her. She was quick to drag both back into the theater by the collars of their t-shirts while muttering something about their inability to sit still.

“You’re just runnin’ your mouth, and I don’t want to hear it.” Nobara snapped. Conversely, she had been thoroughly satisfied by both the movie’s storyline and dialogue, which the boys attributed to the obvious fact that she was a girl. But frankly, they had tired of the topic long ago and were now just using the discourse to anger her.

“C’mon, Nobara, turn that frown upside down.” Panda reached his arms over her shoulders and pulled her cheeks to form a reluctant smile. She was quick to swat his hands away.

“You guys are insufferable.”

By the time the group neared her house, a humble one-story residence with white trim along the front windows, and a Chevy Styleline parked in the driveway, she was sufficiently irritated. And made no move to turn around and bid the group farewell, despite hearing their cheerful goodbyes and parting words. Instead, she made her way inside and slammed the door shut behind her.

When the boys saw to it that she was safely inside, they continued their way about the neighborhood, conversation flowing easily. They spoke of their progress on Miss Jone’s recently assigned history essay, which was required to be five pages in length. A feat the boys considered exceptionally difficult in light of the fact that they could barely recite the preamble without fumbling over their words, which made them unsure how they would conjure up five whole pages on the Constitution.

Additionally, the boys' study time had been cut short following Yuta’s accident the week prior. He had been on his way home from a late-night showing of Godzilla at the drive-in when a drunk driver ran a red and crashed into the passenger’s side of his cherry red Desoto Firedome. The matter was a touchy subject for all the boys, considering they had been forced into riding around in Kinji’s first-generation Ford pickup. Which, on top of its malfunctioning air conditioning system, did not have enough seats for all of them.

So it left Yuuji, along with a couple of the other boys, with a forty-minute walk home, and as they neared Kinji’s house, the sight of the vehicle reminded him of why. There were two dents along the rear, and near the front, the paint had chipped from when he had crashed into a fire hydrant. Kinji had offered that they ride in the back, but none of them really trusted their friend’s erratic driving.

As they called out a loud, “See you tomorrow,” Kinji entered his house, followed by a couple of waves to Yuta and Maki as they turned the corner, and then some minutes later, a “Catch you later,” as Panda disappeared into his backyard, which left Toge and Yuuji alone as they walked down Poppy Street.

“I’m telling you, it has nothing to do with the sound and all to do with the vibe.” Recently, Yuuji’s obsession with Brenda Lee’s rendition of “I'll Always Be in Love with You” had hit an all-time high, which Toge concluded had something to do with a certain girl sending a flirty wink his way last Friday night.

“See Toge, you wouldn’t quite understand cause your ear isn’t trained for music.” Yuuji rambled on, and before he knew it, he had slung a lazy arm over his friend’s shoulder.

Toge, frequently amused by his friend's antics, had been quite upset by his current lovestruck state, considering he had, up until recently, thought Ji-ah Park was the devil reincarnated. Though he supposed that’s what they thought of most girls in their grade, the only difference was that Ji-ah Park lived on their side of town, which had made her a tiny bit more tolerable than the rest.

“And don’t even get me started...”

Yuuji, mere seconds away from delving into an entirely different topic, trailed off because right there, about twenty feet in front of the boys, was a U-Haul truck complete with five or so men in uniform hauling boxes out of Mrs. Norris’s house.

The rest was history, sweet, unbothered, history.

For the following months, Yuuji and his friends, much like all the other teens residing in the San Fernando Valley, spent their days and nights doing just about anything they could. You see, for as long as anyone could remember, Mrs. Norris had always been in an awfully dreadful mood. Shouting at the neighborhood children who played outside, complaining about passing sports cars revving their engines down Main Street, and most likely her worst habit: reporting dishonorable behavior to unsuspecting mothers and fathers.

Yuuji had been a victim of such tattle-tailing one too many times. She’d caught him sneaking out of his bedroom window at ungodly hours of the night, lighting cigarettes behind the abandoned roller rink, and even kissing chicks goodbye at the drive-in.

She had been the cause behind several groundings and punishments and had driven Yuuji to the point of praying for her eternal rest, as sinful as it may have seemed. In fact, after many years of enduring her torment, he concluded that he loathed Mrs. Norris more than he despised Kaito Nakazama and his lousy gang, which was a seemingly absurd proclamation, but it was true. The elderly woman had managed to transcend the natural hatred between social classes and make herself the common enemy.

