Chapter Text
Yuuta thinks nothing of it.
It’s been like this, it’s always been like this, for as long as he can remember. Maybe once when he was a kid, innocent and sans trauma, he was different with habits that were considered normal, something one wouldn’t think twice over.
At some point—he remembers almost exactly when—those habits began to morph and shift into what he’s more modernly used to. Something he was never told was abnormal and harmful. Maybe because his parents overlooked it, more focused on ensuring their child survived the desperately grappling hands of grief that tried to pull him down into its suffocating grasp. Although they were ultimately unsuccessful, he supposed they were blinded by their attempts, blinded by the cringey and unhelpful ‘A Parent’s Guide: How to Help Your Child Through Grief and Trauma’ books that made them believe they were doing everything correctly, that Yuuta was getting better .
Long in short, he wasn’t.
He was spiraling out of control, and there were very few things he could cling to in order to regain some of it back, to make it feel as though sand wasn’t just slipping through his fingers without hope to reclaim a single grain.
Grades.
He could control his grades. He could study endlessly until the material was so ingrained into his brain that he could recite textbooks word for word to his teachers. Looking back on it now, he realized just how shocked his teachers must have been, this kid who hadn’t even reached ten years of age being able to describe the material they were teaching with such accuracy that he could very well teach the class on his own if he wished to. He always received high marks, never dipping below an A.
He could control his grades.
Until that wasn’t enough.
The first time Rika came out and injured someone, Yuuta threw up. He heaved and retched heavily on the school’s tiled bathroom floor, disgusting and chunky colors tearing through his throat and splashing sickeningly across the surface. A coppery stench wafted through the air and into his nostrils, and it didn’t matter how much he gagged or how much stomach acid joined the fray of scents the bathroom harbored, copper was the most prevalent, and he knew he didn’t want to look up and see just how much damage Rika caused.
Yuuta only knew someone else walked in when he heard screaming.
Going home that night, Yuuta felt, once again, out of control. It didn’t matter how much he reviewed class notes, how many passages from textbooks he memorized, or how much time he spent on his homework. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He was out of control again. He couldn’t control Rika. More people were going to get hurt, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
He was out of control he was out of control he was out of control he was out of control he was out of control he was out of control he was out of control he was out of control hewasoutofcontrol hewasoutofcontrol hewasoutofcontrolhewasoutofcontrolhewasoutofcontrol hewasoutof-
“Yuuta!” His mom’s peppy voice, blissfully unaware of her child’s breakdown, called from downstairs. “Dinner’s ready!”
…
…
…
And then a switch flipped in Yuuta’s small, distressed brain. A glimmering beacon in Yuuta’s hazed and desperate need to grapple for some form of control. He hadn’t thought of it before, but now that it was here, metaphorically staring him in the eyes and lulling him into a sense of comfort, promising him all that he desired, he could only think to reach out his hand and take it for what it was.
“I-I’m not hungry!” He called back shakily.
From the silence that ensued followed by no barge-ins from either of his parents, he speculated that they took his excuse with zero questions asked. He wasn’t forced into eating, wasn't pressured into joining meals where he’d inevitably be dragged into talking about his anxiety filled day.
He controlled this. And that notion left him satisfied.
That night, when he crept out of his room and down into the kitchen for a glass of water, he noticed disdainfully a plate on the table covered with a napkin and a note placed next to it. Small fingers quickly picked up the note, and his heart constricted.
‘Yuuta ♡’
His stomach growled at the food that lay underneath the napkin, but Yuuta felt bile rise in the back of his throat and a familiar desire in his chest. Biting back the guilt, Yuuta looked hastily over his shoulders, despite knowing everyone had long since gone to bed. Quickly, he scooped the plate up and scraped the contents off into the trash before covering the evidence with napkins.
He could eat when he deserved it.
Until then, he would control when he could eat.
And he did. During the entirety of his underclass years, he controlled when and what he could eat, controlled when and what he deserved to eat. He called the shots. He was in control.
And it wasn’t a problem.
…
Until it was.
Joining Jujutsu High wasn’t something he ever anticipated. It wasn’t something he was even aware existed until Gojo had scooped him up from his lowest point and offered him an opportunity that was way too good to pass up. To be surrounded by others who were just like him? To help others in need? To work to never hurt anyone again?
