Gojo peeked around the kitchen doorway, his tall frame leaned comically against the wall as he tried–and failed–to be subtle. Yuji was bent slightly forward over the counter, tongue caught between his teeth as he sliced apples with sharp focus.
Of course, Yuji noticed. He always did.
"Senpai," Yuji said flatly, not even looking up. "Why are you spying on me like that?"
Gojo straightened immediately, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "Hehehe. Just… making sure you don't chop your fingers off."
Yuji snorted and shook his head, but his knife kept moving. "Right."
Gojo wandered over, but not too close, still leaving that small gap between them, as though the air itself reminded him of last night. He leaned on the counter, pretending to study Yuji's work.
Sniff… sniff.
His nose twitched, and his stomach gave him away. "Mmm. Smells good. What are you making?"
"Apple pie," Yuji replied simply, dropping the slices into a wooden bowl.
Gojo's eyes widened. "Apple pie?!" His voice practically squeaked with excitement. "You mean… with the flaky crust, the warm filling, the whole deal?"
Yuji rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "Obviously. What else would it be? I'm not making some weird stew out of it."
Gojo clasped his hands together dramatically, his mouth already watering. "Ahh, it's been forever! You're an angel, Yuji-kun. My savior!"
Yuji shook his head, amused despite himself. "You sound like you're about to cry over pie."
"I might," Gojo said, leaning in just a little too close before catching himself and pulling back with an awkward cough. "I've been deprived, you know."
Yuji raised a brow, catching the slip but choosing not to poke at it. Instead, he wiped his hands on a cloth and nudged Gojo with his elbow. "Then go chop the wood for the oven. If you want pie, you have to work for it, senpai."
Gojo clutched his chest as though mortally wounded. "Manual labor? Me? Oh, the cruelty!"
But when Yuji only gave him that look, Gojo sighed dramatically and shuffled off toward the door. "Fine, fine. For pie, I'll risk my life."
Yuji chuckled to himself, shaking his head. For all the awkwardness between them lately, some things never changed.
+++
The apple pie came out golden, the scent curling through the oasis air until even the animals stirred. The goats bleated impatiently from their pen, hooves scratching against the wooden rails, while the camel, Yuji's most loyal follower–let out an indignant groan from where it was penned.
"Sorry, Camela," Yuji called over with a sheepish grin. "This one's just for us."
Gojo, armed with a knife, cut the pie with surprising neatness. He slid a warm slice onto a wooden plate and handed it over to Yuji with a flourish, as though presenting a masterpiece.
"Your portion, my hardworking chef."
Yuji rolled his eyes but accepted it. "Don't act like you baked it."
Gojo only winked, stealing a slice for himself before they carried their plates to the edge of the reservoir. The water shimmered under the early sun, a soft breeze rippling across the surface.
They sat cross-legged on a woven mat, pie in hand, with a jug of fresh goat's milk between them.
"Ittadakimasu," they said together, almost in sync.
For a while, the only sound was the quiet splash of water against the rocks and the crunch of flaky crust breaking under their teeth. The sweetness of the apples, the warmth of the filling, it was comfort, pure and simple.
But neither of them said anything. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken things. Yuji's cheeks burned faintly, remembering the way his body had reacted last night, how his senpai had unknowingly stirred something inside him in his sleep. He kept his eyes firmly on his pie, as if the crust could save him from his thoughts.
Gojo, meanwhile, shifted awkwardly, aware of the unspoken tension. His mind flickered back to the bathroom, to his loss of control, to the way he'd shoved Yuji away before things got worse. He forced a cough to break the silence.
"Ahem." He set down his half-eaten slice and turned, blue eyes bright but slightly too forced. "Yuji… want to try the boat together?"
Yuji blinked at him, startled. "The boat? Like… now?"
Gojo grinned, scratching the back of his head. "Why not? Morning air, calm water, pie in our bellies. It's the perfect time."
Yuji hesitated, then slowly smiled, the awkwardness melting just a little. "You sure it won't sink on us like the last four?"
"Hey, hey," Gojo said with mock offense, jabbing a finger at him. "This one's different. Fifth time's the charm. I promise you'll stay dry."
Yuji laughed softly, the tension easing between them. "Fine, senpai. But if I end up swimming, you're making another pie."
Gojo smirked, eyes glinting. "Deal."
+++
"Wow, it didn't sink. Senpai, you're a genius," Yuji said, half amazed, half teasing as he bit into his slice of pie.
Gojo tipped his chin up proudly, nose in the air. "Of course. Did you forget who built this?"
Yuji snorted. "Yeah, yeah. I'll admit it… this is impressive."
Gojo leaned back lazily on the wooden seat, the reservoir calm beneath them, sunlight glittering across the surface. "Next time, we'll take this out to the ocean."
"Mm. Okay." Yuji's reply was casual, but he had deliberately chosen to sit farther away, across the boat from Gojo. The space between them felt louder than the soft lapping of water.
Silence stretched, heavy and awkward. Yuji stared at the ripples, pretending to be absorbed in the reflection of the sky, but his chest still carried the faint heat from last night.
"Yuji-kun."
Gojo's voice was low, softer than usual. Almost a whisper.
Yuji looked up, startled.
"…Gomen."
Yuji blinked, then flustered, waved his hand quickly. "No, no—it's okay. I… I understand." His words stumbled over each other. "You had a fever, senpai. That kind of… thing can happen, right?"
Gojo's lips parted, but he stopped himself, the words catching in his throat. "…a—"
Yuji tilted his head. "Senpai?"
Gojo's gaze lingered on him, unreadable, as though weighing something. For a moment, his usual easy grin was gone.
"Actually…" He hesitated, jaw tightening. Should he tell Yuji? About the subtle, intoxicating scent that had clung to him for years, something he'd noticed long before Yuji ever realized? That lingering pull he'd brushed off as nothing...until it had hit him like a storm last night.
But the words stalled on his tongue.
Instead, Gojo gave a small, forced chuckle and turned his eyes back to the horizon. "Never mind. Forget it."
The silence returned, but it was different this time. Charged, fragile..like the boat might tip if either of them moved too quickly.
Yuji gripped the edge of his plate, pie long forgotten, his heart thudding against his ribs. He didn't know what Gojo almost said, but the thought of it made his ears burn.