Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Year One.

It was the hot, blistering summer of a certain day of a certain year, and Suzuki Kozue – freshly eight, wearing her best summer dress – had just arrived to the city of Tokyo from a land far, far away.

She was wandering outside her house, walking through the streets and around playgrounds that other children were in. She still didn’t quite have an idea of what this country was like. After all, it had been only a few days since she’d moved; and she was much too busy watching Batman while her mother sent strange men in and out of the hose carrying loads of stuff.

As a child, Kozue didn’t care much for the theatrics. It was just the way she was. Other children her age may have found moving interesting – watching her mother move things, take out couches and beds and organizing things that were hers – but it was kind of stupid, and anyways, she’d never wanted to come to the faraway land of Japan.

It was strange, too. Being in a country she’d never been in before.

The first almost-eight years of her life had been spent in a country, while similar in looks, where everything was completely different, but that was not it. People roamed the streets in fashion she found completely strange. Words she could barely read were pasted above sidewalks and on people’s clothes. The cars zooming past looked funky. Even the air seemed different, like Scarecrow had released poisonous gas into the air.

Her consolation was that as far as she saw, this didn’t look like an entirely patriarchal society. Although it could change any day. That was the big goal: to join forces with the rebellious and the oppressed, and someday lift up the society to a higher standard.

Although, Kozue thought, crossing the semi-empty street, she could do with a bit more persons on her side. That was the long-term goal.

Her short-term one, right now, was to kill some time and find something to do while her mother finished moving fully into the flat they’d bought.

There weren’t many things to do, especially for a child like her. Children like her were only one out of the many oppressed people in this twisted society.

She dug inside her pockets and brought out whatever she could find. A plastic ring she’d picked with a claw machine on the way here, and had immediately lost interest of. A little spare change her mother had given her before letting her loose into the streets. A half-ripped piece of paper she’d doodled a Superman symbol on, and (in case she got lost), a bracelet attached to her little wrist looped round twice. Dog tags hung from the leather strings, with her mother’s name and number carved in.

Kozue got lost easily, as many could tell.

It was when she contemplated actually going to the playground in front of her house and introducing herself (ew, she thought, little children. They were astoundingly stupid and slaves of the society, destined to be shaped into lesser beings than those higher up.) when she remembered she’d seen a small clearing somewhere to her left, a few blocks before. It was one of those areas used by old people to stretch – metal equipment painted blue and yellow – but she supposed there was no one there, and anyways, it wasn’t like old people were worse company than children. At least old people were slow enough to catch.

Deciding it was not a bad decision, the girl headed towards the area, ambling about shamelessly – watching the birds, which looked different from the birds she usually saw, as well as cars that occasionally drove past and bushes of strange-looking little seeds she was sure wasn’t edible – whilst exploring the area around her.

She’d need this knowledge in the future, anyway, if she was going to live here longer. This seemed like a somewhat shabby base to set up for the start of her underground organization, but that was okay because the Avengers had been built from scratch. Probably the entire of America, too.

Thankfully, she noted, there was no one here. No old people. Not that old people were bad.

Walking through the equipment, she found a bench on the side near the bushes and flopped down breathing a large sigh to look up at the sky.

She didn’t like the sky here. It was kind of dumb and murky, and maybe that could have been a coincidence called the weather, but she just didn’t like it. Bad weather meant something bad all the time, because in those issues of Nightwing – she liked that guy, he was a former Robin and wasn’t part of the patriarchy even if he had a lot of ‘side chicks’ – something bad happened every time it rained.

Kozue looked back down, towards the tiled ground, and tapped her black sneakers against the ground. She’d seen white ones in a fashion magazine, but her mother had refused to buy her them as they’d just ‘get dirty’. She didn’t disagree, but still. It was mean.

She sat there, wondering when they would be done with moving into the house, and realized with a glum silence that she would have missed the airing episode of Wonder Woman. That was fine. Definitely.

Holy cow, she hated moving.

It was boring, and it was no respect for little children, and most of all it was such a pain. She’d been preparing for her Japanese school for ages – watching Japanese shows, reading books, the like – and she didn’t like how the syllables rolled in her mouth, because English was what she’d grown up around.

She really needed a friend, or something. No, that was wrong. She was lonely, but she didn’t need friends because heroes had to go through their own growth and hers was that she’d moved to this place where she had no friends.

Heroes didn’t need friends. They needed enemies to kick ass.

It was only when she’d thought of that and convinced herself thoroughly as a shadow passed in front of her, and a voice spoke.

“Hey.” The voice spat, “That’s my seat.”

She paused from her swinging and looked up. An enemy sent from hell!

…or rather, the lamest enemy that could exist.

It was a peculiar little guy, about the same age as Kozue herself. His hair was the color of snow, corn silk and failed test papers, and he looked like a city boy from the way his fingers were jammed into his pockets in a futile effort to look cool. In his hand, he held a drink, and she noticed with a jolt that he was looking down at her in the haughtiest way possible.

Men, she thought.

She watched him anyway. This must have been the response to her prayers to George Washington – an archnemesis, and a man she could finally defeat! Truth to be told, he looked a little lame, and he did look like an aspiring movie star with the dumb sunglasses, but she supposed she’d settle for anyone.

Better than old people, anyway.

“Who’re you?” She said, in an antagonizing manner.

“Who’re you?”

They paused and looked at each other. He had a weirdly intense screwed-up expression on his face that was cleverly hidden by shades. She wondered if he needed to go to the bathroom, or if he was just trying to deal with Kryptonite in his system. Probably both.

He seemed to notice her, too, because his head dipped visibly and he said, “Get out.”

There he was, revealing his villainous schemes. She sat straight – not that she could touch the ground with her feet – and gave him the fiercest look she can muster. “You’re not getting what you want today, Thanos.”

“What? That’s my seat.”

“Well, it’s mine from now on.” She demanded, somewhat picky. Of course, her mother had told her not to pick fights, as well as instructing her to stop assuming everyone she met as government spies, but he looked like a large snob and he was her newly-found archnemesis, so it was probably okay. “Sit somewhere else. There are two million benches on Earth.”

“That’s not true.”

She looked up at him again, from where she’d previously been staring at beneath her feet. He looked annoyed. “Go to Tartarus! I was here first.”

In her eyes, that was a very bad insult. She wondered what he would do now, ranging from torturing innocent civilians to flying back to his lair for a master plan. She rarely ever mixed with his type; they had been just the kind of people she’d avoided back in her real country, and then again, it wasn’t like she cared about people’s feelings (especially not this guy’s, since he looked snobbish). Leaders were like that sometimes. That was how most famous men got into powerful positions.

She could get out of the seat. It wasn’t like she particularly cared for that bench, anyway – it was just a dumb little bench, and it wasn’t even comfortable. But, Kozue decided, she didn’t want to lose. Not to this guy.

“What’s Tartarus?”

“A dumb place.” She said. The way he was looking at her pissed her off a little bit, so she made a duh face. “Tartarus, this big god dude, rules it. He’s communist, by the way.”

“Never heard of him before.” He paused. “Is he a bounty hunter?”

“A what?” She stuck out her tongue at him. “No, he’s not. Now go away.”

“Why should I?” He crossed his arms and looked away from her. He seemed to be pondering whether he could drag her out of the bench, and she felt half an urge to go for his family jewels – a comic had told her it would be super effective, not that she knew what family jewels even were. “I’ve been here longer than you. This is the first time I’ve seen you here, so you go away.”

He was a bit of a lame archnemesis. She found him kind of boring, so just slumped back in her seat. Maybe this wasn’t it.

“Sit somewhere else.” She’d come here for peace and quiet away from the flat, and she couldn’t’ believe that she’d run into this guy instead. He was loud and obnoxious and looked like a Latverian. “Or sit, uh, there.”

He looked at her. She pointed somewhere. Anywhere.

A long silence prevailed.

“No.” The white-haired boy decided, and plopped himself down in the bench next to her.

He definitely wasn’t her archnemesis, now that she looked at it. He was too lame to be one. The sunglasses looked dumb, too.

Her mother would be telling her to come back, Kozue thought. Moving was a stupid thing to do and there were men coming in and out of her house carrying loads of stuff. She didn’t want to get caught up in that, either. Not just that, but if she left now, this guy would think of her as quitting.

“You’re dumb.”

“You’re dumber.”

They sat there in awkward silence, twiddling their thumbs. She curled up, placing her feet on the tip of the bench and resting her chin against her knees, and the boy next to her crossed his legs and began to whistle loudly. Kozue wondered if there was anything interesting to do, and settled for fixatedly studying an ant carrying half a bean someone had probably dropped from their lunchbox.

He was whistling that song from the show her mother had made her watch so she could study Japanese – Sailor Moon, or something.

They sat there for a few more minutes. She remembered her parents telling her about striking up conversations with strangers. She had to be… what was it called? Civil. She had to be civil, probably, because if she didn’t she’d be seen as rabid and put away by the higher-ups. It was a tale her mother had told her, called Hansel and Gretel.

“So,” She said, awkwardly. This guy was only a teeny bit taller than she was and she supposed there was no way evil men were using him to lure her into a van. “What’s your name?”

He turned to her. Kozue found his surprised face kind of funny, and giggled.

“You don’t know me?”

“Why would I know you?” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you George Washington, or something?” He certainly had a similar hair color. Maybe that had been a wig, but she supposed there was a possibility wigs could actually attach onto someone’s head.

“No.” He said, and paused. Probably for dramatic effect. Someone (her mother) had told her that overdramatic people tended to do that a lot. “I’m Satoru. Gojo Satoru.”

Silence.

She stared at him, unimpressed. He looked proud, like he’d just done something super important, but unless he’d turned back time to save the president of Japan, she didn’t think saying his name was that big of a deal.

Still, he kind of looked like he wanted a reaction. Maybe he was a child celebrity.

“Cool.” She replied, because she didn’t know what else she was supposed to say. Was that name surprising? It was cool, she supposed. Satoru was cool. “I’m Kozue.”

“Just Kozue?”

“Uhm, Suzuki Kozue.” She remembered then that in Japan, she would be called by her last name. “Whatever. Call me just Kozue.”

“OK, just Kozue.”

She stared at him. The boy stuck his tongue out at her and she stuck hers out back.

“Well call me just Satoru, too.” ‘Satoru’ puffed his little chest out. She played with the strings of her hoodie and watched him in silence. “Consider it an honor.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’m kinda famous.” He shrugged. “I’ve never heard of you, so you’re prolly not that famous, but everybody knows me.”

That’s egotistical, she thought, but didn’t say anything. If he was this confident in himself, it was probably completely true or completely false, because men were like that. “Why? What’re you famous for? Is it because of that weird hair? Did you bleach it? My mother says bleaching hair early in life makes you dumb. The chemicals give you mootations.”

He ignored the last comment. His face seemed to tell her, I’m glad you asked.

“People say I’m the strongest.” He had an air of pride about him. She wondered what people said about her, whoever these people were. Probably that she was the most awesome girl in female history, who would end up overthrowing the patriarchal society and leading a squad of women on her own. Like Jean d’Arc. Or Sailor Moon. “The most powerful person who lived in a long time.”

“That’s not true.” Kozue argued. The boy looked he was so sure of himself. The only person allowed to be sure of how awesome they were, in her point of view, was Wonder Woman, and that was only because she punched tanks and stuff. Also, he was a little annoying, and it hurt her pride to know that the guy she’d argued with was the same guy who was ‘the most powerful’, or something. Like Superman.

“How do you know that?”

Good question. How did she know that? She looked at him, wondering what it was that a little kid couldn’t do.

“Can you ride a rollercoaster? On your own?”

“I can fly.” He turned his head away. “Why would I need a rollercoaster?”

“You can’t fly. Only Wonder Woman can fly. And that’s because she’s superpowered and everything. You don’t look like you have superpowers.”

“Well, believe it or not.” Satoru looked bored again. Looking around, he seemed to make sure no one was nearby before leaning real close, hand cupping his mouth close to her ear as though whispering a secret. “I’m the strongest guy on Earth. Everyone says so. I’m gifted, right.”

“Right.” She watched him doubtfully as his sunglasses stared back at her. “Can you cook minute rice in fifty seconds, then?”

“You can’t do that!” He complained. “No one can do that, Suzuki! There’s a reason why it’s called minute rice!”

“Then you’re not so powerful after all.” She thought a little more. “Can you lift the moon?”

“Prolly.”

“Can you…” What was there that was really hard to do? She remembered her mom saying something about men and not being able to cook. “Can you cook?”

“…” He turned away from her quickly. She noticed, with a flash of triumph, that his ears were tinged red. “…that’s useless.”

“No, it’s not.” She said. Hah. Her mother was always right. Boys couldn’t do any of the important things, because they were too busy talking about po-li-tics. “You can’t bake, right? Like, cookies, or something. Or a decent cupcake.”

“Of course I can.” Satoru argued. She doubted him, because his ears were flaring red by this point. “I’m just not allowed to be near the oven.”

“Liar. I bet you can’t even make instant noodles.”

“That’s not true!”

“That is true.” She laughed – not at him, really, but when he turned back to her, she couldn’t help but laugh harder at the way ears were shades redder than the rest of his face. “If you can’t cook, how are you supposed to be perfect?”

“I’m strong.” He complained.

“If you’re so strong, why aren’t you allowed to be near the oven?”

“Because I have people who do it for me.” He looked up. “I’m too… valuable, so everyone takes care of me.”

“That’s dumb.” She paused. “Where are you from, anyway? Do you live in a big house, and have servants, and stuff?”

And stuff. The language barriers eight-year-olds possessed.

“I live in a huge house. We have loads of servants, and my parents are super loaded, too, because I come from this super powerful family. I also have anything and everything I want. I train daily but that’s okay because everything they teach me is super easy. All I have to do is be powerful like I am and they do everything else.”

Was he bragging? He sounded a bit like he was bragging. She suddenly found him a teensy bit more annoying. Why couldn’t men just admit when they lost?

“What does loaded mean?” She said, instead.

“It means rich.”

“Oh.”

They looked at each other. Somewhat spitefully, she pointed out, “Why aren’t you at your bloated house, then?”

He looked like James Bond, but smaller and lamer. He also looked a whole lot fuller of himself. She wondered if all Japanese boys her age were like this – she’d had a neighbour boy back where she lived and he’d been fine, albeit a little dirty. This guy didn’t look like most guys, though, and he was looking at her in a weird way that suggested he’d never seen the likes of her before (which, to tell the truth, was not entirely false).

“I was bored.” He said, “And left the house. We never do fun stuff. Everything’s boring. Even the classes are. They make me wear weird clothes, too.”

He sounded like he was bragging about all his classes and how smart he was. The more he talked, the more he sounded like a stupid, stuck-up, prudish little brat – an interesting one, but also an annoying one. The way he was full of himself made Kozue want to punch him, a little.

There were a hundred things she wanted to tell him, except she wasn’t quite good enough at Japanese to say the things she usually would say.

“Well maybe I find things interesting. You find them boring because you’re dumb and don’t understand.” She snapped at him in English, and hopped off the bench. “You stupid rat.”

“You can’t speak another langu—”

“You rat.” She repeated, in Japanese. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, so she did the only thing she could.

She pushed him, and ran all the way back home.

She’d committed a crime. She was pretty sure hitting people was something bad and she could be sent to child prison for that – whatever child prison was called – but then that guy had been so annoying. She hated people who acted like they were the best thing in the world, because they really weren’t. This guy wasn’t, either.

Still, if the government found out with their bird drones, she’d be doomed. Kozue was ninety-nine percent sure eight years old was old enough to get annihilated by the dark order, or something. Not that she knew what annihilated meant.

When she reached home, her mother had just been instructing one of the men to set down her bookshelf. She barged in through the front door and declared, “I’m home!”

“Suzuki Kozue! How many times have I told you not to shout like that? This isn’t the U.S. anymore; you have to have manners—"

Chapter Text

It was only a week later that she returned to the bench, dressed in the very same clothes she’d had an interview in, with two grocery-store ice creams hanging from her arm by a plastic bag and a nasty scowl on her face.

Suzuki Kozue didn’t apologize. Apologizing wasn’t cool – especially not to snarky little rats like Satoru that acted like they were the best. She would never apologize.

One foot in front of the other, she reluctantly headed towards where she’d seen the boy for the first (and hopefully, the last) time. There was a very small possibility that he would be there. It was the same day, and the same time (roughly) but it wasn’t the same exact day, and yes, she may have been secretly hoping that he wouldn’t turn up but it wasn’t like she’d done anything wrong.

Her silence to whatever crime she’d committed had lasted a total of three days.

It was only when her mother had finally sat her down and asked her, Okay. What have you done wrong again?

She looked at her mother straight in the eye, and her gaze dropped straight to a corner of the room. Kozue, no matter how cool she acted, was and had always been horrible at lying. “No-thing.”

But honesty was a trait that was rarely found in politicians. If she was going to become the leader of the Amazons, she at least had to set herself aside from other people. It was no good being a dishonest, annoying jerk like that Satoru she’d met the other day—

“Suzuki Kozue, what have I taught you?”

“Men suck?”

“…no. I—” Sometimes she didn’t know why her mother acted like this. She’d said it, so why did Kozue have to pretend she hadn’t been taught that? “No. Try again.”

“Don’t talk to the principal in English.”

“That’s for your school interview, Kozue.”

“…” She pondered if confessing to her sins was something that could solve everything. Probably not. Although Gojo Satoru the Boy from the Clearing had been a bit of a jerk, he’d not only been the first kid she’d met from here, but also a human. Of course she wanted the patriarchy to be down with, but she always remembered the rules of survival her mother had insisted of her, and one of them had included hitting humans and living beings in general. “…I hit someone?”

“What?”

…so, consequently, this was the main reason why Suzuki Kozue now stood in front of the road with a slightly more cleared conscience and annoyance present in her face.

There was no way he’d be there, she thought, tugging at her skirt bottom annoyedly. There was no way he’d go to the same place every week like a lame little wimp—

She turned the corner, and bumped straight into another kid her age.

With dark shades, pale hair, and a fair complexion – the unique combinations told her, no, screamed at her who it was. It was Gojo Satoru, that kid she’d pushed; and unfortunately, the kid she’d been told to apologize to. So probably the worst time to bump into him; she contemplated running away with her skirt over her head for a moment before deciding that it wasn’t worth the humiliation.

The memory seemed to dawn on him as well, as he stared at her face with some amount of surprise and accusation; after some time of staring, he finally raised a finger and pointed it at her.

“You.” He said. “Suzuki. Kozue, was it?”

She nodded, slowly.

Gojo Satoru strode two steps forwards and pushed her hard.

She fell backwards, dropping down onto the road with a painful thud, her palms feeling the dirty brick that he’d pushed her into and she thought, shoot, my dress, but that didn’t matter because for a moment she’d thought he’d actually hit her and he’d done it, he really had—

“Ow!” She snapped. “What—”

“That’s payback.” He snapped back at her. “An eye for an eye, a push for a push. Who’s the rat now?”

“You’re so petty!”

“You started it!”

“And I was going to apologize, you dumbo!” She told him rather insistently. That was a half-truth – she’d been planning to apologize, but nowhere near her own will – but he didn’t need to know that. “You don’t push people who were gonna say sorry! With food!”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped and peered at her – or rather, the bag hung around his arm. “Is that soda flavored?”

“The soda one is mine. You can have watermelon or whatever.”

“You said you were going to apologize!”

She looked at him. He stared back, somewhat insistently, and although she couldn’t see his eyes she could kind of tell how he felt right now.

“…fine.” She said. “But you ruined my dress. I don’t care about it, but my mom does.”

“I’m sure you can handle it.” He waved away, and grinned wide at her, leaning down to hold out a hand. “Come up! I’ll accept your apology.”

Kozue took his hand. It was warm, and she had to admit that he was rather strong as he pulled her up; but then again, he had told her about being the best. Maybe an over-exaggeration, but he seemed to be good enough in her eyes. Now she didn’t have to resort to plan B (begging for his forgiveness with tears in her eyes).

“Why are you even wearing that dress, anyway?” He picked out, as she handed him the ice cream. He peeled the wrapper off and his grin widened as he saw the artificial blue that was probably made out of children’s tears – at least, the wimpy ones – before he led her over to the bench, hand still pulling hers. “It looks kinda stupid.”

Not as stupid as your face, she almost retorted, before realizing that she was supposed to be sorry. At least, her mother had said so. “I had to talk with this guy that looked like Bruce Wayne. But uglier. It’s supposed to make me look smarter.” She squinted at him, noticing the strange expression on his face. “…does it?”

“I guess so.”

“Li-ar.”

Gojo Satoru sat himself down on the bench, let go of her hand, and crossed his legs in the most egotistical manner an eight-year-old could manage. In a slightly teasing manner, he sat straight and told her, “Well I’m ready to hear your apology, Suzuki-san.”

“It’s Kozue!” She almost-yelled at him.

“Whatever.”

She huffed and sat herself down on the seat next to him, ignoring the way the icky ice cream ran over her fingers. It was melting but she didn’t care. She could always wipe it off the brat next to her if she wanted to. “I’m sorry for doing mean stuff. Like I dunno.”

“Like what?” He looked absurdly proud of himself, like he’d done something. He really hadn’t. “You’ve got to be more specific, Kozue-chan.”

Kozue pouted and muttered something inaudible.

“What did you say?”

Tugging at the ends of her dress. “I’m sorry for acting like a rat, just like you did. Although you acted like a bigger one.”

“That’s not an apology, is it?”

“I did it!” She pointed out, angrily, and wiped her sticky fingers on his hoodie, much to his complaint. “Too bad.”

He wiped a bit of ice cream off her skirt and smushed it on her face.

Kozue crossed her legs, angrily, and called him a Latverian.

“What’s that mean, again?”

Gojo Satoru looked at her in fascination. As a young boy and with very little interests in his increasingly overpowered life, he knew that there weren’t many things that bothered him; his life was split into simply fun and boring. Sweets were fun. Annoying other people was fun. His parents were boring, and so were the official-looking men.

This girl – Suzuki Kozue – was interesting, and she was fun. It was probably the first person he’d found of remote interest.

She had eyes that lit on fire, and the way she slipped into another language to tell him of things he’d never heard of before made him want to know things he didn’t know already. She wasn’t a sorcerer, which was weird because of the amount of cursed energy she seemed to possess, but that was O.K., because she was still more interesting than any sorcerer he’d ever met.

Satoru didn’t yet understand what a wonderful thing it was, that she’d come into her life. It had been by mere coincidence she’d peered up at him from that bench that day, but something that would define his life and shape it throughout the ages – because Suzuki Kozue was the brightest thing the world could offer him.

“Kozue,” He said, completely unaware of what this would mean for him, “You better come here often.”

She stared at him. For a moment Satoru was sure she would say yes. Everyone did, after all; people rarely refused him, not just since they adored him, but because he was the most powerful. A rule of thumb he’d learnt: people never refused powerful people.

But then again, this girl was interesting because she made a funny face every time he mentioned anything like that.

“If you order me around again,” She said, “I’ll kick your family jewels.”

Not that she knew what that meant, either. It just sounded threatening and kind of badass, like a thing Wonder Woman would say. Kozue, naturally, didn’t know that wasn’t a word in Japanese, either: she’d merely translated the word family and the world jewels. It made no sense completely.

But still, Gojo Satoru wasn’t someone who was weirded out that easily. He could see curses and cursed energy, after all. To him this was just some gibberish this weird girl – not entirely Japanese, as far as he could make out, as she spoke with a slight foreign accent – was saying.

Plus, it did sound threatening. He didn’t know what family jewels she was referring to, but he probably wanted to keep them. This girl was pretty crazy and he had no doubt she’d actually do it.

“Okay.” He said.

“…I might come. Or not.”

He grinned. “Knew it.”

Chapter Text

To them, meeting at the benches became something of a regular occurrence.

For Suzuki Kozue, it wasn’t like she had any other friends, anyway. She’d come to the neighbourhood pretty new, and although yes she did have neighbours with children – like the next-door neighbour with an absurdly brunette son she liked to call kuso-chan (she’d seen him pick his nose several times and draw on her books, and he also cried at the sight of, like, any violence) – it wasn’t like she liked nor found interesting any of them.

It was pure chance she’d met Gojo Satoru on the benches but also a perfect one, because now she had someone to talk about Sailor Moon and dumb lessons with! He was nice and interesting and also loads of fun, because not only did he not care at all if she spilled juice on her dress, but he also did everything she asked him to (with a little bit of flattery).

Climbing trees, for instance. Lifting heavy things. Once he’d even done a backflip. She had half a mind to bet him he couldn’t lick a pole in subzero weather, but she’d watched a documentary on what had happened and it was pretty darn bloody.

For Gojo Satoru, on the other hand, she was something of a break from the fawning and the laughter and the attention. He was as extroverted as extroverts could go, and it wasn’t to say he didn’t like the attention, sometimes. It was more so of the fact that in this specific place with no-one around but Suzuki Kozue, it seemed like a different reality whatsoever from what he’d ever experienced.

Neither of them realized the importance of the conversations. The boy, for whom normality was rare, she was exactly what that was: a haven from the eyes that watched him and the mouths that whispered his name. The girl had no idea the money that would have been exchanged just to know the things she knew about Gojo Satoru.

His weaknesses, his likes, his dislikes, and his insecurities. It was enough to bring the Gojo clan to rubble, and it was all in the head of a girl who dreamed too much.

She knew he didn’t like the eyes that watched him, and the adults that left him be for who he was, to fend for himself. She knew he didn’t like the way the fingers pointed, and that he was scared of being alone in his room with nothing but the burden of a whole clan looming on him. She knew he acted like he was the best, and he was the best indeed, but also that he needed affirmations – a large reason why she didn’t deny it when he talked of how good he was.

The conversations went from casual conversation to the most random of things. They were friends, and friends talked about this kind of thing. He’d make things up if it meant they got to carry on the conversation, and plus, he liked hearing her talk: the civilian girl talked like she was the one going around exorcising fantasy curses, not him.

“I wanna be a magician.” She’d declared one day, proudly, upon dropping down onto the bench. “Like Doctor Strange.”

“Who’s that?”

“This guy.” She checked her new watch. It was something, she’d said, her mother had given her – under promises that she wouldn’t be late to dinner again because she was busy visiting her friend. “He’s cool. You can do loads of stuff. Like float—”

“I can float.” He grinned. “Wanna see?”

He knew he wasn’t supposed to do things like that, but he showed her most things anyway: because Kozue seemed like someone who wouldn’t believe things unless they were in front of her eyes, and people said secrets weren’t a thing between friends. She saw it, was fascinated, and asked questions – he liked that he impressed her, because she looked at him with those starry eyes and he felt nice.

“Cool.” She said. The girl had given up on questions after the first few times he’d shown her tricks. He never knew what would happen, after all. If she told her mother, she’d probably get shipped off to a mental hospital (assuming she wasn’t mental already). “See, this is unfair. You get to do all the cool stuff. I get to read.”

She had asked him about everything he did, many times. Never asked whether it was real, though, which he found funny – the way she talked made it seem like she didn’t doubt anything. In fact, she sounded like she wanted to be a sorcerer, too.

“Careful, Kozue. You’re going to end up being dumber than you already are.”

“At least I’m not half blind like your dumb face is!” She rolled her eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up, huh?”

“Your hands are in your lap. You’re really stupid.”

He laughed at her and she punched his arm. It was a daily occurrence, by this point.

Both of them found themselves visiting the bench more and more. First, it had been just once a week – neither of them knew each other’s schedule – but Gojo Satoru had grabbed her, sat her down, and told her, “This place is getting really boring.”

Indeed it was. Kozue didn’t disagree with him. Old people came sometimes – making it super uncomfortable – and she didn’t like the fact that she was missing out on most of the time she’d usually spend watching Japanese animations (something she’d first hated but grown to find interesting).

“Well I’m not going to the playground.” She turned her head. “The guys there are dumb.”

A lot of them she knew from neighboring houses. Their mothers looked at her weird; first they would look at her okay, but drifted apart slowly. It was stupid and she didn’t know why, but when she asked her mother, got no reply apart from a simple ignore it.

So, thus the reason she found Gojo Satoru the annoying little rat as her first, best and only friend.

“You really gotta make more friends.” He told her. “I’m your only friend.”

“Says you.” She groaned and swung around to pull her legs up onto the bench. He scooted away to let her lie down completely, her head on his lap as she stared up at his grinning face. “I dunno. I wanna go to an amusement park.”

“I don’t.” He replied, snarky as ever, and stuck his tongue out at her as she shot him an annoyed look. “I don’t need rollercoasters to fly.”

“But you’re lame, because you can’t do anything for yourself. You can’t clean, either. You probably can’t even read.”

“You think so, huh? You’re just jealous I have a better education, or something.”

“I got into that stupid private school with a scholar’s ship. Obviously speaking English makes everyone want you more. The guy prolly didn’t know what I said.”

“Don’t you mean scholarship?” He said, laughing. At her.

“Same thing!”

“Okay, fine.” Tugging at a loose strand of hair from where her mother had tied it tightly, he watched as she sat up and stared at him with remote interest. “What’d you say?”

“He said I was cute so I told him he wasn’t.” She squinted. “Well, people told me not to lie. I’m sure it’s OK, ‘cuz I got into that school anyways.” Watching Satoru burst out into laughter, she scowled at him. “It’s not that funny.”

“Not funn—” Another round of his shoulders shaking up and down. Kozue sometimes thought this was the only reason the bench didn’t get boring. The things they talked about seemed so much more fun. “Not cute! Suzuki, you’re so dumb!”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“That why I call you that.”

She looked up at him for a long time, and rolling her eyes – a habit her mother had told her to stop, but she’d continued anyways because all the cool people in comics did that – reached up to pull Satoru’s shades off his face.

His eyes were cool, just like she’d thought the first twenty or so times she’d seen them. She wanted her eyes to be like that, too: something she’d never thought, even when she’d been in the US surrounded by all sorts of hair and eye combinations. She hated the common dark-hair-and-eyes combination she had. It wasn’t cool; no one had dark-hair-and-eyes, apart from Spiderman, and that was only one of the million versions that even existed.

“…you’re dumb.” She said, because she said that all the time.

“I am?” He was smiling. She wondered why he didn’t go around with his eyes on full display, because his eyes sparkled when he laughed and although he was a still a rat, he was a much more forgivable rat. “You know I’m not.”

She stared at his eyes a little more, and said, “Do you have any money? I want ice cream.”

He dug inside his pockets. Pulled out a hundred yen. They looked at each other, and he wondered if it would surprise her if he went home to take a few hundred from his mom’s wallet and came back in less than a few seconds.

Probably shouldn’t, he thought. He’d already gotten reprimanded for using his skills haughtily in front of normal people (they hadn’t noticed, he pointed out, and plus, he was the strongest) and although Kozue was cool and all, he had no idea how to treat civilian friends, as opposed to sorcerer friends.

“What,” She said, “Can’t you fly home and get it or something?”

Using his immense cursed energy and potential to do the most useless things… that was half the fun.

“Wait here.” He told her. “Bet I can come back in five seconds.”

“I bet seven.”

She grinned at him, and slipped his shades onto her face; he disappeared.

Chapter Text

“Trust me, Kozu.” Satoru told her as they stopped in front of the ice-cream truck. “This place is really good. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

"If I looked like you, I'd hope to die too."

It was one of the many days they had come together again, and this time, Kozue’s mother had allowed her to go a little further into the city to hang out with her friend.

Not under certain precautions, of course. Precautions Kozue didn’t quite get, because – unknown to her mother and even her up to a certain extent – she had the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer sticking by her side, his hands lazily residing in his pockets as he surveyed the surroundings around them.

She’d asked one day when Satoru had mentioned a nice ice cream shop by the corner. It was only a few months into her first introduction to Tokyo, Japan, and she wasn’t someone who particularly enjoyed hanging out in the cities where all the misogynistic men and robbers who formed the sad backstories of heroes were. She liked trouble, but not that much trouble.

Especially not the level of which she’d actively go looking for misogyny. Until she got used to this place (probably in a few decades) she’d just stay home, and go to see Satoru, and maybe school if she liked it.

But still, Satoru had suggested it, and he continuously, bluntly, and very annoyingly bugged her to go. Let’s go, he’d tell her, every day, and he’d put his head on her lap and stare up at her and poke her sides. It’s good. I’m bored. I’m bored. I’m bo-o-ored…

She’d looked down at him. …are you gonna buy all the food?

I told you, he’d said, his shades propped up on his forehead, and had given her a wink. I’m lo-a-ded, remember?

You suck, she’d told him, but had gone to her mother to ask anyway.

Upon hearing the demand, her mother had stared at her in the middle of taking off her shoes (which was about the only thing she understood about Japanese culture, seeing as how she’d done the same thing back in the U.S. at her mother’s insistence) and setting her bag down. The question had been delivered in a jumble of what’s for dinner and you’re late again and I watched a documentary on African Elephants.

“You want to go into the city? With Satoru?” She finally asked, once Kozue had followed her to the dining-room table and had sat herself down. “Your friend?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m glad you’re getting used to Tokyo.” She said. “Seems like Satoru helped.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you want to go tomorrow?”

She thought. It was best not to lie, really, because she was a bad liar. “I dunno. He says he’ll buy me ice cream. Why not?”

Her mother had given her money, made her promise to wear her bracelet, and told her to bring Satoru over next time. It was weird, because even back in the U.S., her mother hadn’t liked her bringing people over. She’d actually had friends then, but not even the closest ones could come.

So now she stood here, her bracelet wrapped around her wrist, having been forced into a pastel-blue dress with a white cardigan. She hated cardigans, but it would be cold without one, so she left it on.

“What do you want?” He asked her.

“…uh…” She looked up at the menu and then at the boy. He was wearing his shades again, and he peeked over them to mouth, you can’t read. “Shut up.”

“That’s a bad word, you know, Kozue-chan.”

