detta-pica:

“Time is on our side,” Itadori agrees. “On mine, anyway. Have you seen the movie Interstellar?”

“Please entertain yourself elsewhere, Itadori-san,” Suguru begs, shameless in his desperation. “I have work to do.”

He does. There are patients he needs to see in–Suguru glances at the wall clock–ten minutes. And before that, he wanted to review his notes and answer a few emails. Disrupting his morning by seeing the girls off was necessary, but the consequences are unpleasant.

“Fine, fine, I can tell you aren’t in the mood to chat.” Itadori rolls to her feet and stretches tall, arms above her head. “I’ll try again later, when you’re less cranky.”

Once she’s gone, Suguru manages to catch up to his routine little by little. He barely notices when the sky outside gets dark–or as dark as it gets in metropolitan Tokyo. It’s only an unexpected knock on his door that pulls him out of reviewing his research results. Suguru sorts the loose pages into a neat stack, marks his place, hides it in a drawer, and only then calls for the person–a sorcerer, but which one?–to come in.

Gojo has to duck under the doorframe. The movement causes his blackout glasses to slip down his nose, and the effect is, frankly, striking. He cleans up well, even if his outfit is a strange mix of a teenage boy’s taste in fashion and what Nanako would describe as dad energy.

“Yo,” he greets, looking around Suguru’s office. “I’m here for our date.”

Suguru manages to keep his composure, but only barely. “Hello again, Gojo-san. If I remember correctly, I was the one who asked you out, which implies that the burden of choosing a time and location rested on me.”

Gojo flops his hand back and forth. “It’s been hours, I got impatient. So hey, your office kinda stinks. Real funky vibes. Like, stale, you know?”

It was silly of Suguru to think he was on a level playing field with the strongest sorcerer. Of course Gojo would be suspicious and follow up on it immediately. Suguru thought he’d obfuscated well enough, but clearly he needs to check his ego. This is a major fuckup.

Panicking won’t fix it, though. “That must be the effect of a… colleague of mine.”

Gojo crosses the room in three steps and perches on the edge of Suguru’s desk, looming over him. He takes off the glasses and fiddles with them idly. “A–dramatic pause–colleague of yours? Do I know them?”

Suguru leans back comfortably, elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled together. “I’m sure you do not.”

I can finally share a snippet from a different fic written for Satosugu Cliché Tropes Fest. It’s progressing slowly, but I’ll be spending some hours on trains in the near future, which should help me catch up.