Before the Punchline Lands

Gojo Satoru: "...excuse me?"

"Trust me." Rikki smiles. "Im not being a pervert right now, I promise. Just... trust me."

Gojo looks at her for one long beat — the kind where the joke is forming behind his eyes, and then doesn't quite make it out, because what she actually said was trust me and that particular combination of words in her mouth does something to him he can't deflect around. He holds her gaze for another second. Then, with the unhurried deliberateness of a man making a point about how unbothered he is, he reaches back and pulls his shirt off over his head in one clean motion — and sets it across the armrest like punctuation. The overcast light lays flat across his shoulders, and the rooftop couch sways once, gently, with the shift in weight.

Gojo Satoru: "For the record — if this is a bit, it's a very good bit."

Rikki laughs a deep, genuine laugh at the comment, and proceeds to position herself on the couch behind Gojo, positioning herself directly behind him with her legs stretched out on either side of him, like she's piggy back riding, only they're sitting down. She places both of her hands on his shoulders and begins to work into the muscles, kneading them expertly. She starts at the center and works her way outwards, waiting with baited breath at his reaction.

Rikki's laugh comes out full and real — the kind that catches even her off guard — and then she's already moving, swinging one leg over to slot herself in behind him on the hanging couch, her knees bracketing his hips, the whole frame dipping and swaying with the weight redistribution. She plants both hands flat on the top of his shoulders and finds the knot immediately, the way someone does when they've had practice, thumbs pressing into the ridge of muscle that runs along his spine. She works inward first — slow, deliberate circles — then pushes outward toward the shoulder joints, waiting. Below through the glass, Megumi goes very still at the terrace table. Yuji, somewhere deeper in the villa, has stopped moving entirely.

Gojo Satoru: "...okay. Okay. I take it back — you can be a pervert if you want."

She loses focus for a split second to let out another laugh at his comment, thoroughly enjoying his reaction, thinking her heart might explode. She then goes back to focusing like she's done this before a million times, confidently locating exactly where his stress points are. She keeps going, slowly, deeply, and pauses to whisper in his ear "where do you need it the most, any requests?" She clocks his goose bumps.

Gojo goes quiet — genuinely quiet, not the performed kind — and the couch sways once as his shoulders drop half an inch under her hands, the knot between his shoulder blades finally giving with a low, involuntary exhale he clearly didn't plan on making. Rikki clocks it: the goosebumps rising along the back of his neck, the faint shiver that tracks down his spine from the point where her thumb pressed deepest, and she files it away with the careful attention of someone who notices everything and says very little. When she leans in and whispers the question against the side of his neck, the whole rooftop holds its breath — below through the glass, Megumi has not moved a single millimeter, and Toji, still in the doorframe, has gone the particular kind of still that means he heard every word.

Gojo Satoru: "...here. Right here. Don't stop."

She obliges, continuing where he needs it most, working on his back like it's the only thing in the world she cares about. Because right now, it is. "You're being awfully quiet, Satoru." Rikki observes, noting how Gojo seemed to be holding his breath.

Rikki's hands find the knot at the base of his spine — the one he didn't even know he was holding — and she works into it with slow, deliberate pressure, both thumbs pressing inward in small, deep circles. Gojo's shoulders drop another half-inch, and then another, the whole architecture of him just… giving, one vertebra at a time, like something that has been load-bearing for a very long time is finally being told it doesn't have to be. Below through the glass, Megumi has gone absolutely still — not watching, exactly, just failing to look away. Toji, in the doorframe, hasn't moved in what feels like two full minutes.

Gojo Satoru: "I'm quiet because if I open my mouth right now I'm going to say something embarrassing."

"I get it if you dont feel like talking right now." She offered generously, almost as generous as the backrub itself, "but know you're safe with me if you do"

The words land soft and unhurried, and Gojo goes completely still beneath her hands — not the performance kind of still, the kind where something catches somewhere in the chest and needs a second to move through. The flat overcast light sits even across his bare shoulders, and the couch sways once, gently, like the whole rooftop exhaled with him. Below through the glass, Toji finally shifts his weight off the doorframe — barely, just a centimeter — and Megumi, still at the terrace table, sets his glass down without drinking from it.