“I’ve said worse.” She said, and added for good measure, “You communist.”

He didn’t bat an eye. She stared down at the menu, miserably wondering when the hell she would be able to read kanji. This was one of the things she hated the most. She could talk just fine. Talking was easy, and she watched video after video to the point where it would be strange if she wasn’t fluent. She hated the reading – it wasn’t phonetic, the same way English and hiragana was.

She was dreading so, so much to go into school. It didn’t matter that there was still over half the break left to prepare and look like she knew Japanese.

Kozue found education as nothing but a tool for brainwashing children. One day she would wake up and be a robot for society, and that was terrifying in a certain aspect: she wanted to do many things that society definitely would not let her.

Like fly. She had yet to convince Satoru to teach her.

“That one.” She said, pointing at a letter she recognized, and turned to see Satoru choking back a laugh. “It’s not funny!”

“You really don’t know how to read—” He said, and began laughing again. She punched his arm; the man at the truck, as well as several people behind them, were staring at him. “Kozu—”

Her cheeks flared. She hated letting Satoru get the better of her (as it was for most guys), and what was problematic was that it hadn’t happened just once or twice. He was better than her in most aspects: something that bugged her to no end.

“We’ll have two of those.” The pale-haired boy pointed at the menu – she hated feeling dumb, just hated it – and slid over a few notes. “Keep the change.”

Taking her hand, he dragged her out of the line to wait.

“Do you know what you ordered?” He said, immediately.

It was during these times she missed the U.S. She’d only been there for eight years – up until her eighth birthday, when she’d moved here – but it was still something she’d grown up in and somethings he knew. She knew how to read signs; she knew how to buy ice cream. She knew the price of things without having to ask her mother how much it would be in dollars. She knew people.

She shrugged.

“Should I tell you?”

She shrugged.

“Coffee.” He laughed. “I didn’t know you liked coffee, Kozu.”

“I don’t.” She said. He was mean and annoying most times, but she still put up with him because he was interesting and could do loads of stuff he’d made her promise not to tell anyone, and not only that but he looked like a handy sidekick.

She was still waiting to get bitten by a radioactive spider, or something. It was surely a thing that happened often. What else were the large, rich companies doing if not conducting secret animal experiments behind everyone’s backs?

Suzuki Kozue made a face.

“Kozue?” Satoru said. “You mad?”

She looked at him, only to see his slightly taller form bending down at her, his face entirely disrespecting her personal space.

“No,” She said, insistently, and stepped on his foot for good measure. Satoru would definitely tease her about everything if she told him yes. “You’re mad.”

He turned to her with a look on his face, and then took his face into her hands, and pushed up her cheeks into a smile. She stuck out her tongue.

“You look ten times uglier when you’re not smiling.” He pointed out.

Ugly! Her friend said the meanest things sometimes, in that way she wanted to knock him unconscious Batman-style. She didn’t care, though; after all, pretty and ugly was just a social construct made by the high elites to make people easier to control. Looks were relative and so was the stupidity of Gojo Satoru: he didn’t know a bunch of stuff, too. Like reading maps. Or cooking.

She was relatively sure she had to deal with him, too, for another reason. If she didn’t deal with him, no one would, because he had a shit personality. People with shit personalities tended to have no other friends.

“You look like Gaston.” She told him anyways.

“Gaston is super popular. He’s popular and really, really good at hunting.”

“Yeah, but you look like him.”

“No, I don’t.” Satoru told her. “I look better. Way better. Everyone says so.”

She couldn’t disagree, and so, kept her mouth shut.

The day passed. She dreaded going home – math, math was dumb and boring and no one liked long division, the only reason she put up with it was because she would need those skills when she’d grow up to become a superhero in the future – because Satoru showed her a lot of things.

The cinemas, where she hadn’t been able to go even in the States. The billiard parlor where all the men went, stinking of cigarettes and alcohol. The park where the ducks were – here, he’d said, feed them if you dare. She’d thrown the crumbs in his face instead.

It was weird. She knew Satoru had been here longer – she remembered he’d told her that he had lived here since he was born, in a large house that belonged to his family for generations; he went out frequently, but went through something he called ‘training’ as much as he did for others – and she knew he was much, much more extroverted than she was. But still, this difference in knowledge seemed to show her she didn’t know anything about anything yet.

In fairy-tale terms, she was Hansel and Gretel in the woods, wanting to get back home. She didn’t have any bread crumbs, just a boy that wasn’t her brother but instead called himself Gojo Satoru, the master of the forest she was lost in.

The way he knew everything deeply unsettled her. It made her feel like she’d lost.

Satoru was just as satisfied as she was. It felt strange to walk these places alone, after he’d stopped asking people if they could go with him. He went to most places alone, and no one cared because he could protect himself just fine. He went to the cinemas, visited roadside hotdog trucks on his own, and ambled about wondering if there was anything interesting; it wasn’t like anyone was worth going with, anyway.

He was young and free, and as a kid, freedom was the best thing he could have. The only problem was that in an age he should be asking questions and looking curiously around, nothing was interesting enough.

But the reactions of the girl who held onto his arm tightly as to not get lost was.

Every time he’d point out something new, she’d yell something in another language and slowly, deliberately, repeat that. She was new to watch, every move: from her unconscious flick of the wrist every time he annoyed her, to that way she rolled her eyes (something children as young as them shouldn’t know how to do).

He could tell she didn’t go around much. It pleased him to know that he was one of the few people she’d hung out with like this, because now, he thought, she was something like a best friend. Satoru had always wanted a best friend, after all. Especially one that was fun to please, by the way she pointed out everything with unfamiliar familiarity, and elbowed his side whenever he said something stupid.

“Who showed all this to you?” She asked, out of curiosity. “Prolly your parents?”

“…nah.” He wasn’t smiling at all. “I’m just naturally super smart. I know everything here. No one touches me because I’m way stronger: so next time you wanna come into the city and your mom says it’s dangerous, come with me.”

Kozue knew that it wasn’t an inflated ego that made him say these statements, but rather the truth. She also knew he didn’t like talking in general about his parents or his household. That was one thing out of not-very-many between them, and there was stuff she didn’t like to talk about either, so she just shrugged. “Okay. As long as I don’t end up like Martha Wayne.”

“Who’s that?”

“She died.” She explained. “Batman’s mom. This nasty robber guy killed her.”

As they walked out of the park, Kozue explained the brief plot to him. He frowned, looked behind them, and said, “Let’s not talk about this.”

“Why? Scared?”

“No! No, of course not. No. Gimme five.”

He left for a few minutes, and came back smelling of tangy iron and sweat; then he took her arm and whisked away to show her more of Tokyo that she’d never asked for but was glad she’d seen anyway.

“That’s the shopping mall.”

“Ye-ah.”

“That’s where all the claw machines are.” He looked behind them again. “You can pull dolls and stuff. I’m guessing you don’t want a doll.”

“Dolls are for babies.” She had a mountain of stuffed animals at home. “Plus, you probably can’t get one anyway.” Those things were created by evil shop owners who wanted to squeeze even one more penny out of consumers’ wallets.

“Of course I can. I’m the best, after all.”

Kozue called him an idiot. They moved on.

“And that’s the pachinko.” He told her. “But you don’t go in there, or your mom will go to jail and you’re gonna be left on the streets forever.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m just joking. But don’t go in there.”

There weren’t many things two eight-year-olds could do in a large city all by themselves. She’d considered bringing her mother along but had decided she was busy enough as it was (most days, Kozue was happy if she got to eat dinner with her), but that decision was a little regretted, because young children walking around in a pair, one dressed in a bright pastel, wasn’t exactly the most secret thing ever.

When she got back home, her mother was waiting for her at the table, reading a book.

“How was it?”

Japan wasn’t so bad, after all. She knew this and also from the way Satoru went around, because she was too stubborn on what she liked and she didn’t like to be told what was good and what wasn’t, but the simplicity of the situation was that the little girl liked where she’d been put. Satoru worked magic on her – both literally and figuratively – and she had to admit that this had been her mother’s master plan all along.

Satoru looked so proud of himself. She hated Satoru even though he’d technically done nothing wrong.

“…It was fine.” She mumbled. “I’m going up to bed.”

Satoru had bought her a souvenir from deep inside the city. She stared at the little keychain in her hand, closed her fist over it, and decided she would try her best to hate everything about this place.

Because patriarchy, that was why.

Chapter Text

Gojo Satoru had always been one to get what he wanted.

He didn’t know what this girl was yet. She was an exciting girl, and she was a fascinating girl, and she was the most interesting girl that he’d ever laid his eyes upon. He knew she was a civilian but he didn’t care; he wanted her to be as fascinated in him as he was in her, so he found himself doing more, more, more.

The boy, a random little twerp from the playground, quivered beneath him. Satoru was easily several inches taller than people his age – he’d always been a tall boy in general – and so he stood there with ease, wondering just what Kozue had been so annoyed of.

Why didn’t Kozue go to the playground?

The answer had been simple: because of the pack of boys that wandered around, believing everything their mothers said about the girl when in reality, she was better than all of them. They seemed dangerously close to physically bullying her: no one could do that. No one but him.

He pulled his sunglasses off, just for effect. The little boy, cornered, whimpered softly.

“You touch that girl again?” He said, and smiled. “I’ll kill you.”

Gojo Satoru always got what he wanted.

He didn’t know yet, but he thought this was what it was: that he wanted this eccentric civilian girl, all to himself.

She’d always been fascinated in ballet since she was young.

It was less to do with the pink, fluffy tutus or the skintight suits that men wore as they skipped around stage to a song she’d never heard before. It didn’t even have to do with the fact that she’d hear classical music over whatever other sounds she heard in the house, back when she was in America, or the fact that all of her friends had been privileged enough to learn said art.

Unlike what Kozue claimed, she liked ballet.

It was the art – the graceful twirling, the synchronization, the crooning voices of the music behind the dance. Each person to their own, with their long limbs and their eyes pointed high at the heavens as they swung themselves, utterly out of control, succumbing to the sound of the music.

So it was to her utter surprise when her mother wrestled presentable clothes on her, took her firmly by the hand, and led her out of the house to one of the academic districts near her house. It was the inner parts of the city, where the apartments and sharp turns were: it was a maze. They went left, right, left, left again, crossed a road, went straight, crossed another road…

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” Her mother said. She sounded firm, which was one of those voices that warned Kozue not to mess with her. “Hold on.”

I don’t like my dress, she muttered in her head, but didn’t say anything out loud. Why were all her presentable clothes dresses? It was a phenomenon she had yet to investigate, but she suspected it had to do with the children’s storybooks, which all contained beautiful princesses wearing ballgowns who sat around doing absolutely nothing.

They walked for quite some time. It seemed like hours had passed before they finally stopped in front of a building, with flashy sports signs and ads pasted around the glass doors that were dirty to the point of opaque.

“Come on.” Her mother said.

They entered. She hopped up the stairs and followed her mother’s fast footsteps. She’d always been fast, because her mother never waited for her and she had to lengthen her strides to match an adult’s, and she’d played hide and seek way too often. They stopped in front of an elevator and her mother’s free hand, the one not holding Kozue’s, flew up to press the up arrow hard.

“What’re we doing?” Kozue asked. That was an OK question, right?

“Extra-curriculars are important.” Her mother said. She wasn’t looking at Kozue. Her eyes were fixed on the door, and although it was Kozue she was talking to, it seemed to be more of the door. “It’s good to start early on. Good for your future.”

“Huh.” She said. “Does this mean you’re letting me do ballet?”

There was no answer.

“Yes.” Her mother said, and a shock of elation ran through her body. “Come on.”

The elevator let out a pleasant ding before the doors creaked open. Her mother pressed a button, her hand gripping Kozue’s tightly, and the doors closed in on them. The carpet was rugged and it had, obviously, previously been printed with Japanese words, but it was no longer legible.

The floors ticked by. She imagined how she would look wearing those skintight tutus. A little inconvenient, of course, but much fun. It probably had something to do with the dancing. She’d rarely seen people dance in loose clothing, unless they were street dancing. Street dancing was a completely different thing.

The doors opened with a hiss. Her mother’s hand tightened and it hurt, but the look on her face warned Kozue not to say a word; instead, she followed her wordlessly as they walked down a short corridor and paused in front of a set of glass doors.

No—but the picture was wrong. Ballet? That wasn’t ballet. That was a sweaty gym with soft floors for landing and blue and white people and an instructor yelling harsh words as people hit each other.

There, on the glistening neon signs, were the words, JUDO.

Her eyes widened. She pulled her hand away from her mother.

“But you said—”

“No questions, Kozue.” Her mother snapped. “Not a word out of you. I get to decide.

Please.”

That voice… Kozue knew that voice. It was the voice of absolute command, the voice she had to obey at all costs. She hadn’t heard it since they’d left America, since they’d moved into the flashy new home, since they’d left her father.

“…okay.” She said.

They walked in.

Chapter Text

“I’m bored,” Satoru said, “So I ran away from home.”

“…huh?” Was the only word that came out of her mouth.

She’d never met anyone who had run away from home before.

A few more weeks had passed. Throughout this time, for some strange reason, they hadn’t met up that much. It was still a lot, to be decided – three or four times a week – but they met every day, and it was a rule of thumb that she couldn’t exactly break. Hungry? Head over there, and at least one of them will have food. Sad? Go to Satoru and he’ll make her laugh. Bored? Well, that was easily solved. Both of them thought of each other as the most fun thing they’d met.

In childhood, fun was everything.

Suzuki Kozue, on one hand, was not bored. She didn’t know how much busier an adult was yet, but as of now all she knew was that Satoru seemed to have way more free time than her. Perhaps it was because of the fact that she only had one person her age to compare her current predicament to – and one who always ‘finished his stuff pretty quick’ – that she thought of this as something boring as hell.

She practiced an instrument every day. She took Japanese classes. She took English classes, too (being bilingual was a good thing, her mother had said) and studied for most subjects because her mother told her to.

Kozue didn’t know why she had to, anyway. It had something to do with her appreciating the life decision when she was older, and something to do with Japan’s educational system, but then Satoru didn’t look like he did this half the time.

“I’m bored.” He repeated, and when she flopped down on the bench with a sideways look at him, flipped upside down so that his head hung below the bench and his legs were tossed up over the backrest. “Everything- is- so- boring.”

“That sounds cool.” It did sound cool. If she was smart enough to find every class boring (learning new languages sucked, and the only way it was fun was if she was finding new swear words in her Justice League comics) then she’d do something more interesting. Like overthrowing a land far away and setting up a colony of women served by ants.

Ants seemed like the best kind of servants. They worked hard, they worked well, and they worked enough without her having to hold them at gunpoint. And you didn’t have to pay them, ‘cause capitalism.

“What’re you gonna do now?” She added, as she flipped upside down to join him where he hung. “Your parents are gonna sell you to slave traders.”

“I dunno.” He shrugged, and sighed, leaning back. “I’m the best, but sometimes being the best is kinda boring. I don’t want anything.” He gave her the striking image, again, of someone who wasn’t lying. Maybe it was because he seemed to be utterly convinced of that fact, and maybe because she’d seen him do the strangest things (you look like Sailor Moon, she’d remarked to him one day as he showed her how to walk on thin air) because she could certainly beat him. After all, she was the main character, and he was just her sidekick.

“Wanna come to my house?” Kozue asked him, half on instinct. Whatever he was doing was quite interesting (really fun, she always considered bringing popcorn to the next time they raided a movie theater) and it didn’t help that his eyes were glittering underneath those sunglasses in a way that suggested something was up.

That was the same look in his eyes whenever he was… well, bored. He’d caught probably the world’s biggest goddamn beetle, smuggled Neon Genesis Evangelion for her to watch (it isn’t appropriate, her mother said, you shouldn’t watch things like that) burned onto a CD disc, showed her his new skill (walking on water, demonstrated in the local park pond) in the middle of the night for no reason, broke her window trying to knock on it like they did in those Romeo and Juliet movies…

There was really no doubt about it. Nothing boring ever happened, they thought, with each other around.

“Can I?” He perked up. “That’s new. New stuff is fun.”

“If you don’t mind a messy room.”

“I don’t.”

“I do.”

He stuck out his tongue. It seemed, really, that he didn’t give two bits about what the owner of the house thought; and neither did her mom. “I’m just bored. Your house sounds more interesting than mine. Right, Kozu?”

She rolled her eyes. He laughed; it was something utterly and completely unique to someone who could only be called half-American. Japanese girls (much less boys) would have never dreamt of doing such a thing, which was why – and he’d heard this firsthand – most of the neighbors seemed so reproachful towards his dear friend. It was quite funny, but then again, the others really were stupid.

She was this fun, this interesting, this amazing; what was a little eye roll if he could hide in the benches, talk of an expanding world with her?

“What would you do there?” She picked out.

He whipped his sunglasses off his face and stuck them on hers. Her hair stuck out in a strange direction and she raised them slightly, before grinning. Satoru knew she loved his shades. In fact, that was precisely the reason why he’d put them on her.

“I dunno.” He said. “Wonder Woman was starting to sound super interesting, but if you don’t want me to…”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then stopped and looked at him. He looked back and beamed widely in a way that he knew was completely charming.

“…my mom wants to see you, anyway.” Kozue said, and hopped off the bench; tugging on the string of his hoodie, she beckoned him to follow as they began heading in a direction he’d seen her go often. “I guess it’ll be fine. For today.”

He patted her hair. “Kozue-chan is so easy to make happy.”

“What.”

“Nothing! I said nothing.” He slung an arm around her shoulder. “Chips. Do you have chips at your house? Can I sleep over?”

“I thought you were just coming to my house, not sleeping over.”

“I’ll be super quiet… I don’t even snore!”

“I’ve seen you asleep before.” She had. Once she’d come back from hours of playing the violin, about an hour later than when she usually came, and had come across Satoru splayed out on the bench, eyes closed and mouth hanging open. Completely asleep. “You look really dumb when you sleep.”

“I look irresistible.”

“Irritable.”

“Your Japanese is getting better.” He commented. “It’s annoying.”

“You’re annoying.”

It was a strange combination, to say the least: or at least, that was what the neighboring child thought as he wiped his runny nose with his sleeve. There was that weirdo that had moved in at the very start of the summer, wearing a Batman T-shirt and gripping a stick in her hand like she was going to thwack him over the head, now dressed neatly in a purple sundress; and then there was that guy, taller and paler with the weirdest hair color he’d ever seen, trailing after her with a strange grin on his face.

The girl was someone he’d been told to stay away from – she was from somewhere everyone hated, they said, and she was poor and had no dad – but he’d never seen that guy, who looked way too tall and handsome to be poor and without a dad.

“Mo-om!” He hollered. “The neighbour girl brought a model!”

The girl turned to look at him, then looked at her friend. He grinned and said something. She laughed in that weird boyish way of hers, then gave the boy the sunglasses from her face.

The girl then smiled at him, drew a thumb across her throat, and tilted her neck.

“Mo-om!” He screamed, and ran into his house.

Kozue and Satoru were children that could be seen as something closer to rebellious than anything else. Both of them knew far well that the boy avoided her like the plague, and had yelled at her to stay away when she’d asked for him to toss the ball back over the fence. Kozue knew what they said about her, because she wasn’t stupid. Just because children never said anything didn’t mean they couldn’t hear what the adults said.

It was stupid. She made a face.

“Wow.” The boy behind her laughed in delight. “I didn’t know you could get even uglier!”

“Shut up.” She grumbled. “Dunce face.”

He laughed more, and questioned her on everything.

To tell the truth, she’d never really brought a friend home, and it felt better than she’d expected. He seemed mildly interested in everything yet lost interest as soon as she answered his question, which was hilarious in itself, but what made it even funnier was that he wasn’t just any normal friend: she was Gojo Satoru, her friend with the magic tricks. She knew better than anyone that he was probably more capable than most of the people in this neighborhood.

After all, he could fly. Adults couldn’t fly. They were probably too heavy.

They stopped outside of her house. He was still laughing loudly at something she’d told him – she didn’t remember the specific details, something about pets looking like their owners – and she had to smack him in the arm to get him to stop.

“What?” He said.

“Stop laughing on purpose.”

“I’m not laughing on purpose. It’s funny.”

“Just like your face.”

“Go look in the mirror. You look like a dung beetle.”

“Hey!”

He laughed and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking up at the house with a squint. “So what’s this?”

“That’s my house, you elephant.”

He squinted even more. “That’s really small.” He said.

Gojo Satoru was insensitive. She didn’t care much: in fact, she preferred this about him, really, because at least he didn’t talk behind her back like the kids at the playground. Whatever he had to say, he said that to her face, and although he looked ridiculously like a kids’ magazine model, he was also very annoying while he did it.

He was her best friend. She didn’t know nor care if she was his; she probably was, because he had a really bad personality and no one else could put up with him anyway.

“Just like your dad’s-”

“Kozue!” Someone said behind her, sounding incredibly offended.

She turned, only to see her mother looking horrified.

“Thank you for coming over, Satoru-kun,” Her mother said with a soft smile as she unlocked the door to their house.

“Thank you for having me here.” He replied, flashing a movie-star smile at her own mother. “You look just as stunning as your daughter, Suzuki-san.”

…gross, she thought.

“Ew.” She grumbled. The door swung open and she kicked her shoes off, rushing into the house. “You’re just getting tricked by his smile. He actually has a dark prophecy that he’s gonna burn the world down someday.”

“You’ve read too many comic books, Kozue. I told you I’d take them away.”

Kozue tried very hard to hide the fact that she was somewhat delighted by the prospect of a friend coming over to her house for the first time in her life.

Her mother told her to go boil the kettle. She did so, somewhat grumpily. It was strange; although her house was the same house and the same walls and the same wooden floor, with its boring instruments and boring displays and boring everything, one person’s presence seemed to change everything. Gojo Satoru had shifted the air the moment they stepped into the house, and although she could hear him talking animatedly from the kitchen, she wondered if he was even really here or not.

The two things seemed like things that should never overlap: the mundane reality of her life, and Gojo Satoru. Her interesting, imaginary friend.

She tiptoed back to the kitchen to see her mother nodding along to something Gojo was saying animatedly. She’d never met other people with Satoru, before, but she wondered if it was just his looks or the aura around him, the assurance that he was the strongest guy in the world, that they always seemed to smile at him.

The image wasn’t right. She headed towards him and grabbed his arm. “We’re gonna head up. He said he’d play Super Mario with me.”

“I did?” He grinned. “Of course I did. I’ll whoop your butt.”

“You can try.”

Her mother looked at her curiously, then at the boy. She sighed. “Alright. Kozue, treat our guest well-”

“Too late!”

She grabbed his arm and pulled his heavy ass up the stairs.

It was dumb, really. There were rules that she’d been told to keep in the house, and every single one of them seemed ingrained in her mind as nothing more than just a patriarchal practice that people did because they wanted to oppress certain minorities.

Gojo Satoru was a guy, and he was a handsome guy, so naturally people looked towards him. Naturally the neighbor’s son thought of him as better. Naturally he was a model, and she was a freakazoid. Naturally her mother liked him. She didn’t quite care what they thought of her as, but it made her… well, annoyed.

Down with the patriarchy, she thought a little aggressively, and pushed the door to her room open.

It was neatly arranged – probably too neatly to believe it was hers. Glow-in-the-dark stars were pasted on the ceilings, because although she didn’t want to admit it, she still couldn’t sleep without seeing them.

Some dumb picture she’d painted in kindergarten and had received an award for was propped up on the wall somewhat proudly. It was, apparently, supposed to be a hornet of wasps that represented the working population of society, but had ended up looking more like a deformed, rotten cheese.

“Wowza.” He picked something up from the bed. “What are these?”

She turned. She’d completely forgotten her insistence on the stance that ‘dolls were for little kids’ – the boy was looking at her amused, shaking one of her favourite stuffed toys at her. It was the hippo she’d gotten from a friend in the U.S.

Her embarrassment gauge reached two million.

“That’s not mine!” She yelled, somewhat insistently. “Give it here!”

“Oh, no,” He said, plopping himself on her bed – nasty guy, she cursed him into Tartarus – and juggled the doll into the air. “Kozu, you’ve hurt his feelings: you’re supposed to save the hostage, not kill him. Save Mister Hippo!”

She growled at him. He stuck out his tongue.

“If you’re gonna get on my bed,” She said, “Take off your socks, first.”

Both of them unanimously peeled off their socks. He threw them in some corner and stumbled back onto the bed, still holding the doll.

“Hitting someone with glasses is considered as having intent to murder, you know.” He said, and floated up a few inches. “You shouldn’t hit me.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m joking.”

She lunged at him.

By then he’d floated up into the air like those floating balloons, the type with special stuff pumped in them, and she only just stared up at him grumpily.

“Now you’re just showing off.”

“I know.”

“You’re horrible.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“Am not.”

“Is.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

She stared up at him.

It seemed at times, that this boy was some kind of fatal weakness of hers. She had been bred, born and raised to topple the hierarchy which everyone stood within; yet this boy made her immature again, made her feel like nothing but a mere child. Not being special was something that was prone to happening, next to this boy.

In fact, he was a bit of a bastard.

She sat down on the bed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine.”

He watched her, uncertainly, bobbing up and down in the air. She counted about ten seconds until he touched down, sitting gently besides her. “…are you mad?”

“No.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “Maybe. Yes.”

“Don’t be mad!” He shuffled closer. “Kozue-chan…”

“No.”

He handed her the hippo. She took it, hugged it to her chest, and pouted a little more.

“Are you still mad?”

“Ma-aybe.”

He pulled her down by the shoulders. She yelped as she fell straight down, until her head landed on his lap. His giant, ugly face loomed over her. “Don’t be ma-a-ad.”

“You were mean.”

Actually, she didn’t care much. It was a strategy she’d learned while playing with the dumb neighbor boy, and it was a pretty effective one, too: because she’d socked the boy, like, four times, and his mother still had no idea.

“Should I get you food?”

“…you were still mean.”

“I’ll get you Garigari-kun next time we go out.”

In the end, he did end up staying over. It was on the guest futon, but that didn’t really matter since he crawled up to her bed anyway; with a promise to bring her to his house sometime, he wrapped his arm around her tight – get off, you dung beetle – and they dozed off in the cool summer breeze. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t meet any more after that, in the benches and at the shops and all over the place she slowly learnt to grow used to.

It wasn’t like summer was ending soon, and it wasn’t like he was the only friend she had or anything; and certainly, it wasn’t like the boy had been extra good to his parents just so he could go to the same grade school as her.

Chapter Text

Fast forward to first day of school: pitiful that summer had ended so early, but it wasn't like she had a choice. She hated meeting new people, but she took a deep breath and dealt with it anyway: the door loomed over her. Right behind that door would be a classroom full of Japanese kids who would laugh at her fatherless behavior.

Here we go, she thought. The door to the classroom slid open; she tugged at her uncomfortable skirt, and stepped through the doorway.

"Hello." Kozue said, in perfectly recited, perfectly dull Japanese. "My name is Su-"

A pair of familiar blue eyes blinked back at her.

Her mouth dropped open.

“Satoru, how- holy-”

“Language!” He wiggled his fingers at her and gave her another one of those charming smiles. “Oha-yo, Kozu-chan~”

“…oh my god, Toru…”

And the grade school teacher, looking at both of them in surprise, as the only two new students of the year: an unfitting pair, the woman decided. The American girl with her sarcastic laugh and the dead-fish eyes she stared at people with, and a movie-star boy with the most charming smile anyone would ever see.

Oh, she thought, as the boy took two steps and wrapped his arms around her neck, clinging off her back like a very large baby. The girl turned and poked his cheek. I see.

It was obvious, to anyone who could see. To anyone but them.

The teacher cleared her throat. Cute, she thought. This would be an interesting year.

“…so, do you two know each other?”

Chapter Text

Year Six.

“Kozue!” Someone called, as she ripped open another pack of Oreos. “Kozue, it’s your boyfriend again!”

Suzuki Kozue, age fourteen, glanced out of the window and sighed, met with the ever-so-familiar silhouette of her best friend.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” She muttered, and pulled an Oreo apart.

Afterschool self-study was a bit of a bother to her—and there was no secret why. All her friends knew him as the tall, handsome boy who waited outside her school gates at four twenty sharp; her best friend Satoru. He was never on time to anything but this, and it bothered her a teensy bit.

They’d been stuck together at the hip for what… three, four years, only to be separated at the start of junior high, when he’d complained that his parents had “put him in a place for jujutsu stuff”.

“It’s dumb.” Satoru grumbled, in the winter of getting ready for junior high. “I can do whatever the hell I want.”

“Except cook.”

It had been years and he still couldn’t cook. He hated that fact with a burning passion (pun unintended, as he’d almost burned down his house once): it was, probably, the only thing she was better than him in.

Gojo Satoru had been insisting he was the best in everything, to the point where she’d almost forgotten he was. That was him: the Best. He excelled in every subject; his physical abilities were out of the world; he did anything and everything he wanted to, fooled around every day, and still managed to be the best.

She kind of hated him for that.

She was good enough. Her mother wanted her to be the best, and she lived with the words in her mouth—Satoru, your friend, must be good at this and that—to the point where Kozue spitefully chose everything that wasn’t included in her speech bubbles to excel at. That in itself was probably a talent.

Spite: the biggest talent of a girl chosen to overthrow the patriarchy and bring chaos and freedom to humanity.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to this, of course. At the start of the year, he’d asked casually, can I see your timetable?

“Why?”

“Just curious.” His head lolled on her shoulder. He grew perpetually taller, with no signs of stopping (probably, she thought, he’d easily reach six foot and maybe more) while her own growth spurt had ended at the ripe age of thirteen. She wasn’t the shortest person in the world, but she was short enough to be teased by Satoru for it.

Five foot seven. Imagine that.

“You know, that was what you said last time.” She muttered, flipping through a page on her book. Last time referred to the time he’d broken three vases and gotten ketchup on her favourite shirt. “I don’t trust you.”

“You still mad about that? Listen, I’ll get you a new shirt.”

“It was a gift from my mom, baka.”

“And this one’s a gift from me. Even better!”

She’d shown him her schedule, anyway. There had been no implication of what he was planning to do, but he’d turned up more and more until he turned up at least once every few days with a grin on his face, waiting until her class finished so they could go ‘hang out together’.

All her friends knew him, at this point. Some of them had asked her for his number, to which she’d replied coolly, he has a girlfriend.

Did he? By this point, she had no idea. He was popular enough to have multiple. She didn’t care, either.

One of her friends tipped her chair back. “He winked at me.”

“It’s a trick of the light.” She said, “And he’s wearing sunglasses.”

“He pulled them down and winked.”

She looked out of the window. He grinned and waved, then pulled down his sunglasses and winked at her. The way his mouth moved was obvious enough: miss you.

She flipped him off. It was only when the bell rang that her leg stopped shaking like it was attached to a motor, and it was only when she’d poured all her things into her bag, zipped it up hastily, grabbed her phone (the very one she’d been playing Tetris with) and made her way out of the classroom that she saw him properly in all his glory.

He was, as always, talking animatedly to a girl. It was someone from the older years, probably, because she had no idea who it was.

Still, nonetheless, it was nice to see that he was wearing his uniform properly for once, neat collar and all. He held something in his hand that she didn’t quite see from this distance, and was laughing to something the girl said, leaning against the gates with his arm propped up against the cornerstone.

Kozue knew he’d always been something of a flirt. But really, was what she was saying that funny?

“Hey.” She said quietly, fully aware of the extent of his hearing, “Doesn’t it look like a nice day for ice cream?”

He was listening, as always. Even from this distance. It didn’t bother her too much.

What was funny, however, was the way his head whipped sideways instantly. It was as though someone had flipped a switch in her friend’s brain; his face had practically lit up. At least twenty girls swooned.

“Kozue-chan!” He exclaimed in an uncomfortably passionate way.

Thanks to him, of course, she was subject to many rumours as well. It was always Kozue’s foreign boyfriend this and Kozue’s foreign boyfriend that—even though, obviously, Gojo Satoru wasn’t foreign.

It was in his name. The audacity.

The girl in front of him turned back and said something to him, quietly. He shook his head, then took several quick steps towards her.

“Kozu,” He sang. “Let’s go for ice cream!”

She glanced back at the girl behind him—the one who’d already left. “You’re concerning.”

“I concern you with my beauty.” He slung his arm around her shoulder. “Yuki’s, right?”

She nodded. He began to steer her in the right direction; it was just one of those things they did. It wasn’t ever explainable. They’d been doing this since they were children – the girl with one busy parent and the guy no one took care of. They were mismatches, and they knew each other perfectly. There were so many more inexplainable things, and this was just one of many.

It was unavoidable, as a fact, that they were the most comfortable with each other: no one else.

“Go ahead, anyways.” He grinned. “You knew I was listening, didn’t you? You knew it! You said it quietly on purpose!”

She elbowed him in the side and felt, to her annoyance, nothing but lean muscle. “I was talking to myself. Gee, Satoru.”

“You were talking to me, too.”

“Whatever you say, you self-obsessed prick.”

“I’m kind of hurt.”

“Aw, you poor baby.”

He gave her a look. She smirked at him.

She told him about her day as they entered the ice cream store, and in return, he did the same. It was nothing but daily for them: he described everything she was interested in with detail, because he knew she wanted to know.

“And that huge bug, right? It was super powerful, and people were like oh, Gojo, be careful, you’re gonna get eaten and turned into bug feces!”

“Let me guess.” She relayed her order to the shop cashier and thanked him, who looked like he’d know their names by this point. They came here every week, after all. “You saved the day.”

“Correct!” He beamed. “You know me so well!”

She glanced up at him. He looked excited about something; she reached up to brush a strand of hair away from his eyes, and headed away to find an empty seat. He followed her. “Did you bust out your eye dojo?”

“You make it sound so lame.” He groaned, and pulled out a chair for her before sitting opposite her. “It’s not eye dojo, it’s rikugan.”

