Chapter Text
This is Josuke’s worst fucking nightmare.
Except this is real life, so it’s lacking the part with the tuba, but other than that...
It’s basically the exact scenario he has dreaded since he enrolled in college. He stares down at the paper in his hand and looks at that red ink, how glaringly disappointed it is, and thinks about how little time he has left to fix it before this class tanks his GPA. He’s here on scholarship. His ability to continue attending here depends on his ability to maintain the grades he’d had that got him the damn scholarship in the first place. He’s a foreign student, out of his element, but that kind of excuse only takes you so far. The fact that this particular D- is coming from a Japanese-American professor is just salt in the wound. The other professors have been somewhat accommodating, but not Professor Jotaro Kujo. If anything, it’s felt like Kujo’s been harder on Josuke than anyone else since day one.
‘Look into a study group or tutor.’
The cold and impersonal note written beside Josuke’s abysmal score makes his stomach drop to his feet. He doesn’t have time for a tutor. He needs to fix this now. The end of the semester is approaching like an oncoming car and Josuke doesn’t want to brace for impact. He wants to get the fuck out of the way. Every other class he’s doing passably well in but when it comes to this one, Josuke’s been lost since the first lecture.
Professor Kujo’s teaching style is direct, and his lectures are the kind of dry, lengthy thing Josuke had always thought were more of a media trope than a real thing. That’s not to say he’s bad at his job. He provides information and engages in class discussions, but Josuke just can’t grasp the concepts he’s presented with week after week, not to mention how difficult it is to memorize and keep all the various information straight. No matter how many notes he takes, when it comes time to use them, they may as well be written in some other Third Language that Josuke can’t make sense of. The gap between him and his peers has only gotten wider as the year has gone on, so now, he flounders in every single discussion. He feels like he’s constantly treading water.
One of the most frustrating things about this particular class is how it was pitched to him at the beginning of the year. This class was supposed to be a layup. An easy win. Everyone said Psyche would be a cakewalk but Josuke feels more like he’s doing a ritual firewalk every time he steps into the classroom. Now that he’s almost through the entire school year, he’s pretty sure that he’d have an easier time actually playing a pickup game of basketball with one of the sports majors, despite the fact that Josuke’s never really had the attention span for them. He’s always found it hard to focus when balls are involved.
When it comes to Psyche I, and its enigmatic professor, all Josuke can think is, ‘No wonder the guy’s a professor. He’d be a terrible psychiatrist, let alone psychologist’. When he listens to the sharp and clinical way he talks about the human brain, Josuke feels himself instinctively recoiling while imagining how terrible Professor Kujo’s bedside manner would be. The guy seems to get people in the same way a mechanic who can’t drive understands cars. All the moving parts make sense, the concepts are clear, and diagnostics are a simple process of logic, but if you asked him why it feels good to put the pedal to the floor and speed down the highway with the windows wide and music blaring, he’d have nothing to say. It’s like the guy gets how people work but has no idea how to relate to them. He’s cold and unapproachable, both in teaching style and in general personality.
After everything Josuke has learned in Professor Kujo’s class, he’d use that rudimentary knowledge to diagnose the man as completely anti-social.
But he keeps consistent office hours and Josuke is desperate.
He glances at his watch and then jogs down the hall, narrowly avoiding taking out another Freshman in the process. He bounces to one side, weaves through a pack of girls in matching t-shirts with some slogan about some cause Josuke probably should care about but doesn’t have the time for, and darts around the corner toward Professor Kujo’s office. He’s winded by the time his sneakers skid to a halt on the laminate. Office hours are almost over, but Josuke’s made it. He shoves the cracked door open and steps through.
“Professor Kujo?” Josuke’s breathless from the sprint over here; his head is pounding, vision a little fuzzy, but after a few blinks and deep breaths he takes in the sight of his very nonplussed psyche professor. Kujo is seated behind his heavy wooden desk, glasses halfway down his nose and long fingers halted, poised over his keyboard. He’s dressed down from how Josuke usually sees him in class, sleeves cuffed to the elbow, jacket abandoned so he’s down to just that sinfully tight turtleneck. Somehow, the fact that Professor Kujo is inexcusably handsome, makes asking him for a favor that much worse.
Kujo’s chair creaks as he turns away from his monitor to face Josuke properly, folding his long pianist fingers together on his desk. His straight-backed posture, sharp features, and steady gaze make the atmosphere feel thicker, too tense, and Josuke’s skin prickles with goosebumps as Kujo speaks.