Gojo Satoru: "I know I am."

"Then there's no such thing as embarrassing, not with me." Rikki plants a soft kiss on the back of Gojo's neck as she begins to knead circles into his shoulders, a technique she had been keeping in her back pocket until now

Rikki presses her lips to the back of Gojo's neck — soft, unhurried, a period at the end of a sentence he's been trying to write all afternoon — and then her thumbs find a new angle at the top of his shoulders, working in slow, deep circles that make the whole couch sway. Gojo doesn't speak. He breathes. It's the loudest thing in the room. Below through the glass panels, Toji finally steps fully away from the doorframe — not toward anything, just away, like he needed to not be standing still anymore — and Megumi picks up his glass, sets it down again without drinking, eyes somewhere past the treeline.

Gojo Satoru: "I don't know what to do with someone who means that."

"Say the embarrassing thing then, that's what you can do with me" she retorts, as she continues on his back

The words land right between his shoulder blades — not a dare, not a tease, just a door held open — and Gojo goes very still for exactly one breath. His hands drop to his knees. The couch sways. Rikki keeps going, thumbs pressing slow arcs into either side of his spine, unhurried, giving him the room he didn't know she was giving him. Somewhere below through the glass panels, Megumi finally takes a sip of his drink, and Toji turns fully away from the doorframe and faces the garden, jaw set, like a man deciding something.

Gojo Satoru: "I was going to say — the first second you laughed at something I said, I stopped trying to be funny and started trying to make it happen again. Every time. That's the embarrassing thing."

"Thats not embarrassing, that's romantic." Rikki corrected him. "You just think it's embarrassing because anyone other than me would tease you for it. But I'm not teasing you for shit right now. Not about that, anyway

The correction lands clean and quiet, no performance in it — and Gojo goes still in a way that's different from all the other stills tonight, a stillness that's absorbing something rather than hiding from it. Rikki's hands don't stop moving on his back, slow and sure, and that's what does it — the fact that she keeps going, keeps taking care of him in the same breath she corrects him, doesn't make him earn it first. Below through the glass, Toji turns back from the garden at last, says nothing, but his eyes track to the rooftop couch with an expression he doesn't bother to arrange into anything neutral. Somewhere near the kitchen doorway, Choso rests his shoulder against the frame and looks quietly at the floor, the way a person does when they're giving someone else the room they need.

Gojo Satoru: "...I think I've been calling things embarrassing for so long I forgot that was an option."

"Thats the danger of not questioning things. Its important to keep our minds open, because you never know what could happen. For example... like taking off your shirt." Rikki makes one final move on Gojo's back before finishing off with some light, gentle rubs. "There." She states confidently. "All done. How do you feel?" She asks him

Rikki's hands slow to a stop — a few last, gentle passes down the length of his spine, the kind of finish that says I meant every second of that — and the rooftop couch drifts once, barely, before settling. Gojo sits with it for a breath, and then another, the overcast afternoon sitting flat and quiet across his bare shoulders, the kind of light that softens everything it touches. He turns — not all the way, just enough that the line of his jaw catches the grey — and there's something on his face that wasn't there an hour ago: not a performance, not a recovery, just a man who got called romantic and is still figuring out where to put it.

Gojo Satoru: "Like I took the shirt off and something else came off with it."

She giggles at him, and presses her body against his from behind, "I'm guessing that's a good thing." She reaches into the back pocket of her shorts and pulls out a business card, shaking her arm around to his front so he can take it. "Here. It's my card. You can leave a review if you want

Rikki presses herself against his back — her front warm against his bare skin, arms wrapping loosely around his front — and the giggle that escapes her is genuine, the kind that starts in the chest and doesn't have a punchline. She shakes her arm around to his front and holds out the card between two fingers, easy as passing a receipt, and Gojo takes it with the kind of careful deliberateness that says it's the furthest thing from a receipt to him. The whole room hears the moment land — Yuji's grin appears from deeper in the villa, Choso's shoulders shake once in the kitchen doorway, and Toji, still near the garden, looks at the ceiling like it owes him something.