“I see.” He’d told her this at least seven times. “So did you?”

He pouted. “Yes.” He admitted, finally with a sigh, and described to her every gory detail of how he’d exorcised the curse. “It was pretty strong for a Grade 2. No match for me, but still pretty strong.”

She technically wasn’t supposed to know this. Kozue knew that, better than anyone else. But like she’d said, he told her everything, and half his life was inexplainable without the secrets. Normal people aren’t supposed to know these secrets, he’d said proudly the first time he’d told her, but since you’re super special, I’ll tell you everything. Just promise not to tell anyone or you might end up in a mental hospital or something.

Cool. She’d said. Can I be a sh… show-man?

It’s shaman, dumbo. He grinned. And no. It’s only for the super special people. Like me.

She’d never really lost interest, though. For a girl who’d dreamed of overthrowing the patriarchy in her younger years, it was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to her: Gojo Satoru and the stories he’d brought. His progressing powers. His unnatural eyes she’d always thought of as pretty.

“That’s great,” Kozue told him a little spitefully, “But do you know differentiation and integration?”

“Of course I do.”

She rolled her eyes. Of course he did. What didn’t he know, by this point? “Smartypants.”

“But, Kozu, you’re the one in the math Olympiad class, not me!”

“Shut it! My mom made me go to that class.” She crossed her arms and sunk down in her seat. “What do I care about integration and differentiation?”

“A lot.”

She stepped on his foot.

“Look,” He said, “If you hate the Olympiad class that much, just tell your mother. Suzuki-san is a very nice woman.”

“She’s insanely strict.” She grumbled. “You know why I’m in that class. Stop teasing me.”

The only reason she’d agreed to go to the Math Olympiad class, despite the teachers bugging her about how ‘talented in mathematics’ she was, was for one reason: her mother. Her mother’s paranoia in her not being able to catch up to the rest of her class, even though Kozue was, in all reality, a top-of-the-class student. Any offspring of Suzuki would be.

You have to keep up with your academics, she’d been told by her mother.

Can’t I just quit judo? She’d suggested, desperately, and had been whacked in the head. The answer was obvious: no, she couldn’t. Judo was the only thing she couldn’t quit.

She’d always found that strange, because she’d always been told that sports was significantly less important. But to her mother, it seemed to matter the most.

And worst part was, she thought with an exasperated sigh, she had an uncanny talent for it.

“Don’t be sad, Kozu.” He took a bite of her ice cream. “You have that judo match coming up, yeah?”

“Yeah. The biggest one of the year.”

“I’ll skip duty calls for it.” He lowered his glasses. “My Kozu is the best, after all. I’ll visit with a large neon sign that says, Kozu-chan, be mine. My favourite thing is when you toss them around like a sack of rice!”

“It’s called a throw. Nage waza, Satoru.”

“Yeah. You should teach me that sometime, I’d definitely want to try it out on a few people at school…”

The door blew open, carrying a breeze of warm summer wind with it.

It was at this moment, she thought, she would have given anything to keep it like such. Just the two of them, like this, forever. She liked moments like this: the boy too immature for the power in his hands, and the girl who wanted to be anything but normal.

Because no one- and by that, no one, not even Gojo Satoru- could have prepared her for what was coming next.

The pictures were scattered around the table. A girl, smiling up, in her teens; a young girl with her hair let down loose and her mouth a wide smile and her nametag reading Suzuki Kozue in neat Kanji.

A hand ran over the pictures, and paused.

A voice spoke.

“Do you know what you do with weeds?

You pluck them out, before they grow too much. That’s the only way to deal with them. And you realize, sometimes… sometimes, it’s not very easy to pull those weeds out. Sometimes you have to dig a very certain way.

Sometimes, there’s perfectly good soil you have to damage.”

It probably wasn’t a coincidence, was what they thought. How could it be? The girl that he’d grown so attached to, originating so specifically from the one thing they would have liked to avoid.

“And the soil… the girl… the environment. Pull the girl out, and the boy will follow. He’s too arrogant for that, too naïve, too…well. Tell me, have you ever heard of Nakamura?”

“Nakamura… the one in America? The special grade sorcerer?”

“Yes. I heard he separated from his civilian family recently…”

They weren’t villains. No one was. They were just realists, and she was just the good soil that had been caught in the wildfire.

Chapter Text

They were too old for sleepovers.

It wasn’t like Kozue minded, of course; it was more of what other people told them constantly. You’re too old for sleepovers, they’d chastise, especially for two teenage children of the opposite gender.

It was funny how when they weren’t supposed to do something, they were children, but when they’d done something wrong, they were old enough.

Nonetheless, as Kozue zipped up her sports bag and headed out, she could faintly make out the loitering figure of Satoru once more. It was obvious what he’d come for.

They had study sessions, leading onto sleepovers, mostly at her own house. She’d been to Satoru’s house, once or twice, but it had been embarrassing because ‘his parents didn’t want people there’. Consequently, he’d snuck her in by carrying her bridal-style and floating up through the window. It hadn’t been pretty.

Okay, she thought. It had been embarrassing. She had been wearing shorts, and his hands were mercilessly cold on the back of her thighs.

But as they grew up, one thing had never changed. He was a constant presence in her house, just as he was in her life; never there without her permission, of course, but there enough that he was a family friend. He claimed he was busy, but it seemed as though he always had time for her. Even sometimes, he’d turn up randomly in her room as she was scratching away at her homework or watching a video.

It was just like the way she’d grown used to Japan. Now, Japan was all she knew: there were barely any memories remaining of her time in America, save for a man who was quick with his mouth but quicker with his hands.

It wasn’t something she tried to do. It wasn’t something anyone tried to do. It just happened, just like Satoru himself had happened.

She pushed the glass doors open and recoiled at the stiflingly hot air. It was a little damp, warning her (maybe) of rain. The figure scuffled at something on the ground. He was ridiculously tall, she thought, and she pushed at his shoulder playfully.

“Yo,” She said, “Waiting for someone?”

His head whipped up guiltily, his fingers desperately scrabbling for something; she noticed, with amusement, a lollipop protruding from his mouth.

“I told you,” He complained, “It’s stimulating.”

They started walking.

“You’re going to lose all your teeth by the time you’re forty.”

“I’ll still be gorgeous.”

“With fake teeth?” Something cold touched her shoulder and slipped down; she looked up to see him taking her bag from her. Because he was, obviously, powerful, Kozue let him take it. Instead, he handed her a lollipop, too. “Okay. You’re going to give me fake teeth too.”

“You’ll be gorgeous, too.” She stuck it in her mouth, anyway. It was chocolate mousse: her favourite. “See, you like it.”

“If I don’t eat it, you will. And if you eat it, you’ll get diabetes.”

“I’m too perfect to get diabetes.”

She poked his side. “You can never be too perfect for diabetes. All those curses you fight are nothing compared to type II diabetes. You’ll grow up and see.” She thought for a moment. “Actually, you’re too fit for that.”

“See?” He beamed. “My lifestyle is perfect!”

She gave him a look.

“Okay, almost perfect!”

Stare…

“…okay.” He admitted, “But don’t look at me like that. I’m very tall and healthy. Suzuki, you’re the one that’s five foot seven…”

He’d come to pick her up because of this, she thought as they passed the dimming streetlamps. Satoru always did this. He could wait at home, but he always claimed he couldn’t risk it: the road was dark, and someone had talked of ghosts and perverts. A friend she knew had been harassed by drunk men once or twice.

I don’t want a finger on you, he’d said. Not while I’m here. Understood?

Interestingly enough, the road back with him was always peaceful. Not a single person on the street. The only thing that stood out were their matching footsteps and the quiet back-and-forth of conversation; the silent way back home that would be filled with music were, with him, always interesting one way or another.

Satoru had only just finished telling a magnificently exaggerated story about how he’d finally started experimenting around with his rikugan when they reached home. The lights were off, as always.

“Eh? Suzuki-san not home again?”

She checked the time. It was seven.

“She’s probably really busy this month.”

He didn’t say anything as she swung the door open. What else was there to say? It had been like this since they were young: just the two of them in a large, lonely house. Her mother was either at work or sleeping her fatigue off most of the time. She didn’t mind: the boy filled the gap almost as well as her own mother did.

The switch was flicked on, revealing the house exactly as she’d left it this morning. Satoru pounced on the couch. “Oi! No!”

“Kozu-chan, treat your guests well.”

“You sleep here half the time! You’re not a guest anymore, you tall oaf.”

He propped up his head on his chin and stared up at her. His glasses were hanging from his face, showing those eyes she always said yes to anyway. “Can we watch Batman again?”

“…we watched Batman last time.”

“What else is there to watch?” He flopped on the couch again and flurried around like an invertebrate. “Comics. Wanna read some comics?”

He’d originally come to study with her, but as always, they never really did. She sent him to her room to fetch whatever he wanted to do as she scoured the kitchen for food.

The stock here was pitiful. She rummaged through the array of different flavors.

“Hey, Satoru,” She called over her shoulder, lazily, “I’m getting salt and vinegar since you got to choose last time.”

There was no reply. She frowned and took the chips anyway, tossed it on the couch, and stuck a bowl of popcorn in the microwave. “’Toru?”

It was only then she received a reply.

“Kozu.” The voice came quietly from up the stairs.

She took the steps two at a time. Even if he was her best friend, there were still things she liked to keep hidden; not just the diaries she kept locked under her bed—ten-year-old Kozue had been serious enough about a passing childhood crush on Satoru—but, well, other things. “If you broke something, I swear-”

He hadn’t broken something.

Satoru stood with his back to her, something in his hands; an array of DVDs were splayed out on her bed, along with the white cat plushie he’d bought her randomly on her eleventh birthday.

Kozue didn’t want to know why chills suddenly crept up her spine. Had the room always been this bleak? It seemed as though something, something was different with Gojo Satoru; in fact, when he turned towards her, his eyes were still downcast at the thing in his hands.

An open letter flopped in his hands, as pale as his skin.

She felt as though he had found something he shouldn’t have. She shifted, took one step and stopped at his expression.

“Toru.” She blinked.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“…wow.” Down in the kitchen, the microwave beeped loudly; her finger twitched, but she kept it as it was. “I forgot I had it.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing important.”

His eyes scanned over the contents, before flipping up to her. He’d left his shades on the couch downstairs; his eyes were eerily blue against his pale face and hair.

“But what is it?”

“Kind of embarrassing, I guess.” She scooped up the DVDs in one arm, then grabbed the cat plushie in her other. “This guy from judo club left me a love letter in my locker.”

“That’s still a thing?” He laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. “This is really sappy.”

“Is it?” Her eyes flickered up. “I didn’t read past the first few lines.”

She really hadn’t. Something—a question—ebbed at the back of her mind, but she pushed it aside and tucked the cat under her arm, holding a hand out for the letter. “It’s not important. I was going to throw it away.”

“Are you going to date him?”

“What? No. He’s a sissy. I’m not into that kind of thing.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

He handed her the letter. Just for good riddance, she ripped it in half and tossed it into the trash. “You get to choose the movie.”

His eyes were filled with a look she couldn’t quite label; she watched him, curiously, as he stared at the trash can for a few seconds, before whipping back towards her with a large, goofy smile. “Seriously? Don’t regret it!”

“What the hell do you have up your sleeve?”

“Just my luck, Kozu-chan. You ever heard of Ghost Shark?”

“I swear if it’s another C-grade movie of yours…”

She rolled her eyes but pushed the DVDs back under her bed. The better half of the night was spent admiring the movie in peace with his arm draped over the back of the couch and the cat plush hugged close to her chest; the only sounds came from when he giggled quietly in her ear about holy shit, that CG, as well as the soft crunching of the bowl of chips and popcorn Satoru had nestled on his lap.

When the movie ending credits rolled around, she checked the time: it was nearly eleven. It had indeed been another C-grade movie of his, and as she stretched and yawned languidly, it came across her mind that the house was emptier than ever.

“Hey, Satoru.” She said, before realizing the reputation she had to uphold. “Never mind. We should probably go to bed.”

“We really should.”

They stared at each other. A car honked outside; simultaneously, both of them jolted in their seats. It didn’t help that she felt a tickling sensation in her leg; the waterslide scene flashed in her mind and she cleared her throat loudly, standing up to grab the now-empty bowl.

“Kozu-chan,” He picked up his shades, cleaning them with the edge of his shirt, “Not because I’m scared or anything… yeah, of course not…”

“Pfft.”

She’d never liked to lose to Satoru. It wasn’t easy, being the kind of perfect guy he was, but she hated losing to him; it was natural. Everyone hated losing, but it was simply the fact that her competitive streak was driven to an edge near Satoru. She’d never appreciated that part.

“I don’t like the couch anymore.” He said behind her as she dumped the bowl in the sink and washed her hands. “You still have that guest futon?”

Of course she did. He was one of the only ones who used it. She didn't have a lot of friends, but even the ones she had ever came over to her house; she didn’t want people to see the emptiness.

The water dripped down and hit her feet. She swore, softly, and wiped her hands on the towel somewhat aggressively.

“I’m going to take out the guest futon.” He said, quietly.

“You go do that.”

When did things ever work out? Thirty minutes later she found, with a strangely comforting grin, that the bed was a bit too small for Gojo Satoru, the boy too tall for his age: she found that she was pressed to the wall face-first, while he was forced to tuck his legs in a little closer to fit himself under the blankets. His chest was pressed against her back, as close as one could get. It was a single bed, and they were ridiculously cramped; the thought of him going away, however, didn’t occur to her.

It was a big enough bed, and it was better than him sleeping on the floor.

“Good night.” She mumbled.

“Night, Kozu-chan!”

The silence drilled into her head. She touched the wall, gently, and felt him shift behind her; the lights were out and the house was completely dark and maybe, just a little, that was what made it worse.

The question that had lingered on the back of her throat finally spilled itself loose as the neon clock hit the fourty-five mark.

“Hey.” She muttered, more to the wall than anyone else. “You awake?”

No reply.

“’Toru.”

“Huh?”

Fuck it. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“…what’s the point of asking this?”

“Do you or not?”

“So what if I do?”

She was silent. Thinking. A hundred thoughts, none of them good, and all of them as quiet and empty as this house, flurried through her mind.

“So do you?” She asked, finally.

“Why are you asking?”

“Cuz you look like you’d have one.”

“And?”

She dug her fingers under her pillow. “If you get a girlfriend, she’s probably going to hate us hanging out like this, right?”

“Eh? …and?”

“And we’ll have to stop hanging out like this.”

“And?”

She paused. What was the point of this? There was one, she swore there was, but it had been lost in her process of thoughts. Something she didn’t like admitting, she thought, or something she didn’t like the thought of. It left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

“Nothing.” She said. “Forget it.”

The room was quiet, save for the breathing of the two. She wondered if he was thinking something different, because all she could think was that this was empty and it would be even emptier without him here.

“Hey.” He said, softly. The bed creaked; his breath hit her ear gently. “Hey.”

She shivered.

“…what?”

“Even if I get a girlfriend,” He told her, “You’ll always be first priority.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“What’re you gonna do if she doesn’t like us hanging out?”

“Then,” His words smelled like toothpaste. Completely different from what someone would expect of him, but it was familiar, because it was strawberry toothpaste and he’d smelled like this before bed for the past seven, eight years because he was still such a kid. “I’ll break up with her. Cuz you’re more important.”

She was quiet. Was this the question—the answer—she’d been hoping for? She didn’t know, by this point, because her mother wasn’t back at ten in the night and it was nothing but a daily occurrence for her.

“You bastard.” She said, finally. “Whoever dates a guy like you… you’re a bastard.”

Still, she was a little comforted, Kozue thought. Just a little. He always did this to her. It was just the way they worked, because he sounded like a bastard and acted like one, too, but he’d say these things and she’d think she could have no one better. He was there for her, something that her mother should have done, and she didn’t know what she would do if the hole wasn’t patched up.

“Thanks.” She said, softly, hiding the smile in her voice.

“You’re welcome, Kozu.”

“Move a little that way. I’m cramped.”

“No.”

“I guess you really want to sleep on the couch, huh?”

“…how much is a little?”

Chapter Text

“I want to be a shaman.” Suzuki Kozue had demanded to her friend on a hot summer day. It was the year they were turning eleven, and they’d climbed onto the roof without supervision, waiting for her mother to come home. “You’re going to that dumb school, right? Can I come with?”

“You’re so funny, Kozu.”

“I’m not joking, though.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“Of course you are. You can’t be that dumb.”

“Well, I am.” She turned to him. “I’ve thought about this loads of times, OK? Just hear me out.”

Satoru had been in a bad mood, that particular day. She didn’t quite remember why. It had been something to do with his family and the Zen’in clan, and all she knew about the situation had been, back then, that no one really seemed happy about it.

Still, she remembered what he did. It was what he did all the time, something she’d drilled into his head since they’d met: he sat and listened to her, even if he wanted to argue. The weather was bleak, and she’d thought maybe he influenced it, but that was ridiculous.

He’d crossed his arms and looked away. Go ahead.

“I want to be a shaman.” She said, softly. “You told me if people have enough cursed energy, it’s possible. I want to be powerful, too. Like you.”

“…why?”

She stared at him. “You’re seriously asking that?”

“Why not?”

“Because not everyone has a massive head like you. I wanna be cool, too. I want to have powers and do good and be a hero. Because that’s what shamans are: heroes for the greater good.”

…back then, she thought, she’d been incredibly into justice. Like Batman. Her mother told her she read too many comic books, but where else had her criteria of ‘good’ come from? It was obvious.

“Some dream you have.”

“You sound like such a cynic.” She’d scoffed. “Is this one request so wrong? I just want to go to that damn school.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I dunno why you’d want to.”

“So can I?”

It was a topic she’d plucked up barely, after weeks of pondering and of pressing down her pride of having to ask Satoru for something. She’d have thought, Gojo Satoru was powerful, and he liked her, and he’d like it anyway if they went to the same school, and they shared the same secret.

The thoughts all swirled down the drain as he turned towards her.

“No.” He’d said. She remembered the exact words he’d told her, in that exact tone; in that exact way that made her shut up. “No, you can’t be a shaman. You can never be a shaman. I won’t ever let you.”

Her mouth had opened to complain, then it had closed on its own, because then his face…

She hadn’t even known Gojo Satoru could make an expression like that.

It was this precise moment she was dreaming of, on a tranquil morning, as she lazily stretched out on her table. The teacher was droning on and on about some kind of derivative—her least favourite—and she imagined she was back there, except he’d said yes. He’d taken her hand, and helped her down from the roof, then they’d played video games the whole day and she’d approached her mother to ask about it and—

“Suzuki!” Someone snapped.

She jolted on her desk, the sleep ripped away from her thoughts, and sat up straight.

A rumble of laughter passed through the classroom. It was only then she realized where she was: in the middle of math class.

Matsumoto-sensei pursed his lips and watched her, the stack of papers rolled up in his hand. He’d obviously hit the back of her head, something that explained the shock she’d been given.

“Oh.” She said, and wiped the corner of her mouth. “Sorry, sir.”

It was obvious what he’d tell her.

Sleeping in my class… with an attitude like that, you won’t be able to succeed in life… paying attention is fundamental to your studies… paying attention to things that don’t matter…

And then, she thought lazily, he’d comment on her. Her as a person.

Wearing a skirt that short… caring about your looks and nothing else… too busy paying attention to boys… don’t you think the faculty know about your boyfriend coming to pick you up every week… students shouldn’t waste their time romancing…

Then, what else? She listened with no intention on replying. Right.

Not listening… too busy sleeping… when you grow up, that’s how you’ll become jobless… people like you make up the underbellies of society, the worst parts…

Someone snickered behind her. She followed a leaf that had entered the classroom and pretended to listen, lazily, wondering what would be for lunch.

Kozue was, by no means, a good student. She got enough grades to satisfy her mother, and she had enough friends to satisfy herself, but she certainly didn’t pay enough attention in class nor did she satisfy her teachers. She wasn’t a realist: the tendencies had stayed with her till her teenage days, and she was a dreamer and a thinker. She certainly didn’t like sitting in a stuffy classroom going along with the government’s education plans just because they wanted her to.

No, no. She wanted something more interesting in life… something with a bang. Something that the social system couldn’t give her.

Unfortunately, that didn’t mean others understood.

“Okay, sir.”

“Go stand outside.” He told her.

She wondered if she could get away with punching him, and decided she couldn’t. Succumbing to violence was just the kind of thing that would land her neck on her mother’s guillotine, anyway.

“Why not.” She said, and added, “Sir.”

Her chair screeched as she stood up. She dragged her sleepy feet outside and closed the sliding door. The wood pricked at her fingers and she watched as the class resumed, then turned away, uninterested.

They didn’t have to tell her, she thought. Kozue knew better than everyone else a normal life was everything that awaited her. Dreaming would do no one any good. The only way to get someone to listen to her was to have power, and power wasn’t something she had. She was just a student: a student with a short skirt, too many ideas in her head, and a fascination in something that wouldn’t lead to a proper profession.

The hallway felt stuffy. The rows of classrooms besides her probably were taking the same classes, in the same droning voices.

Rubbing the back of her head, she pushed the large hallway window open.

Suzuki Kozue stared outside, at the hot autumn day, the buzzing cicada, and the rustling of leaves against the windows left half-open by sleepy students. The normality of it astounded her. She didn’t know why the dream had occurred so suddenly, so long after she’d given up on that childhood obsession of being a ‘shaman’. This was her reality: if she didn’t accept it, she didn’t know what she was. Stupid or idealistic.

It seemed to her, after everything, a bad omen: one thing, definitely, that did exist in her world.

One thing she didn’t like.

If he could, Satoru thought, he would stay with her and never leave.

He’d always been wary of the eyes. She knew this, because she was the one who kept to him the closest. The whole world was aflame with the girl that Gojo Satoru treasured—the nameless girl that was his one and only weakness.

She was sinking into his other life faster than he could pull her out. She was closer and closer to being tainted by the world of Jujutsu and he hated it.

He just didn’t know how to tell her.

If he could have his way, he thought, he would keep her away from his life forever. The dirty world where they expected too much of a boy barely fifteen, and the dirty world where winds carrying whispers of assassinations blew; where people already begun to hunt down the girl Gojo held so dear.

There was the world of death and corruption and sacrifice—the world of jujutsu—then there was her world: tranquil and safe, just as he’d left it.

He wouldn’t – he couldn’t risk her.

He knew the head of his clan, his father, who was in all reality much below him both in power and authority, was starting to catch on, and he also knew that the only vague instructions he’d been given was a sigh and a ‘keep anyone else out of this’.

Many people thought, with his identity being the Gojo Satoru, that he couldn’t keep her away from this forever. He wanted desperately to prove them wrong.

And he was a genius. That was what he was.

Satoru had protected her loads of times before. The pervert behind the lane, a bully from elementary school that had called her dirty only to disappear a week later, the quiet footsteps of a man who followed her home as she walked alone. A stalker who had found out she lived almost alone; a teacher who picked on her only because his eyes drifted down to her too-short skirt and her bare neck, sweaty from judo club. He was always there. He had power, and he wasn’t afraid to use it.

But this premonition he felt, really, had nothing to do with the physical battle he fought against the cursed spirit in front of him. There was something more, something bigger, something more dangerous…

Something was wrong. Something was up, and he knew it had something to do with her. His phone rang in his pocket, and he knew it was her because hell, he’d set a different tune for her. It was his way of differentiating.

“Let’s end this quickly,” He said, and smiled brilliantly at the cursed spirit before him. “I have a date to get to.”

Of course, she didn’t know it was one. It didn’t matter either way.

She was too precious for him to care much about the details, anyway.

Chapter Text

It was early in the morning—nearly four—when he received the news.

In fact, it set his phone aflame with notifications.

He didn’t know what he’d done wrong, at first. As he groggily slapped himself up from sleep, he saw his phone ringing in an annoyingly loud way and checked the time, squinting: 3:47 AM. It was one of the better nights he’d had in a long while, but most nights over at Kozue’s were just that. Easy. Good. Peaceful.

He always loved sleeping over at her place. Always had. There was the difference between his own room, cold and dry in the house of the Gojo clan, between the many people who looked at his eyes and his power only, and the difference in her house, and so he always fell asleep better here.

What had woken him? He didn’t want to know, because it certainly wasn’t anything good.

He switched on his phone in the lowest settings, as to not wake the girl besides him, but the creak of the bed still stirred her in her sleep. He brushed her hair behind her ear gently before pulling himself upright, picking up his shades but not putting them on just yet. His eyes instead scaled the flurry of texts that had been sent to Gojo Satoru, the most powerful of the Gojo Clan born in several hundred years.

Something about a girl, he thought, although he didn’t know what girls had to do with him. He sure as hell hadn’t knocked one up. He knew someone in the next class had: it had been interesting enough to circle the school in many variations.

His eyes drifted to the girl, asleep next to him, and he let his fingers trail over her hair with a laugh.

They were fourteen and unsupervised. Anything could happen. She didn’t seem to care, either way; was that good or bad? Already, people were finding out what a beautiful person she was; what if that wasn’t the end? What if she found someone? He wanted to be her one and only, her most special. No one could take that place, no matter how sappy their poetry was.

Gojo Satoru, fourteen, and already close to special-grade: and paranoid he would, what, be unpopular with the girl he followed around for the better half of the decade? It seemed like a joke out loud. Only he knew it wasn’t.

He could have anyone in the world, he thought. He strode into a school and girls slipped their numbers into his pockets; he stood in front of sorcerers and they trembled in fear. The famed Gojo boy, with his arrogant eyes that could kill someone at a glance. He could have anyone, but Suzuki Kozue…

He slapped his straying thoughts back together. There were notifications, a lot of them. He read through the first ones he could find—a few people he knew here and there—and clicked on a link people had sent him. The same link, over and over. And over

And over

And over

And over—

The link loaded, and the page flickered into sight, and Gojo Satoru died inside.

He was awake now, fully. He wished he wasn’t.

How long had it been since he was this scared of something? He didn’t know. There had been little things, from when he was young, but as he grew more and more powerful it all seemed to fade away until he was strong and fearless, but there was this… this nightmare.

Why had this happened? Why now?

Or should he say that he’d expected it? It wasn’t like he hadn’t. He’d known this, fully, and had been stupid enough to keep her by his side, even though she was the most precious thing he had. He had definitely expected it.

But this? This?

This cruel shitshow?

His fingers shook a little, he noticed, and chills were dancing up and down his spine. He wasn’t indestructible. In fact, three in the morning and he’d been hit where it hurt: in the form of a dark website that posted a bounty, thirty-five million, over the head of the only person he loved.

Thirty-five million for Suzuki Kozue, wanted dead or alive. Posted to all shamans and bounty hunters and monsters. Thirty-five million.

They’d obviously used her school photo. He knew very well why; he kept to her side, attached at the hip, just for this reason.

No rats nearby, huh? He’d asked her last time: she’d thought he was talking about real rats. He hadn’t been.

She looked pretty, with her hair down and her posture straight and a snarky smile on her mouth; speckless in her uniform. They’d forced her to do her top button and she had a little frown with her smile, like she was uncomfortable with that very fact. He had this picture, he thought. It was in his phone, along with the picture that served as his wallpaper: the shrine visit from New Years’. He’d barely gotten the school photo, with the promise that he wouldn’t use it for ‘ill purposes’, and he certainly didn’t like how it was so easily put out there.

It made his blood boil.

He took a deep breath, resisting the urge to kill something, when his bedside stirred. Speak of the devil: Kozu stared up at him sleepily, probably wondering what the hell was going on.

“…Satoru.” She muttered, her voice hoarse, and buried her face in her pillow. “Ugh…It’s too early for this. Don’t watch porn on my bed.”

Something in him went, you’re guilty.

He didn’t like it. Now that the bounty was up, there were too many possibilities: anyone and everyone would come for her. She was just a small girl, a civilian.

Gojo Satoru could defend himself. But this girl was different. Guilt bubbled up in his gut and exploded, sending paranoia rushing through every part of his system, and he forced himself to stay calm, at least for her. For Kozue.

He was the one who had gotten her in danger, after all: if he really cared for her, he would leave her alone. He was dragging her into this world of mayhem.

“I’m not watching por— it’s duty calls.” He said, instead, and forced a smile on his face. “My bad.”

“Better be a good kid, then.” She murmured, and reached up, presumably to check her own phone; instead, she was met with his face. He nuzzled his face into her palm. “God- you’re like a dog.”

“Eh? Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Of course. Like a, a Labrador, you know?” She was half asleep at this point, but he didn’t mind; her fingers patted at his hair lazily. It felt nice, coming from her, but then everything did. “Like… super loyal? I dunno. Faithful?”

He wanted to laugh. He liked how she thought of him, because whatever she thought, he was probably worse than that. If only she knew what he did in the Jujutsu world, how he acted…

No, no. He wanted to remain like this, even for a second more.

“Woof.” He said, and she snickered into her pillow. She looked like she didn’t know anything: it put a lump in his throat, something unpleasant. Something different. Something he didn’t exactly feel good about. “I can’t sleep.”

“You were sleeping fine a moment ago.”

He stared at her. She gave him a look, before sighing, pulling herself up into a sitting position. “Satoru, you better… what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“What do you take me for, stupid?” Her voice was hoarse. She pulled the blankets around her until it looked like a cape draped around her shoulders and she smoothed down her hair, looking a little more awake. “Do you know how your face looks right now?”

He shook his head.

It made him glad, in some corner of his mind, that she was paying this much attention to him. But when her fingers grabbed his arm, he looked down and the guilt was back, because his arm was shaking and he knew it had something to do with the girl in front of him.

What would happen now? How would he fix this? How would he protect her?

How the hell had they found out—

He took a deep breath. He was one of the strongest, the anticipated pillar of the Gojo Clan; he was who he said he was. Perfect. He’d do something about this. He would hardly be perfect if something happened to Kozue.

It wasn’t anything new. It wasn’t anything he’d dealt with before.

Then why was he shaking? Why, in all of this, was his phone crumbling in his fingers like dry clay, twisted metal falling to the blankets like it was nothing but cheap aluminum?

The bounty. When would they start hunting her down? He’d seen the date—it had started roughly three hours ago. He’d cast a protection around the house since they were young—he’d always been protective of her, no matter the circumstance—and most of his gifts had spells because of how paranoid he was that someone would hurt her. Still, there were still possibilities, and none of them were good.

He’d have to kill everyone who came her way. Killing wasn’t hard, when it had Suzuki Kozue at stake. It would send a message, and he’d have to send many of them.

He’d have to take charge of this, because he was the reason she was on the bounty. It said there, clear as day: thirty-five million for the one thing that could control Gojo Satoru. Thirty-five million for the Gojo clan’s only weakness. Thirty-five million to kill a civilian, and after that, the most powerful of the Gojo Clan.

He knew there were many people who wanted him dead before he could reach his full potential. He had many enemies. He’d- he’d—

“Satoru.”

His eyes snapped towards her.

“I don’t know what happened but you better calm down.” She pulled the blankets off herself and stood up from the bed. He registered the action, barely, and realized what was going on before he could stop himself, because to her, to the only her that mattered, this was nothing out of the ordinary.

He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t. I’m just getting the goddamn trash can because you broke your phone again—Satoru—” She swallowed. “Are you okay?”

He let her go, slowly. She rubbed her wrist, dragging the trash can over, and he followed her every move as she tossed the contents in the bin and sat down in front of him. The lights were still off and he could barely see her face.

He couldn’t bear to see it, after all.

“Satoru.” She repeated.

He liked his name in her mouth. He always had. She was always number one priority, to him, and now that someone else was after her he didn’t know what he could do.

Gojo Satoru may have been a teenager, but he was still Gojo. Full of himself, scared of none. Gojo Satoru the feared and the fearless.

He looked up at her. “Huh?”

Her eyes drilled into him. He reminded himself that while he was with her, nothing would happen. The matching keyring he had given her a few years back was also a cursed object, and would keep her safe from most harm. They were his second pair of eyes around her. He would just have to stick by her side until she graduated junior high, in a few months, and he’d do something.

“Let’s get a night snack.”

“At three?

“You got a problem with that?”

“No, ma’am.”

She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him towards the door, down to the kitchen. He followed her. He was someone who lived by the moment, and all he knew was that this moment was something he could never give up.

“Kozue?”

“What.”

He watched her, and decided that it would really be better to keep her in the dark. She was his haven, and she was his one and only. He didn’t know what he would do if the truth came to her so suddenly. The truth threatened to spill from his mouth, but forced its way back in: the fear was too much more. He knew this was wrong, he knew he couldn't treat her like this when the very thing concerned her, but he couldn't. He was selfish in that way, that he wanted to protect her so badly, yet couldn't bear anything worse than changing from her loyal dog to just a bitch.

If he caused her trouble, would he be cast aside?

If he threatened her life, would he be hated?

“Is Kozu-chan scared of the dark?” He asked, instead, and watched her laugh.

“You bet.” She grinned, and grabbed his hand.

In the night, they were two fourteen-year-olds, together since young, and much too immature. No adult supervision, and the air of the witching hour making them feel as though they were invincible.

In reality, it was a boy, too afraid to lose a girl he felt so strongly towards, and a girl who knew nothing of the troubles he brought.

Chapter Text

“Ah- choo!”

“Careful, Kozu,” Gojo Satoru sang, his face all smiles as he trailed behind her. The cold wind blew his hair sideways and she gave him an annoyed glance, reaching up to fix it. He’d grown even taller in the month or two they had: in fact, she was sure he was over six feet now.

It was the rapidly changing season of early November, and the only thing that probably hadn’t changed was the presence of a certain light-haired shaman.

“Why is little Kozu sneezing?” He teased, as she wiped at her mouth hastily. “Is she getting a wittle bit of a cold?”

“Hey!”

“Is she sick? Does she need a wittle taking care of?”