And although Yuuji was a relatively proper boy, he had continued to be very vocal about his distaste despite her absence, much to his mother’s dismay. So to say that Yuuji was beyond ecstatic about the change was an offensive understatement.

“You know it would be nice if you could offer our new neighbors some help. It might do you some good to get out of the house for a while. I heard they have a son around your age.” Yuuji’s mother chatised as she made her way around the wooden coffee table and to the couch where Yuuji had found refuge almost the entire morning.

Her hair was curled and pinned back in a low hairstyle that complemented the pillbox hat she’d most likely sewn into the crown of her head. The hat, like her dress, was a light cream color; however, her dress was covered in pale blue polka dots, which her hat was not. She was preparing for Sunday service, and by anyone’s standards, very stylishly so.

“Maybe you could make another friend before summer rolls in. Invite him to that dirt lot you are always going on about.” She gathered the pillows he’d thrown off the couch to settle comfortably atop the plush bottom cushions before patting his shoes, which were thrown over the arm of the couch, and he immediately swung them off the fabric, remembering how much she hated it when his dirty soles scuffed up the furniture.

“What’s the point? I can’t play with this busted arm, anyway.” Yuuji motioned to the thick white cast that had been plastered to his forearm following an eventful day at the lake with Kinji’s brand-new Schwinn Varsity bicycle and a homemade wooden ramp.

The nurses at the hospital, where he had been rushed twenty minutes later, had been very adamant that he call his parents. And after about an hour of back and forth, and a not-so-happy doctor fixing him up, he reluctantly picked up the phone and dialed his house number.

There was a big part of him, as foreign as it might have seemed, that prayed for Sukuna’s voice. He was sure he could have convinced his older, less caring brother to use his money to pay off the hospital bill and never speak of the incident again. But alas, when the phone static cleared, and he heard someone’s breathing on the other line, it was not his brother’s deep voice that followed, but instead, the sound of his mother’s melodic greeting.

She never let him hear the end of it when she learned that not only had her son left school early, but he was also calling from the emergency room of the town hospital. Evidently, she had shouted at him throughout the entire car ride home, but Yuuji could only lean his head against the window and watch the storefronts pass by as he realized what he had done.

Just like he had predicted, when he arrived at school the following morning, his coach had been incredibly disappointed. The season had just started, and his star player was already benched. And to make matters worse, Kaito Nakazama was visiting family back in Japan, which meant his team would be off to a rough start.

“Yuuji, I’m not askin’ you. You’ve been holed up in this house for over a month. Go on out, introduce yourself to the neighbors, and offer your help. Now.”

“Alright, alright,” using his good arm, Yuuji pushed himself off the couch.

“Now make sure you invite him to Sunday service, too.” And although the last thing he’d do was invite a prospective friend to church, Yuuji liked to ease his mother’s mind. “Of course, mama.”

When he opened the door, he was greeted by sunny, warm weather, just another indication that school was almost out and he would soon be free from daily homework and weekly exams. The best part was that he was scheduled to get his cast off within the week, which meant the summer was projected to include ten-hour days at the sandlot, swimming at the local pool until dusk, and even dancing at the new juke joint. His future was bright, and he was warming up to the idea of a new friend the more he thought about it.

As he walked out onto the lawn, he noticed that the new neighbors had made quite a bit of progress while he was speaking to his mother. The random piles of cardboard boxes that were strewn across the front lawn were now half of their original number. However, there appeared to be no one else around; it was just Yuuji, the boxes, and the U-haul.

He hesitantly crossed the divide between their houses, made his way around the fridge and a couple of dining table chairs, before he peeked around the open doors of the moving truck to find a man who looked considerably younger than his father. He stood at least six feet tall, and through the fabric of his tight-fitting black tee, Yuuji could tell he had more muscle packed on than Steve Reeves and Clint Walker combined.

He was hauling a bike out of the truck, and upon further inspection, Yuuji realized it was a Harley-Davidson Panhead. A bike renowned for its aluminum cylinder heads and hydraulic valve lifters, and considerably more expensive than any current model on the market. He and his friends had been lucky enough to see them down in Los Angeles a couple of times before, but rarely in town.

“Excuse me, sir.” The bike’s wheels ceased rotating as the man turned to face Yuuji. “My name is Yuuji Itadori, I live just next door, and I was wondering if you needed a hand movin’ in?”

The man brought his hand up to wipe the sweat off his forehead as his gaze landed on Yuuji’s arm. The gesture caused his shirt to ride up just enough for Yuuji to see the pristine Levi’s Strauss & Co jacron sewn into the waistband of his denim jeans.