Gojo Satoru: "Five stars. Mandatory. I'm writing a paragraph."

Nanami Kento: "Please don't."

Rikki laughs once more, then presses her body against his back, reaching into the pocket of her shorts and pulling out a card. She snakes her arm around to his front, where he can grab it. She rests her chin on his shoulder. "Here. Its my card. You can leave a review if you want, but the catch is it has to be 5 stars because you received the service for free. Betcha didnt clock that I was a masseuse, did you?" She looks at him, their faces very close, as she smiles with a glint of mischief in her eyes

Gojo takes the card with the kind of careful that usually belongs to things made of glass — and then he reads it, and the corner of his mouth pulls up slowly, inevitably, like a sunrise he was trying to resist. He turns just enough that his nose nearly grazes her temple, the two of them sharing a sliver of air, her chin still resting on his shoulder. The whole room goes very quiet — Choso's shaking in the kitchen doorway finally stills, Yuji claps one hand over his mouth, and Toji, from somewhere near the garden, says absolutely nothing, which is somehow the loudest reaction of all.

Gojo Satoru: "A masseuse. You've been walking around this villa this whole time with hands like that and you didn't say a word."

Nanami Kento: "She knew exactly what she was doing."

"I've been waiting to find out who I wanted to use them on." She says flirtatiously, keeping her face oh so very close to his, not even moving an inch away

Gojo goes completely, dangerously still — not the stillness of composure, but of a man who just got told exactly what he wanted to hear and is deciding whether to believe it. He turns his head a fraction, just enough that the line of his jaw is a centimetre from her cheekbone, the business card still held carefully between two fingers like something he doesn't want to crease. The overcast afternoon sits flat and silvery over the rooftop, and behind them, every single person in the villa has stopped pretending to do something else.

Gojo Satoru: "I'm going to need you to move exactly one inch further away from me, or I'm going to do something that ruins the Director's whole schedule."

Nanami Kento: "Saved by the clipboard."

"Come on, we'll talk more later. For now, just know I owed you that, ok?" Rikkinremoves herself from the couch, extending her hand to Gojo in a way thats became predictable at this point. "Let's go, slow poke"

Rikki unpeels herself from the couch in one clean movement — the warmth of her pulling away from him like a tide — and she extends her hand the way she always does, unhurried and completely sure of herself, the same gesture that by now the whole villa could draw from memory. Gojo looks at her hand, then up at her face, and something in him settles into place; he takes it, lets her pull him to standing, and the business card disappears into his back pocket with the kind of care usually reserved for things you don't want to lose. The overcast afternoon sits flat and bright over everything as she leads him toward the garden threshold, the rest of the house peeling off the walls behind them — Nanami already moving, Choso quiet and steady at her flank, Toji last, his jaw still set, following because there is nowhere else he would rather be and that is the part he still hasn't made peace with.

Gojo Satoru: "You owed me that. I'm filing that under 'things she admitted' and it lives there permanently."

🏆 lean into the Director's energy

The Director steps forward the moment Rikki clears the garden threshold, clipboard up like a gavel — and the whole group organises itself into a loose semicircle the way people do when they sense a verdict is coming. The afternoon is flat and grey overhead, the overcast light stripping everything down to its essentials: orange cones in a straight line across the grass, a shallow pool at the far end catching no sun at all, and seven men who have spent the last ten minutes pretending they weren't listening to every word on the rooftop. The results board — handwritten, taped to the back of a folding chair — already shows six names and six times, and the Director uncaps a marker with the click of someone who has been waiting for this moment all afternoon.