“Hey—” She swiped at him. He ducked. “Why are you even here, anyway? My school ends early on Wednesdays. Don’t tell me you skipped class.”

He smiled at her innocently.

It wasn’t as though she hated it, of course, but it seemed as though the month had cast a strange effect on him. He barely left her side, and slept over at hers most nights; she didn’t remember a day when she hadn’t seen Satoru. He walked her home every day; he waited outside school to have lunch with her, under the claim that ‘he could get back quick enough’. He turned up to her house randomly and sometimes even woke her up in the mornings.

Her mother didn’t hate it, either, the few times she was at home. Once they’d been having breakfast and the doorbell had rung, and her mother had said, “Is that Satoru?”

“Wh—” She blinked. “How would you know?”

“He’s been visiting for the past few days, hasn’t he?”

“Y… well, yes, but how the hell…”

“Language.”

“How… uh, how did you know?”

Her mother had shrugged. The implications were clear: who else could it be? It was now granted—even amongst her school, in which she was known as the ‘girl with the foreign boyfriend’ no matter how much she protested—that he stuck by her side no matter what.

She’d never thought of their relationship was weird. It was just how things were: in fact, without him, it would be lonely. But still…

“’Toru,” She said, nudging him with her foot. “Don’t you have a class to get to?”

“What class?” He asked her, blinking his eyes at her innocently. “I’m tellin’ ya, I got exempted from class for being too good.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. It was always hard to tell when he was lying and when he wasn’t, especially when he exaggerated, because it was all so damn believable. Gojo Satoru had enough power for that, she supposed.

He narrowed his eyes back at her, a hint of a smirk on his mouth. As usual, a trail of whispers of woah followed him, which she completely ignored.

He stared. She stared back.

She sneezed.

“Oh!” He exclaimed. “I won again. Too bad, Kozu-chan. I bet someone’s talking about… you…” He trailed off. “Uh, never mind.”

“Ha?”

Another thing that had changed: his preoccupied look. He had those, often, and it was usually when they were either doing something that required concentration (such as watching a movie, which he was abysmally bad at) or when he was preoccupied with work, but it had never lasted this long.

Was it an extended job? Or a newfound concern of his?

Ever since that night a month or so ago, he’d started to act off. She knew he was hiding something, but she also knew it had something to do with the shaman world and that she had no chance of interference.

If she was younger, she wouldn’t have hesitated to think it had something to do with her. Sadly, she was grown up now, and whatever he was preoccupied about probably had nothing to do with her. It wasn’t like she was important enough anyway.

He was just bored, she told herself, or wanted an escape from reality. He always came to her for that, god knew why.

“Kozu-chan,” He sung, “Do you wanna go for ice cream?”

His hand tapped hers. She let go of her bag and felt him catch it, slinging it over his own shoulder, and his arm swooped down to wrap around her shoulders instead. She turned to see herself met with a close-up of his face. “I- Satoru, you just saw me sneeze. It’s, like, winter.”

“So?”

She stared up at his face. He stared back down.

“Sure,” She relented, “Yuki’s, as always. But you’re buying.”

“Do you expect anything else?”

They begun to walk. Ever so often he would glance in her direction, but she ignored it; it wasn’t like he didn’t act strange most of the time, anyway. He was ranting to her about something concerning a giant bird and how amazing he was, but she pretty much knew the details so she ignored it.

They were in their last year of middle school, which was a realization that had struck her as she looked outside of the classroom that day.

Suzuki Kozue was… what, fourteen? She was an aspiring member of the judo club. Last month they’d had their preliminaries and she’d passed with flying colors, and the teachers had told her she could go into nationals if she kept this up.

She was good at it. Her mother congratulated her with the lift of her eyes and the smile on her face. She satisfied her mother. Her mother, the hardest person to gain approval from.

But she wasn’t satisfied.

After all, how could she? She was good but she simply wasn’t Gojo. The dream had clung to her for the past few weeks, haunting her in her dreams. She dreamt of a world she’d never even seen more than the others.

Every time she closed her eyes, she was back at the rooftop, talking with Gojo, their fingertips almost touching but not quite. I want to be a shaman…

The word, shaman, left her insides twisted and her spine buzzing with excitement.

She knew that shamans came from everywhere, but she also knew that she wanted to spend her youth doing something more interesting. Sure, she could be a shaman at fifty years old, but her youth was on the line. Was she really content with watching Satoru on the sidelines?

Because she wasn’t an idiot, right? Gojo Satoru was and had always been known for prioritizing her safety. It had been obvious enough, because she wasn’t an idiot and she knew the way he looked at her.

She’d fallen from a tree and he’d flown up to save her, ignoring the possibility he could get caught using his abilities; she’d ran into a drunkard and he’d appeared by her side, smiling at the drunkard and telling him to leave. She’d run into trouble and each time Gojo Satoru touched her arm, fingertips harsh to anyone but her, and he’d led her out of the situation.

Was this what he was doing? Using his powers, being overprotective again?

Was this what she was fine with?

The shaman world was dangerous and she knew it, but she also knew she would die sooner or later of an unquenchable thirst. His arm, slung around her shoulders, was the most comforting touch in the world, but it was also the most confusing.

An arm, a body, a boy from another world. A world she couldn’t reach.

And since they’d been on that rooftop, she couldn’t forget that face. She hadn’t asked him about being a shaman, ever again. But now, he was on edge, and it couldn’t hurt to prod: she wasn’t afraid of him, because she knew he would never lay a finger on her, but she was…

Ah. There was that feeling she’d felt those nights ago, in her bedroom. Constantly reoccurring in the face of her childhood best friend. She didn’t hate the feeling – it wasn’t a bad feeling – but it made her… antsy.

“-zu.” Something snapped in front of her face. “Kozu. Ko-o-zu-cha-an!”

Kozue snapped up. “Wh- he- I- wha-?”

Gojo Satoru’s eyes blinked back at her, peering over a pair of sunglasses she’d been stealing from him since they were eight.

“Kozu-chan,” He said, “Did you hear what I said?”

“About the anteaters? Or the giant bug you fought?”

“Neither! You liar, you didn’t listen to me!”

She grinned guiltily. “Oops.”

And that was that. All the troubles in the world, and it was nothing in front of Gojo Satoru, the boy that had swept her up in a whirlwind. The world seemed unreal, always, with him, and she was completely OK with that.

“I said,” He shook her slightly for impact. “I’m going to take a bathroom break. Go in and order first, OK? The usual.”

“I’m getting you the cheapest one.”

“I said the sweetest one!”

“What? Did you say you didn’t want teeth?”

“Hey!” He tossed Kozue her bag back; she caught it with an oomph. “It better be the sweetest one. Or I’m going to get revenge!”

“You can try.” She retaliated with a laugh, but he had already passed the corner and disappeared out of sight. The smile still on her face, she turned, only to bump into an elderly woman; her cart, which contained her groceries, spilled out onto the floor. Shit. “I- oh. I’m sorry.”

“No worries.” The grandma was in her seventies. Kozue saw her back, bent towards the ground; feeling guilty, she leaned down to help her gather up her things. “That’s a handsome boy you have there.”

“Uh… well.” She wasn’t good with small talk. Especially with older people. “I suppose.”

“How long have you two been together?”

She picked up a bundle of potatoes. “We’re not together. He’s just a good friend.”

“Thank you-” It was weird, how a random person could talk to you so naturally. Kozue found the old lady strange, for some reason. Probably the hair. No one with a perm like that was normal. “Say, you remind me of my daughter, back in the U.S.A. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been?”

Her hand paused on some tomatoes. Okay, that was strange. The questions were strange, and she didn’t know why—the flow of the conversation was completely normal, after all—but something, something irked her.

“I… I’m sorry?”

“The U.S.A. America. I suppose not. Do you have a relative who lives there, then?”

“You-” She opened her mouth, closed it, and looked behind her. No one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. “I’m sorry, but… I…” Helplessly, she stood up and backed away straight into a glass door. “I need to go. Sorry for bumping into you.”

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Uhm-”

Something cold touched her shoulder. Were hands always that cold? Were old people just like that? She didn’t know. Something was weird. “Say, like a… parent. You look like the kind of girl raised by one parent.”

“You-” Satoru. Where was Satoru? She hated the fact that she was looking for him, but she was, because the situation was strange and she knew he brought with him an air of familiarity that always calmed her nerves. He knew this, too, which was why he sat at the very front row of her judo matches and gave her a thumbs-up whenever she looked his way. “’Toru! Here!”

A wave of relief washed over her as the familiar white hair blundered in the crowd briefly before heading her way; he took several strides towards her, paused, and before she knew it, she was crushed in a hug.

Her breath hitched.

“Kozu-chan.” He said, breathlessly. It was obvious he’d broken into a run. “You OK?”

“I-” Her fingers curled into fists, pressed against his chest. His palm, warm to the touch, cradled the back of her head delicately. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. I just… I saw something weird, that’s all.”

“Like- like what?”

She turned towards the place where she old woman had been. Nothing remained; nothing at all, not even the groceries she’d been carrying in her little cart.

Kozue was overreacting, probably. It wasn’t as though she was important enough to get stalked, or anything. The stranger had just asked her a few triggering questions, and the friendly intent had been lost on its way to her brain.

“This person from school that I don’t really like. From, uh, karate.” She bit her lip and tilted her head up; he looked down at her, his cheeks flushed slightly red. He had an unreadable expression on his face. “Hey. You look red. You good?”

His hand slipped a little lower, landed on her back, and loosened. She reached up to press the back of her hand against his cheek, and he jolted before loosening into her touch.

“I-” His voice squeaked. He turned redder. “I’m fine.” She felt his hand slip lower, touch on the curve of her hip briefly before jolting away. “I- I mean- yes! Let’s go have ice cream. Can’t wait.”

She blinked. Her tense muscles relaxed as he wrapped his arms around her neck and hung on for dear life, like he always did. Just like always.

"Uhuh." She said; she couldn't help but find much comfort in his familiar presence.

“Kozu-chan," He whined, as they headed into the parlor, "I can’t believe you didn’t order… now we have to wait and get a seat and everything… and I’m Gojo Satoru, I don’t do that… in fact, I have fifty people who would die to do that for me…”

She glanced back and flicked him across the forehead.

“Are you saying you’d rather have food with them?” She grinned.

Satoru’s eyes widened, then narrowed; he laughed, and whipped off his sunglasses to stick them on her head.

“Never.” Was his reply.

Chapter Text

She won her first judo match. Then her second.

It was on the brink of winter, chilly but not quite cold. Suzuki Kozue sat inside the stadium, wiping away at her face with a towel someone had given her. Sweat that had fallen only to dry clung onto her skin like icing sugar. The stadium was full, quarter-filled with the grunting of middle school students such as herself; the other three quarters were occupied by the staff and the audience, oohing and aahing at the tournament before them.

None of the people she knew were there, of course. Her mother was on a work trip and Satoru, who usually attended all her matches, had been assigned to a solo mission he couldn’t skip—something about a very powerful spirit.

Instead, she’d promised him she would wear the hairband throughout the whole match. It was nothing special, just round and blue with a few small dice attached, but Satoru had taken it for a few days back a few years ago, and ever since he’d returned it to her, he seemed intent on her wearing it. It was equally weird that it had been bought at a cheap shop but lasted far longer than the others.

She’d worn it throughout the whole of the tournament, something she now half considered her lucky charm. The first match had been easy, the second match a little more difficult, but she was Suzuki Kozue and she won both of them, wondering if her mother would ever come to see her matches.

The last time her mother had come to see a match of hers was when Kozue had her first match. Not that she was much concerned, but…

“Congratulations!” Someone patted her on the back. She looked back to see a few friends of hers, the ones she hung around frequently. “You did so well. Is your mom here today?”

She shrugged. “Work trip.”

“What about the hot boyfriend?”

“Not my—” The eyes stared back at her, wide and dramatic, eagerly looking towards her for the answer they wanted. “Extracurriculars today.”

A chorus of aws followed.

“Well, you did really well on the match today. Your ukemi was on-point!”

Kozue rubbed the back of her neck. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t as though she was uncomfortable with the attention, she decided. Not at all. In fact, if you were the best (and probably only) friend of Gojo Satoru, attention was all you got. It was simply that…

She didn’t know how to act. The only constant presence in her life had been her mother and Satoru, and there was no doubt that even in her last year of middle school, after attending the same place for three years, she really had no idea how to deal with the ordinary person.

Extra-ordinary was something she was used to. Simple compliments about how good her nage-wazas were or how someone envied her math scores? Not so much.

“Well,” The girl with the pigtails said, plopping down next to her. “Suzuki-san must be blessed… tall and pretty and damn good at throwing. I can’t wait to see you in the finals!”

Kozue vaguely remembered Rin—the girl—had been eliminated on second round.

“Ah.” She said, wondering if she should express her condolences. “Thanks.”

“You’re going to go to the celebration meal after this, right? You always skip because of that boyfriend of yours, but I’d really want to see you this time. I heard that the coach is taking us to somewhere really nice because you’re catching the eye of all the nice schools.”

“Ah-ah.” The same girl sighed and leaned their head on her shoulder. “I wish I could be as good as Suzuki-san. My mom is going to be so sad when she finds out I got eliminated.”

“Tell the truth, Yamamoto.” Someone called. “You suck, anyway. Work on your studies instead and you might get a boyfriend as hot as Suzuki’s.”

“Shut the hell up!”

Something sailed over her head—a towel. It hit Rin with a thump.

“Speaking of studies,” She said, peeling the towel off as Kozue laughed, “I never got the chance to ask, since you run away all the time, but where are you planning to go to for high school? It’s winter, so you’ve almost decided, right? I heard a few famous specialized high schools are scouting for judo U-19s. Are you applying?”

“Me?” Kozue frowned. “Dunno. A normal high school in Tokyo, probably. Somewhere with a math Olympiad.” Her mother had always seemed to have a thing for math Olympiads.

“Anything you wanna do?”

She shrugged. What could she say to that? “You?”

“I’m applying for a specialized high school,” Rin said, “But I’m not sure I’ll get in. The prefecture is full of really good athletes, really, so…” She let out an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t want to compete against you, Suzuki-san. I should have gone for karate or something…”

“Boo.” Someone called over her shoulder again. “Karate is for nerds.”

The towel was thrown again.

Kozue sighed, wondering when everyone in her middle school finished their matches so she could go home. She had a math Olympiad to prepare for, anyway, and what was the point in winning matches and getting medals? It wasn’t as though anyone important was here to see.

She sat still and wondered what Satoru was doing while she was wasting her time away like this.

Probably something cool, she thought. Probably something everyone admired him for. Something that Kozue wished she would have the freedom of doing.

Probably, she thought, fighting that first grade. He’d beat it in thirty minutes tops and there would be not a word about his skill because he’d taken her to see his fighting once, against a Grade 4, and he’d beaten that thing without so much as a flinch. It had been one of the main reasons why she’d stopped doubting it when he called himself the best.

And then… she thought, what had they done?

Right. He’d wiped the dirt off his face, smirked at the expression on her face, and had taken her for ice cream.

How would it feel to be Suzuki Kozue, student sorcerer? It would feel good, she thought. She’d be a part of something, instead of sitting around here, unable to control her fate. She wasn’t stupid, after all: the reins of her life weren’t held by herself, but rather by others. By her mother. By Satoru, to some extent.

She sighed again and looked back casually, only to be met with the sound of footsteps and several men in suits approaching her.

Kozue’s heart skipped a beat, anticipating something interesting.

“Oh.” Rin whispered. “It’s them! It’s the scouting guys!”

The scouting guys? She stood up, wondering what she was supposed to do. It was obvious they’d come for Kozue, because they were looking straight at her, and she gave them an awkward half-bow, swiping the towel away from her neck where it hung.

They were dressed cleanly, and had patent leather shoes to match: Kozue watched as the manicured hand reached into the breast pocket of the suit and swiped out a business card with a name printed on it.

She took it, and then took the man’s hand and shook it. “Nice font.”

“Suzuki-san,” The man said, “We’d like to officially scout you for our specialized high school.”

Her mouth pried open. Still shocked, she felt her hand loosen; the towel, she noticed, dropped from her hands and flopped onto the dirty, sweat-trod floor.

The girl with the pigtails shook her furiously; she let her, wondering what the hell was happening.

A specialized high school—where students learned the things they were good at as their main subjects, pushing aside other commitments. A sports school, no doubt, which meant she would have judo classes most of the time and other things would be secondary. Her sciences, her English, her ichi ni san would be secondary.

He said the name of the school, she noticed, with a hint of a smile.

And for good reason, too. It was an insanely famous school, Kozue thought, and somewhere she’d never imagined to get a scouting offer from, much less with a scholarship. It was somewhere in the top fives of the sports world. She’d never even thought about a specialized school…

She thought about her mother, and how she would react.

She thought about Satoru, and how he’d react.

“Eh- er- uhm.” She said, wisely.

Her classmates laughed and patted her on the back. It was okay, they said. Take it easy. Take it slow. We know you’re the best, Kozu.

Where were easy decisions when you needed them? She’d never even thought about this, and the whole time she’d been preparing for a normal high school. A sports-specialized high school… she’d never thought about taking sports that seriously.

Judo was fun, but she took it half at the insistence of her mother, half at her own stress-relief… but to have it as her future? Her mother would definitely say no. She wouldn’t count it as a proper job. She would never.

“I-” Her eyes flitted back to the teacher, who watched her with a godawful proud smile on his face, then to the scouting teacher, who looked at her greedily.

They treated her so specially. What did they know, about the fact that she was nothing in front of Gojo Satoru? In front of the shamans? In front of the cursed spirits none of them knew about?

Sure, she could bust out some judo. But she was nothing.

Judo her entire high school life sounded interesting, but it was nothing compared to what she wanted. Kozue knew how incredibly spoilt she sounded, but it was true: because this wasn’t what she had wanted. She had wanted a more exciting scouting offer, with cursed techniques and spirits and preferably something to do with a pale-haired boy who smiled at her too often for it to be a coincidence.

She was surprised, yes, but… she was…

Was it her fault she was disappointed?

“I… will,” She said, after the hesitation had sunken deep enough for both teachers to look wary, “I’ll think about it. I have to consult my mother.”

She picked up the towel she had dropped and loosened her belt a little, turning away from the man quickly. Her own heartbeat, ashamed, beat in her ears loudly: thump thump thump thump thump. Over the rushing blood, she could vaguely hear her name being mentioned.

Yes, Suzuki-san is the best one here, but she also seems to have a lot of commitments, that one… she has one foot deep in her studies, you see…

No, no. He was wrong. She didn’t have one foot deep in her studies. She had one eye set on a future she couldn’t have, a future she could only look at as Gojo Satoru flew higher and higher.

Suzuki-san was good at this, Suzuki-san was good at that.

No she wasn’t. She wasn’t good at anything and she hated herself for that, because there was only one person she could compare herself to and he was the best at everything.

“Suzuki-san!” Rin shouted. “You’re going to come to the afterparty, right? You have to make it there, OK? Everyone wants to hear about your match!”

Hell, she thought, they didn’t even call her Kozue. There were only two people in the world who called her that and neither of them were here today.

She felt something bitter in her mouth, and decided, what mattered?

“Sure.” She said. “Why the hell not?”

The girl with the pigtails was called Rin. Everyone called her Yamamoto-san but Kozue had never liked caling people by their last names, anyway, just like she didn’t enjoy being called Suzuki-san. They’d been in the same class for two years and had been talking around that much, although they’d never hung out apart from in school hours. Rin explained that she’d never been able to talk to her due to Satoru’s presence—which Kozue understood. He was a handful.

“You know,” The girl said, “Everyone here always wanted you to attend the after-parties. You never do.”

“What can I say?” Kozue replied casually, swirling the coca-cola in her glass and watching the fizz leap up. “I’m a slave of society. Another piece on the giant chessboard of the hegemony. I’m an agent of chaos and my specialty is wreaking havoc and I work twenty-five hours a day to overturn this world and lead it into a dystopian apocalypse.”

She vaguely remembered most of the boys in her neighborhood running away from her. They’d never bothered her after a certain point had passed, of course, but she’d been told on multiple accounts that this kind of thing would scare people away.

It’s not America, her mother had criticized. Not another word about anarchy.

Rin, however, laughed and called her funny.

It was weird, hanging outside of school with someone from… well, inside of school. She’d never done that before. Believe it or not, but Suzuki Kozue had always been something of an outcast, and no one liked outcasts.

In fact, there was a reason she kept her distance from these girls even after she’d started making proper friends.

The girl seated beside her, however, seemed to either not know or not care. She’d been elbowed in the gut at least twice by an overexcited Rin and her flailing arms.

“Sorry!” She gasped, each time.

“It’s okay.” Kozue said, half-sarcastically. “I’m resistant to pain. You can tell from how I’m still here.”

Rin had a nice laugh. It was during these times Kozue wondered what on Earth was wrong with her, because everything about this girl was nice and she’d used her niceness to not sit alone at school lunchtimes. Her friends were equally nice, too, at least as of now. She’d watched too many shoujo anime to let her guard down now.

The place they’d been taken to was a nice shop, standard Japanese cuisine. She’d ordered a bowl of ramen and now picked at it absentmindedly, wondering if she should have gotten the udon. The ramen tasted a little off, or maybe that was just her.

Hell, at least they’d paid for the meal. Who was she to complain?

Kozue was halfway through her meal when Rin pulled at her arm; turning, she was met with the sight of several expectant eyes.

“Wh-” She picked up a tissue, covered her eyes, and then peeked out of it. They were still staring. “I’m not gay.”

“We know you’re not, silly!” Rin laughed. “We just wanna know more about you. Our star player. You’ve been in the club forever, right?”

She nodded.

“How long have you learnt judo?”

She blinked, and held up six fingers.

“Cool!” Rin exclaimed, “I’ve been learning seven. Is judo the only sport you ever played?”

What kind of question was that? “…no.” At the expectant eyes that begged her for elaboration: “Uh… I did a little bit of karate… a little bit of jujutsu… taekwondo… kickboxing… muay thai… MMA… self-defense… survival camp, if that counts…”

“Survival camp?”

“Like…” She blinked, trying to recall the things she’d done to the best of her ability. “Archery, trekking, making stuff from scratch. Just basic things.” The next question, she could pretty much guess what it was. It was too common, after all. “My mom wants me to learn a lot of that stuff, so… I’m fine with it, though.”

“Wow.” Kozue turned, inquiringly; Rin looked at her, mouth wide. “Wo-o-w.”

“Is that bad?”

“No, you just did a lot of stuff. A lot of fighting. Cool.” She perked up. “Hey, do you know how to do those movie fighting scenes, then?”

“Like Bruce Lee?”

“Du-uh. I love Bruce Lee!”

The girl was halfway through her rant on the greatest Bruce Lee of all time when Kozue’s phone rang; giving Rin an apologetic look, she flipped her phone over. That ringtone was recognizable anywhere: obviously enough, the name of the caller was Satoru the Great.

Damn, she thought. He’d messed with her phone.

She only noticed Rin after the smaller girl peered into her phone and said, “Who’s Satoru the Great? Do you work in a maid café or something?”

“I wish.” She pointed out. “It’s a friend. The one that visits my matches.”

She swore she saw at least half a dozen heads turn.

“Oh!” Rin clapped her hands together in delight. “Handsome foreigner-kun?”

“He’s not handsome.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And he’s not a foreigner.”

“Uh-huh.”

Kozue gave up. What was even the point anymore? “I need to pick this one up. Do you want me to step outside, or?”

“Oh, no thank you.” Someone to her left said. “Speaker phone would be great.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I’ve heard he has a handsome voice, too.”

Kozue shook her head and picked it up. “Hello? What do you w—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the boy’s words cut through the line, scathingly worried but scathingly cold.

“You’re safe?”

She blinked. Out of everything, this wasn’t exactly what she’d expected. “Of course I’m safe. I’m the one who should be asking you that—how was the…” Her eyes settled on the four expectant faces staring at her as though she was the recently released episode of a reality show. “…the extra work?”

“Fine.” He sounded like he’d run a mile. “Where—where are you? I’ll come pick you up. It’s not safe coming home so late, Kozu-chan, it’s nearly eight… I was worried. In fact, I still am! You don’t usually go to afterparties and stuff.”

“Oh. I texted my mom, so I thought I’d be fine.”

“Why not me?” He whined.

“Cause you were busy, you jackass.” She picked up her chopstick and pointed it at Rin. Stop staring. “Why’d you call?”

“I’m coming to pick you up.” He said. “What’s with the change, Kozu-chan? I didn’t know you were a fan of parties.”

“Yeah, well, I felt like making friends.” She settled into silence, hearing his irregular breathing and heavily exercised tone. Had he been running? He was always concerned for her safety, so it probably had nothing to do with her… had the special grade been hard to deal with? Maybe Gojo Satoru wasn’t so invincible, after all. “Hey, you OK?”

“Fi… fine.” The breathing decreased noticeably. “Are you wearing your hairband?”

Her hands flew towards the back of her head, where the dice hung wrapped around the base of her ponytail. “Yeah. You know I wear it in all my matches. Why?”

“Great.” He sounded more relieved. The situation was getting stranger by the second: which, considering Gojo Satoru, wasn’t exactly unnatural to her, but it unsettled her to some extent. “I’m coming to pick you up. Drop your location. I miss you, anyways, so double the stones!”

Her face heated up. “You mean double the birds. Two birds, one stone, ‘Toru.”

“Ah. Whatever.” He paused. “So are you going to send me your address?”

“It’s that place near the bakery—the one with the really good pain au chocolat.”

“The meathouse?”

“We're not having dinner at a meathouse, you meathead.”

“Oh. The cuisine place?”

“Yeah.”

There was a long pause. Satoru was usually so loud, but his unnatural quietness seemed a bit off… she glanced at the call to make sure she was still on, before clearing her throat with a, “Hello?”

Something rustled on the other side of a line, and a distant thump hit the phone. She frowned.

“Hey, asshat.” She called. “You there?”

“Kozu! Of course I’m here!” His voice carried closer until it was next to the phone again. Cue the footsteps. “Ya miss me?”

“Not if you act like that.” She retorted. “Are you OK, really? You don’t have to come if you’re busy. You sound like…”

She was in a public area, but the meaning was clear to the two of them: you sound like you’re fighting.

“No, I—” A whoosh of wind. “I’m coming as fast as I can. I wanna meet your friends. Plus, I have to be your knight in shining armor and save some face for my beloved Kozu.”

She’d given up arguing with his narcissism a long time ago. “Sure.”

“Plus,” He pointed out, “You won, right? It’s worth celebrating. I gotta be there.”

The words repeated themselves through her head. “Right.” She said.

"Aight. See you!"

Her face felt hot as the call beeped into silence, leaving nothing but the eyes of half a dozen girls on her. She felt strangely hot, strangely giddy. Strange in the way Satoru always made her feel.

It was just how it had been. It didn’t matter if the moment was small or big, whether she felt bad because her mother wasn’t calling her asking when she was coming home like the other kids’. It didn't matter when it was, or how she felt, because Gojo Satoru had always been there for her—and he always would be.

He'd always come for her. The reassurance settled a peace in her mind that floated to the bottom, like a leaf in a teacup that diffused itself away.

Chapter Text

He showed up in three minutes, tops.

She was just exchanging cell phone numbers with Yamamoto Rin, the newest close friend she’d made, when her phone lit up with a message she couldn’t see. She told Rin the last few digits, asked her to ring her up, and clicked into the message that had popped up.

Ok, the message read, I'll be late again.

The sender was her mother. Kozue felt her spirits fall.

It was typical of her mother, she told herself, to expect the best of her. Her mother probably already knew she’d aced the matches, which was why she didn’t ask. Or she’d ask face-to-face when she got home. There were hundreds of things in the message she sent her mother that other people—that Satoru—could pick up on. Who was she having the afterparty with? Where did she go? How did she do for the match? When would she get home?

Was she having fun?

“Hey,” Rin said, snapping her out of her thoughts, “I called you. That’s my number. Add me?”

She nodded, shutting her mother’s message off to add the number that had called her. Yamamoto Rin. Dark hair and pigtails and wide eyes, and always with the largest, flashiest earrings.

“Ugh.” Rin leaned her head on her shoulder. “I can’t believe it’s almost the end of middle school and I just got your number. You always go around alone, you know. I tried to eat lunch with you loads of times.”

“You did?”

“Yeah! From the very start, I was like, that girl’s cool. But she went around alone. Like a lone wolf. And no one ever heard from her again. The end. And now we’re going to go to different high schools and we’ll never see each other again.” She whipped around. “…woah.”

“Woah,” The girl beside Rin agreed.

“Woah.”

“Oh my god.” Someone murmured.

“Why do none of the judo boys look like that?”

The sudden change in mood, she thought, was obvious. Her childhood friend had that impact on most girls (and some guys, too) until he opened his mouth: Kozue, obviously, was more than used to such a reaction, so she turned back to be met with the hands of Gojo Satoru descending down on her.

“Shoot.” He said, with a grin on his lips. “I got caught!”

She leaned her head back until it tipped against his stomach. He’d obviously run a bit, because he was panting a little and he smelled like dry sweat—the scent people got whenever they exercised in winter—but he also smelled weirdly pleasant, like he cared what he smelled like. His hair was dishevelled and stood up even more than it usually did from the winter static, and his glasses were slightly crooked on his nose as though he'd put them on hastily.

Stupidly handsome as usual, she thought, annoyed. He couldn’t stop the girls from staring, could he?

“Hey.” She said. “You’re late.”

“I beg your pardon.” He scoffed, “I believe I’m early. Just for my Kozue.”

His fingers reached down and brushed her hair away from her face.

Her heart skipped a beat. Of course it would. A face as handsome as that, smiling so nicely, they couldn’t expect her not to. Not to mention he’d run here just because she’d asked for it…

He drew back his finger and flicked her on the forehead.

“Ow!” She yelped, head whipping up. “You bastard!”

And this was why ten-year-old Kozue had stopped having her crush.

He cackled in delight as she reached up and smacked him across the arm. “How’d you get here so fast, anyway?” She asked, rubbing her hand against her forehead. “I thought you went to my house.”

“I did,” He said, “But I’m a very fast runner. Hi, ladies.”

He peeked behind her, spotting the dozen or so girls on the table, and gave them a little wave. Kozue swore at least half of them fainted, because that was just the kind of effect Gojo Satoru had on people.

“Stop flirting with the judo club.” She accused.

“I’m not flirting. Am I?” He asked, giving her the widest, cutest and most innocent look she’d ever seen. She wasn’t fooled. “Hey—Kozu! Jealous much?”

“Horrified.” She corrected.

“Yeah, well…” He smiled. “I’d like to get to know your club better. Mind if I stay a little, ladies?” They all shook their heads frantically. “Nice. Mind if I sit?”

The girl to Kozue’s left shook her head and scooched over, face red. Satoru settled between them, and she swore he did it on purpose because even though everyone was staring at him like some sort of exotic animal, and even though the girl obviously looked like she wanted to talk to him, Gojo Satoru wrapped his arms around Kozue’s neck and leaned against her like she was his lifeline.

“Kozu-chan.” He said, and sighed contentedly.

She died inside.

The next hour was filled with questions and sideways looks at Satoru.

Where had they met? Was he single? Which school did he go to? Was he looking for a relationship right now?

Were they a thing?

Satoru was, albeit a little rude and full of himself, a social butterfly; but most of all, he was charming when he could be. And he definitely wanted to be charming today.

She wasn’t sure why she stayed—she wasn’t sure why he stayed, either. She convinced herself he’d always liked the attention, as extroverted as someone could get. People were drawn to confident people: and if there was one word that could describe Satoru, it was confident.

At some point, he asked, “Can I have that?”

She tilted her head.

“The ramen.” He clarified. “Are you gonna eat it?”

She pushed it towards him; he grabbed her chopsticks and dug in. The others watched with fascination at the living statue. She passed him napkins, too, which he took with a grin. He looked like he was enjoying himself.

Kozue reached forward and patted his hair lazily.

Maybe it had been to reassure herself that Gojo Satoru had come for her, not for the popularity and the girls that followed him. She’d rarely ever seen him alone with this many girls and it irked her to some extent because some of them looked like they wanted to be friends with him.

She wasn’t possessive, it was just…

Just what? Maybe she’d begun to take all that for granted: him coming at her every call, him showering her with things, him looking at her and only her.

Best friends—childhood best friends—were just like that, she thought.

Or maybe he was doing this on purpose. Gojo Satoru had always liked attention, after all. She wouldn’t be surprised if he became a playboy in the future, since he was showing such tendencies already.

They were sticking together thick and thin, and she knew that she was just as important to him as he was to her. After all, if not then why would he be here?

Why would his arm be slung over the back of her seat, occasionally tapping rhythms on her back? Why would he muffle his laughs in her shoulder, and perch his sunglasses on top of her head when someone asked if he could take them off?

It was the little things, she reminded herself, that made up the big ones. Not that she had any other little things to compare Satoru’s with.

“Suzuki.” He’d called, grinning, “They’re asking if we’re a thing.”

She rubbed her eyes. It was nearly eight thirty. “We’re not.”

“Yet.”

She smacked his arm. “Oi!”

“Wait, no, I’m intrigued.” Rin leaned forwards. “Go on, Gojo-kun.”

“Well, you see…” He cleared his throat, and she had the premonition that he would embarrass her some time or later. “I’ve confessed my undying love for her! But it takes years to move a mountain, you see… Kozue is cold as ice… but I’m sure I’ll get around to it sometime. We’re soulmates. Right, Kozu?”

She buried her face in her hands. “Kill me now.”

The tips of her ears felt scandalously hot; he made these jokes sometimes, when people asked about the two of them, and she knew it was just in his joking nature but sometimes she just hated it. Her face was the kind of face that turned red very easily.

She wasn’t shy. She wasn’t flustered. She was just… just…

“See? What a tsundere.”