“What can I do for you Mr. Higashikata?”
Josuke chews the inside of his lower lip and slowly closes the door behind him. This is humiliating enough without the risk of someone coming in here to witness Josuke groveling for a shot at some extra credit. He makes his way to the chair in front of Jotaro’s desk and drops down in a rush. His fingers fidget together in his lap, hands worrying against one another as he swallows his nerves and just. Goes for it. He has to. Rip the baindaid off.
“I came to ask if there was something I could do for extra credit.” Josuke blurts it out, every word passing his lips in a hurried, blundering rush, betraying that he’s more than a little flustered. “I need to keep my GPA up and this class is tanking me. The semester is almost over and even if I get an A on the test, I’m... It’s not gonna be enough to bring up my average. I need this. Okay?”
Kujo shifts in his seat, squaring his shoulders as he peers down the long bridge of his nose at Josuke. His face is a mask of impassivity, so agonizingly neutral that Josuke feels as though the test slotted for next week is already happening. He can’t glean anything from that stony expression that’s so steadily fixed on him. Josuke tries not to squirm and fails, hips shifting in his seat, sneakers skidding lightly against the floor as he pulls his legs close and begins to jiggle his left knee. He’s sure he looks pathetic. Josuke can only hope that’s to his benefit. That maybe his professor will take pity on him if he looks as small and stressed as he feels. Kujo lets out an enervated breath, soft, short, not quite a sigh, but the sound is still palpably disappointed. He reaches up and sweeps his glasses off his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose with finger and thumb while his icy eyes pinch shut.
“You were made aware that I don’t offer extra credit in my course at the beginning of the year.” It’s a bland statement, but Josuke can see it for what it is. A soft ‘no’. Which isn’t the same as an outright refusal. There might be a chance to talk the professor into making an exception. Maybe. If there’s even a slim change, Josuke has to take it. He leans forward, opening his hands, pushing with his tone and his body language, pleading for mercy. He throws himself, metaphorically, on whatever mercy Professor Kujo might have to offer.
“Please, Professor. Make an exception. I’m here on scholarship and this is the only class I’m struggling in. If I lose my scholarship, then I lose my place here. I’m on a full ride. I couldn’t afford tuition, let alone tuition and housing.” Surely Kujo isn’t so heartless as to leave him hanging when his education hangs in the balance. Aren’t educators supposed to be passionate about guiding their students toward success? It’s not like Josuke’s been slacking. It’s not his fault (at least not entirely) that he’s in this position. Kujo wipes his hand over his face and slips his glasses back on, brows lifting as his eyes bore into Josuke. His unreadable expression doesn’t change. He lacks any visible emotion and it’s making Josuke’s nervousness fold over on itself, thickening with every passing second like paper pressed into a tiny square, something Josuke has to keep pressure on to prevent it from bursting back apart and spreading out. Don’t back down. Professor Kujo wets his lips and takes a small inhale before he speaks.
“You have had the entire school year thus far to join a study group or hire a tutor. Which I did recommend to you.” Kujo’s to the point statement cuts. It’s sharp and unyielding. Josuke feels his heart begin to plummet in slow motion, sinking into the pit of his stomach, burned up by the acidity of shame. “I hold Office Hours three hours a day, Tuesday through Saturday. Why did you wait until the last minute to do something?”
Why indeed? Josuke hates how much his own self-consciousness drove his hesitation, which in turn drove him to this point. He’s not stupid and he hates feeling like he is. To ask for help at any point before now would have definitely been the smarter choice, but Josuke’s damnable pride made him bite his tongue until it bled. And now here he is, hoping against all odds, there’s still a chance to humble himself and save his grade. Saying that aloud, however, is out of the question. He doesn’t need to leave Kujo with the impression that his pride comes before his education, because that’s definitely not the case. It just got in the way for a while. Josuke can let it go. He can. If he couldn’t he wouldn’t be here, groveling for assistance, in the first place.
“Because I thought I had it under control. And I’m already in like. Four other study groups. Like I said, I’m here on scholarship. I can’t afford a tutor. And your teaching style just--” Josuke stops himself. He doesn’t want to misstep and insult the guy he needs to cut him a break. Kujo’s brows lift, the first real twitch of an actual expression passing his unknowable face. His mouth twitches and then he sits back in his seat, the hydraulics of his chair creaking ominously as he rests his elbows on the arms of the chair and threads his fingers together.