👀 clock every face in the semicircle

a rooftop restaurant — string lights strung low under the overcast sky, a single table set for two at the edge with the city blurring soft below

The Director had handed her the date card with Yuji's name on it in front of everyone, and Yuji had looked at it the way people look at something they weren't sure they were allowed to want. Now the city sits below them at a remove, the overcast sky pressing the string lights down close, the air warm enough that neither of them needed the blanket draped over the chair back but neither of them moved it either. The table is small — genuinely small, the kind that makes eye contact unavoidable — and a candle in a short glass flickers between them, impervious to the breezeless evening. He's sitting across from her with his elbows on the table, and he's watching her in the particular way he has that isn't shy but isn't performing either — just present, fully present, like she's the only interesting thing on the roof.

Yuji Itadori: "I keep thinking I should say something cool to start, and then I keep deciding you'd see right through it anyway."

🗣 pull aside|Gojo Satoru

The Director's note said pull aside Gojo Satoru — but Rikki is here, across this too-small table, and Yuji is watching her with the particular patience of someone who has already decided he isn't going anywhere. She clocks his face the way she clocked every face in that semicircle this afternoon: reading for the thing underneath the thing. What she finds is simpler than she expected — he isn't performing composure, he's just actually calm, which is its own kind of disarming. The candle between them throws uneven light across the table, and somewhere in the city below a car moves through wet streets, the only sound that reaches them up here.

Yuji Itadori: "You're doing the thing where you look at me like you're trying to figure out where the catch is."

"Yuji... i have a note from the director. I have to go. Im so sorry." Rikki got up from the table

Rikki stands, and the candlelight catches the apology on her face before she can fully arrange it — genuine, clean, the kind that doesn't ask for anything back. She sets her napkin on the table with the particular care of someone who knows the gesture won't be enough. Yuji doesn't move immediately; he just watches her rise the way he watches most things — all the way, nothing held back — and then something in his expression does something quiet and complicated that the overcast city sky has no comment on.

Yuji Itadori: "Hey — don't be sorry. Go."

Rikki turns and gives him a quick, tight hug, then goes

Rikki steps around the table and wraps both arms around Yuji's shoulders — quick, genuine, the kind of hug that says I mean it without needing the sentence. He's still seated so it lands at an angle, her cheek briefly against his temple, and his hands come up on instinct — one at her waist, one at her back — before he consciously decides to do it. She's already pulling back when he tightens, just a fraction of a second, just enough that she'd feel it. Then she's stepping away, toward the rooftop door, and the candle between the two empty-ish chairs keeps burning like it didn't just lose half its reason to be lit.

Yuji Itadori: "Hey — you still owe me a word."

"A word? " rikki and asks for clarification

Rikki pauses with her hand on the door, the rooftop air pressing warm and still against her back, and turns just enough to ask — because a word could mean anything when it's him. Yuji is still seated at the table, both hands now flat on the cloth where they landed after letting her go, and the candle between the empty chairs throws light up at an angle that catches the line of his jaw. He doesn't answer right away. He looks at her the way he's been looking at her all evening — fully, no editing — and the city below keeps making its wet, indifferent sounds.

Yuji Itadori: "The real one. Not 'guarded.' The one you pressed against my chest instead of saying."

💬 give him the word, right now

The word sits in the warm air between them before she's even fully turned back from the door — and when it lands, Yuji goes very still in the way he only goes still when something actually matters. His hands stay flat on the table but the space between his fingers changes, a fraction of a tension releasing, like a breath he didn't know he was holding. The string lights don't move. The city below keeps its wet, indifferent sounds. He looks at her the whole time — not like he's collecting evidence, just like he can't do anything else.

Yuji Itadori: "There it is."

🚪 hold his gaze, then go

She doesn't drop it — the word, open, still warm in the air between them. She holds his gaze the way you hold something you almost weren't brave enough to carry, and the string lights do what string lights do: make everything look like the last good night of something. Yuji doesn't move. Both hands still flat on the cloth, candle throwing gold up the line of his jaw, and he just — looks back. All the way. No editing, no armor. Then she turns for the door, and her hand finds the handle before the moment can ask anything more of her.

Yuji Itadori: "I'm keeping that one."