“Shut up, 'Toru.” She grumbled.

Rin laughed.

The uneasiness of Satoru blending into normality stayed with her, too. Because in some dark, sad part of her, she wanted Satoru to stay a shaman, stay mysterious, stay insanely powerful. She didn’t want him to be like this, blending into the mundane aspects of her life like he himself was mundane.

He was the only interesting part of her. What would happen if he became normal, too?

Gojo Satoru, for once, had done nothing wrong. This was just her overthinking, all because of the business card in her breast pocket. All because the future was approaching.

All because she had to make some big life decisions, and because she’d finally started blending in to the normality of Japanese life, and she didn’t want to.

She stayed relatively quiet and let Satoru do most of the talking. Satoru, being Satoru, noticed right away: his hand slipped down to hers and they were out of the restaurant in no time.

“Text me!” Rin waved. “And have fun!”

It was nearly nine. She shivered, stepping out into the cold night, and breathed out, watching the precipitation bloom out from her mouth. Kozue didn’t get cold easily but it was day and she’d expected to go home several hours earlier, so she had on nothing but the clothes she’d come here in—a jacket too thin for a winter night.

“Hey, Kozu.” Something dropped onto her shoulders. “Someone’s out past their bedtime.”

She glanced up in surprise to see Satoru, and his jacket draped over her. He was wearing a hoodie underneath and held a lollipop in his hand, which he unwrapped and handed to her.

“This is a really ugly jacket.” She said, instead. “You have horrible taste.”

“Hey! Beggars can’t be choosers. If you’re going to be fussy, give it back!” He gave her a mock insulted look. “And it’s expensive, thank you very much!”

Right—he loved expensive clothes. It had to do with how much he got paid, she knew, but also had to do with the fact that he simply liked flaunting things. He frequently gave her expensive clothing, too, like that sweater last Christmas with too many 0s to be normal.

“I think you got scammed.”

“I did not.”

They begun walking. Satoru didn’t seem cold, because he was just like that.

At last, peace: and quiet, too, for what it was worth. The night air buzzed with static, but for a guy like Satoru it was pretty quiet. Even the wind had apparently quietened down, save for the slight fluttering against the too-big sleeves. He took them from her, and still walking, started rolling them up slowly.

“Too small, hm?”

“Shut up.”

It was quiet, but not quiet in the way that she often found herself with when with other people. It was quiet because she knew that there was no awkward stuttering, because Gojo Satoru knew her best and he was, sometimes, just what she needed. Believe it or not, it was possible for him to be quiet without going insane.

They weren’t too far from their house. Maybe around ten minutes. At some point, he’d relaxed, because his hair was disheveled and he ran his fingers as though he was trying to tame it a little. The static made each strand bite at his fingers.

Her fingers were cold and turning red. As they stopped for a red light, she dug them into the too-large pockets, and was met with the rustling of… paper?

“’Toru, did you forget to throw something away again?”

“What? No.”

She emptied the pockets. A flurry of paper spilled onto the sidewalk, and with a jolt she realized what they were: phone numbers. Notes. All of them.

She recognized a few of the names, too.

“…” Of course. What had she expected? “…oh.”

“Oh.” Satoru repeated. She stared down at them, some of them fluttering feebly in the wind. “They must have slipped them in there. Kozu, I swear, I didn’t accept any of them—I would have refused. All of them.”

The feeling she’d had in the restaurant came back, stronger than ever.

“What do I care?” She muttered, and ducked down to scoop the paper up, cramming them back into the pockets. “It’s not like I have any right to determine whether you date any of them. The girl next to you seemed to like you a lot.”

He stood there. The light turned green; neither of them moved.

“Is Kozu-chan jealo-”

“Shut up.” She muttered. The last piece she picked up from her shoe; blowing the dust off, she stuffed it into the pockets again.

“…Kozu?”

“It’s a green light.” She began walking. It was these times she hated that he was so tall; he took two steps, instantly caught up to her, and waited on the other side of the road until she’d crossed. “What—”

“Hey, Kozu.” He dug into her pockets and brought out the papers again; they went straight into the nearest trash can just behind him. “See?”

“What are you doing?”

“Proving that,” He smiled. Now he was showing signs of being at least a little moved by the cold, because he was red, from the flush of his cheeks to the tips of his ears and nose. “You matter the most to me. And that no one can replace Suzuki Kozue.”

…it was the cold, right?

“You don’t need to.” She pointed out. “We’re not even dating. I’m just your friend.”

“My best friend.” His fingers were an odd mix of cold and warm as they cupped her face. “You’re my favourite.”

“I’m just annoyed.” She turned her head away from his stupid face. “If you get a girlfriend you’ll do all this to her. You’ll forget about me. You’re that kind of guy. I can tell.”

“I won’t. Cause I won’t get one.”

“You would.”

“I would not.”

She trailed off. It was weird, being like this. He’d always been the one to whine and make everything out of nothing, and now that she was doing something like this—being needy—she was sure that he’d affected her more than she would have liked to think.

“…if we go to different high schools,” She said, “Do you think we’ll still meet like this?”

“Well, we’re in different middle schools and we’re meeting like this.”

They began walking again. She wondered, briefly, how it was that every night walk with him was so quiet and so peaceful, that there was barely a pedestrian in sight. Was that the effect he had on people, or was it just him up to his usual shenanigans?

She didn’t know. It astounded her, how little he told her about the little details.

The business card in her breast pocket felt heavy, and an idea prodded at her head, but was it really OK to do that? Kozue wasn’t a fool; she remembered the expression he’d had when she had asked him about the jujutsu world, whether she could try to be a shaman.

Those eyes… those piercing, cold, blue, eyes.

“No,” She said, after a long pause. “Not like this.”

He flinched visibly. His eyes flickered towards her.

“Have you,” She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Her voice felt estranged, as though it wasn't hers. As though someone else was talking through her mouth, because no way she could be so selfish. “Have you heard of private boarding schools?”

His eyes widened. “Kozu?”

“I’m… well. I’m considering going to one.” She didn’t know what was coming out of her mouth; she didn’t even know what she was saying. “I won’t be able to see anyone outside of school. It’s a good opportunity—I got scouted with a scholarship.”

“I—” He swallowed. “Is it good?”

“One of the best in the country for professional athletes. Especially fighting. Judo, jiujutsu, karate, taekwondo, boxing, that bunch.”

Maybe she just wanted to test him, a little. He always fit in well. He always fit in better than her. If they went their separate ways, it was her who would lose the only friend she’d ever made earnestly. He'd get along... fine.

“And?”

“I’ve just been wondering.” She shrugged. “I liked grade school. When we went to the same school. Same class every year, remember?” He didn’t answer, and she looked up. “Remember?”

“Yeah.” He murmured. “I remember.”

Something cold touched her fingertips; she jolted, only to realize that it was Satoru’s hand, which she let slip into hers. He squeezed her hand, and reassuringly, she squeezed back.

It confused her. Everything did.

“How’d you feel about me going to a boarding school?” She asked. “The real thing. With roommates and every meal together and all that stuff.”

“I think you should talk it over with Suzuki-san.” The reply was instantaneous.

“And if she says yes?”

“…well,” He said, “Are you okay with leaving your house? Kozu-chan sure gets homesick, doesn’t she?”

Throughout the humor mixed through his voice, she could see it. The ounce of something. It was cleverly disguised, but it was there: and she knew that scattered throughout the phone numbers he’d thrown away for her sake was a piece of her mind that she couldn’t make out.

If you'll miss me, we could go to the same school… the words were in her mouth, but she couldn’t get them out—no, she wouldn’t. It was right there with the blue eyes she’d been looking at since she was eight.

“I’m still deciding it.” She muttered. He’d rejected girls after girls for her; what was one little school? “Let’s not talk about this. Your birthday is coming up soon, right?”

He shifted closer. “Yup. I’m definitely going to spend it with you this year.”

The mood had brightened visibly. From above, she felt something drift into her sight, and flutter to a stop: it was a snowflake.

The first snow of the year, she thought, with none other than the only person that mattered, Gojo Satoru. As always. It seemed to be a jinx of some sort, because wasn’t it a myth to spend the first snow with your lover?

“You spend it with me every year.” She said, and caught the flake in her free hand.

It melted away, and died. It was temporary, pathetic, beautiful until it was grasped: just like this moment, she thought. Just like her time with Gojo Satoru.

Was it too much to ask, for winter to stay forever?

“Even better! Now, here’s a list of things I’ve drawn up for my birthday wishlist. If you don’t have money for these, you can always just give me a kiss, I’ve been rejecting hundreds just for Kozu-chan…”

“Nakamura-san,” The man said, “What’s that you’ve got there?”

Nakamura leaned back in his chair and laughed.

“Nothing.” He hummed, “Just a letter.”

“From?”

“From a girl I knew. A long time ago.”

Dear dad,

I turned nine. This is my last letter.

You never said sorry for what you did. And you never reply. But there’s this guy I know that told me, laughing at your troubles is the best way to make the haters mad. And I’m sure if there’s a hater of mine, it’s you, so here’s one last letter for time’s sake.

Do you know they laugh at me? The kids in the park. They say I have no dad. In a patriarchy like the society we’re in, of course they’d laugh about that. Otherwise there’s nothing funny about it.

Still, I told them, no, I have a monster for a dad. They told me you left because I wasn’t enough. They got it the other way around. Me and mom left you because you weren’t enough. You’re a damn lame monster if I’ve ever seen one.

You did have your cooler moments, even though you were a scumbag. I remember you told me you would come save me when I effed up. And you said you would prevent the bad guys from getting to me.

Promises don’t fool kids. I’ve been in danger lots of times and you’ve never come. Someone punched me today and you didn’t come. I would have beaten your ass like I beat that kid’s, but it’s the thought that counts.

You better keep your promise in the future. At least kill a cockroach or something. Make yourself useful. It’s the only promise you’ve ever made me and I expect you to keep it.

Not like you ever reply,

S.K.

“Your daughter?” The man said, peering over his shoulder. “Seems like a bit of a brat, innit?”

“The biggest brat you’d see.” Nakamura took a deep breath. “She was… one of a kind.”

“Doesn’t sound like you hated her.” His co-worker scoffed. “Plus, isn’t that, what, five years ago? What’s the point of reading that now?”

That was it. That was the whole point: that this was pointless. That he’d made a throwaway comment to a little girl and she remembered it, four years later. That was the whole point of how fucking absurd it was, that she’d attached some kind of emotional value to it simply because it was the only promise he’d ever made her.

“Because that’s a promise.” He muttered, “And I keep my damn promises.”

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, Gojo Satoru day was on a Saturday; which meant she would keep him company for the whole day, as well as letting him sleep over.

He picked her up from school early on the Friday before. Class ended at three thirty, but she snuck out at two under the guise of being ‘injured’ from her ‘last judo tournament’—which was a complete lie, obviously—and easily scaled the school fence. He was waiting there, grinning.

“Can’t wait to come see me, huh?”

“Of course. You’re my ticket out of school, remember?”

Satoru was wearing his uniform, too, which probably meant he’d skipped school early. Lucky for him he always skipped. She couldn’t remember the number of times he’d shown up at the front gates of her school, waving languidly, even though she was sure her school ended earlier than his that day.

“What did you have?” She asked. His hands swooped up her bag; she let him. “Anything fun?”

“Nothing much. Theoretical studies, as always. I’m skipping the boring stuff.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Not as fun as seeing you.”

The flattery came in without a warning, as always. It had flustered her the first few years, especially with that face of his, but she’d soon come to realize he did that more often than not, and one should probably not get their hopes up with him.

Again, ten-year-old Suzuki Kozue…

“Well I had math,” She pointed out, “So thanks for that. What’re we doing today? And no, it’s not up to me, don’t leave the hard decisions to me. It’s your birthday celebration—you do what you want.”

“Anything?” He perked up visibly.

“Anything. Wanna go to a strip club?”

“What?”

“Or drinking. It’s your health, not mine.”

“Wha-”

“Gosh,” She said, getting into the whole teasing thing, “A pachinko? I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing… and here we all thought you were a clean guy…”

“Wh- Kozue- no, I would never! Hey! I have a reputation to uphold! Don’t you dare say such scandalous things to me—”

They spent thirty minutes wandering around before Satoru finally set his mind on something: unremarkably, not something someone should have spent thirty minutes deciding on. It was the usual route for middle schoolers who were up to nothing: a movie, karaoke, dinner, pick up the cake, and then straight home.

It wasn’t like either of them had a curfew, anyway: her mom didn’t know she was out, and no one really looked for Satoru unless they wanted a job done.

They stumbled upon a photo-taking booth and took a few photos, just for good riddance; Satoru tucked it into his pocket and patted it fondly.

“What’s that for?”

“Good luck charm.” He flashed her a smile. “Serves as a reminder that I could be worse off. Like shorter. Or uglier.”

She punched him. He whined to her the whole way to the cinema.

Here was another challenge. The two of them stared up at the list of movies, and wondered what to watch.

“I think,” Kozue said slowly, “We should go with the action one. Just to be safe. Looks fun, don’t you think?”

“Wow! Look, Kozue! The new shittiest C-grade horror movie is out! It’s the one I’ve been following for some time now! Gosh, I sure would love to see it.”

“Shut the hell up! You can’t even watch horror movies. You just whine to me every time. And you take up all the space on my bed.”

He turned towards her with a glint in his eye. The meaning was clear: it’s MY birthday celebration, not yours.

She sighed. They got a large popcorn, as sweet as caramel could get (honestly, hanging out with him would make her lose all her teeth someday) and a coke each. He got a hotdog, too, because it wasn’t like he ate conspicuously large amounts every day without getting fat.

She watched him judgmentally as he devoured the hotdog in four bites.

“What?”

“…nothing.”

The movie was terrifying. She hated it.

Sadly, Gojo Satoru seemed just as determined to keep his eyes open the whole time, while keeping his hand clutched tightly in hers; she’d stolen his sunglasses since he’d told her he didn’t need it.

Based on the terrified look on his face, he looked like he wouldn’t be able to sleep most of the night. Good for him, since he could function well enough, but not so good for her.

“You like sappy romance.” She groaned. “And I like action. Why would you choose neither?”

He was nearly back-hugging her as they walked. His breath smelled sweet, like popcorn, and she knew she should shrug him off, but there was really not much point anyway, so she let him stay as he clung onto her neck.

“I love bad horror movies.” He whispered.

They went to the karaoke. He paid for it, because he’d robbed most of the food sources there. He went for a suspicious amount of toilet breaks, but that was okay because his singing sucked anyway: at least God had been fair about that part. He sounded like some kind of dying siren.

He seemed to go on a lot of toilet breaks whenever they hung out together nowadays. Was there something he wasn’t telling her? Maybe he’d finally gotten diabetes from all the sweets he ate. There could be a number of different reasons, really, but it wasn’t that serious. Why would he hide it from her?

“You okay?” She asked, as he stood up again. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m not going to judge if you’re constipated.”

He made a face at her and left. This time he took even longer—what, ten minutes? When he came back his hair was slightly disheveled. She wondered what had happened. Maybe running away from fangirls, or something.

They’d just stepped out of the karaoke, staring at the dying red sky, when he went back in for the toilet (again). She stood there, shivering, because it was early December and hey, it was a little chilly.

Thank god she’d actually dressed in proper clothes this time, though: since she was in one of the sports teams, she’d been allowed to wear her sports jersey instead of the school uniform, which consisted of a skirt that would freeze her to the bone. He’d given her his scarf (too stuffy, he’d said, to which she’d responded with then why did you bring it?) and she pulled it up to her nose, inhaling. It smelled like the deodorant he’d started using, which was a pleasant mix of something she didn’t dislike. An unfamiliar scent that had soon become familiar to her, then an everyday scent. It was in most places, too, from her blankets when he rolled around on her bed to her own clothes, a little.

Her phone rang in her hand. She glanced down at it.

A few messages from Rin, who’d started to actively chase Kozue around since that night at the afterparty, and she’d been fine with it because Yamamoto Rin seemed like a nice girl. Cute. Decent at studying. Always pumped for something.

And another call from an unknown number. Voice phishing? She frowned, wondering if she should take it.

Why not. If it was vishing, she’d just pretend to be the prince of Madagascar or something.

“Hello?” The phone was oddly silent. She frowned. “Anyone? What’s up?”

She was sure the phone hadn’t gone dead, either, because she could hear it: the slight hissing from the other side, like something was happening. A slight breeze, maybe. Cars honking in the distance.

“…hello?” She asked, again, eyes flickering to the entrance. Satoru should be coming out any moment… “If you’re not replying, I’m hanging up.”

“…is this,” A rasping voice said, “Nakamura Kozue…?”

She froze.

“Wrong number,” She said with ease, and hung up, shoving the phone back into her pocket; what the hell had that been?

Who the hell called her Nakamura Kozue, anyway?

It was about 5AM when he woke up to an empty bed.

Of course, he didn’t know it was 5AM at first; neither did he know the bed was empty. Gojo Satoru had simply woken up because his neck hurt. Kozue’s bed wasn’t the largest thing in the world, and he knew that because she still used the one from her childhood, one wrong move would give him cramps for the whole day. He was nearly six foot and growing, after all.

Still, as he lay there, he wondered just why he was awake.

Mildly annoying. He slept like a baby most of the time, sure, but he always liked sleeping at Kozue’s: it felt more like home than his house. Here was where he got the best quality sleep, and he’d been robbed of that.

It was his birthday, too. What a shame.

There wasn’t any particular reason for him waking up other than that. He’d already had cake with Kozue yesterday, right off the bat at 12AM. It was insanely sweet and probably caused cavities, and they’d finished about half of it before she’d smacked him over the head and said, you’re going to get sick.

Then they’d gone to bed.

He liked his birthday. He’d liked it before but he liked it even more now, because every birthday was a birthday he got to spend with her, and it was fun either way. More interesting than spending it at that drab school with people who found him either scary or rude.

Now, Satoru thought, all I need to sort out is the bounty.

The bounty had been put out a month or two ago, and he wasn’t stupid: while he’d been keeping the hunters away from her and giving precautionary measures, he’d also been hunting down the root of the problems. The person who’d set up the bounty. He was closer to tracking him down than anything else, but it was still a few weeks away.

It was a problem, too, how they now associated her with him. Even after the bounty went down, his enemies would still target her…

But that was a matter for another day, something he could put off until later. It was his birthday—he could at least have some fun. It was a Saturday, and he knew Kozue’s mother had extra work.

“Hey, Kozu,” He yawned. “How’d you feel about going to the aquarium?”

No reply.

“I wanna see some fish.” He continued.

He cracked his eyes open and winced—the heavily orange-tinted sunlight was streaming through the curtains—before lightly patting the place next to him, only to

Feel

Nothing?

His eyes snapped open. It was as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped onto him.

“Kozu.” He whispered. “Kozu?”

He turned, and to his horror, there was absolutely nothing next to him. Not even the lingering warmth of a person who’d been there.

No, no, no, no, no—

He was sure there was no presence of danger, and he was sure nothing had gone wrong. He was sure he’d been on high alert the entire time, even when he was asleep, and that he’d checked the boundaries he’d placed the house under since they were young.

He was sure Kozue wasn’t gone, right? Right?

“No, no, no…” His throat felt parched. He yanked on the bedsheets and found the nothingness there, again, taunting him. “No! Kozue—”

The panic was setting in, which was stupid because Gojo Satoru never panicked. But he did, for this girl, for just this one person, because if she died it would be his fault and it would be him who would have to explain to her mother that she was dead and

No, she wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be. If she was, he’d know.

“Kozu.” His voice felt raspy. “Kozue! Are you home?”

The only thing that replied was the taunting echo of his own voice. He was dressed hastily but he grabbed his phone and ran down the stairs three at a time, his glasses forgotten in the bedroom. No, no, no.

She was gone. Where was she?

Someone had taken her? It had to be the only possibility left. He’d failed to protect her. He flicked through any notifications, finding nothing related to Kozue. He checked the website, but the bounty was still there, meaning that either she was safe, or they hadn’t handed her over yet.

A chill ran through his body. Kozue tied up, Kozue scared, Kozue crying, Kozue dead…

No, no, no. He put on his shoes and ran out onto the street, head turning this way and that. Not a sign. Not even a single person on the streets.

She had to be somewhere, didn’t she? The Earth was a small place, wasn’t it?

Kozue was safe, wasn’t she?

His fingers scrabbled at his hair. No, no. He had to think. He would first go home, and the Gojo clan would help somehow. He’d make sure of it. He was a one-man pillar for their clan and they would help him.

Then what? Then he’d wipe her memories? Then he’d bring her back to normal? Then she’d be traumatized, because she was only in middle school and she had her whole life ahead of her and he’d ruined that for her?

“Kozue!” He called, as loudly as he could without waking the neighbors. “Ko-zue!”

Non-sorcerer police weren’t trustworthy. They could barely find anyone, much less an affair that sorcerers had meddled in. He would talk to her mom, and he’d…

“Kozue!”

He’d find her. The hairband, on which he’d put traces of cursed energy as a makeshift tracker, was by her bedstand and so had most of the other trackers that he’d gifted her over the years: the keyrings, the little pieces of jewelry, the small trinkets.

It was risky and he knew he couldn’t be seen but no one was more important than his Kozue so he went up to get a bird’s eye view of the area. No one was there.

He went back down. He searched the streets.

“Kozue!” He called. “Kozue!”

There, next to the sewers, he spotted a glint of something and ran over. It was an earring. Kozue’s earring, a small hoop. He knew it was hers because she wore it all the time.

Why was it here? Had she been taken? Kidnapped? She could have lost it during a struggle or during a bloodbath, anything—

No, she couldn’t—she wasn’t gone.

He’d find them—

He’d kill them—

He’d, he’d—

“…Satoru?”

The familiar voice crashed over him like waves. He turned, slowly, to see Kozue standing there, looking puzzled.

A tingle of relief started in his fingertips and spread throughout his whole body; the lump in his throat disappeared and he took one, two steps towards her, and engulfed her in a hug.

His fingers wrapped around her shoulder and his other hand cupped the back of her head, pressing her against his chest; she felt as familiar as she always did, fitting into his arms perfectly, and a mixture of comfort and relief forced its way down his throat. His heart swelled.

She was dressed in one of his old shirts, and a jacket, and pajama pants. She’d dragged out rubber slippers. It was her.

“Kozue.” He breathed. “Kozue. Kozue. Kozue. Kozue. Kozue.”

“…’Toru? You have a nightmare?”

Her hair brushed his hand, tickling him, and he wondered if he should cry. He felt like it.

“Hey, ‘Toru.”

“Yeah?”

“You stink.”

He pulled away from her, his fingers tight on her shoulders. She looked back at him, confused, her hair tied up high and her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.

“Where—” He choked out, and it was only then he realized that there was something in his throat he couldn’t dislodge, “Where were you?”

She blinked and held up her arm; there was a plastic bag hung on it.

7/11. She’d gone to a convenience store. Because she was hungry.

“Are you…” He was at a loss for words. “…are you fucking kidding me?”

“…sorry?”

He couldn’t believe it. He was mad at her—no, he was mad at himself but taking it out on her—but was he crazy? He’d never shouted at her before, panicked in front of her the way he did now.

“You went to a—” He covered his face with his hands and took a deep breath. “You went to a convenience store? Are you kidding?”

“What? What’s up with that?”

“I was worried!” He knew he shouldn’t be mad at her, he knew there was nothing wrong with her acting like this, but he’d been so worried he’d thought she was dead or kidnapped or raped or worse and— “I woke up and you were gone, Kozue! I thought something happened! Do you know how worried I was!? Was it too hard to tell me!?”

She stared at him.

“You, and you’re just walking here like nothing happened and do you know how scared—”

His words trailed to a stop. He felt his legs give way, and let himself fall; she didn’t stop him. He landed on the ground and sat there, breathing heavily.

The air was chilly. It was December, after all, and he was dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts.

“…Satoru.” She spoke.

“Huh?”

“Candy?”

“What flavor?”

There was no reply. He looked up, and something dropped into his still-cupped hands: a lollipop, the brand he always ate, strawberry.

He unwrapped it and brought it to his mouth. She looked down at him, curiously.

“…hey, Satoru.” She said. Her voice was quiet.

“Huh?”

She kept looking at him. He looked at her back.

And then, she swung her foot back, and kicked him in the shin as hard as she could.

Satoru was powerful, yes, but that didn’t make him immune to physical pain: especially not to the kick delivered by a girl who learnt martial arts professionally. A hiss escaped his mouth and he scrabbled at the injury, too surprised to question her actions. She crossed her arms and looked down at him.

“What-” He started, when he regained enough wits to speak, “What the hell?”

“What?” She scoffed. “Is wittle Satowu hurt? Does he need his doctor?” She sounded annoyed.

“What the heck?”

“Satoru,” She squatted down, watching him with those dead-fish eyes she went around with. He flinched. When was the last time she’d looked at him like that? Certainly not enough for him to remember. “Do I look like your property to you?”

He had a feeling something had gone wrong here.

“…uh,” He said, “No.”

In fact, he’d expected anything but this.

“Then why are you treating me like one?” She leaned back, and sat down where she was, cross-legged. He sat there, stunned, as she peeled the wrapper off a Snickers bar and began eating it. “I’m not your damsel in distress. If you’re trying to find someone who’ll fall for that, go somewhere else.”

“You left the house.”

“It’s my house; I can do what I want.”

He pushed her away. “Stop! I’m being serious.”

“And so am I.” She laughed. “Hey, did I ask you to manhandle me? Thank you for being concerned, Satoru, but did I ever ask for you to be so concerned with me that you’d yell at me for leaving my own fucking house?”

How could he tell her? She was in danger. She could die any second. It was natural for him to act like this. She was being careless, she was being dangerous, she was being…

He couldn’t tell her, could he?

“I get concerned.” He snapped.

“Uh-huh.” She chewed at the bar thoughtfully. “You know what I think? I think you should calm down.”

“I am calm!”

She laughed.

At him.

Suzuki Kozue was probably the only person in the world who could get away with such a thing without a scratch on her, without consequences. He felt his face heat up—in shame or embarrassment, he didn’t know—and his eyes flickered down to the pavement, then to his hands, which still cradled his shin.

“You’re hiding something from me, aren’t you?” She said. “You thought I wouldn’t notice, huh. I hang out with you more than I hang out with my own mother, Satoru. You look so goddamn stressed and I’m really worried about you, and I’d know about it, yeah, but I’d only know if you told me. But you haven’t. So how the hell am I supposed to know?”

He sat there, unable to say a word; because in the end, she was right. He both hated and loved Suzuki Kozue for that fact.

His own parents abided to his word. The teachers called him rude but they couldn’t act out. He was terribly spoilt, and he knew it, but he also knew that losing wasn’t something that came as easily to him as it did in front of Kozue.

Right, she’d always been like this. From when they’d first met. Biting back at every word he said with the most bored expression on her face.

“You wouldn’t understand.” He said. It sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.

It frustrated him, yeah. Of course it did. How could she be sitting here, so nonchalantly? How could she care so little about how he felt? How could she be so selfish? He’d yelled at her, he’d tried to control her, he’d… he’d…

Oh, god.

His eyes widened as he sat there, staring at the place her foot had come into contact with his shin. He looked up at her.

She smiled at him.

He swallowed back things he wanted to say but couldn’t. He had a notorious sense of pride, after all, and apologies didn’t come easily to someone like him.

“…do you hate me?” He asked, instead. The answer, which had seemed so obvious all the time, was no longer so. It seemed as though even one mistake would…

No, Kozue wasn’t like that. He knew it.

“Satoru.” She said, quietly. “I’d never hate you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

There was a silence.

“…you kicked me.” He said, less to make her apologize, more because he didn’t have much to say. She didn’t seem to mind, either way.

“Sorry about that.” She crumpled up the wrapper and dropped it back into the bag. “You alright now?”

“…maybe.”

“You’re not going to tell me what’s wrong, are you?”

He shook his head, staring at the ground.

“Hey.” She called, again. The sarcasm in her voice was gone; and she said his name, again, like it meant something to her.

He looked up and found her shifting closer to him; her fingers reached out, and sunk in his hair, and she pulled him towards her into a hug.

It wasn’t a bad feeling. In fact, he could have gone further to say it was good. There was a certain comfort that came from being the one who was hugged, not the one doing the hugging, because he was sitting down and that meant her arms were wrapped around him for once, and his head was resting on her shoulder and his mouth lay parallel to her collarbone and if he reached forward, he could touch her skin. His ear was too close to her neck, close enough to hear her heartbeat, and he squeezed his eyes shut, relaxing into the hug, his own paradise. His own Kozue.

It had been a long time since he’d let down his guard, he thought. Too long, maybe. It had stressed him out more than he’d think.

This couldn’t go on forever. He knew this. A bounty wasn’t something you ran from without expecting to be worn out, and it was worse since he had to keep it a secret from her, too. He’d just been holding on until middle school ended, so that she wouldn’t be swept up by all of this…

He buried his face into her shoulder further and scooched closer, until his arms were wrapped tightly around her torso and she cradled him, two teenagers lying in the concrete on a winter morning.

“You don’t have to tell me if it doesn’t concern me,” She muttered, “But stop being so damn obvious about it.”

“It’s obvious?”

“Clear as day.”

“…how long have you known?”

“Since early November.”

That long, he thought. He’d been discovered right away. Typical of Suzuki Kozue, to make a fool out of all his efforts: not that it had been intentional, not that she could do anything wrong to him. She was always right.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Yeah, well, it was obvious how you’d react.”

He muffled his laugh into her shoulder.

He would die before he let her be dragged into this, that was for sure. He couldn’t imagine her fighting cursed spirits, being eaten alive by the higher-ups that surely would exploit his weakness. He would have to protect her forever from the eyes that watched. It was too dangerous, too high of a chance of her being hurt, or worse. The sheer prospect of it scared him…no, it killed him. It poisoned him from the inside.

They lay there for a little while. He was sure five minutes was fine, after all.

“…Kozu?”

“Huh?”

The words floated in his head. He chose his words carefully.

“I’m sorry.” He said, quietly. “For everything. I shouldn’t have… yelled at you like that. And everything. And…” His eyes flickered up to her; she looked back at him, curiously. “…and treated you like that? Just. Sorry. I hope you’re not hurt. I hope I didn’t…”

Gojo Satoru wasn’t good at apologies. He’d never been, from when he was young, because that had just been the way it was: in fact, without the girl in front of him, he probably never would have said a single one.

“All’s good.” She hummed. “Thanks for being worried about me, though. I know what you were trying to do. I know they ask a lot out of you.”

If it was anyone else, the words would leave his mouth lightning fast. Me? No. Why would anything be overwhelming? Nothing is too much for the best. For me.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and pulled away; instantly, the warmth seemed to drain from his body, and he wanted to hold her tight.

It was this that bothered him, more. That someone like him could have her in front of him, right there, and miss her so badly. He was awfully good at making things out to be jokes so he joked on her, he told her he loved her, he told her he wanted to marry her, and it was all the truth but she laughed at it like it was the funniest thing she’d heard.

She noticed the small things, the details no one knew about Gojo Satoru. But she would always fail to see the big picture.

“You don’t.” He murmured, instead. This distance, a hair’s breadth away, was good enough for him. For now. “You don’t ask a lot out of me. Not ever.”

For later… for the future…

No one knew, he thought. How could anyone? He’d just have to try harder.

She laughed. “I think you’re fine with it.”

She was so close to him, an inch away from closing the gap, an inch away from the mouth that begged him to kiss it. From the surprised eyes that flickered to his before wandering away, that expression that screamed I’m slightly embarrassed but I hate backing down from any challenge. Especially yours.

He laughed and shuffled back. This was the safe distance. This was where he belonged, by her side until she would realize everything.

This was unchanging, unmoving. He was a pendulum but he stood still just for her.

“Kozu,” He said, instead, “Where’s my gift?”

“…your what?”

“It’s my birthday. You got me a present, right? I’ve been looking forward to it since forever. I wanted your gift in particular, because I want to see the extent of your love for me!”

“You materialistic bastard. You’ve become one with the capitalist system. Do you not remember the ideals of our lord and savior, Karl Marx?”

“Yeah?” He flopped down onto the concrete and grinned. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

“Kick you.” She said, and added, probably for good riddance, “In the nuts.”

“Kozu-chan, no!”

“Kozu-chan, yes.” She dusted off his jacket idly. “I have my gift at home. I’ll give it to you when we go to the aquarium later.”

“The aquarium?”

“Uh-huh. I assumed you wanted to go.”

“How…?”

“You were talking about fish in your sleep.” She stood up, dusted her knees off, and held out a hand. “Unless you wanted sushi. C’mon. Pancakes for breakfast.”

He watched her as she stood there, looking down at him. Her hair tied up high and her eyes unwavering, just how she always was. Just how he had to keep her.

The jujutsu world would break her, and that was exactly what scared him: that this headstrong, fearless, stoic girl in front of him would break down at the sight of a cursed spirit. That a world like that would finally prove wrong and snap the spirit he’d admired so much and so long.

He couldn’t lose her, not ever.

“Kozu,” He said, “If you ever want to not spend money on me, you could always give me my first kiss. I’ve been waiting for it since forever. And Suzuki Kozue is so jealous, I didn’t get to even talk to other girls! Gosh, it’s so hard being loved. I guess I could settle for you.”

“…I’m leaving you behind.”

“Wait—”

“Oh,” She said, and turned back, her lips flitting up a smile, that one smile, Kozue’s smile, the one he wanted to stay on her face forever. “And Satoru?”

“Uh-” He jolted, clearing his throat uneasily, his eyes flickering down to her lips before settling on her face. “Yeah- yeah?”

“Happy birthday, dumbass!”

Chapter Text

It was a week before the end of school, and naturally, as the highest grade of middle school, study was the last thing on their minds.

