Since It's Come to This, Let's Eat First

The sun had just finished rising when they returned to the apartment.

Mashiro took out her key and opened the door, the click of the lock especially clear in the quiet hallway.

After bringing Itadori inside, Mashiro bent down to take off her shoes, her two pairs of little wings shifting slightly.

"Mashiro, is there anything left in the fridge?" Itadori headed straight for the kitchen after changing into slippers and took the apron off its hook.

"There is," Mashiro said with a nod. "I haven't touched what you bought last time."

Itadori opened the fridge, its cool white light falling across his face.

It still held the groceries he had brought over from time to time.

Chicken, greens, tofu, and eggs.

"That'll do." He sighed and took the ingredients out. "I'll make chicken noodles and stir-fry some greens."

"Whatever you like."

Mashiro went into the bedroom and took clean lounge clothes out of the wardrobe.

A white T-shirt, dark gray shorts, and light-colored underwear.

She held the clothes against her chest. As she passed the kitchen, Itadori was washing cabbage, the faucet running loudly. He didn't turn around.

The bathroom door closed.

The light above the sink was a stark white. Mashiro set her clothes on a dry shelf, then saw herself in the mirror as she straightened up.

It sounded a little strange, but it really didn't affect her vision. She could see just as clearly as usual; it simply felt as though a faint silver veil lay before her eyes.

Seeing that her silver hair had grown shorter again, Mashiro gave a soft sigh. She would have to grow it out all over again.

Two pairs of wings extended from behind her ears. Mashiro reached up to touch them, and the moment her fingertips brushed the edge of the feathers, the wings gave a slight tremble.

The silvery-white feathers were fine and soft, with the faintest gray along their edges.

The pair beside her face was a little smaller, curled inward against her cheeks. Nerves connected to the roots of the wings, so she could feel it when they were touched.

There were two thin red marks behind her ears, left when the wings had grown out. They had already stopped bleeding.

She studied them for a moment, then stripped off her clothes to shower.

She turned on the shower and adjusted the water until it was slightly hot.

Hot water poured over her head, running down her silver hair and over her shoulders and back.

As the water struck her wings, the pair covering her eyes trembled gently. Droplets rolled down the outer feathers, while the down underneath remained dry.

She lowered her head, letting the hot water hit the back of her neck directly. A faint stinging itch came from the wounds behind her ears as the water washed over them.

The remaining blood washed away, its color fading as it flowed across the white tiles until it disappeared.

She braced her hands against the wall and stood with her eyes closed for a while, enjoying the water running over her body as its sound filled the bathroom.

Ever since gaining the Water Control Cursed Technique, she had grown increasingly fond of this.

Then she squeezed out some body wash, worked it into a lather between her palms, and began applying it to her arms.

Foam slid down her pale, soft arms and dripped onto the floor.

She rinsed off the foam. Washing her hair was more troublesome, and she carefully combed her fingers along the direction of the feathers.

It felt much like touching her hair, only a little more sensitive. A faint tingling sensation ran through her whenever her fingertips touched the roots of the feathers.

She took down the showerhead to rinse the lather from her head. As the hot water washed over her, white foam slid off her body, revealing skin flushed faintly pink from the heat.

A few droplets still clung to her collarbones, trembling gently with her breathing.

Once she had finished showering, she turned off the water and shook her head in the gradually thinning steam.

The Water Control Cursed Technique drew the water out of her hair and off her body, gathering it into a fist-sized sphere in her palm. She casually tossed it into the sink, leaving her silver hair dry and fluffy again.

Then she put on her underwear and dark gray shorts, their hems covering exactly half her thighs.

Next came the white T-shirt, which hung loosely on her.

It covered her pale waist and half her legs, leaving her straight, slender calves exposed.

She tossed her dirty clothes into the laundry basket, hung the towel on the rack, and opened the bathroom door.

Cold air slipped through the gap, making her sensitive wings draw in slightly.

Her fluffy silver hair lay loose over her shoulders as Mashiro quietly approached the kitchen and peered inside.

The sizzle of chicken hitting the pan mingled with the savory aroma of seasonings.

Itadori stood at the stove with his back to her, the apron strings tied in a bow behind his waist.

He was turning the shredded chicken with long chopsticks, while the pan of stir-fried vegetables steamed beside it.

Was he actually using two pans at once?

Yuji, I underestimated you. To think you could pull off such an advanced technique!

Now she was getting a little too excited.

"Mashiro, the noodles are almost ready." He hadn't turned around, yet he still knew she was there.

"Oh."

A little deflated that she hadn't startled him, Mashiro left the kitchen and sat cross-legged on the sofa, hugging a cushion.

Itadori had already set out two sets of bowls and chopsticks on the coffee table. Soon, he brought over two large bowls of shredded chicken noodles, a plate of stir-fried greens, and a small dish of strawberries.

The broth was rich and savory. The chicken had been sliced very thin, but she could still taste its stir-fried fragrance.

Itadori took off his apron and sat across from her, smiling gently at the sight of her eagerly digging in.

Neither said the customary Japanese "Let's eat" before they quickly tucked into breakfast.

Unlike when she had eaten dessert last time, Mashiro didn't take her time. After an entire night of turmoil, she was genuinely hungry.

Since it's come to this, let's eat first.

She rapidly demolished the food, leaving Itadori a little stunned.

He had already accounted for her appetite and filled a huge bowl to the brim for her!

Mashiro finished all her noodles and drank the last mouthful of broth before setting down her chopsticks.

Coming back to his senses, Itadori quickly finished his own meal, took the dishes into the kitchen to wash them, then returned to the sofa.

He had to return to the underground training room that afternoon to keep practicing, but he had one more question before he left.

"Mashiro," he began.

"Hmm?" Mashiro leaned against the sofa, slowly rubbing her smooth little belly as she digested her meal.

"Do those wings hurt when someone touches them?"

"No. I can feel it a little, but it's about the same as touching my hair."

"Then can I touch them?" Itadori hesitated for a few seconds before finally asking.

Mashiro fell silent for a moment. Seeing the curiosity on his face, she sighed.

"...Suit yourself."

Itadori stood, walked around to her side of the sofa, and sat down.

He reached out and very gently touched the edge of the wings covering her eyes with his index finger.

"It tickles a little," Mashiro said, resisting the urge to pull away.

The feathers trembled gently beneath his fingertip. They felt much like a real bird's wings, only finer and softer.

Then he touched the pair beside her face. They were smaller, and the down at the feather tips felt so soft against his fingertip that he could barely feel it.

"They're really soft, and they're the same color as your hair." He withdrew his hand. "So you can't tuck them away, right?"

"Yep."

Itadori stood and picked up the tracksuit jacket on the sofa's armrest. "I'll head back to the underground training room, then. The exchange event's in a couple of days, so I'll get a few more days of practice in."

"Okay. Don't let Kugisaki or Fushiguro and the others see you."

"I know. I'm still looking forward to seeing how shocked they'll be."

Itadori nodded, went to the entryway to change his shoes, and glanced back at her as he opened the door.

The silver-haired girl was curled up on the sofa, the wings over her eyes drooping down and hiding her expression.

"Get some rest, Mashiro."

The door closed softly.

Mashiro sat on the sofa a while longer, then lay down and curled into a ball.

She buried her face in the cushion, her silver hair spilling out and her wings sticking up with a slight tremble.

Mashiro soon fell asleep.