“I fail to see how your failure to plan accordingly constitutes an emergency for me, Mr. Higashikata.” Sharp, and once again, bluntly to the point. How Kujo is able to make his words feel like knives as well as a bludgeon is beyond Josuke’s comprehension. Like a bat wrapped in razor wire. Has Professor Kujo always seemed dangerous? His tone betrays nothing. He’s so cold. Calculating. Like a goddamn villain, and for the moment, as far as Josuke’s concerned, that’s precisely what his professor is. Josuke’s face is burning and his insides are cold, twisting, uncomfortably tight. He opens his mouth to speak in his own defense but Kujo cuts him off:
“You’re a bright student. If you’re failing it is because you haven’t applied yourself.”
How can he insult Josuke and compliment him at the same time? It’s infuriating. It’s not like Josuke hasn’t been doing his best. Does Kujo think he’s just been fucking around all year and not taking this seriously? Josuke’s hasn’t even been to any college parties or even left campus for more than a grocery run since the year started. He’s put everything into his schooling. Everything he has to offer. For Kujo to suggest anything less is more than insulting, it’s factually incorrect.
“I’m not a slacker!” Josuke smacks his paper down on Kujo’s desk, a sudden surge of indignation making him snap. He shouldn’t snap. He needs to reel himself in. Deep breath. Exhale. Calm. It takes a great deal of effort to pull his tone back from the brink of a shout to something more respectful. It’s more than Josuke really has the bandwith to conjure up, but he can fake it. Mostly. His throat trembles as he speaks, jaw tight, betraying the strain that being civil is putting on him. “You read my paper. You know I’m trying. I just... I’m not good at this. All the memorization and the concepts. My English isn’t the best, no matter how hard I work at it so. So this all... It’s just not clicking.”
Professor Kujo regards him with a slight furrow between his brows, peering over the rims of his glasses, eyes narrowing a fraction. The calculating nature of his scrutiny makes Josuke feel so small and helpless. That’s not a sensation he’s at all accustomed to. His muscles feel taut, rigid, fighting against the urge to fidget and show just how uncomfortable he really is. He tries to appeal to whatever humanity the professor must have. Josuke looks at him with his best doe-eyed frown he can muster, and he hopes it works. He hopes something in Kujo gives, just a little.
The professor tilts his head, squinting at Josuke, eyes shifting back and forth as he continues to examine his student like a specimen beneath a microscope.
“Even if I made an exception and gave you an assignment for extra credit, it would only cut into the time you have left to study for the upcoming exam.” Kujo sits a little straighter in his seat, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he makes steady eye contact with Josuke. He sounds so resolute in his decision. Unshakable. “Your coursework would suffer. Possibly in other classes. It’s out of the question.”
Out of the question. And Kujo has the gall to make it sound like he’s saying no for Josuke’s sake. Like he’s doing him a favor. What a crock of shit. Josuke’s teeth slide, grinding together as he holds it all in. He can’t scream at a professor. It won’t do him any good. Kujo clears his throat and looks away, focusing at his wall of degrees and accolades in his field, along with the fishtank full of African siclids that swirl around in little dots of yellow on the blue backdrop.
“If you are able to work it out with the scholarship board, perhaps agree to academic probation, then we can work on an improvement plan together to get you on track for the remainder of the year.”
Josuke knows that’s not an unreasonable suggestion from a completely objective perspective. Professor Kujo isn’t trying to throw him to the wolves, but this solution is not good enough for Josuke. He can’t haggle with a bunch of American admins who don’t actually give a fuck about him. That’s just not doable. He knew going into this whole schooling abroad thing that it would be an uphill struggle to maintain his GPA, but he’d been so confident in his ability to do so he’d never considered what he’d do if he failed. Failure wasn’t an option. It still isn’t. He’d never considered it even possible until Professor Kujo’s psyche class threw the biggest wrench in the works.
The thought of his entire academic career hinging on his ability to garner sympathy from administrators over a professor fills Josuke with more dread than the first drop of a roller coaster. It’s a stomach flipping kind of terror that makes him want to scream or vomit, maybe even both. If Professor Kujo says no, then why would a bunch of self-important stuffed shirts say yes? To anything?