“Yeah, actually, we do, son. I got a couple of boxes here if your arm won’t hold you back from lending us a hand.” The man motioned to the lawn, where several boxes with descriptive words and phrases were scribbled.

“Not at all.” Yuuji smiled, and to any onlooker, the scenario might have seemed doomed, but after years of playing baseball, Yuuji was quite built himself. He crossed the grass to the nearest pile of boxes and picked one up with his good arm. “Got any place you’d like these set, sir?” He called before he moved any further.

“Yeah, just past the living room and to the right. There’s a hallway there. Set ’em in the room on the right.” Yuuji nodded, and although the man gave very thorough instructions, they were unnecessary. Yuuji had been in Mrs. Norris’s house enough times to know that these boxes were going in her old hoarding room.

Once filled to the brim with antique porcelain dolls, Mrs. Norris’s room was now completely empty, save for the wooden bed frame in the right corner, a white dresser along the left wall, and a dark-haired boy standing in front of the window. He was around Yuuji’s height, maybe a tad bit taller, and just like his father, his hair was as black as the asphalt concrete of the roads just outside.

Yuuji tried his best to set the box down carefully, and despite the silence that came from the action, the boy across the room turned around immediately. He said nothing, just kept a serious expression on his face as Yuuji rose to his full height once again. After about thirty seconds, when Yuuji couldn’t take the silence any longer, he blurted, “I live next door.”

The boy tilted his head before his eyes trailed down to read the label on the box. Yuuji felt uncomfortably self-conscious, which didn’t usually occur. Though he suspected the feeling had to do with the cast, and the small fact that his identity had always been tied to his ability to play baseball.

He had felt the same way for the past couple of months, and back then, it was hard to pull himself out of his depressive episode when his healing was nowhere in sight, but that had changed. The following week, he could revert to his old self again—his old, outgoing, excessively loud, and cheerful self.

“I’m Yuuji Itadori.” He tried again.

“Megumi.”

“Cool,” Yuuji smiled, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Megumi, on the other hand, was quick to move on, grabbing the box that was placed near Yuuji’s feet and crossing the room to set it on the bare mattress atop his bed frame. He peeled the tape off neatly before bunching up the remains and throwing them on the floor. Then, he folded the cardboard flaps backward and turned the box upside down in order to spill the contents out.

Yuuji watched with enthusiasm that quickly morphed to confusion as he made out the items that had been in the box. They seemed to be frilly, lace clothing pieces that came in various shades of pink and yellow. They reminded him of his mother and how she, too, had brought her spring and summer floral dresses out of storage and packed away her winter coats.

“Soo….” In their own respect, looking at women’s garments was a natural part of family life, especially since Yuuji had always been one to help with laundry around the house. However, seeing a boy his age in possession of several blouses, skirts, and dresses made Yuuji exceptionally curious.

But it was times like these Yuuji recalled his mother’s scoldings, and more often than not, she reprimanded him for his bluntness. Yuuji was often too direct, so instead of asking outright, he decided to focus on the numerous items on the dresser.

There were piles of books, the kind Yuuji usually skipped over at the school library, some cd’s, and an excessive amount of what looked like already written in notebooks. A couple looked like the ones Yuuji used for school, and playing hangman with Yuta in the back of Mr. Wilson’s fifth-period science class, but the others were leather-bound in gorgeous umber tones, which made it obvious they cost a fortune. He skipped over them, surprised but ultimately uninterested, and soon he came across a tattered mitt with the initials MF sketched onto the broken leather. He became distracted enough to ask, “You know how to swing a bat?”

“I’ve played.” The boy answered, still preoccupied with the clothing, which he was handling delicately as he folded and placed them into piles.

“Well, a couple of guys from the neighborhood and I usually head out about five minutes down Maple Avenue to this abandoned lot after school.” He picked up the mitt and threw it gently from hand to hand, “It’s got a backstop and dugout and pretty much everything, if you want to join us sometime.”

There was an odd stretch of silence as the boy looked out the window once again.

On the road, Megumi’s father had exaggerated the importance of making friends in what seemed to be a last-resort attempt to parent his son. At the time, he had been too irritated to take the warning seriously, but thinking on it now, he didn’t want to spend the entire summer working at his dad’s new garage. So he sucked up his pride and dragged a hand down his face before turning to face the strange pink-haired boy who was taking up space in his new room.

“Tell you what, just let me know when and I’ll head on out with you.”