“Kozue,” Rin asked her as the recess bell rang, “I like your new cut.”

“What? I only trimmed it a little. How did you notice?”

“It looks shorter. Hey, are you calling your friend dumb?”

“…uh. No?”

“That was a suspiciously long pause.”

Since the afterparty a while back, a lot of things had changed.

 Kozue had come back to school looking dead as ever, wondering what the hell would happen to her now that she’d actually socialized for once. She’d sat down at her seat, looked towards her right, and the girl with the pigtails had waved at her with a large grin on her face.

“You-!” Kozue had choked.

“H-ai! Treat me well please, Kozue-san!”

…Yamamoto Rin was full of surprises, she thought. Only a few days in since Rin had decided to adopt her as her friend, and she’d moved seats—just for Kozue. Since partners were assigned but not fixed, Kozue’s seat-mate (some guy she still didn’t know the name of) had made a questionable trade deal with Rin.

“…are you not going to regret this?” Kozue pointed out, a little deadbeat, to which Rin had responded with, “Why would I?”

She stared at the girl. The girl stared back, innocently wide-eyed and an enthusiastic smile on her face.

“What?” Rin said to her. “I told you I wanted to be friends!”

Kozue was puzzled. Not only was it her first friend apart from Satoru, but it was her first normal friend, someone she could genuinely eat lunch with and someone who could walk back home with her from school and someone who, honestly, managed to get Kozue wound up in her pace all the time. She was a social girl, liked by both guys and girls, and by younger students, too.

For the first week, she’d considered some kind of ulterior motive, but that had dissipated once the week had passed: no way. Not on Earth.

No one could want something out of her this desperately. It was a fact that she had to admit: Yamamoto Rin liked her, and Suzuki Kozue liked her back.

Satoru was busier than ever. Rin didn’t seem all that bothered with it; in fact, she seemed more than relieved with it. On the days he waited outside the front gates for her, Rin clapped her on the shoulder and bid her a ‘nice date’.

“…don’t you want to meet him?” She’d asked, half on a whim. During her very first year, there had been people who’d approached her since they thought Satoru was good-looking, of course. It didn’t bother her: Kozue couldn’t blame them for liking people. The only thing that bothered her was the fact that they treated her like a bridge to get to Satoru.

But Rin had stared back at her, puzzled. “Why would I want to meet him? It’s going to be awkward, and he’s probably going to talk to you the whole way. Kozue’s mine.”

“…oh.”

She had an inkling of a feeling that all her friends had ended up being somewhat clingy, but that wasn’t a surprise, either.

And on the days she had judo practice—more often than not—it was split. Sometimes Rin skipped practice, but sometimes she’d stay there, jogging up to Kozue with her judo clothes on and what she called her ‘game face’ on, too, and say, I challenge you to a fight! And she’d lose all the time.

And was this what it felt like to have a friend who could function with her as a proper member of society? It was nice. Suzuki Kozue was not someone who wanted a lot out of her human relationships, but it was refreshing: that she could walk the halls with someone and laugh about stupid things, or that she could eat lunch without wondering if she looked like a total ass sitting alone, or that she could doze off in class and get smacked awake by a laughing friend.

Satoru didn’t like it, on the other hand.

“She’s suspicious.” He said, as they walked back from her late-night judo class one day. It was nearly 8 PM, and he’d shown up thirty minutes late with a bandage plastered to the left side of his forehead. The higher ups seemed to be working him a bit hard these days. “I don’t like it. Why did she approach you for no reason?”

“Why does anyone?”

They stopped by a food truck, enchanted by the wafting scent of taiyaki. She pulled out her wallet but he was faster.

“No, really,” He said, stuffing his card back into his bag, “I don’t get it. Why would anyone want to willingly approach you? Last time someone did that, they got enslaved.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He grinned and blew her a kiss.

“That’s just what friends do.” She pointed out. The man squeezed out fresh paste into the taiyaki mold, and pushed it closed. “I like her. She’s… uh. Nice.”

“Well, I’m nice, and smart, and amazing, and deliciously handsome. And a great person to talk to. Plus you love me.”

Her eyes flickered up to him. He looked down, innocently.

“…fine.” She grumbled. The tips of her ears felt hot. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything! Kozue, you’re so prickly nowadays, it’s so fun to tease you…ow!”

The street vendor looked up. Satoru gave him a smile as he flipped the mold on its side; something sizzled, and the scent grew stronger.

“Anyways,” Satoru continued, turning to her, “You’re hanging out with her all the time. Maybe she’s targeting you. Maybe this is all some elaborate ruse. Maybe you’re going to get kidnapped soon. I advise you to stay away.”

“There’s nearly two weeks until the end of school.”

“Yeah! Why would she befriend you in that short time, huh? Why would you settle for anyone else? Are you cheating on me?” The taiyaki pan sizzled, before it was yanked open; steam blew into her face, which Satoru waved away quickly before pulling her sideways. “Hey, that’s hot. Watch it.”

“Thanks.” Several of them were dumped into a paper bag, which was handed to her. “Satoru, are you…”

He’d always been possessive, after all: whether it was with her, or with his possessions, or with anything else. It figured, from a somewhat spoilt person, that he would be the same with his friends. Especially with his best friends. She looked at him.

“…are you jealous?”

“What? No!”

His face was red. He was definitely jealous.

“Woah.” She said, completely joking. “I can’t believe you’d put so little trust in me. You’re my best friend, ‘Toru. Remember?”

“Yeah, but…”

“I walk home with you almost every day.”

“Yeah, but…”

“We sleep over so much we might as well be living with each other.”

“Yeah but…”

“And I’ve known you for nearly eight years—eight longer than her.”

“But—”

She blew on a taiyaki and pushed it into his mouth. “Custard for both of us.”

They walked home in silence, eating taiyaki. The whole way back, his face was flushed red—from the cold or from her remarks, she had no idea.

She had one friend. She’d gained another one. What more did she need?

The real answer was in the back of her mind, of course, but Kozue pushed it aside nonetheless: because the only rational answer was, nothing.

When she got home, there was another pair of shoes waiting for her.

It was strange, to say the least. She hadn’t had that since… well, forever.

Of course, they had a lot of shoes. Her mother had a bunch of formal shoes she wore for work, because her mother was a career woman and she was busy and she needed to look presentable for everything.

But whether her mother was home or out, she always tucked her shoes neatly into the cabinet. It was clean to the point of ghostlike: her mother was always hellbent in being tidy, after all. Kozue, clean this. Kozue, clean that. Kozue, look presentable. Kozue, what would other people say?

Today was a little different, however. When Kozue came back from school, ready to relax for the weekend, all she saw was the shoes. The shoes, out.

It wasn’t in the cabinet. It wasn’t even near the cabinet.

It was tucked neatly into the corner, as though someone had come back just a while ago. Kozue stared at the shoes, wondering if something had happened. A hundred possibilities ran through her mind, whether it was robbery or some new kind of fraud.

They were definitely her mother’s shoes, she thought. Black with a gold buckle.

Kozue dropped her bag and strolled into the living room to see her mother sitting at the table, drinking tea.

“Oh.” She said. “Goddamn.”

“Language.”

“Gosh darn.”

No, way.

She lived with her mother—hell, she loved her mother. It was only natural, seeing as how her mother had gone out of her way to take care of Kozue. The fact that they’d come from America, ostracized and paranoid, made everything all the more grateful.

Her mother didn’t usually come home this early. She was lucky if she saw her mother during breakfast, where they’d exchange nothing but basic pleasantries and ‘can I have more milk’, and most times when her mother was home, said mother was also catching up on sleep in a room. Kozue didn’t even bother going into her mother’s room: she just dragged Satoru into her own and closed the door as to not wake her.

“What…” She rubbed the back of her neck. That had been a dramatic entrance; in fact, now that the shock had worn off, she really didn’t have much to say. “…you get fired?”

“No. Of course not. What do you take your mother as?”

“A hardworking career woman.” Kozue glanced towards her bag, then back to her mother: a mythical creature, kind of like a unicorn. How long had it been since she’d seen her mother in broad daylight like this? Three months or so, maybe. It was always in spontaneous months. “Well, I’m heading to my room. I gotta, like, do homework.”

She turned to leave.

“Come sit.” Her mother said. The words were simple but pierced through the atmosphere like an arrow.

Kozue glanced towards her bag for one last cry of help: no response. She walked over to the chair opposite her mother and sat.

“Tea?”

“What are the options? Straight vodka?”

Her mother poured her some tea. It was English breakfast: she hated English breakfast. She plopped in several cubes of sugar, poured down milk, and drank it. Hanging out with Gojo Satoru did that to a person.

It was awkward, too, because the whole process was carried out in front of her mother’s inquisitive eyes. She didn’t talk, merely watched; it felt about as comfortable as Kozue did lying on a bed of nails.

“Did you just come back from school?”

Her mother’s voice was soft. She blinked. “…yes.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes.”

“Have you made many friends? At school, I mean… apart from Satoru.”

“…” Repetition wasn’t the answer to all of humanity’s problems, but what more could she say? It was just the situation she’d been put in. “…yes,” she said, and after much consideration, added, “One.”

“That’s nice. Her name is…?”

Why did she want to know?

“Rin.”

Her mother nodded and swirled her tea. Kozue felt like she was under interrogation, and wondered, briefly, if she should text Rin to call her. The chance to be in front of her mother was nice, but the chance to sit here doing nothing was less so.

Her mother was tapping something, against her palm. She glanced down at it, and saw an envelope. Was that something that could be asked about?

What could she talk about?

“…uh.” It was always like this. She didn’t know what she always got so excited about, because what changed?

Really, what did? It was the same every time. Nothing to talk about, nothing to say. Nothing to push the uneasy atmosphere to, other than the fact that she was utterly incompetent.

She loved her mother, but loving someone didn’t mean you were comfortable with them. In fact, the contrary, at least to her; loving someone just made everything worse. Made you oversensitive and stupid and blind. And her mother was the final boss of the game she played, because she had no idea how the hell she was supposed to act.

“…I won a tournament.” She said, finally.

The words that left her mouth were instantly ones she wanted to take back. What was she hoping for? Praise? Was she some kind of kid, asking to be liked? Did she want her mother’s approval that badly?

“I saw.” Her mother’s voice was quiet. “Well done.”

Yes, she thought. Yes, she did. She’d always been after approval.

It was quiet again. She dug her nails into her skin, forcing out any words that would come to her mouth. I’m not like this at school, she wanted to say. That friend likes me. I talk a lot. She thinks I’m funny. I told her about toppling the patriarchy and she told me I was nuts. She laughs at my jokes and calls me one of a kind.

Instead, she said, “Thanks.”

“Are you enjoying school?”

“Yes.”

“…I see. Is Satoru not with you today? If he left because of me, you can invite him in…”

“No, he’s… he’s busy. With work. A lot of people depend on him and all that sh—all that stuff.”

“I see. Is he treating you well?”

“Same old.”

The silence. The stupid, awkward silence again. It was never awkward like this, with her friends. She could sit with Satoru for hours without saying a word. She could laugh with Rin in class and pass notes to each other without wanting to run away.

She wanted to cry. No, she wanted to do the exact opposite. She wanted to show her mother how competent she was, and be as smooth-talking as Satoru and as easygoing as Rin. She wanted to be someone who could make conversation flow between herself and a woman she called a mother, who provided for her and gave her guidance and housed her under a roof. A woman she called a mother, who she didn’t know that well at all.

“Are you getting around safely? Nothing’s happened, has it? Anything you want to…” Was it just her conscience, or were her mother’s eyes drilling into her? As though she knew something, but…

But that was obviously just pretend. Kozue was, and had always been, immersed in strange stories. That was why she sat through most of her class daydreaming of being a shaman.

“Nothing. Well, something, but nothing important.”

“Hm?”

She felt the namecard in her pocket, the judo school, but she didn’t say anything. Why would she? She knew, fully well, what path her mother wanted her to go down, and she knew it coincided with Satoru and everyone else. They were all the same. What did it matter what Suzuki Kozue thought about her own life, anyway?

“I need to practice for Math Olympiad. It’s coming up winter break.” She ducked her head. “Enjoy relaxing. Have a few drinks or something.”

“You aren’t—” Her mother shook her head. “…are you enjoying math?”

“Yes.” Kozue lied.

“And studies?”

“Yes.”

“You know where you want to go for high school? Entrance exams are in March…”

She had no idea. She didn’t even want to go. There was a school she was fixed on and the school didn’t know she even existed. It was a school in another world for people she’d never seen the faces of.

“Yes.”

Her mother nodded. “Good.”

“I’m really leaving now.” The lies made her uncomfortable, but how would she say that? “We’re having dinner… together…?”

“Yes. We’re getting chazuke later.”

She didn’t like chazuke. Not like she cared, either. “Sure.” Kozue looked at her mother’s face, wondered if she should stay, and decided that mixed signals were worse than anything else: she turned to leave. “See you.”

“Wait, Kozue.”

She stopped.

“A question. Don’t take any of this into meaning, yes? It’s nothing significant. I’m merely curious, whether you…”

Kozue wondered if anyone would call. Just anyone. Didn’t matter who, whether it was stupid Satoru who bounced around the place or Rin who wanted her to apply to a specialized high school. Just anything. Anything to get her out of this awkward conversation.

“…talk with your father?”

Or not.

Out of any… out of every question, why that? Why that specific—

Why her father, the man they hadn't seen nor talked about in years?

“No.” She swivelled around. “No. No. No. No. What’s this about?”

“There isn’t any meaning behind it, I’ve told you, Suzuki Kozue. Don’t yell at your mother like that.”

The envelope caught her eye. She opened her mouth, closed it. “Like, have I been… exchanging emails or something? Or letters, or texts, or… Like, do I miss him?”

Her mother stiffened. “…yes.”

It was the envelope. She swore it was. She knew this was a sensitive topic, she knew her mother had warned her, but it angered her so much, how he was out there living his best life and they still walked on eggshells like this- “Why? Does he want to act like a decent human now?”

“Kozue!”

“He suddenly wants to waltz back into our life? Are you gonna let him? After everything… after the nightmares, you’re just going to—”

“Suzuki Kozue!”

“It’s a legitimate question.”

Her mother sighed. It was that sigh, the sigh she hated, the one that laughed at her. The kind of let-down, disappointed sigh that told her, I didn’t expect much out of you anyway.

She felt her heart sink.

She just wanted to help, Kozue thought, but what fucking difference would it make, anyway? When had her mother ever given her a choice? Instead, she said, “He contacted you, didn’t he?”

“What are you—”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, then looked at her mother’s expression: not scared, really, just a little… unsettled? She didn’t know, and she didn't like it. She didn't like that her mother, the strongest, most dependable woman that she knew, had been reduced to... this.

Her mother's eyes darted to the envelope, then back to her. "Just answer my question, Kozue."

Kozue glowered at her mother. The adult superiority that came with a strict but absent parent such as her mother no longer was as effective upon her, but it didn't change the fact that she respected her mother. It was a Japanese thing, an American thing, a Kozue thing—it was in the form of who got to ask the questions, and who was forced to answer.

She wasn't the one who got to ask them, anyway.

“Do I look like I have a death wish?” She muttered, and left. The door slammed shut behind her.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Everything was stupid. Everyone hid things from her. That envelope meant something; Satoru meant something; even Rin was probably hiding something from her. No one trusted her. She was always left out, like this, and she was supposed to feel happy about it because it would be protection for her. So many things to say and no one said them, because they were too fucking scared or sensitive or whatever they were and they expected her to tiptoe around their feelings similarly. It was all for her own good? Bullshit.

Didn’t that just mean she was the only stupid one?

Chapter Text

Satoru came over, as expected, on the very first day of winter break.

…in fact, in the very first hour.

“Satoru?” She said, groggily, as she stood in the doorframe of her house at 1AM, the Saturday after the last day of school. It being the last day had exhausted her, and she had been almost ready to go to sleep when he’d rung the doorbell loudly, ridiculously, and incredibly obnoxiously. “What… my friend, it is one in the morning.”

“Even better!” He exclaimed.

She tugged at her collar. “…are you not cold?”

“Nope.”

She stared at him, wondering what he was up to now.

He blinked up at her, smiling. He was dressed casually, in a t-shirt and jeans that insinuated that he’d put some kind of effort into how he looked. His sunglasses were propped up on the top of his head, revealing his eyes to the world; the same eyes that looked at her innocently, as though he could do no wrong.

“Why’re you so late?” She asked.

“You know why I’m late.”

She did. The scent hung in the air, and she tasted it, tangy in her mouth; she wondered if she should tell him off, because that was what she always did. But she was tired, and he looked expectant of her.

“…did you deal with it?”

“Do you expect anything else?” He stretched. “Kozu, are you going to leave me standing here? How cruel.”

He held a duffel bag stuffed full with clothes and other necessities. She didn’t know why, since it was a completely unnecessary gesture. There were already two toothbrushes in her bathroom and deodorant on the sink. The guest futon, which no one really used anyway, was still tucked to the side just in case Satoru decided he wanted actual leg room instead of stealing hers.

“…you could have come over tomorrow.” She complained, not meaning it at all.

“What would be the fun in that?”

He was right. He’d always orientated around the concept of what interested him and what didn’t. What was fun and what wasn’t. Even now, with his eyelids slightly hooded and his mouth pushing back a yawn, he came over now because he wanted to.

“Well,” He said, and she jolted, “I’m way past asking for permission, don’t you think?”

At the blink of an eye, he’d arrived at her doorstep and was now behind her, his arm slung over her shoulders leisurely. “Come on, let’s go have an early morning snack.”

Satoru, contrary to what he looked like, wasn’t stupid. In fact, with his Six Eyes, he could be more observant than anyone else, if only he tried to be.

She knew, for a fact, that he knew a lot more about her than what he let on.

Thus, it was part of the reason why she wasn’t surprised at all when the words came out of his mouth: “Is something bothering you?”

“What?” She said. “No.”

They lay on the couch, having turned on a Ghibli movie. There was a packet of crisps nestled in his lap and she leaned against his shoulder, half a yawn on her lips. It was holiday, though, so she didn’t need to sleep early—she’d given up sleep a long time ago, along with any rational thoughts.

“Liar.” He said. His laughter vibrated in his chest.

It was strange, too. Being with him relaxed her, because he was the most familiar person she’d ever been with. Being with him wasn’t like Japan, a country she’d been lugged into like part of her mother’s baggage. Being with him wasn’t like school, where she sat alone, wondering if there was a curse nearby. Being with him was like him, no matter how annoying or insensitive him was.

They were figuring out their differences when they grew up, she knew. She had secrets, and she knew he did, too. No matter how close friends they were, how long they stayed together, there was always something more to learn.

“…you’re annoying.” She muttered, her eyes fluttering closed. “Leave me be, why won’t you?”

“If I let you be you’ll probably run away, so that’s not an option here.” He commented, shifting a little. “You have a match soon, right? How dare they intrude on our time like that! You should spend all your holiday with me.”

She was probably the only person in the world who found a person like him relaxing, but that was that.

“You’re busier than I am.” She said, regardless. “Shut your trap, Satoru.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He looked back. No joke, his eyes seemed to say. He didn’t seem to be joking for once, which was both a relaxing and terrifying notion simultaneously.

“Alright.” She relented. “What do you want?”

“Tell me what’s happening?” He suggested. “You can sit on my lap if you want.”

She flushed. “Shut up.”

“You used to all the time, when we were kids.”

“We were nine!”

“Haha.” He patted her head. “Suzuki Kozue is too funny to tease.”

“Do you want to know or not?”

He instantly sat straight, his hands on his knees, looking at her expectantly. “Yes ma’am.” He said, half robotically. She hated herself for almost laughing. “I’m listening.”

The movie still played in the background. The words were on the tip of her tongue and they could spill out if only she just took a breath.

She could say it. She wanted to say it, didn’t she?

She rarely ever kept secrets from Satoru, just as he did with her. It wasn’t easy to keep secrets from each other, after all: he had the Six Eyes, and she’d always been good at observing people. They stuck together most of the time. They’d tried in the past, but it would always come out so naturally.

She rarely ever kept secrets from him; why was she so uncomfortable now?

Kozue’s eyes met his: his kaleidoscopic eyes, blue at first glance but fractured with colours she couldn’t even see. The wondrous eyes that made him the top of the world, the eyes she’d admired since she was young.

She rarely ever kept secrets from her best friend, she thought. He was her go-to. Her favorite.

A voice in her head said, what would he think?

She’d seen him push away crying girls back in grade school. She’d seen him laugh at failures, tell hurt people it was their fault, walk past the needy although they were worthless. She’d always chastised him for it when she could, but she knew for a fact that it took more than just chastising to turn him from that kind of thing. He’d grown up spoilt; it was a wonder he was so good to her.

It was a wonder he listened to her, because empathy came from similar experiences and someone like Gojo Satoru had no such similar experiences, not with a normie like her. It was a wonder he listened, and it was a wonder he followed her so well. It was a wonder she wasn’t cast aside, because how, how could she tell him?

He wouldn’t get it. His father let him do anything he wanted to, and his mother did everything he asked, pampered him, spoiled him, and his entire family let him so loose, and treated him like the pride of the family, and… and… and how could she

Tell him

About

Her

Father?

The voice said, do you trust him?

She thought back to everything he always did to her, how he tagged along after her like she was the most precious thing in the world. She thought back to how obvious it was that he was hiding something about work from her, and how he’d grabbed her and shook so visibly, watching her as though she would evaporate on that early morning.

She thought back to America: a land she could barely remember, now. A land where all had been fun and games until she realized fun was for the naïve, and games were only entertaining if someone sacrificed themselves for it. When she was young, and stupid, and all she knew about her neighbours was that they blamed her for the loud noises every night.

“Nothing.” Kozue said. “Girl stuff. I’m sure you don’t wanna know.”

Satoru stared at her, and shrugged. "Alright, babygirl. You keep your secrets."

He leaned back, his eyes fixed onto the movie, and casually, so effortlessly, his fingers ghosted against her locks, rubbing her comfortingly before falling across the back of the couch. She leaned back, her mouth dry but full of words she could never pour out.

He looked at her, met her stare, and grinned.

That was it. The grin that killed her. The grin that forced the words back into her mouth and down her throat like they'd never existed, like the very notion baffled her.

She wanted that grin to stay on his face forever, for him to look at only her with that smile: but then again, that was improbable.

No, impossible.

Christmas Eve was here—and so was the realization that she’d woken up too early.

“Gah.” She muttered, as the sunlight stabbed at her face. The window was open just a little bit, which explained a lot, including just how cold it was. She’d probably forgotten to close them yesterday after trying (and failing) to take aesthetic pictures of the stars. Something she would never try again.

God, she thought. This was horrible. She wanted to sleep more.

Unfortunately, something seemed to be blocking her from doing so. Whether it was the cold breeze licking at her face, or the weird way the covers were wrapped around her, or the insensitive ringing of the phone, she had no idea.

Suzuki Kozue, master of getting up. She had to go on her morning run, too.

She peeled her eyes open and rolled over, wrapping the furry blankets around her. She didn’t want to get up, she didn’t want to get up, she didn’t want to get up…

It wasn’t snowing, but it seemed close to it. At least subzero weather. Kozue wriggled sideways past where the wind was hitting her, hiding behind the headboard and burrowing beneath the blankets.

The constantly ringing phone made her cranky. She waited patiently for it to stop ringing, and then dived beneath the blankets again, wondering if her mother was home. Probably. It was holiday, and everything. Probably sleeping though.

The warmth made her drowsy again. She felt her eyes droop, before—

The phone was loud. Too loud.

Kozue snatched up the phone with an annoyed groan and put it to her ear. “Hey, Shithead sorcerer, if you call me one more time I will take your glasses and shove it up your—”

“Wah! Morning Kozue is cranky!”

She paused. That wasn’t Satoru.

Who else would be calling her, though?

 “Guess who, sleepyhead?” The now obviously female voice sung. “Clue: it’s not your hot friend. It’s better.”

“…uh.” She groaned. “Karl Marx?”

“No, stupid!” The voice giggled. “Rin! Remember me?”

“Ah. Shame.” She paused. The words sunk into her. Rin…Rin, her friend. Why would she do this to her? “…huh? Rin, why… it’s seven thirty AM… on a holiday…”

“I need help!” Rin groaned. “I’m stressed. I need help. It’s a big one.”

Help. Was something wrong?

She shot up from her bed, pushing the covers off her with a shiver, and stepped over a discarded stuffed animal to slam the window shut. The pane was cold to the touch, but she ignored it. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? Is it serious?”

“It is pretty serious.” Rin sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Every single bad thought ran through her mind—embezzlement? Murder? Worse? “What do you need me to do?”

“Let’s meet up! I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Is 10 good?”

“What? Hang on, I didn’t say yes, I was going to go practice today—”

“Hm. So you’re free, yeah?”

“But I—”

“Ten? I’ll meet you at the bus station near your house.”

“Hold up—”

“Bye!”

She’d always been called kind of gullible. Sadly, she realized what exactly they’d meant when she turned up to the station a few hours later, her hair still damp from her morning shower after her morning run.

“Merry Christmas Eve!” Rin exclaimed.

Kozue blinked. “Huh?”

“You heard me. Merry Christmas Eve!” She reached up. “Oh, your hair’s all damp. Maybe I should have said eleven.”

“You called me out here… I woke up that early… just for you to…” She gaped. Rin was worse than Satoru. All her friends gave her migraines of different shapes and sizes, which was a horrifying yet true thought. “…are you f—”

“Woah, woah!” Rin laughed. “No, it’s an actual emergency. You see, I love procrastinating, and I didn’t realize it was Christmas Eve until… well, yesterday.”

“Your point being?”

“I forgot to buy everyone presents!” Rin wailed. “Help! My mom will kill me if I forget again! I forgot last year, too! I gave her a gym membership card! And she doesn’t even exercise!”

Kozue stared.

Rin stared back.

The busy city filled their ears: from the honking of car horns to the people crowding the streets, to the slight huff of Rin’s breath, and the rustling of jackets. Kozue’s hair felt like it would freeze and she had to go somewhere warm or something, but still, she just stood there, and stared.

“So.” She finally spoke, “You… uh. You want me to help you shop for Christmas presents.”

“Uh-huh! You know what they say, it’s always better to have a second eye! Plus,” She added, and it sounded like an afterthought but it was probably the real reason Kozue was here, “Shopping with someone else is always more fun!”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” Her friend tilted her head. “What’s wrong?”

Kozue fingered her hair nervously. This was so, so, stupid. She’d only ever bought two presents every year, and one of them she could barely give. She couldn’t even…

“Rin,” She said, her throat feeling clogged up for some strange goddamn reason, “I’ve never…”

She’d never shopped with anyone before, either. How could she? It was always that weird American girl who’d sell people to drug dealers, or always that one girl who didn’t have presents to get because she didn’t have anyone to give them to.

“Huh?”

“…” She gripped her hands into fists. “I don’t even have a dad to give presents to. How am I supposed to know what dads like?”

Great. Great. Just amazing. She’d said that out loud, like some kind of freak.

She’d never even said that to… she chewed at the inside of her cheek and stared down, down at the ground, because she always stared at the ground when it had anything to do with her father. Her mother had always told her to look down, too. Look away. Look anywhere but here.

“Oh, that?” Rin laughed.

She fucking laughed.

“Who cares about experience? I’ve lived with my dad over a decade and I still can’t figure out what to give him. A fresh perspective might be good for me to exploit!” She grabbed Kozue’s hand. “C’mon. I haven’t had breakfast. Do you need to buy anything?”

“Wh—” She blinked. “Hold up, I just… I just told you…”

“Yeah, you told me you didn’t have a dad. So what?” Rin shrugged. “My grandpa is dead. Doesn’t mean it’s my fault.”

“But… but I…”

Rin flashed her a grin. “Look—” Turning to the semi-crowded square, “MY GRANDPA IS DEAD!” She hollered at the top of her lungs.

Kozue jolted. She hid her face in her hands. What else could she do? There were a few passersby who murmured their condolences, but otherwise, the world looked as peaceful as before.

“See,” Rin’s hand tugged at hers. “No one cares. I’m not going to care, either.”

“You don’t…” She paused. “Uh. Of course.”

Great. Now she felt stupid, like she’d been overreacting to everything. Or maybe Rin was weird, because she’d never met someone who didn’t care. It was all in the neighbors who ostracized her and her mother; in the kids who called her names; in the expression of Gojo Satoru, who asked out of curiosity where her father was, not meaning any harm but doing the most.

“And you know what that sounds?” Rin whirled on her, her finger jabbing in her direction; “That sounds more like—”

Kozue sighed and closed her eyes. Here she went again.

“—like you don’t want to have a fun time!”

Her eyes snapped open. “Huh?”

“Look,” Rin confessed, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly; her pigtails bounced as she bobbed her head a little. It was the cutest thing she’d ever seen from her friend. They were both tall, especially for their age—they both played sports, after all—but Rin was a little shorter than her, but now she stood on her tiptoes and got right into Kozue’s face. “This is embarrassing to say, but I kinda had a whole day planned out, OK? You told me we couldn’t spend Christmas together and I was bummed as hell. Eve is the best thing I’m gonna get, so I’m gonna make the most out of it.”

“…oh.” She blinked. “Uh.”

“I kinda feel like second priority, but I’ll have to settle.” Rin squeezed her hand. “If you’re going to spend your Christmas with that hot friend of yours, I’m going to take your entire Eve. Got it?”

“Uh. Got it.”

All her friends were weird, she thought. Wacky as hell. No one was straight in the head and that was what she loved about them, about Yamamoto Rin and the way she stared boldly into whatever face that looked at her wrong. “I’ve been saving up this dessert place for you, OK? Apparently they have an awesome strawberry shortcake. And then, after that, we’re gonna go actually shop, because I wasn’t lying about the mom part—she’s actually gonna kill me. But I also want to try that one ice cream shop—hey, hey, Kozue, you little shit, are you listening to me?”

Kozue jolted. The hand in hers felt warm and strange.

Not a bad feeling, she thought.

“Who’re you calling little?” She snorted.

“Oi! Okay, whatever. Then look, I have a couple of choices I need help with, either a hat or a scarf. What do you think? There are a few others, but probably a hat or a scarf—my dad collects hats, he’s almost bald—"

Kozue stepped into the compound, feeling a bit strange as she did so.

The unfamiliar road, the unfamiliar trees, the unfamiliar houses… it was strange to her. She didn’t know what was happening, but whatever it was, it didn’t seem very normal.

“Kozue,” Came the voice of her friend—Yamamoto Rin, her name was—and she looked up to see the girl beckoning at her as best as she could with a handful of shopping bags. “C’mon! You’re slowing down. Don’t tell me you—national champion of the girls’ junior judo division—get tired easily!”

“Rin,” She murmured. “…are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Kozue,” The girl mocked, and planted her hands on her hips. “This isn’t an execution.”

“I’m… going to see your parents.”

“Kozue,” She repeated, “We’re not married. The main point here is eating dinner together, not seeing my parents.”

It was her first time over in someone else’s house, other than the occasional neighborly visits; other than Satoru’s large, unwelcoming house she’d had to be bridal-carried into; other than her own house, full of everything and nothing at the same time. It was a weird sensation, because she didn’t know anything about... well, parents.

How was she supposed to act? What was she supposed to do? Who was she supposed to look at?

Was it too late to google this?

The question had been utterly out of the blue. Certainly not something that a social deject like Suzuki Kozue had been expecting; in fact, it had been at the strangest of timings, when she’d seen a cupcake shop and had run in.

Nice, she’d thought. They were Christmas themed, which was obvious since it was a day before Christmas. There was one that caught her eye especially: a white one with coconut sprinkles with two large, fat penguins on it. The sign they held read X-mas.

“Hey, Kozue, wait up!” Rin jogged up next to her. Her pigtails were uneven. “Wow. That looks adorable! Are you gonna get it?”

“Looks tasty.” A pause. “Maybe. I dunno.”

“Right.” Unfazed, Rin glanced at her before looking closer at it. “Why’re you looking at cupcakes? Aren’t you going to have a cake tomorrow? I like sweet things, so I’ve accepted my fate; but a word of advice for you, my good friend. Cake of any kind, two days in a row, cannot be good for diabetes prevention.”

She touched the glass absentmindedly. “What makes you think I’m having cake tomorrow?”

“Uh, cause it’s Christmas?”

Kozue peeled her eyes away from the display, her eyes flickering to Rin. “Who am I going to eat cake with? My mother?”

Rin knew a little about her mother—and by a little, she meant almost as much as Kozue herself knew. That she wasn’t home much, period.

“I thought you were eating it with that hot friend of yours.”

“Oh… yeah, no. We don’t eat cake on Christmas since his birthday is so soon before. It’s kind of like a, an unspoken rule.”

Plus, the last time they’d had cake together on Christmas, well…

She waved the memory away. No, no. Nothing good. Nothing particularly—

“Why are you red?” Rin pointed out.

“I’m not.”

“You so are.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“Anyways,” Rin continued, shooting her one last suspicious look, “The whole thing with your parents makes me kinda curious.” She pointed at the cake and asked for it, and for it to be packaged. The cashier complied. “When was the last time you had a Christmas meal?”

Satoru would like that cupcake, she thought absentmindedly. It was a fact that Satoru loved sweet things, and the whipping on the cake looked sweet enough to knock someone out. He would appreciate it, probably. Kozue could already hear his whining.

“…I dunno.”

“What?” Rin whipped around as Kozue pointed at the cupcake and asked for it. “What do you mean you don’t know!?”

“Depends what you count as a meal.”

“What? A meal? Like, getting together? Together? And having a proper feast, y’know? Like, the whole family! Excluding your dad,” Rin added, at her glance. “’Cause, you know, technicalities. When was it? When was it? When was it?”

The cake was handed to her; her pigtailed friend, who already had hers, beckoned Kozue out of the shop. “Don’t know. Probably when I was six or something. Is it important?”