“I can’t risk it. I don’t have time for that. I don’t have what it takes to argue with that stupid administrative board.” Josuke isn’t ready to give up. He’s never been a quitter and he’s not about to become one. Kujo is his best bet. Kujo knows what it’s like to be a foreigner. He knows what Josuke’s like. He sees him as a student and not a statistic to be tracked for the school’s reputation. Right? That has to be the case. Those facts must count for something. “Come on, Professor. You have to have a least a little sympathy.”
Josuke outstretches his hands, pleading with his body language yet again, as much as his words. He gets an outright grimace from the Professor for his trouble. Kujo looks at the floor rather than looking at Josuke directly while his jaw flexes, tightening and relaxing, a vein in his neck lifting, barely visible above the collar of his turtleneck. He looks... Unsettled. Maybe that means Josuke’s getting somewhere.
His hope is dashed as quickly as it comes.
“I’m empathetic to your situation, but the fact that you have run out of time to correct the issue is not something I can do anything about. I know college isn’t for everyone, it can be hard to manage your time wisely.” Dismissed. Shut down. Kujo won’t budge. Josuke scrambles, placing his hands on the desk to lean closer. Does he have to get on his knees and beg?
“What? No. Professor please--”
“If there’s nothing else, I suggest you get to studying for the exam, Mr. Higashikata.” Kujo doesn’t look at him again. The harsh, clipped tone is like ice water over Josuke’s head. It’s a firm and resolute ‘no’ this time and the floor feels like it’s dropped out from beneath Josuke’s chair, leaving him in free fall. For a moment he sits there and wallows in the drop. His limbs feel weightless, his body aimlessly ragdolling through space as he tries in vain to grab onto any kind of purchase to right himself and stop the plummet. It’s pointless.
He failed.
Josuke gets up, cheeks scorching hot with humiliation and eyes stinging with frustration. He knew this was a long shot. He’d known it would be hard to get the professor to budge on his policies, but he’d not thought it completely impossible. It feels like he failed some kind of valuable speech check in a video game, his stats weren’t high enough, he didn’t pick the right options, and ultimately, he couldn’t break through the emotional defenses of his target. So now it’s over. Life doesn’t have a re-spawn point, no do-overs, no hard reset. Josuke doesn’t have much choice but to walk away and kiss this his education, along with this place goodbye.
Kujo turns his attention back to his computer, seemingly satisfied that the interaction has come to a close now that Josuke is leaving. Josuke shoulders his bag and makes it three steps to the door before true rock bottom snatches his ankles, its frigid claws clinging tight to lock him in place. This can’t be it, can it? What else can I do? Despair is a powerful motivator. It sparks ideas no person should ever attempt. And it sparks one in Josuke right then and there.
Josuke knows very little about Professor Kujo, save for what he’s heard in rumors. The man’s divorced, pays alimony and child support; he’s aiming for early tenure in the next ten years. He keeps the most consistent Office Hours of any professor Josuke has. He doesn’t take on TAs, handling everything himself. None of that is really exceptional or helpful, but the picture it paints is one that Josuke thinks he might be able to work with.
Professor Kujo is always busy and alone. So maybe he’s lonely. Lonely enough for Josuke to make this sudden, devil may care gamble. And it is a gamble. A really fucking big one. The kind of shit that only ever works in movies or adult manga comics or dramas. The risk in any situation save for the one Josuke’s currently in is so high that no rational person would ever attempt it. It’s desperate and foolish but Josuke doesn’t know what else he can do.
It’s so stupid.
If his scholarship is going to disappear either way, then why not go for broke?
Why not risk expulsion?
If he gets turned down, he’s outta this place anyway.
Josuke decides he can afford to be bold. He can afford the stupidity. He can take this gamble and walk away. All he’s really got to lose now is his dignity and what’s left of that isn’t worth prioritizing over the possibility that the one in a million odds will play out in his favor. He clenches his fist against his bag strap and makes a hasty, moronic decision.
He swallows down his nerves and tries to gather some kind of confidence. He’d rather take his chances here and now, with Professor Kujo, in the most ridiculous way possible than try and reason with the administrative board. At least here in this office, Josuke only has to try and convince one person. And it’s someone who can speak his native language. Josuke knows he’s better in Japanese to begin with. He turns toward Kujo’s desk once more. The professor glances his way and arches a brow.
“Yes?”