“Yeah-yeah, for sure.” Yuuji set the mitt down and turned around, bracing himself by gripping the wooden top of the dresser. At the bed, Megumi had moved to sorting what seemed like loads of tangled jewelry. Magnificent pearls, gold charms, essentially everything Yuuji’s mother had longed for from the catalogs at the hairdresser's.

“Geez…” Yuuji chuckled lightly. He was feeling quite relieved that Megumi had accepted his invitation. “You got a lotta lady stuff in here.”

Megumi dropped the mess of metal he was prying apart, but did not say anything; he was unsure if it would be wise to, considering it was a topic he didn’t take lightly and was also part of the reason they had moved so far away from home. And he sure as hell didn’t feel like getting back on the road.

“You helping your ma unpack or somethin’?” Though that wouldn’t explain why Megumi had stored the garments in his own closet away from prying eyes, Yuuji still thought to ask.

“…Just drop it.”

“What, you got a sister then? Or—” Maybe Yuuji was scarred from his own trauma, but he began to recall a distant memory.

Long ago it was, or so it seemed, as he had done all in his power to put it from his mind, that he had spent an afternoon hanging around Sukuna’s friends. A pastime he would never indulge in now, but at the time, he was an innocent boy and had been so persistent that after a week’s worth of begging, Sukuna reluctantly agreed to bring him along. They spent around three hours playing pool in Mikey Findale’s garage before they had even caught sight of the stash of beer that had been hidden behind an old recliner Mr. Findale had moved into storage.

When they had, however, it wasn’t long before each boy had downed about two cans, and Yuuji, who was just happy to be there, four. It didn’t help that Mikey was the one handing them to him, and it also didn’t help that the boys started chanting merrily as soon as he was down to gulping the last few sips of each can.

By the time he hit six cans, the ceiling was spinning, and he hadn’t noticed that he’d been lying in the same spot for almost an hour. His thoughts were mere fragments of what they had been, and all he could do was babble as he felt himself being dragged into a sitting position.

The boys, still relatively sober, had sent Freddy Jr. inside to fetch one of Mikey’s mom's dresses and some stuff from that little red bag she liked to carry around in case she smudged her mascara. When he returned, they dragged the dress over Yuuji’s head and smeared bright red lipstick over his face.

When he finally came to it, it was because the boys began yelling " cross-dresser " over and over again. It was like a mantra that Yuuji couldn’t get out of his head. He tried to laugh, but instead, he felt the familiar heat of tears streaming down his face.

That night, when they arrived home, Yuuji’s face was smeared in the red makeup, and he was on the verge of passing out. Sukuna was sporting a black eye and at least four bruises along the expanse of his stomach. The boys never gave specifics about what had transpired that afternoon, despite their terribly relentless mother, who pleaded that they let her know what had happened.

The only thing Yuuji was sure of was that Sukuna was never seen with those boys again, and when he asked, his older brother refused to say why.

“—you plannin’ on wearin’ it yourself?” As soon as the implication left his lips, Yuuji felt an immediate wave of guilt. That afternoon had altered more than just his relationship with his brother, and here he was, doing the same thing those boys did to him to someone else.

Megumi, annoyed not only by the teasing but also by the audacity, stood and crossed the room to grab a fistful of Yuuji’s shirt. “What’s your problem, man?”

Yuuji looked into his eyes, breathing labored as his mind refused to come up with words to speak. And just as he came to it, “Just go,” Megumi had pushed Yuuji towards the door as he released his clothing from his grasp.

When Yuuji returned home, the sound of the front door slamming reverberated throughout the whole house and was so loud that Sukuna left his room to yell, “What the hell!”

“Yuuji?” Their mother’s voice followed, “Yuuji, was that you, honey? How did it go?” She was in the kitchen working on a crossword puzzle and awaiting a response from whom she assumed to be her youngest son.

Sukuna, with hair still wet from his morning shower, made his way to the kitchen, “Aw, c’mon, Mom, you can’t be sweet-talkin’ him while he’s treatin’ your things like that.” He pulled a tie around his neck as he neared the table where his mother sat. She watched him struggle a bit before putting down the morning paper.

“Oh, stop it,” She smiled, grabbing his tie from his fiddling hands and folding it into a perfect bow. She pat his chest softly, “Finish getting ready, I’ll deal with your broth-” Before she could finish, the sound of a bedroom door slamming cut through the air.

Sukuna’s expression grew irritated, but he could only watch as his mother hurriedly swung her hips about the hallway and disappeared.