Yuuta, as foolish as he was, would be an absolute imbecile to have said no.
So that led him to where he was now, surrounded by friendly and familiar faces who never once made him feel like he was some sort of monster for having Rika attached to him, for the travesties that happened because of him.
Granted, together they were all an odd bunch, a girl who had more confidence and drive than she knew what to do with (likely the sanest one out of the group), a boy who could only communicate verbally through onigiri ingredients when sign language wasn’t required or practical (likely the cutest of their group, but Yuuta guessed he’d never admit that out loud), a literal walking, talking panda (Yuuta still didn’t know how to explain that one, he was still getting used to the idea of ‘cursed energy’ ), and a literal man child as the leader of this three-ring circus he’d pulled together (but said man child was literally Yuuta’s saving grace, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t look up to him extensively).
Quite the bunch they were indeed.
Used to being labeled as a misfit, Yuuta thought not much of the friend group he’d acquired. Hell, he was just glad to have friends after having spent so much time isolating himself from the rest of society in hopes to keep others safe, in hopes to control Rika.
He winced.
Right…
… control .
Keeping his control regimen on food hadn’t changed too terribly. Sure, he had to make a couple adjustments considering their dorms were all tightly knit and most dinners were spent together—no exceptions, Toge had insisted with a look of urgency on his pale face that definitely didn’t make Yuuta blush—but breakfast and lunch were generally easy to get through.
Breakfast was allowed, Yuuta had long since declared. If he didn’t eat breakfast, he’d be sluggish throughout the rest of the day, and then control would feel as though it was slipping from his fingers yet again because he wasn’t able to complete tasks that he was supposed to. Breakfast was allowed, but there were rules. Fruit. Fruit was acceptable. Sometimes a grain like wheat toast was also permitted, but that was primarily only allowed after a successful night of missions or after he’d completed a big project for class. Cereals were too sweet, pancakes or waffles too dense, and meat like sausage or bacon was too greasy. All weren’t permitted. Rarely did he ever deserve such luxurious and tasteful foods, to begin with. Eggs were sometimes allowed in moderation due to protein, but…
…he preferred to stick to his fruit. It was safe. It was allowed. It was deserved.
By lunchtime, he knows it’s only so early in the day. There isn’t any sort of possibility that he’s done anything to deserve satiating the hungry drive his stomach screamed about. Lunch isn’t allowed. He doesn’t deserve lunch.
And then dinner…dinner was a whole curse in and of itself.
While at home, it was easy for Yuuta to claim he wasn’t hungry or that he’d eaten earlier, only to dispose of the remnants so no one would grow suspicious. Here, however, it was difficult to work around.
Dinners were big. It made sense, considering they all burned through energy like crazy from training, missions, and typical class work. Hunger was much more prevalent, much more demanding, ever since he started attending this school.
But his rules remained. He didn’t budge. Just because he was hungrier didn’t mean he deserved more. He was going to remain in control if it killed him.
For dinner, almost any food was fair game and within rules, so long as portion control was followed. The others were a little surprised when they cleaned off their plates and realized that Yuuta had barely finished a third of his own.
“What gives?” Maki had asked. “Don’t like it?”
Yuuta had gulped and waved his hands in front of himself nervously. “No, no, no n-nothing like that!” He’d clarified. He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. “I’m just…not used to e-eating this much food. P-Portions were much smaller b-back home.”
“Ah,” Panda had breathed. “You’ll get to our status eventually, don’t you worry,” he’d said with so much confidence as if Yuuta wanted—deserved— to eat as much as they did. The cursed corpse then leaned closely over Yuuta’s plate. “Then if you’re not going to eat it, can I have the rest of your sushi?”
“Shake!” Toge had joined in, chopsticks ready to swipe any and all food off of Yuuta’s plate that the ravenette offered.
Yuuta had only pushed the plate in front of them as a silent ‘have at it’.
But of course, that was within the first month of Yuuta’s stay. Yuuta was now roughly three months in and nothing had changed. He was gaining a bit of muscle from all of the training and missions, that was for sure, and Panda was right in that his appetite was growing at a rather quick rate, but his portions remained the same.
Perseverance and continuity, all key components to keeping control.
It was a shame that the others didn’t seem to understand that.