Josuke feels like his blush is boiling beneath his skin and he looks Jotaro over. He affirms once more, how attractive his Psyche professor is. He’s totally out of Josuke’s league, really. He's young for a professor but still over a decade older than Josuke, easily. He’s handsome and fashionable and grooms himself well. It’s clear he takes care to look professional but there’s a kind of alluring vanity to the professor’s eccentric outfit choices. His dark, beautiful hair tamed back save for that one stubborn lock that curls over his brow, his thick lashes, dense muscle that speaks to a steady gym routine, and those eyes. Those fathomless, bright cyan eyes... This is insane. Josuke switches from English to Japanese. It affords him a touch more self-assurance than trying to speak while worrying about his word choice and accent. The language rolls off his tongue so much more smoothly than English, curling and lilting like he wants it to, his voice pitching a little lower and quieter as he shoots his shot.
“Maybe there’s... Something else I can do for some extra credit? Not an assignment for class... But one for you.” The words stick in Josuke’s throat as it threatens to collapse on him. He can’t believe his own ballsiness, to ask something like this, to offer himself. What the hell is he thinking? The professor stares at him, eyes narrowing a fraction. He’s so still that it’s hard for Josuke to tell if the guy’s even breathing anymore. And then Kujo speaks, his deep, resonant voice is even, a robotic sounding reservation rendering Josuke’s ability to suss out how Kujo’s feeling completely inert. He returns the favor of speaking Japanese, but Josuke’s not sure the situation is better for it.
“I don’t sleep with students.”
That’s a pretty clear rejection but Josuke is in fact, more desperate than sensible at this point. He’s come this far. He’s not above pushing. Not anymore. So, this is what an all-time low really feels like... Josuke leans over the desk, a little closer, dropping his voice to a dulcet whisper.
“Would you let a student suck you off?”
Josuke can’t believe the words actually passed his lips. More than that, he can’t believe they sounded as confident as they did because he’s feeling anything but. Josuke’s not lacking experience, necessarily, but it’s a pretty foolish thing to offer up when he can count the number of times, he’s given head on one hand. Kujo stares at him, a stern glower, lips pressed in a thin line, nostrils flaring around an irritable exhalation, brows knitted so deep the furrow looks like it might become permanent.
“Are you trying to guarantee the end of your academic career? You can walk away right now, and I’ll forget you did this.”
“I just figured. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. You’re a busy guy, Professor. Single. You spend all your time here. Everyone has needs. I’m suggesting a favor for a favor. That’s all.” Josuke shouldn’t push it. He really shouldn’t. But the fact that Kujo hasn’t outright kicked Josuke out of his office is nagging at the back of his mind, a tugging on his brainstem and that tug gives him just enough hope to try. Just a little more. Kujo is glaring at him, so unflinching, saying nothing for so long that Josuke wonders if time has stopped entirely. And then the professor scoots his chair back, wheels clicking against the linoleum floor.
“Alright then. If you’re that desperate. Go ahead.” Kujo gestures to the space on the floor directly in front of him. Josuke’s throat closes as he tries to swallow, a sudden spike of adrenaline fissuring through his nerves, sending cold jolts through his limbs. Here and now? That wasn’t what Josuke had in mind. The door isn’t even locked. He’d thought that if Kujo agreed, they’d at least go off campus for this kind of thing. The chill of anxious uncertainty ripples down Josuke’s spine, into his knees, freezing them into an aching, rigid standstill. He can’t move. He can’t even breathe. Crystaline terror frosts over every joint, ever tendon, holding him in place, unable to press on or turn back. He feels his eyes widening as he stares at the spot on the floor between the professor’s splayed legs, and then his gaze tracks upward. Long legs are left lax, pelvis tilted forward; Kujo's expensive gray slacks are tight across his groin, his nice leather shoes shine from how cared for and polished they are. Does he wear sock garters? Josuke pictures it and wishes he hadn’t.
“R-Right here? Now? But...” Josuke can’t help it. It slips out and he betrays himself in an instant. His confidence wanes with the sudden reality of the situation he’s just gotten himself into.