“Yuuji?” Mrs. Itadori called.

“Yuuji!” She yelled when he didn’t answer.

On the other side of the door, Yuuji was lying on his bed, somewhat distraught about the events that had occurred. In actuality, nothing bad truly happened, but it was the intensity in Megumi’s eyes that made Yuuji sure he had done something greatly insensitive.

He wondered what life would be like now that, instead of a grumpy old woman living next door, there was a boy his age who probably considered him a prick, or worse, an enemy. That, combined with the stress of not playing baseball for a couple of months, made Yuuji incapable of talking to anyone at the moment.

“Yuuji, you listen right here, mister.” His mother jangled the doorknob aggressively, “I have had it with your attitude!”

“Open this door!” Back in the hallway, Mrs. Itadori began knocking, “Your father will be here to pick us up any minute.”

She tried the doorknob once again before bringing her palm to her forehead. “Yuuji I- I just don’t know what to do.” She spoke softly, “You don’t attend Sunday service, you rarely hang out with your friends, and now you’re slamming doors?”

“Don’t bother.” Sukuna stepped into the hallway and slipped his hand into his mother’s to pull her into the living room. “We’re going to be late.”

“I suppose so,” She looked toward their joint hands and appreciated the manner in which her eldest son kept her distracted. “What’s gotten into you two? I swear, it’s like my boys have gone and switched places.”

Sukuna cringed at the thought that he and Yuuji might be anything alike at the moment, but he understood that his mother was upset and only trying to lighten the mood. So he answered, “Maybe I just feel like keepin’ you on your toes.”

“Oh, really? Enough to be showin’ up early to Sunday service?”

“Course not,” he scoffed. “Just early enough to sweet-talk the pastor’s daughter.”

She swatted him lightly upside the head.

“Don’t you start with that.” She sighed, her voice softening. “I just… I don’t know what to do with him. Has he been this way at school?”

“Why don’t you go ask him, Ma?” Sukuna shrugged. “You’re better at that sort of thing.”

“Oh, honey, think,” she pressed, a little more desperate now. “I’m at my wits’ end. I don’t know where to go from here.”

Sukuna leaned back, thinking for a second. Truth be told, he hadn’t really been keeping up with Yuuji much at school; he had been too preoccupied with sports and girls to even think of entering the cafeteria at lunch time. But there was one thing he had wondered for a while now, but had been too proud to ask about.

“What about that ditzy cheerleader he used to trail after like a lost puppy?” he said. “Haven’t seen her around much lately.”

Your name drifted past Mrs. Itadori’s lips as she recalled the many nights she’d found you and her son passed out in the living room, his hands securely fastened around your waist. Your hand stayed in the same position it had presumably been in before you fell asleep, pushing his head away with all your might. It was an endearing infatuation Yuuji had had with you, and she supposed so much time had passed that she hadn’t realized that it’d been years since you stepped foot in their family home.

A honk was heard from somewhere outside. “Darlin’, go on and tell your father I’ll be right out, will you?”

Sukuna nodded, grabbed his sports coat from its place over the recliner near the couch, opened the door, and walked out. At his exit, Mrs. Itadori entered the kitchen once again, picked up the landline, and began to dial a number she hadn’t dialed in years. She listened to the ringback tone thrice before someone picked up.

“Good morning,” She greeted. “This is Yuji’s mother.” On the other line, your father greeted her in return before pointing out the years it’d been since they had spoken. “Oh! Yes, it has been quite some time, hasn’t it?” Mrs. Itadori responded.

“Well, I was just thinking…” She was thoroughly nervous about the invitation, considering Yuuji was in such an unpleasant mood, “I wondered if you and your family might like to come over for dinner one evening this week.”

“Mm-hmm… yes, I thought so. It’s been far too long, and I imagine the children might enjoy seeing each other again.”

“Friday? Yes, Friday evening would be just lovely for us.” Mr. Itadori was usually home from work early Friday afternoons, Sukuna’s team didn’t have practice, and she would tell Yuuji he could skip just one afternoon at the sandlot. “Alright then, we’ll expect you. Goodbye now.”

Mrs. Itadori was not the only adult excited about the dinner; your father was also quite ecstatic about the invitation. Your weekly visits had dwindled in numbers, and he was beginning to miss the way you sat at the dinner table with him. But along with his own hope that you may return more frequently, he wondered how your friendship with Yuuji was holding up.