Rin glared. “Is it important!?”

…and that was the story of how she’d ended up here.

Rin hauled her things over to an apartment flat, and handed them to Kozue behind her—she took them, unsure what she was supposed to be doing. The girl dug into her pockets and produced a small chain of keys. “Aha.”

She pressed the card against the panel, which bleeped; Kozue watched in fascination at the apartment lobby, something she’d never seen before. There was an elevator, too, which made a pleasant ding as it reached their floor. Rin ushered her in and pressed 3 for third floor.

Was this even right? Suzuki Kozue didn’t know anymore. It had been so long since someone had dragged her to their house that she simply had no idea. The only and last person to ever take her to their house was Gojo Satoru, who had floated in through the window in fear of being discovered by his parents. No way that felt inviting.

The door opened with another pleasant ding. Rin grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door, grinning. “Ready?”

“Uh.” She turned on her heels. “I- I can’t. Seriously. Rin. I just wanted a McDonalds. I don’t—”

The normality of it, the banality of a life, a home, a friend with a nice and welcoming home, it astounded her. She didn't belong here, it would ruin the peace, they would see her as a freak, she wouldn't belong and she never belonged-

And that was when the door swung open and smacked her in the face.

"Mmph-"

“Rin, honey! Oh, who’s that?”

“Mom, you just murdered my best friend-”

Chapter Text

Gojo Satoru was not someone who cared much.

He—or rather, his father—made reports to the higher-ups, but the reports were more of protocol than anything. Obviously, reports meant that whatever he was saying was one-sided—that he was reporting to the voices behind the screens. Like they were higher authority than the Gojo clan, which stood entirely on the shoulders of Gojo Satoru. But that wasn’t quite it, because who would cross a guy like him? His very birth had shaken the base of the jujutsu world, and his Six Eyes could probably hunt the voices down and kill them before they said a single bad word.

Not that he would, of course, that was all in their heads. But who was he to stop them from overthinking like such?

Nonetheless, it was one of those reports he found himself in, ridiculously. The fact that several men hid behind screens to talk to a fourteen-year-old was terrifyingly hilarious, and the fact that the head of the Gojo clan, his father, was beside him (not Satoru being behind him, like fathers tended to do to their sons) made it even worse.

Duty calls, he thought lazily, and scrolled through his phone. Nothing interested him much. He kept one ear out for anything interesting the meeting would be discussing.

Such as, the bounty.

He’d reported the bounty ages ago, because while he was the strongest, the authority that grown-ups had were useful. He’d hoped that with his name stamped on the very front of the case, it would be pushed to the top in the list of priorities, but he still hadn’t heard a single word from them.

And Satoru, believe it or not, was uneasy.

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? He could tell Kozue was getting antsy from his constant supervision and the way he came over almost every night, and he could tell that she found something weird when he didn’t come over, because he was patrolling around her house anyway. They had attacks at least once a week, and while him staying on constant guard made him a little tired (admittedly), the hard part wasn’t fending them off. The hard part was the emotional exhaustion, the paranoia, the fear of losing the only thing he’d ever kept so close to himself.

Gojo Satoru had been hit right in his weakness, right where it hurt, right where Suzuki Kozue resided.

And he knew, he knew that he couldn’t keep it up for much longer. Not him protecting her, because that was simple enough for him, but the part where he needed to keep it a secret.

He’d never kept such a big secret from her before. She knew what was up, she just didn’t ask because she trusted him and it hit him right in the gut.

What were those stupid higher-ups doing? They needed to hurry up on all of that, before he was exposed. He’d already looked into precautions he could take until she graduated. And then when she did, he’d get to the bottom of the issue, while keeping her close to him. He’d find the person who offered the bounty and he’d… he’d…

He’d murder them.

How could they touch someone like her? Someone so innocent, so unknowing, but at the same time so beautiful. Not just the way she looked, but as a person. Just a beautiful person.

They were snapping a flower. The only flower that ever mattered.

And he knew she was getting more and more curious about the jujutsu world: another reason it was imperative of him to not get caught.

He played Tetris until the meeting ended; it was all boring. On the way out, having made up his mind, he poked at his father’s arm. “Do you remember what I came to you about the other day?”

Satoru didn’t come to his parents for help often, and his parents never really seemed to care. Either way, when he did do so, they tended to remember.

“Of course. About… a bounty, yes?”

He hummed. “Found anything about it?”

His father, in fact, had. The name of the Gojo clan wasn’t useless, then.

The information wasn’t what he had expected. Apparently, some famous special grade one called Nakamura something was coming to Japan after hearing about the bounty, and it had set a lot of higher-ups in motion: the man, according to records, meant trouble. Satoru made a mental note to watch out for him. If someone associated with his side of the fence was going for her, what was to say others couldn’t?

Apart from that, the number of people going for the job was dropping steadily, which was a positive thing for him. They’d underestimated the people protecting her, his father said. Satoru laughed.

Nice one, Satoru, he congratulated himself. But he still couldn’t lose hold of his mission: it was self-imposed, and the longest one he’d had so far, but the most important of them all.

Protect the girl. Kill the one who wanted the girl. And live happily ever after.

That was more than what she deserved, and he was determined to make it happen, even if it meant he got blood on his hands—more blood than what he already had.

Because every drop he’d shed had always been for her, hadn’t it? From the guy who’d followed them from the cinema when they were nine to her stalker at twelve to the countless people who followed her around now that she was a bounty. He’d killed and he’d do it again, and he’d make sure she saw him just as she did now: as someone safe. Someone right.

Someone on her side.

He didn’t tell his father where he was going but that didn’t matter; a flash and he was gone, perched on top of a building with his phone in his hand. Her name flashed on his screen and he held it to his ear: pick up, pick up, pick up.

It made him a little anxious whenever she took too long to pick up the phone. God knew how he would fare being away from her for too long.

The beeps that signified his long wait stopped, filled with static, and then—

“Yo.” The lazy voice came. “What’s up, ‘Toru?”

“Kozu!” He exclaimed. “I just finished the boring meeting. Where are you now? I’ll come pick you up. I wanna hang.”

“Uh.” A pause. “I thought I couldn’t see you until Christmas?”

“A day or two, what does it matter?” He waved it off. “C’mon, I miss you! Kozu, Kozu, Kozu, Kozu, Kozu-chan…”

“Oh.” Was it just him or was she in a loud place? Not crowded, per se, but there were a few voices overlapping behind her, just out of ear. Two men and two women? “Are you on a…” A double date?

No, some of them sounded a little older than themselves. Forty? Fifty?

“On a what?”

“Nothing. Are you busy?”

“A little. But that’s fine. I think I’ll be held up till eight.” He checked his phone: seven thirty. “I’m at a friend’s house right now. The c—oomph.”

The silence drew out, and his hands curled into fists at the laughter trickling out from the other side. Kozue, Kozue, Kozue. What was she doing? Without him? Without… What… He’d told her to be careful, and she’d gone to some stranger’s house? Was she serious? Did she not take him seriously enough?

He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t. Not at all. He was spending Christmas with her, just her. Her whole day was his. Her whole childhood had been his. What more did he care for? He was number one to her, anyways. Just because some stupid girl with pigtails he’d seen the other day stole her walks back home and her Christmas Eves didn’t mean it got a rise out of him. Whoever she was—see, he couldn’t even remember her name—wasn’t even that important.

“Hey, shut the hell up.” Kozue’s voice said, sounding a little distant. Something clattered and she said back into the phone. “Anyways, I was saying. I went shopping and everything. We had dinner, some cake…”

“You had cake with her?”

“Yeah. I like chocolate.”

“You could have had cake with me.”

The static silence was broken up by a deep, drawn-out sigh.

From the other side.

From Kozue.

Had she sighed at him? He didn’t know. Was he being a little pushy? No, he wasn’t. This was just how he was, right? All the time. This was his personality. She wasn’t annoyed with him, right? She couldn’t be.

Hell, he thought. He missed those days when that stupid pigtail girl wasn’t around. Just the two of them. What was he doing, Gojo fucking Satoru, over-sensitive to a girl’s sigh?

“Kozue—” He started, frantically.

“…you know what, I think you’re right.” Kozue said. Oh, no. “I don’t spend enough time with you nowadays. Compared to before. And I’ve already spent three, four hours here. I think I can afford to go home a little early.”

His mouth opened, closed. Was this what he’d wanted? It was, right?

“Plus,” She continued, “You must be tired from all that stuff with the higher-ups. I know you hate it. Your long-term project thing is winding you up, too.”

Right, right, right. She was always right. Gojo Satoru had no other choice, but to be wrong in front of her. Maybe this was what it felt like to love a person so much he would be the most stupid person in the world for her. Just so she could be right all the time.

“…where,” He cleared his throat. “Nice! Where do you want to meet, Kozue?”

“You can come pick me up if you want.”

He straightened. “Really?”

The laugh was back in her voice. “Really, you nut.”

“Well, then, permission given!” He grinned. “Gah, Kozu-chan, I can’t wait to see you. Do you know how boring that meeting was? They were all oh Satoru, you do this you do that…all old men.” He groaned as his phone dinged. “It was so boring.”

“Extensive vocabulary you have.” She pointed out. “Well, I’ll see you.”

The phone beeped, signaling the end of the call. He hummed, digging out his phone to check the location, and wondered how she would look when he got there: beautiful, as always. Tall, especially for a Japanese girl, but petite in comparison to him. Wearing something warm. Hair pulled up in her usual style, a ponytail. Face flushed from the cold and sniffing.

The image of the very thing he wanted to protect.

“I’m coming.” He repeated, and grinned.

“Who was that?” Rin asked, as Kozue placed down her phone screen-first onto the table. “Anyone important?”

“Nothing.” Kozue shrugged. “Satoru. I have to leave soon.”

Shit, she thought. Satoru was right—she’d stayed here longer than she’d intended to. It wasn’t a bad thing, or at least that was what Rin assured her, but still, it didn’t change the fact that Kozue found it uncomfortable.

Not in a bad way. Oh, god, never in a bad way. In fact, this was the warmest feeling she’d felt in months. It was just…

From the very first time she’d seen Yamamoto Rin, Kozue had known for a fact that this girl, whoever she was, came from a family that probably loved her and nurtured her. She looked like a girl with siblings, a girl with parents who cared, a girl who had a family that didn’t fall apart. A happy-go-lucky kind of girl.

The girl, whoever she was or no matter how fascinated she was with a person like Kozue, was utterly and completely different: she came from a different world entirely, a world completely unknown to people like herself and Satoru. Satoru was easy to approach, and it wasn’t just the many years they’d spent together that gave her this feeling; it was the feeling of similarity, of being in the same position, of the reassurance that there was someone who knew how you felt and could watch your back and hold you if you cried.

That was one of the many reasons she’d been so tentative at Rin’s approaches, because surely that kind of person wouldn’t like someone like her, right? What did one see in the American menace? In the half-assed girl, not quite here but not quite there? Ostracized, alone, discarded even by her own parents?

And of course, the facts were only confirmed.

When the door had first swung open and she’d been smacked in the face, the one thing she’d thought was that oh, of course it would be this way. Suzuki Kozue excelled at being an inconvenience to others.

But they were the nicest people she’d ever met. The nicest couple. Rin’s father looked like someone who read the newspaper every morning with a cup of coffee and a morning bagel. Rin’s mother was a housewife and gave her an ice pack for her nose.

“Sorry, I…” She’d looked around. The house was well-kempt, with a clean look to it: much smaller, of course, just an apartment, and it was only the third floor, but it was pretty enough to make up for it. Nothing like the huge, cold, empty house that she had. Nothing like the cold that hit her whenever she opened the door to her house.

Then there was her brother, nine years old and utterly an angel. Playfully bickering with his sister. All four of them, with no space for her to be there.

It was like a shitty American film with a perfect family.

And something was wrong, because they dragged her into a seat and told her to stay for dinner, and she shared their table and they gave her food, and then they set up cake and they told her, please, stay!

“Yeah!” Rin’s brother agreed, cheering, his fork in his hand. “Stay!”

“Oh, uh.” She opened her mouth, closed it. “Uhm…no, no thank you. I- I couldn’t possibly-”

Rin wound her arm around Kozue’s. “Stay. Please? See? Everyone loves you!”

“But… but I…”

“I’ve seen your judo matches, too.” Rin’s mother remarked, laughing. “You’re very good at it. Rin-chan made me watch some. You’ve entered regional finals, correct?”

“Y- yes.” She blinked. “I. Well, how do you…?”

Were all normal families like this?

It was a warmth she couldn’t get used to. One she didn’t know how to.

Nonetheless, she’d sat down. They asked her a lot of things about herself—what she liked, what she disliked, how she’d met Rin—and although it made her feel like she was giving away weaknesses, it also felt like she was important. Needed.

“Who’s Satoru?” Rin’s father asked. It sounded like a god-honest question. Probably was.

“It’s this friend she has.” Rin groaned. “Her childhood friend or something. They stick together more than I stick to her, so I get jealous. He’s famous at school, though.”

The same for him, she thought, and laughed. “For what?”

“Cause he’s, like, eye candy!”

“Rin,” Her mother said, seriously, “What—”

“No, for real!” Rin waved her hands. “He’s super tall, and super handsome, and I swear to god he’s a model, and Kozue is pretty much famous for that in our school—cause she has this foreign ‘boyfriend’ or something—and I don’t like him. He looks really possessive. Like textbook yandere, y’know?”

“That was a lot of and.”

“So when’s he coming over?” Rin’s mother smiled. “That’s nice of him. He’s coming to pick you up?”

“Yeah. He does that a lot.”

“About the dangerous neighborhood, huh?” Mama Yamamoto shook her head. “Well, I hate to say it, but he’s right. I get so worried about Rin-chan. The crime rates are…” She shuddered. “Well, it’s gotten worse lately.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lots of people disappearing. There are more and more alien people around these parts, too. Not that it’s bad, of course, and it’s just the dangers of living in Tokyo, but they seem to be increasing. And a lot of them appear near school, too. Thank god Rin-chan’s graduating soon.”

“I see.”

“It’s just the influx of migrants or something.” Rin pointed out. “Maybe a lot of people want to go to our school. Maybe our school ended up being super famous for some reason. Hey, maybe that kid in class 3 finally got arrested for vaping in the bathrooms!”

“What?”

“I’m just kidding.” Rin waved off her mother’s horrified face. “Sorry. But—”

Her phone rang. Kozue picked it up: the text read, I’m nearly there :) and a lot of heart emojis. And a kaomoji.

“Well, I guess I should be going along now.” Kozue stood up. The chair screeched as it was pushed back. “Thank you so much for the… uh, the meal and everything. I really appreciated everything. It was great knowing you.”

It was. It really was. They were the hallmark of a happy family.

“It was amazing knowing you too.” Rin’s mother piped up. “We wanted to meet you for some time. Rin wouldn’t stop talking about—”

Rin cleared her throat loudly and obviously. “Woah! Look at the time!” She exclaimed. “Kozue, you need to get home soon, right? I’ll accompany you out!”

“Sure.”

“I can give you a ride in my car if you’d like.” Rin’s father suggested.

“No, that’s- that’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I don’t want to be a hassle.”

“You’re not a hassle.” Rin’s mother stood up, too. It was some awkward moment as they all stood and stared at each other.

“Well.” Rin cleared her throat. “C’mon, Kozue. Merry Christmas.”

Kozue froze, one foot halfway into her sneakers as Rin’s mother gasped and ran back into the kitchen. When she re-emerged, there were several things in her hands: a wrapped present, and a cake box.

“Uh.” Kozue blinked. “What…”

“A present for you, dear. Merry Christmas. I packed some of the leftover cake, too, just in case you want some.”

“Merry…?” The things were thrust into her arms. “No, I couldn’t possibly—”

No, no, no. This—this kind of thing, wasn’t the kind of thing that happened to someone like Suzuki Kozue. She was someone who’d never visited a friend’s house, much less during Christmas Eve, much less a friend’s family who treated her like an old friend. Much less a friend’s family who didn’t pry, who didn’t ask what her parents did for a living, who didn’t ask why the hell she didn’t have a father, who didn’t ask why her mother was strangely young.

They didn’t—they’d already given her so much.

“No, take it!”

Rin’s brother grinned. “Yeah! Chocolate cake is good for you!”

“No, I…” Her eyes flickered to Rin, who shrugged at her with a smile. “But you—and the present, you didn’t—”

“It’s nothing big. I would have gotten something much nicer. Rin-chan, nasty girl, telling us a day beforehand that she was coming over! We didn’t have time to prepare!”

She whipped towards Rin, disbelievingly. “You, you planned this…!”

“Hey.” Rin said, and laughed. “Come over on New Year’s?”

No, no, no.

She couldn’t cry now. She cried when it hurt, she cried when the world was unjust to a girl like her, born in the worst of conditions. She cried with she was angry.

She didn’t cry because she felt loved. Her, Suzuki Kozue? No way.

When they got to the lobby, Gojo Satoru was waiting for her just outside of the doors. Rin bid her goodbye. And just, at that moment, something touched the top of her peripheral vision ever so gently; snow. It was snow.

Snow again, she thought. The second one of the year.

The snowflakes eased their way into the new world. She stepped outside, felt the cold snow melt against her first step, then her next, until her whole world was filled with them, so much of them. Next morning would be a winter wonderland.

“Satoru.” She said, feeling strange. “Hey, Satoru.”

He turned. Smiled.

“Hey, Kozue.” He greeted. “Nice snow, huh?”

His face was dusted a shade of red – from the cold, probably, because his eyes were shining when he looked at her, and the tips of his ears were red, and she liked the way his lips curved up in a beautiful smile that begged her to stay with him forever. And she wanted to, she wanted to preserve this moment in a crystal ball until time itself died.

It was going too well. The present in her arms turned out to be home-made cookies, crumbly and still warm from the oven. Satoru unwrapped his scarf from his neck and tucked it around hers, his fingers warm despite the cold, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face fondly.

Was she even allowed to be this happy?

“Merry early Christmas, huh.” He laughed.

“Yeah.” She murmured. Her arm reached up to wrap around his. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

He woke up to the faint sound of mechanical whirring, Michael Bublé belting Christmas numbers, and a female voice humming along.

It was, of course, the best sleep he’d gotten in weeks—typical of Kozue, of her house, of everything about her to do this to him. As he stretched languidly on the bed, his eyes still fully shut, he couldn’t help contain the slight excitement that rose up in his chest as he realized what day it was: Christmas day.

Based on the light, probably only around nine or ten, too. Plenty of time.

Christmas Day in Japan, he’d had to explain to her on the very first year she’d come, was for couples. It was kind of like the second Valentine’s Day. People who were going to smooch and everything hung out together, which was obviously why they couldn’t.

She’d wanted to hang out with him on the second year. The first year she’d had to spend the day with her mother.

And internally, of course, he’d been somewhat delighted, because he hated the Christmas in his house. So lackluster and full of miserable gloominess: it was expected, of course, because his parents (like most of the powerful clans’ leaders were) weren’t married ‘cause they loved each other, and anyways, it wasn’t like anyone bothered to hang out with him. The gifts were all fake, he knew, because they were all things he didn’t care about either.

But here was this girl, who wanted to spend Christmas with him without knowing any of the culture or even who he was.

That was delightful, wasn’t it? Because that meant she wanted to hang out with him, the ten-year-old who changed out of his yukata as soon as official affairs were finished because he couldn’t wait to run to see his secret friend and she’d laugh at him if he wore a yukata. It meant she wanted to hang out with a ten-year-old guy, not ten-year-old Gojo Satoru of the Gojo Clan.

“Yeah, well,” Kozue had said, back then, with her sarcastic tone and her half-dead eyes even then, “In America it’s when a fat man comes to your house and does breaking and entering and gives you stuff for free. I guess he’s from a charity organization.”

“That’s called Santa.”

“I know.”

“You could have just said Santa.”

“And I could have called you Satoru. But I can call you idiot instead, cause that’s better.”

Upon talking more, he’d realized then that Suzuki Kozue didn’t exactly want to hang out for no reason. In fact, it was easier to see that she wanted to hang out with someone, with a friend, because she told him that she’d never hung out with a friend for Christmas before. In America, her mother had never allowed her to invite anyone over.

Alright, he’d said, and then he’d spent one Christmas hanging out in the city with her and one turned to two and then he’d turned around and it had been five, six years, and his dull Christmases had been painted over entirely with Suzuki Kozue.

It was a tradition of theirs.

And yes, he knew it had been immature to cut her meeting short. But he admitted it: he was half annoyed, half scared. Fully paranoid. All because she’d found another friend.

The fear was normal—he knew there were a lot of great things about him, but as much as he hated to admit it, there were flaws to being his friend. Flaws she had no idea about, like the bounty still hanging over her head, and the people after her, and the higher-ups who were beginning to question who the girl with the ridiculous amount of money on her was. It wouldn’t be long before they found out she was connected to him, and drew the connections. It wouldn’t be long before she was exposed to this world, and it would all be his fault that she was connected to her.

There weren’t a lot of things Gojo Satoru was afraid of, but this… this…

And the girl, Yamamoto Rin, had exactly what he didn’t, right? Safety, stability, a safe space. She had two parents who adored her and a brother. She had a steady future ahead of her.

It was just the matter that he didn’t want to lose the only person who had ever had the sense to see him as a human being and nothing else.

Okay, he thought, he was jealous. It wasn’t an issue. Gojo Satoru was easily jealous.

He rolled over on the bed, groaned, and forced his eyes open. He was instantly met with the sunlight stabbing into his eye.

“Ow.” He muttered, and rolled away, jolting up. Kozue wasn’t here.

The Michael Bublé song hit a particularly high note; as the voice swore loudly, he thought, there she was. The paranoia that had crept up to his chest was pushed down again, and he tousled his hair, trying to calm the wild bedhead.

Come on: it was Christmas morning, the festival of romance. No one could blame him for wanting to look the best in front of her.

He pushed the door to the bathroom open, clicked the lights on. Time to battle his imperfections.

Stubble: shaved. Drool marks: washed. Acne: nonexistent. He examined himself, decided he wasn’t at max handsomeness, and grabbed a few things before stepping into the shower for a quick five minutes.

Michael Bublé was gone by the time he stepped out of the bathroom, his hair dripping slightly and a towel slung around his neck. Instead, it was replaced by Mariah Carey and something whirring furiously.

Satoru grinned to himself, and appeared behind of her, undoubtedly in the kitchen; his fingers, cold to the touch, tapped against the back of her neck. “Yo.”

The loud whirring paused. He gave himself three seconds to brace himself before she whirled around, her eyes sparkling.

“Satoru!”

Christmas was the season of romance, and Eros had certainly done his part on her: her hair, usually hanging in a high ponytail, was fastened back by nothing but a headband to keep it away from her face.

Her face was smeared with flour. He reached down and wiped it away with his thumb, ignoring how red her bottom lip was. “Hey, Kozu.”

Had she been chewing on it? Probably. Not like he cared.

Definitely yes. But definitely not important.

She stared at him, eyes wide in inquiry. He wondered if anything showed on his face. Probably not. He’d always been good at everything, and fortunately—or was it unfortunate?—it included hiding his feelings.

She’d taken a morning shower, too: her hair was a bit damp at the tips. She smelled like the shampoo she used, and he wanted to reach out and bury his fingers in her hair.

Fuck, he thought, irritably, and retracted his hand. Had that been too long of a pause?

“…Toru,” She started.

He swallowed. “Huh?”

“You lazy ass.” She stepped on his foot. “It’s eleven A.M. What happened to going out to play early, hm?”

“Ow! Kozu, that hurts.”

“Sleeping in late on Christmas. Leaving a girl waiting, too. What a jerk.” With a hmph, she turned away from him. “Begone, bourgeoisie. No one needs you here. The working-class will deal with it all.”

“There you go, saying all that stuff again…” He made the saddest face he could think of: not hard, considering he had kept his best girl waiting. “Kozu-chan, I was really tired… forgive me?”

“I’m baking cookies.” The whirring started again.

“I can help!”

“Do you want salmonella?”

“Then I’ll watch.” He offered, and hopped onto the free space on the counter. His fingers reached out, ghosted against her arm, then drifted back to set itself on the table: the concentrated frown on her face was too cute to disturb, after all. “How long have you been like this?”

Of course, both of them knew salmonella was a gross underestimation of his skills. He’d learnt how to do things since he was young, especially since he’d spent so much time with a girl like her, with no father and an absent mother. But still, she was better at it, and he liked to watch anyway, so he just sat there and examined the micro-expressions on her face as they shifted.

Pretty girl, he thought absentmindedly. His girl.

Sometimes, he felt in awe of this, of the small moments and of the big. Of everything Suzuki Kozue. If someone asked him how long he had felt such an emotion towards her, in fact, he couldn’t give an answer. Not ever.

Because when was he supposed to point out? When they were eight, and he’d first met her? When she’d punched that guy in grade school who had asked her why no one came to see her in the parent-teacher conferences? When she’d found him on the steps outside her house, his face tucked into his hands as he wondered if no one valued him above his strength? When she’d grabbed his face and yelled at him, of course I care? When he’d given him his first genuine gift ever, not money, not something even remotely expensive but a clay keychain they’d made as an art project, something so pathetic looking he’d laughed so hard he cried?

When had she even come so close, anyway?

His childhood friend had magic, something above jujutsu, and that was just it. She took one step, two, and before he could even blink, she was right in front of him, her hands shoved into her pockets and her eyes staring straight at him, and she stood there and said, aren’t you coming?

If someone could pray tell: how could one not fall in love with Suzuki Kozue?

He’d never felt love before her, but he was sure what it was, because it was too big to be anything else, and too scary, and much too fragile.

“-ru.” Someone called. “’Toru. Hey, Satoru! Are you listening?”

“Wh-” He licked his lips. “Mhm. What’s up.”

“I said, help me roll up my sleeves.” She gestured towards them. “My hands are dirty.”

He hopped off the counter. “Sure.” He approached her, felt her hair tickle his face as he leaned down over her to roll up her sleeves layer by layer. Her arm was a little yellow-green: a bruise from judo last week, she’d told him. Nothing serious.

He swallowed, seeing her beneath him: tall for a girl, but small. Too small. Small enough to fit into his arms.

“Other arm.” She said, and held it up. He moved on, slowly rolling it up. She radiated warmth against him… or was that just his nerves talking?

“Do you have much left?” He said, clearing his throat. His face wasn’t red, right? He hoped not. There was barely any heat he could blame it on. “It’s getting real boring. You’re pretty interesting on your own, but there’s a limit to that, Kozu-chan.”

“No—hey, no!” She flushed. “Shut it, Satoru. I just need to put these in the oven and wait for them to finish.”

“Then we can probably go out by lunch, right?” She’d gone back to concentration, scooping the dough. “Kozu…Kozu…Kozu-chan…Suzuki Kozue-san…my beautiful soulmate…”

It was fun, to watch her turn red and caught off guard.

“Oi!” She pointed a finger at him. “Shut up! I’m almost done, I’ll have you know!”

He hopped back onto the counter and watched her as she leaned over the tray and counted, muttering under her breath. Her eyes widened and she stood up straight again, lifting the tray into her arms and into the oven. She slid it in and shut it with an incredibly proud look, and Satoru couldn’t help it: a laugh escaped his lips.

She instantly whirled on him. “What was that, Satoru?”

“Nothing, ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought.” She said, the satisfied look coming back over her face. “That’s all done. I—oh, right. C’mon.”

He blinked. Before he could say anything, she grabbed his hand and pulled him off the counter, rushing towards the living room.

“Wait,” He started. “Kozue-chan, you…”

Her hand in his felt warm. He’d always had cool hands, but hers were full of life and blood and always stopped his breath.

He really couldn’t. For once, Gojo Satoru was glad he was behind her, because that way she wouldn’t see the way his stupid face heated up so quickly. His other hand he pressed to his cheek, hoping it would die down, but at the same time he didn’t want to remove the other one. She had no ulterior motive, but to just grab his hand like that…

That night, when they’d held hands on the way back home, he’d almost died. He’d spent an hour in the bathroom wondering if he was going insane.

She had to fix this habit. He wouldn’t live another day.

But just as quick as she’d grabbed it, she let go; he looked up, noticing just what she’d dragged him to. It was the Christmas tree they’d set up a few days back.

“There’s four. Two for me, two for you.” She put a finger to her lip. “I don’t know why my mother insists on getting you a present, but here we are.”

“Because she loves me just that much, as everyone should?”

She shot him a deadpan look. He grinned back.

“Well, I’m guessing the ones with matching wrapping paper is the one my mother got, which means…” She picked up his present. “What’s this?”

He reached down and scooped up something soft. “Kozue-chan, you finally decided to get me that expensive tie! If not, I would be so disappointed…” He leaned his weight against her, back of his hand pressed against his forehead dramatically. “Gosh, I can’t believe it… you spent so much money for me…”

“Don’t count your chickens yet.” She told him. He pouted, shuffling over to the couch to take a seat.

Today was his day off, he reminded himself. There were no bounty hunters today. He’d killed most in the vicinity, just to prepare for Christmas, which was a time for the two of them.

He’d gotten her a limited edition figurine for one of her favourite recent shows, something typical: something expensive, but she didn’t need to know that. She’d gotten him a handkerchief, because, as she put it, “he came back home too dirty.”

“Blood here, cursed spirit whammy juice there.” She explained. “Handkerchiefs are useful, see? And look.”

She’d stitched her name on the bottom. Perfect Kanji, which was pretty darn hard to stitch.

“I’ve asserted my dominance over this.”

“What?”

Christmas is, was, and had always been for just the two of them: Suzuki Kozue, the foreign girl with the many dreams, and Gojo Satoru, the boy too much in love. He would protect this memory, this girl, this house, this life, as long as he could keep it.

The only person he’d ever felt human around. Who wouldn’t love such a girl?

The present arrived via mail.

At least, that was what Suzuki Kozue thought. It looked like mail, it felt like mail, and it certainly had been delivered like mail: which was to say, underpaid shipping. The brown box was filled with dents and the address sticker slapped onto it was as hastily as her hairstyle during exam week.

It was something she scooped up from the porch before entering the house. As she kicked off her shoes and entered the house, Kozue turned the parcel over, wondering just what it was that had been ordered. Probably her mom’s, because she certainly couldn’t remember ordering anything.

She’d just come back from judo training, which meant this was a nice surprise, something that had probably been sitting on the porch for half the day. Kozue set her bag down on the couch and collapsed onto it, shaking the box a little. Something clattered inside, something hard and small.

Huh, she thought. The address sticker said nothing except for her address, with no place where it had come from, and nothing about the inside contents. There wasn’t even a name: where the name of the sender and receiver was supposed to be, there were just two blank squares.

Her phone beeped. She ignored it, taking the scissors from the coffee table and slicing the tape that held the cardboard together.

She peeled it open, to reveal a Christmas card and something she recognized, but not in a good way.

“Hold on,” She muttered to herself. She knew what this was.

In fact, it was illegal.

The butterfly knife was, at least, large enough to be illegal when carried around. She knew perfectly well what it was, how dangerous it was, and how to use it, because she’d taken classes in most forms of fighting at her mother’s insistence. She emptied the contents of the package onto her lap and tossed the wrapping away.

The knife was light. Probably quite expensive. She twirled it around a few times—it looked like it’d been made recently, too, because it flipped around quite nicely and fit into her hands quite well. Not awkward at all. The sharp edge was dangerous, though, so she put it away and instead picked up the card.

It said, in large, fun, English letters, Merry Christmas! Ho Ho Ho!

Kozue opened it. There were two English letters scrawled over it, and the sender’s name was simply noted as N.

Her English, being rusty, took her a bit of time to decipher the message, but when she finally read it, all it said was, Take Care.

Huh, she thought, take care of what?

She slipped both the card and the knife in her pocket, and had just stood up when a pair of keys clattered at the door: it swung open, revealing, to her surprise, the one person she wouldn’t have guessed it was.

“…Kozue.” Her mother said, as she shut the door behind her. “I need to talk.”

“Sure.” Kozue said, and in her pocket, felt her phone vibrate. “Me too.”

It was the perfect opportunity, maybe? The knife was a sign from above, or at least she could take it that way, because what other time did she have?

A specialty school, a judo championship, a knife that seemed like a sign for her future… everything clattered around in her head a little too boisterously for her to think straight, but she was sure she’d manage. She was the kind of person who was very adaptable, after all. It all felt like a present, just as much of a present as the character stand Satoru had given her for her birthday, propped up on her shelf proudly. Yeah, that was right: these were all presents come to her at the right time, and she had to take advantage of it.

After all, she was Suzuki Kozue.

Chapter Text

“Yo!” The voice quipped from the other side of the phone. “Kozue! What the heck? Are you in trouble, or what?”

“No, no, not trouble.” Kozue’s voice was a low whisper. “Better than trouble. The best kind of thing.”

She was so, so, excited.

Of course when she’d first gotten the offer, all she’d thought was simply, what the heck, as Rin aptly put it. But she’d sat down and she’d thought about it and she’d talked about it and she’d realized, she liked it and she wanted it.

When she was young, she’d kind of hated the sport, hadn’t she? Because her mother had forced her there, because all she’d wanted to do is try the eloquent dances that everyone else seemed to be so content with. In contrast to ballet, judo was harsh, unforgiving, merciless; and she loved it. She'd hated it, but now she loved it: that was the very nature of the sport.

“Rin, oh, god, I can’t believe it.”

“Hey, what…what’s up with that?”

“Rin, the scouting offer… my mom said yes. I'm going there. She said yes!”

“Oh.” A pause. “You’re excited about that?”

“…huh?”

“Wasn’t it obvious she was gonna say yes? I mean, from everything I’ve heard about her, she seems kinda supportive. Tsundere, yes, but supportive.”

“You just called my mother tsundere, you realize.”