🚶‍♀️ keep walking, don't look back

Rikki pulls the door open and steps through without turning back — and for a moment the only sound is the string lights buzzing faintly overhead and the city below doing its thing, indifferent and loud. Behind her, Yuji doesn't call after her. Doesn't move. The candle between the two chairs keeps its shape against the still air, and the word open sits exactly where she left it — in his hands, not hers anymore, which is the whole point. The door swings shut behind her with a soft, final click.

🌙 let the walk clear your head

the villa hallway — dim, quiet, still carrying the rooftop air

The stairwell swallows her whole — all that string-light warmth replaced by cool air and the faint smell of the villa settling into night. Rikki's heels are quiet on the steps and her hands are loose at her sides, and somewhere behind her, several floors up, a candle is still burning over an empty chair. She doesn't check. The walk does what walks do: it doesn't erase anything, it just gives her somewhere to put it — the word she handed him, the beat he held on a second too long, the click of a door she closed herself. By the time she reaches the lower landing she can feel the villa again, its particular hum of competing silences, and she realizes she's been holding her breath since the rooftop without noticing it.

Yuji Itadori: "She kept walking. She didn't look back. That's the one that's going to live in him a while."

🚪 look for Gojo

The lower landing is quiet — just the villa's low hum and the faint sound of someone's music drifting from behind a closed door. Rikki's feet carry her without deciding to, past the dark kitchen corridor and toward the soft glow of the living area, and she knows before she looks where she's going. There he is: Gojo Satoru, cross-legged on the far couch like he owns the concept of waiting, one arm stretched along the back cushion, watching the middle distance with an expression that's almost — almost — still. He clocks her the second she rounds the corner. Something shifts in his face, quick and unguarded, and he doesn't bother hiding it.

Gojo Satoru: "Took the long way."

Rikki looks at Gojo, doesnt say anything, just, looks. The thing shes supposed to be doing is dating around, but she keeps finding herself coming back to this one man. Worried about her performance, worried about the show, worried about her sister, and its written all over her face. She feels a lump in her throat as she looks down, on the verge of tears.

Rikki doesn't say a word. She just looks at him — and the whole weight of it is right there on her face, undefended: the show, the cameras, the performance she's supposed to be giving, and underneath all of it, something about her sister that has no name yet in this room. Her throat works around something she won't say out loud. Then her eyes drop to the floor, and the lump wins a little — not enough to spill, just enough that the corners of her eyes go bright and her breath catches in a way that has nothing to do with the night air. Across the room, Gojo uncurls from the couch in one quiet motion — no announcement, no line — and closes the distance between them until he's just there, close enough that she can feel the warmth of him without having to look up.

Gojo Satoru: "Hey. You don't have to say it."

"Do you remember what we talked about?" Rikki shakily asks, as tears begin to form

Rikki's voice breaks on the question — barely, just at the edges — and Gojo goes completely still the way he only does when something actually matters. The ambient glow catches the wet shine at the corners of her eyes before she can blink it back, and his expression does something she's only seen a handful of times: it drops every layer, all at once, like a building coming down floor by floor. He doesn't look away. His hand comes up slow and deliberate, thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone — not wiping anything, just there — and the whole villa breathes around them, quiet and dark and entirely uninvolved.

Gojo Satoru: "Every word of it, Rikki. Every word."

"I dont know if im cut out for this." Rikki admits, referring to how she's supposed to be daring around since this is a reality show. A couple of tears begin to stream down her face, lip quivering. "I just keep coming back to you."

The words land soft and devastating — I just keep coming back to you — and Gojo goes absolutely still, the kind of still that has nothing to do with composure and everything to do with a man who just had something he was afraid to name handed to him out loud. His thumb doesn't move from her cheek. A tear slips past it anyway, warm and quiet, and he watches it like it's the most important thing that's ever happened in this room. From somewhere across the villa — the hallway mouth, the shadow near the kitchen threshold — there are presences: Choso a few steps back with his hands loose at his sides, head bowed like he walked into something sacred and doesn't know how to leave; Megumi frozen in the doorway, jaw tight, looking at the floor; the faint outline of Nanami's shoulder disappearing around the corner, giving them the room without making a thing of it.