“What’s the matter? You’re the one who offered, Higashikata. I’m assuming there’s a good reason for that. If you’re good enough to make the offer, then this shouldn’t take very long.” Kujo’s aloof observation is paired with a smoothing of his facial features. His irritation is replaced with a kind of bland disinterest that makes Josuke’s nerves prickle, clammy pins and needles creeping up from his fingertips into his palms, his forearms, his elbows-- his hands begin to shake. Here and now. Do or die. Josuke knows he fucked up, immediately, upon realizing Kujo’s expecting an exceptional performance. Can Josuke deliver that? Has Kujo ever even been with a guy? It probably doesn’t matter when it comes to getting a blow job. A hole is a hole—Fuck. Josuke’s shaking from head to toe, like the last leaves in autumn, barely clinging to stability, on the verge of being swept away by a cold, merciless wind.
“I don’t have all day. Are you going to do this or not, Higashikata?” Pressure, applied in a blunt, teacherly tone. Josuke shudders, visibly so, at the sound of it as he pushes away from the desk and sets his bag in the chair behind him. His legs feel stiff and every step he takes to come around the desk is a hard-won battle. Kujo waits, lounging back, knees spread wide to accommodate Josuke’s broad frame. He props his elbow on the arm of his chair and tilts his head into his hand. He’s waiting and watching and Josuke feels that hawk-like gaze slide over every inch of his body. It feels like wading through waist deep water just to get to the space created for him.
Josuke swallows, an audible consumption of his own nervousness. His knees click as he lowers himself to the floor between the professors legs. Is he even breathing? Josuke feels dizzy. He glances up to see Kujo peering down at him with some kind of distant, yet appraising squint. Is he going to grade this performance? If so, Josuke’s in more trouble than he was before. He tears his eyes away from the professor’s face and looks dead ahead between his legs. Josuke can see the soft outline of Kujo’s genitals through the heather gray of his slacks. They leave very little to the imagination. Two belts. Josuke reaches and hesitates. Come on, Josuke. You can do this. It’s just a little head. You can do it. But now that he’s here, thinking about how exposed they are, the unlocked door, the sound of people traversing the halls just beyond that door, the fact that office hours haven’t ended yet, and the window behind Kujo, with open blinds and a view straight onto the quad...
Once more, he feels like all his joints have rusted over. He can’t move. He feels stuck. Fear grips him like a vice and he can’t urge himself into motion or take a breath that he so urgently needs. His lungs are screaming and his knees are already starting to throb from the dig of hard flooring against them. Josuke needs to do this. He has to. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious to see just what Kujo looks like under all that expensive fabric. The fact that Kujo’s the most attractive teacher on campus is now only adding to the overwhelming trepidation of this moment. Josuke steels himself and tells himself that he’s going to do it. He’s going to unbuckle those belts and stretch his jaw and swallow down all of it. If he can just get his body to fucking move.
Kujo lets out a low sigh.
“That’s what I thought. You can’t do it.” Kujo dryly mutters. Then, more clearly: “Get up, Higashikata.”
Kujo nudges Josuke’s shoulder with his knee and Josuke flinches. What? No—wait— But Kujo is already scooting back until his chair hits the wall behind him. He closes his legs, crossing one over the other, leaving Josuke kneeling on the floor, still frozen in place. What the hell just happened? Josuke struggles to get his muscles moving, to look up at Kujo’s sharply sculpted and carefully withdrawn face. He is as blank as he was when Josuke walked in here. Is that it? Did Josuke fail because he hesitated? That's bullshit. Kujo was asking him to risk way more than Josuke had meant to offer. His legs wobble beneath him as he gets to his feet. Kujo doesn’t even look at him, and instead, removes his glasses to clean them with a small microfiber cloth he pulls from the pocket of his slacks.
“Now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, I hope you’re thinking more rationally,” Kujo condescends. Even if he offers no inflection to indicate his feelings of superiority, his words convey that strongly enough. Josuke feels slapped by those words, stinging. Like a child being scolded. “If you need advice on how to approach the board, come see me during office hours tomorrow. I will walk you through the steps of writing an appeal. That’s the best I can do for you.”
Josuke doesn’t know what to say. He can’t bring a single thought to mind as he caves to the electric impulse shooting through his legs. Run. He makes his way around the desk, snatches his bag, and flees, slamming Kujo’s office door behind him. The nauseating wave of humiliation forces him to walk faster, until he’s outside where he breaks into a run toward his dorm.
How fucking dare Kujo... What was he trying to prove, if not that he thinks Josuke’s an idiot? Or worse. A coward. Josuke is not a coward. He just wasn’t mentally prepared for sucking off a professor in an office with an open door policy during hours. It psyched him out. That’s all.
He can do it.
And he’s going to prove it.