Mrs. Itadori had said that you might enjoy seeing Yuuji again, which made him realize that you hadn’t spoken of him in a long while. Well, you had, but you had only gone so far as to describe the altercations he’d gotten into in school that day. Your stories held no familiarity and were certainly not as grand as the adventures you and Yuuji once had, long afternoons spent searching for coins to buy a singular milkshake down at Hal’s diner, or even the nights you spent in Yuuji’s treehouse, eager to recall the shapes he had pointed out in the sky.

At the time, he had taken Yuuji for granted, labeling him a lovesick child who had become overly taken with his only daughter. But now, on the rare occasion you did come home, you usually spoke of a boy named Kaito, whose house was a story too tall, and overly decorated with a newly renovated swimming pool and an exceptionally green garden. It didn’t help that the boy lived across town, conveniently near your mother’s new home with William.

Maybe the boy didn’t deserve the kind of criticism from your father, but he’d encountered the type before, back when he was in school, and if he had any hand in picking your friends, he’d prefer you hang out with Yuuji Itadori. So, he picked up the phone and sluggishly dialed your mother’s home number.

Your mother let it ring about five times before she decided to pick up; it was one of her new quirks. She insisted that answering the phone later rather than sooner gave off a chic impression.

“Moore residence,” her voice was as poised and elegant as always, and it made your father glad that he wasn’t the one dealing with her nowadays.

“Yeah, it’s me. Could I speak to my daughter?”

Your mother twisted the phone cord in her hand, registering her ex-husband's voice, “I don’t see why not.” She answered, “Hang on, a second, will you?” She didn’t wait for a response as she brought the phone to her chest to muffle her screams as she called your name from the bottom of the stairwell.

Upstairs, your bedroom was practically shaking to the beat of the music playing on your record player at full volume. William had bought you the device as a sort of welcome gift when you moved in, along with a fully furnished bedroom in varying shades of blush and baby blue, and you wondered whether he simply remembered that you liked music or if your mother had a hand in selecting it.

It’s not that you didn’t like William; in fact, you loved William. He seldom bothered you, far too preoccupied with work and the second full-time job that was your mother. He made sure your closet was never left without an assortment of clothing, your makeup never ran low, and your record player always had a stack of records waiting to be heard. It was your mother who had made the relationship more awkward than necessary.

Since she had started dating the man, she suggested what you considered wildly inappropriate activities, such as having a deep talk over breakfast—something about becoming a family beyond monetary transactions. But William was not your father, and he never would be; he was just a man your mother dated and happened to marry. And if she liked him, you didn’t understand why she so desperately wanted you to as well.

You supposed it might have something to do with the fact that she had been pushing the whole nuclear family image in her attempts to rid the PTA advisory board of the plague she called Ms. Meng. But the only thing she’d managed to accomplish was your figurative suffocation, which had led you to a secret indulgence you’d found an absurd amount of satisfaction in.

Lately, more often than not, you’d found yourself staring at a certain pink-haired boy who sat on the other side of the classroom among his other unruly friends. You only did it when you were completely sure no one else was watching, and even then, you still felt a little odd about it, considering you two had once been friends. But time had treated him too well not to notice; he had filled out rather nicely, was at least a head taller than he had been the year prior, and his arms looked rather sculpted underneath his cotton white t-shirt.

His friends looked incredibly similar in their blue jeans and varying styles of white tees and Chuck Taylors. Which had become somewhat like a staple uniform, but you knew that once the bell rang, they stripped off their pristine tops and changed into old t-shirts and button-ups. Maybe if you’d chosen to live with your father when your parents split, you’d be sitting right there next to them, talking animatedly about some crazy occurrence you guys would have gotten yourselves into over the past weekend.

But you didn’t, and now you couldn’t, which is why, when your mother opened the door to your room and asked whether or not you’d like to attend a dinner with your father and the Itadoris that upcoming Friday, you were incredibly stunned.

“Dinner?” You asked.

“Yes, dinner. And your father would like you to spend the weekend there afterwards.”

Troublesome. Destiny was surely troublesome. You couldn’t help but think, “That sounds alright to me.”

taglist: @vehuzzzz @sxtellary

#long fic #1950s au #greaser au #soc x greaser #enemies to lovers #love triangle #slow burn #angst #flashback #childhood friend to lovers #rich girl x poor boy #the sandlot #flipped #miscommunication #jealousy #coming of age #summer romance #small town aesthetic #timeskip #jjk fanfic #jjk ff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk yuuji #yuuji x you #yuuji x reader #itadori yuuji #yuuji itadori #megumi fushiguro

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