“C’mon, it’s accurate.” The phone crackled. “Good news, though—wait, I’ll give you the good news after I give you the other news.”

She was obviously eating something on the other side. Kozue felt giddy with happiness, giddy enough to not care. She was going to one of the best sports schools in Japan, one of the best, one of the best, one of the best…

She was one of the best. They’d chosen her.

All those years in judo had counted for something, she thought. She was the best, she was finally worthy of a playing field that would be totally hers, just like how Satoru was the most powerful.

“What news?” She said, after the pause had stretched out enough for it to be awkward.

“So remember last time you came to my house and had dinner and everything?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna come over for a sleepover?”

Kozue blinked. “I… what?”

“A sleepover! You know when you invite a friend over and—”

“Yeah, I… I know what a sleepover is. I just…”

“What’s so surprising about it?”

“Nothing.” She paused. “When do I come?”

“That’s the best part.” Rin said, excitedly. “It’s—”

“—the last day of the year.”

Gojo Satoru froze in the dimly lit room, wondering just what they meant by that specific phrase.

“What do you mean,” He repeated softly, “The last day of the year?”

“Exactly what you think it means.” They said. “December 31st. We have significant matters to discuss. We require your presence for the last day of the year.”

Satoru’s face crinkled up in an ugly expression. What did that mean? Significant? What could be more significant than spending the last day of the year with Suzuki Kozue? Were they joking?

“Why?” He said, rudely. Not that he cared.

“It is concerning yourself.”

“I don’t care. I’m busy that day.”

It was always tradition: the two most important holidays, Christmas and then New Year. They always spent it together, and then the next morning he came knocking at her door to see her in a kimono, something she hated wearing but something that just looked so beautiful on her.

“Nothing rivals this of importance.”

“I don’t care.”

“Gojo Satoru,” they said, and he felt shivers shoot up his spine. Something was wrong. “We know about the girl.”

He laughed, still. “What girl?”

“The one with the bounty. The one you hold close to your heart.

Nakamura Kozue.”

His laugh faded.

Chapter Text

To say she was worried would have been an understatement.

She didn’t think she’d been off-contact with him for this long in years. It was a common fact that Gojo Satoru stuck to her like glue, and as she called him for the third time with her foot tapping anxiously against the ground, she wondered just what had gone into him.

Funny thing, she thought, because there was a saying her mother always talked about that people only changed if they were dying. No, Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to die, and no, Gojo Satoru wasn’t even near death, but still, it was a saying that she’d heard often and one that sounded kind of convincing.

The little flip phone in her hand trembled before coming to a standstill. He hadn’t picked up again.

It wasn’t even important news, she thought, irritated, and zipped up her duffel bag. Probably he was just out on one of his trips, or—even better—he’d broken that phone of his again.

He’d left for ‘sorcerer stuff’ yesterday and had never come back to the house: fully used to him crawling in through the window, picking the door, or even just straight-up materializing in from god knows where, she’d just gone to bed. But when she’d woken up, she still hadn’t seen him anywhere in the house.

Nonetheless, Suzuki Kozue slung the bag over her shoulder and flicked the lights off her room—she’d left him a note tucked under the desk lamp just in case, but there was no guarantee he would see it.

She’d texted her mother – check. Texted Satoru – check.

Let’s see… she’d packed everything, hopefully. Her PJs, her yukata for the next day, complete with her wallet stashed into her clothes to make sure she didn’t get robbed or something (paranoia did a lot to a person). She didn’t feel any particular discomfort or itch in her mind apart from goddamn Satoru not goddamn texting back.

It was a lie to say she wasn’t excited, after all. It was her first time going somewhere for a sleepover, and even more than that, it was her first time sleeping over with a same-sex, school friend. Rin had promised a lot of things, enough for Kozue to wonder if they were even getting all of them done or if she was just exaggerating.

Is this how Satoru felt all the time when he came over? It was kind of cool, she thought.

Rin and her father had asked to pick her up, since she had bags. She’d wanted to refuse, but then again Rin’s dad was very nice and he kinda reminded her of Santa but younger, and anyway, who was she to say no? She’d just murmured a yes, and Rin had jumped up and down before leaving to call her dad.

It was almost time, she thought.

She’d packed the cookies she baked yesterday to prepare for the sleepover. Double chocolate chip. Rin had vaguely mentioned how much she liked chocolate, and Kozue didn’t know what it was with her friends and sweets, but Rin was another hot candidate for diabetes by 30. A greatly contested title between the two friends, she thought, and laughed to herself.

 Her phone rang, and she dug it up from her pocket frantically as she hopped down the stairs, sagging in disappointment as she read the notification: it was her mom, approving her sleepover. Overstaying for work, the message read, be back tomorrow. Have fun.

Not even an emoji, she thought a little bitterly. Satoru hadn’t even read his message. She flickered on the lights to the living room and settled on the couch, feeling something poke her side.

She’d call him, she decided. And then she’d call Rin to ask where the girl was.

The call she left on speaker and set on the couch next to her. Instead, Kozue pulled out whatever was digging into her side. It was the knife she’d left there the other day, that had come in the suspicious mail. She flipped it around a few times absentmindedly, listening to the beeps of the call connecting as she did so.

The knife was cool, she thought, and there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it. The card was in English, something most people had no business seeing on a card, so she assumed it was hers, no?

Yeah. She could probably keep the knife, even though it was a little illegal. People did illegal stuff all the time, anyway, like the kids vaping in the bathrooms, so she doubted this was a problem.

The call disconnected, and the polite female voice informed Kozue that Satoru was busy and that she should try again later. She frowned and stuck the knife in her bag before turning to the phone. She’d just leave him a text.

But what would she say…? Thinking, Kozue typed out a hesitant message.

sorry i cant hang out :( maybe next y

Her thumbs typed out the message, hesitated, went back.

sorry i cant hang out :( ur still my favouri

sorry i cant hang out lol

sorry.

s

enjoy being alone lol

Kozue frowned. Deleted. Retyped.

hny toru, see you at the local festival tmr xoxo

She deleted the xoxo, typed ly, then immediately retracted it. No.

hny toru, see you at the local festival tmr <3

Message has been Delivered.

Kozue stuffed her phone in her pocket and leaned back on the couch, deep in thought. She was maybe starting to care a little too much about Satoru and his opinions. Just because he kept hanging around her. They hadn’t even hung around this much when they were kids.

It wouldn’t do to depend on his presence so much, Kozue decided, since she was her own independent person. She had Rin. She had the prestigious high school to look forward to. She had a lot of things to look forward to in life, and a bummed sorcerer wasn’t one of them.

Fuck it, she thought, and switched her phone to mute before shoving it in her pocket.

Outside, someone honked their car. It was Rin and her dad, here to pick her up. She flicked the lights off and slammed the door shut, hearing the automatic lock they’d installed a while ago bleep. “Coming!”

If she’d known it was her last time here...

No, she never would have known. How could she have?

“Cookie?” Rin’s mother offered, giving her a warm smile. Kozue accepted it with thanks, and was met with a mug of warm milk being thrust into her hands as well. “Have that, too.”

“Oh. Uh.” She blinked. “Thank you?”

“Come on, we gotta watch the telly!” Rin’s brother beckoned to her. “Mom, Suzuki-san, come on! It’s almost time!”

Kozue glanced up. The clock read 11:55PM; it was almost time. She wondered how Satoru was doing, and then internally slapped herself. None of that.

Rin appeared behind her and grabbed her arm, almost sloshing hot milk everywhere, before grinning at her. She was dressed nice today, Kozue thought, something new, because while she had her hair tied it wasn’t in those pigtails as always but in a single braid, hanging down her back. She’d put on a white hairband, too, placed on the top of her head like a crown. “Look, Kozue. Also your cookies were great.” She snapped at the cookie in Kozue’s hand, effectively biting off a piece and spraying crumbs everywhere. “Yours is better than mom’s.”

“Excuse me?” Rin’s mom laughed.

“She’s right.” Rin’s dad sat cross-legged in front of the TV. “Oh—look, they’re preparing mochis on TV.”

“Are we going to hatsuhinode tomorrow?” Someone complained. “I don’t wanna wake up early…”

“It’s a cultural thing! Of course we have to!”

"I'll throw a bean at you."

The doorbell rang. Rin’s mom turned her head. “That’s probably the toshikoshi soba- I ordered it to arrive a few minutes before since I was too busy making some other things.”

“Come on…” Rin’s brother groaned. "We're gonna miss the countdown..."

Rin tugged at her arm. “Wait, before we go, come into my room, I gotta show you something that I’ve been preparing for some time.”

“Oh.” Kozue glanced at the clock. “Now?”

“Yes now! C’mon!”

The clock ticked. 11:58PM.

“Alright.”

Rin swung open the door to her room. A pamphlet lay on her bed.

“Surprise! We’re going to the same school!”

The doorbell rang again.

“What?”

“Yeah!”

“I’ll get the door!” Rin’s mom called.

The automatic lock beeped.

“Rin, that’s amazing!”

“I know, right? There was a scholarship, and—”

The doorlock clicked, the handle turned, and all went

Strangely quiet.

Then-

His father had, perhaps, never spoken to him as harshly like he did now in his entire life.

“Gojo.” His voice was hard. “You need to let her go.”

“No.” He’d come here, completely expecting this. “No. Never. Anything but that.”

“Satoru, I know she’s precious to you. I know you say you love her. But—”

“I say it? I KNOW it. I love her. I’d fucking kill for her. I already have.”

“You say you love her, but do you really? Do you know what it means to love someone?”

“Of course I do.” His fists tightened. His family had never annoyed him, never angered him as much as they did now. Who was he? Some clan leader. Weaker than him, for sure. Even his father was no match for him, and Satoru was powerful so what business did his father have telling him off like that? “Her. I love her. I would die for her.”

“That’s you.” A soft pause. “But that’s not love, Satoru-kun. That’s just selfishness. Sometimes, we think… we think we raised you too gently. Have you ever thought about the effects you’ve had on others? On people like her? On people who don’t have as much power as you?”

“Yes. I have. And She’s never regretted having me in her life. And I would- I would never. I’d die for her, I told you.”

His father stared at him, quietly.

Fuck, he thought, and then his father looked at him straight in the eye for what seemed like the first time and he exhaled softly and he said,

“Does she want to die for you? Have you ever asked her?”

“Shut up.” Satoru – of course, Satoru had no idea what he was talking about. She was his and he was hers and it would stay that way, he would make it stay that way if he had to, and it wasn’t as though she didn’t want that, right? “Shut up.”

“You need to think.”

“I am thinking.”

“This can’t go on forever.”

“Yes it can!” He whipped around. He didn’t want to see his face. He was afraid he’d kill his own father. “Of course it can! I’m the best!”

“Even now you’re putting yourself higher priority…”

“No. Wrong. She’s my first priority. She always has been. She’s my most important—my first—”

“Then why aren’t you letting her go?”

“BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T WANT ME TO—”

“Or because you don’t want to?”

“That’s not TRUE—”

His father grabbed his shoulders, turned him around. “This power you have isn’t to make others suffer, Satoru-kun.”

“I’m not—” He choked. “I’m not making her suffer.”

“And you know that because?”

“I keep her safe. I know where she is. I take responsibility for my actions, and I don’t have to explain those actions to you. This power is mine to use, and I’ve used it fairly: she’s at home. Her tracker is at home.”

His phone rang. He dug it out, a curse on the end of his tongue.

Kozue had sent texts: a lot of them. The preview read,

Not at home but…

His eyes widened with panic. He looked up— his father looked at him as though he was pitying him— he couldn’t, he wouldn’t—

The panic reached his throat, spilled out.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly, wrong.

“Satoru-kun.” His father said, and his mouth was moving but nothing was making sense. “Satoru-kun, don’t panic. Listen to me.” His hand reached out—

Satoru slapped the hand away, turned tail, and ran.

Was it a bomb? She didn’t know.

All Kozue knew that something had exploded, something had squelched, there were men in the house—

and there were two girls, huddled beneath the table, grasping at their mouths to keep completely still, completely silent.

The television was still warbling in the background, but apart from that, it was completely silent, completely still. The air was static, as though someone had charged the house with a current, and it pricked at her skin as though it wanted to haunt her and never leave.

Rin’s eyes met hers. The horror was imminent, as was the panic, the surprise, the fear, and Kozue just knew what the girl was asking: what?

She conveyed with her eyes as best as she could. I don’t know either.

What’s—

What’s happening?

A man’s voice, deep and grating, muttered, “None of these. They’re too old. That’s a little boy.”

“The data said 14. Female. Dark hair. Dark eyes.”

The TV warbled; both of them flinched as something crashed outside, and the same voice muttered, "Shut the fuck up."

Rin’s eyes met hers again, wide with panic. Both of them? Dark hair? Dark eyes?

Someone kicked something; something squelched disgustingly before thudding to the ground. Someone cursed. There was a high-pitched squeal, like an animal, but not—not real. No way that was real.

Something smelled stuffy. Ironic. The stench made it all the way to Kozue before she realized what was happening: it was the smell of blood. Of ironic, tangy, blood.

She knew Rin could smell it too, because her eyes widened and she leaned closer to Kozue, close enough she could feel the hot, panicked breath of her friend.

“My- my parents.” She breathed. “I gotta- Kozue, that’s- that’s blood- I can’t hear them talk anymore-”

“Is someone after you?” She whispered back.

“I- I don’t- I-”

Her breaths came quicker. Her chest rose and fall rapidly, and Kozue grabbed her hand, squeezing it in hopes that it would prevent some kind of stability. She herself felt strangely calm in the moment, for some strange reason: the whole situation felt familiar, like something that was prone to happening often. The table felt like a haven she'd been in since young.

“I- I gotta get out there.” Rin breathed. “My parents, my brother, I- I just have to-”

Her braid was disheveled. Kozue rubbed her back and shook her head furiously. “No. No. No.”

Rin detached from her. White-hot panic flooded her mind, not for herself but for Rin, for the girl who was going to go out there, because there were so many unknowns and anything could happen and they could kill her, this was real actual danger and Rin was just going to troop out there like that, she couldn't she couldn't she couldn't-

Something squeaked and she slapped her hand over her mouth again: Rin stood up, slowly, swaying. Her eyes were staring wide into space.

No, no, no. The door squeaked as it opened, and Kozue was met with the sight of blood, everywhere. Of sinew and bone and muscle everywhere, as though several people had just imploded.

And a man. In the middle.

He wore a black mask, and no, that was impossible because he seemed to be at least two meters, but that wasn’t right, that couldn’t be right, that was…

“N- no.” Rin whispered. “What-”

The man’s eyes snapped to her and his mouth twisted, striding over to her, towering in front of the girl who didn't even so much as tremble. She looked like she was in shock, staring into space and swaying unsteadily. Kozue wanted to go catch her, help her somehow, but the fear was gripping her and she was frozen exactly where she was, in a cruel twist of fate, forced to watch.

His hand reached forward and he grabbed Rin’s neck and lifted her straight up from the ground, and Kozue was frozen, she couldn’t even move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do any damn thing she could only sit there and watch as her best friend flailed in the air—

“You’re not Suzuki.” The man muttered, gruffly.

Kozue froze all over. Her heart stopped.

Rin’s eyes turned slowly towards her, and those eyes would haunt her. They’d haunt her forever, until she died, beyond her death, never to be forgotten

Because the ones she'd loved so much, the ones so warm and brown, they were hard and scared and they said,

Your

Your fault—

It’s your fault.

Rin started sobbing. The man dropped her and she fell to the ground, wheezing, and he pointed towards her, and she said please and the man, Kozue couldn’t register it, because he just pointed and Rin, her best friend, her only friend, Rin—

Rin exploded.

Kozue couldn’t hold it anymore. She’d held on so much longer than any other person, how could she hold any further? She couldn’t, she couldn’t stay silent, not while everyone was dying, everyone was suffering, everything was happening because of her.

“R- Rin.” She choked out. “Rin. Oh, god.”

The eye rolled to a stop next to her, and stared back at her: glasslike, lifeless. The girl had always been doll-like, but Kozue had never imagined she would actually…

Something snapped in her chest and her arms buckled, her nails digging at the floor so hard they were cracking. Someone was screaming Rin Rin YAMAMOTO RIN RIN NO RIN—

Her throat hurt—

No, it wasn’t her. No way she could make such a ghastly noise, no way she could—she could be seeing this, no way she, Yamamoto Rin, the girl who deserved everything in life, was dead—

No, she wasn’t dead. How could someone like that die? If she died it would be Kozue’s fault, and if it was Kozue’s fault… no. She couldn’t live with such a thing. She couldn’t live with the knowledge that the first person who'd ever accepted her was...

It wouldn’t be okay, would it? She would have to be alive, right?

No, she realized, it was her voice. The horrible scream was coming from her, and she knew it would give away her location but what did that matter, when Rin was dead, and it was her fault-?

“Rin!” She screamed. “Rin! Rin- god- Rin!”

Something stirred, but the movement was just a touch of her imagination, because her heart plummeted all the way back down again when she saw it was something else that had moved.

The finger twitched and rolled to a stop next to her feet.

“Found you.” The voice rasped.

Her eyes crept up, and she found that the table she was under had been split into little pieces, and that there was a huge, grinning face staring down at her.

She blinked, and it blinked back.

Her head went white with panic; she tumbled backwards, her legs a useless heap, her arms trembling. Rin was dead- Rin- no- but this thing, this monster, this oni-

“Holy-” Her voice cracked. “Holy fuck!”

She had to move, she couldn't move, she had to do something-

Something slithered down. It wasn’t normal, she thought, and it wasn’t good. She couldn’t stand up- she couldn’t feel her legs- it emerged from the ground, starting from some kind of useless blob to a vaguely humanoid figure, right next to the man who’d fucking killed Rin, and it dawned on her that they were working together. But the thing, the curse, its eyes were wide and it had teeth, red with blood, bared animalistically.

It terrified her.

She knew instinctually that it was a curse. If there was a curse, this was what it would look like, because nothing else could grip her with this much fear.

When she’d heard all those tales from Satoru, she’d just naturally assumed that it would be cool. Just like superhero comics.

This—this wasn’t what she’d imagined, at all.

It was horrible, it was scary, and there was the overwhelming pressure that she’d die, right here and now, pressing down on her and imposing its presence on her like she would never get away.

Her legs couldn’t move—she was useless. Fucking useless. Pushing her trembling fingers down, she asked, “Wh- what the hell are you supposed to be?”

Was it just her? It seemed the temperature had lowered by several degrees. Goosebumps crawled across her skin and she bit down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood, scrabbling back pathetically for anything and everything to use. She had to keep calm, keep calm, keep calm keep calm keep calm keep CALM KEEP CALM-

“Me?” It smiled, an eerie imitation of human. “Don’t mind me. I’m with him.”

“We’re just here to collect the bounty.” The man shrugged. He stomped his boots; something squelched. Innards? Guts? Sinew? Muscle?

Bile rose up and she forced it back down, ignoring the thought that it was Rin, all of it. Her nails dug into her palms. Something sticky and wet seeped under her skin.

“W-” Her voice couldn’t come loud enough. “What bounty?”

“Oh. Did I not tell you?” His finger was raised, pointed straight at her; and the smile, the smile would haunt her forever, crooked and twisted and looking at her like she was a piece of meat. “That one.

The one over your head… thirty-five million dollars, dead or alive.”

Chapter Text

She’d prepared for this. She’d learnt for this.

She clutched her bag to her chest. Streaks of red outlined the fabric of her clothes, and the tangy scent of blood hit her nose like a shock wave, so strong she felt herself gag. This was ridiculous. She was in her pajamas, right here, right now—

And this man, this man wanted to kill her.

Something wet hit the back of her palm and she dared to glance back. A bloody hairband, chopped to bits.

And Rin was dead, right? No, Rin’s whole family was dead—

Why were they dead? What had they done? What had she done to deserve this, to be stuck in the middle of this all with nothing more than corpses surrounding her, with her shirt coated with the blood of all the people who’d treated her so nicely, the people who’d loved her? How had it come to this? What had she ever done, do deserve such a fate that would surely last in her memory until the day she died?

No, no, there was no time to think about that. She was about to die. She had to pull herself together.

She was Suzuki Kozue, remember?

Not a hero, but close enough.

The thing stepped closer to her. She slipped on blood and felt bile rise to her throat but pushed it back, and forced herself to stand up. One leg slipped and she stumbled, pulled herself back up. Humiliation but something worse- something that choked her from the inside- filled her thoughts, turning everything blank, and she couldn't think straight and she could barely breathe and this,

Is this how it felt to be near death?

Her bare feet were too slippery. She took a deep breath and took two steps, hit her bag, and pulled out a jacket to swing it over one arm. Something hard hit her other hand.

“Stay-” She swallowed. Her vision was blurring with tears. Her throat burned with acid. “Stay away.”

“Or what?” It laughed. It was a strange little laugh, and utterly sadistic; she forced herself to ignore everything. Not the blood, not the guts spilled all over the nice carpet. Not anything. Nothing mattered, except for her survival. She had to ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. “I don’t have much time, little girl. This needs to be finished before he gets here.”

Chills crept up her spine. “Who’s he?”

“You’re really asking that?”

It doubled up in hysterical laughter. She felt a thought slither up from the back of her mind, but pushed it aside. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t- he couldn’t-

“Ask yourself this, girlie.” It laughed, unsheathing a blade as long as her arm. “What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever seen? What else could this be caused by?”

There was only one answer.

“Satoru.” She said, quietly. The name, which had felt so familiar, was now cold as ice.

“Who else?” It cackled. “Who else could do such a thing? Who else could kill all these people? Who else would your life be ruined by? Who else-”

The thing hitting her hand: her knife. The cold metal, slippery with her friend’s blood, brought a chilling stop to the panic accumulating inside of her.

She took two steps forwards, whipped out the butterfly knife, and swiped at its wrist. A ghastly scream erupted from its mouth and she flipped the knife, getting into a defensive position, and swung the knife closer, drawing blood and a thick red line across its neck. She took another step, swung it closer, and felt something squelch under its blade.

“You little bitch-”

The tall man swiped at her. A bit slow. She squeezed her eyes shut, readied her panicked muscles and swung with all of her strength, all those years of sports had to count for something, and felt the blade hit flesh and then dig into bone. She pushed it in, and felt it leave her hand.

More. More. She needed more.

Kozue swept in closer, into arm’s reach. This she knew. The familiarity of it both disgusted her and relieved her: her shoulders drawn in tight and her fists clenched, she ducked the curse’s blind swipe towards her and brought her elbow down onto its collarbone with the most strength she could muster.

Something went, crunch.

It screamed. She swooped her body down low, pumping with adrenaline, and pushed her open palm straight up towards its face. The hard part of her hand collided with its nose cartilage and something crunched again.

The thing stepped back; she grabbed her jacket from her arm, tore it in front of her, and ran out of the small room, rule one to keep her distance. Rule two, to not get affected by the dead bodies, by the three twisted figures, just like Rin.

Rule three, a quick exit. Any exit. Her eyes landed on the huge balcony window and felt blood and gore squelch under her feet, saw a tooth glinting up at her, and ran towards the window, full speed. Her arms braced, jacket on top to break the glass.

“Stop-” It screeched, and with a shatter, she felt herself go airborne.

Unlike the movies, it wasn’t a pretty fall. Her heart beat furiously in her chest and she felt her vision go faint. The feeling of her gut dropping, unlike those amusement parks, wasn't pleasant, and she thought for a brief moment that all she'd done was commit a flashy suicide before the branches cushioned her, but also scratched painfully at what seemed like every nerve in her body. The ground hit her with a thud and her shoulder popped with a white-hot pain—it probably wasn’t supposed to do that—and she swore, rolling to a pathetic halt.

Everything hurt. It all hurt. Tears pricked at her eyes and she wiped her filthy hands on her pants, pulling herself up.

There were rips everywhere. And with Satoru- with Satoru's presence, she couldn't help but think that nowhere was safe.

They were chasing her. She needed to get away. She needed peace, somewhere they couldn’t find her, somewhere alone-

She braced herself against a tree, took two steps, and threw up on the pavement.

The squelch of her feet reminded her that there was blood all over her. There was blood everywhere. Even the first-floor windows were damp with red, excess bubbling out from the cracks.

So much blood, everywhere. She jolted forwards and threw up again, until her throat was raw and her eyes were wet with tears. When there was no more puke left she retched, dry, her muscles spasming from the extra effort of keeping herself up despite the shaking of her legs.

It was only natural, she knew this. Kozue was nothing but a normal person, and a normal person would have died. It was far enough to have escaped from a two-meter-tall menace, from that bloody house where everyone had been turned inside out. She knew what this was—her panic setting in.

She hated herself for it.

What was all that judo for? What were all those memories from America for, anyway, if she couldn’t even stop herself from panicking like a little bitch—

“Fuck.” She swore, and staggered away from the mess she’d made, collapsing against a lamppost.

It was awfully cold. She shivered, and in an instant, she could feel everything crashing down on her, along with the panic that took hold of her body and shook it inside out. The bodies, the blood, the face-

Should she have kept the knife?

Should she have just died?

And the name-

Satoru-

Just as his name echoed in her head, a name she couldn't quite sense the good or bad of anymore, a pair of feet stepped into her vision.

She tensed, but she couldn't move. She was all spent- pathetically- and she'd die, just like this.

“You’ve got grit.” They said, and she jolted back, her fists raised and her shoulders trembling too hard for her to do anything, much. Her stomach churned. She couldn’t- she wouldn’t- “I can see why he likes you.”

Spots flickered in and out of her vision. She barely made out a face, completely serious. A human face. A man. Dark hair. Tall. Middle-aged.

She couldn’t recognize him in her frenzy, but she knew that the twist in her gut was nothing but bad—a familiar kind of bad. She knew this guy, but who...?

“Stay away from me.” She said, threateningly, but she didn’t even know if she could defend herself from a bug, much less a single human. “You- I’m warning you. Stay away.”

“His little obsession, hm?” The face drew closer and lifted her chin. She jerked away. “Ah. I see. He’s a funny thing, that one, but incredibly possessive when it comes to his things. I didn’t realize you’d be it, but… coincidences, hm?”

What was this psycho saying? She felt herself recoil, because she didn’t like the way she talked. What the fuck was she talking about? Kozue wasn’t an animal, or livestock, or an ornament. She didn’t belong to anyone, and certainly not to a man.

“I’m not his thing.” She snapped. “And if you know Satoru, good. Tell him I give him this.”

She stepped forwards. Her left shoulder was the one that had popped, so she swung her right arm back and socked her straight in the face.

The man staggered back, staring at her with something like… surprise? “You got spunk.”

“Spunk? Fuck you!”

“Calm down, little girl, I’m on your side.”

“I’m not on any side, you bastard!” She shouted. “I just want to survive-”

A surge of anger rose up in her throat, and she swiped at him again; but he seemed to have expected this move. Instead, he slipped past her, dodged, and laughed- then, a hand slapped the back of her neck, and everything went black.

“Kozue-chan!” Rin laughed. “Long time no see!”

Kozue whipped around. The girl stood there, a grin on her face splitting it wide. Her pigtails bounced as she swayed side to side, looking at her with expectant eyes.

Rin? She was... she could have sworn the girl had been...

“…Rin?" She reached forward and tried to grab her arms, but her fingers felt like sand, slipping past them like she wasn't real. Never mind that, though, Kozue was just happy she was alive- "Where the hell have you been? Listen, I had this crazy dream, you were—”

“That’s Suzuki Kozue for you.” Rin seemed to ignore her, and instead stepped closer. It almost seemed like a dance, the way her feet went tap-tap-tap. “Always Rin. Never -san, never -chan, never anything. Kozue the foreigner and her name-calling. It’s not polite in Japanese society, you know.”

“Since when have you cared about politeness?”

“Never.” Rin shrugged. “But hey, not me, but a few people up there do.”

“…up there?”

The girl’s face was paler up close, Kozue decided. A little off. Maybe too much makeup.

“Yeah. You gotta be real polite to a person, regardless of who they are."

"What'd you mean, up there?"

"You never know who could be watching, you know? No matter how much you want to hate them, scream at them, swear at them-"

"Rin-"

The fear crept up her chest. No, there was something obviously wrong with Yamamoto Rin. Maybe it was the way her eyes were glossed over, or maybe the way her hair lay flat. Maybe even, Kozue thought, the way she looked so unnaturally pallid, as though the blood had been drained from every inch of her body-

"And look." The girl stepped closer, another dance. "At least I'm being nice, right? Whether they’re a friend or a family or a MURDERER OR A MURDERER

OR A MURDERER—”

Kozue flinched. “What?”

“You heard me.” Rin’s hands whipped out from behind her back, and gripped her wrist. It felt like iron, and it certainly was cold like iron- the flesh was uncomfortably clammy, uncomfortably chilly. “Even murderers deserve respect, I guess.”

“Rin, what—”

“Although you don’t seem to know it.”

“Know what—”

“You know what you did.” Rin sang. It was then Kozue noticed that her eyes were red, red enough to be blood, and that from her tear ducts something fell, something not tears but something redder, dripping down her cheeks. “You’ve got to repent, Suzuki. Repent for your sins.”

She took a breath and found that she had none; instead, her mouth was filled with bubbling liquid, tasting of iron. Repent for what? She wanted to scream, but something in the corner of her mind laughed at her and told her to shut up.

Shut up. Because didn't she know the answer already?

“Repent, Suzuki, repent.” Rin laughed. Her breath hitched in excitement, cruel as it was, and Kozue felt a searing pain on her neck where her fingers now gripped, squeezing. “You killed four people that day. You hear me? Four people.

You killed four people. Four people. Four people.”

Something yanked at her wrist, and she glanced down, feeling the panic build up. A young boy, barely nine, raised his fingers at her and screamed.

“You killed us. You killed us. You killed us…”

The redness was drowning out her vision. She screamed out, “NO—”

But the red swirled, and Rin was tearing out her own face, writhing in pain, and standing over her was a familiar white-haired boy. But he wasn't right, either, she thought. He would never look at her like that, with a sneering look in his eyes that made her feel like she'd been used somehow. He leaned down, his mouth a cruel, twisted smile, and she tried to say his name but found that it was stuck in her throat and it wouldn't come out.

“Kozue, Kozue, Kozue," He sung, softly. Every syllable sounded like a curse. "Nakamura Kozue, you fucking idiot.”

Her mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish.

"Dumb Kozue," His fingers stroking her face lovingly, but it didn't feel loving, or maybe it was her, maybe she was now too goddamn scared of what Gojo Satoru would bring to her life and she just couldn't look at him-

"Too dumb to know anything," He laughed, "And in the end, look what you did! Lost two friends for the price of one, hm?"

“You did this to me.” She gasped. “You, Gojo Satoru, you fucked me up—”

Something squeezed at her hand. She felt her perspective shift. Suddenly, she was five again, hiding under a table that stuck splinters under her skin.

It was just like the table that she'd hid under as she watched Rin die, but it was different, because it was a little larger and wooden brown like an office desk. The edges were rough and scraped at her back. It was a cursed familiarity, something that reminded her of just why she hated enclosed spaces so much.

Her claustrophobia was acting up again. She gasped for breath, clutching at her chest as it felt like something was pushing down, but why were her hands so small? Why were her fingernails so jagged and filled with blood, as though she'd scratched at skin that wouldn't break?

Satoru laughed in the distance, somewhere she couldn't see. Violence never stops, does it?

And her mother was crouching down, putting a finger to her lips, the sign obvious: quiet.

The door slammed open. Someone screamed. A man roared in fury and drunken rage, holding a shattered bottle and her mother’s wrist like it was a dry twig.

“Hey.” Her mother rasped, and her dead body thudded to the floor, her neck twisted at a fucked-up angle, her eyes glassed over:

“Is it true you killed Yamamoto Rin?”

“-with a sprained wrist. Cuts everywhere. Dislocated shoulder, a heavy concussion, fourteen stitches, twisted ankle, left arm smashed to bits, and probably a lot of shock once she wakes up.”

The silence drew out across the spare room of the Gojo family house, which had been cleared of everything but a side table and a bed. Suzuki Kozue lay there, still and silent, fragile as glass (at least to his eyes); Gojo Satoru, at this time, felt an inexplicable pit deep within his stomach, churning mercilessly as he stared into the hollowed face of the person he loved the most in this entire world.

A rare doctor, one who could use the reverse cursed technique, had been called in and heavily threatened to keep this secret; the listeners included Gojo Satoru, but also a select others he’d been forced to trust. The man who’d brought her here who went by the name of Nakamura. His father. Her mother. A few officials.

All of them quiet. On edge.

Gojo Satoru’s fingers twitched.

He reached down, slowly, and his fingers snagged a strand of her hair; he pulled it towards his lips and felt it slip from his grasp, and kissed the dry air that hung between them. His fingertips ghosted against her face, and found that it was too cold for his liking. Her mouth, which had once moved so animatedly, now lay in a straight line, lips cracked and silent. Her eyes were closed and sunken like she'd seen things she couldn't tell of.

She looked like death, he thought.

He imagined her in a coffin, the monitor eerily still, and swallowed down the anger—he couldn’t. She was alive. He needed to relish in this fact, because what else would he find comfort in? In this terrible situation, what would he be happy about if not for this girl living, breathing, being?

Gojo Satoru had never felt such deep, intense, red-hot fear before. Especially not for another human being. He was the strongest, and he never felt fear, but when a man had arrived with the girl tucked in her arms he’d thought fuck and before he was angry, before he relished in his victory, before he even breathed, the single raw emotion had flashed across his life, so painful it would consume him.

It was fear. Fear of losing her. And he hated it.

“Get out.” He said, quietly.

And the others, they didn’t think they’d ever seen him so angry before, even if Gojo Satoru was always honest with his emotions. How could they? Had anyone ever seen this before? Had anyone ever touched this girl wrong before?

Gojo Satoru was very, very honest with his emotions. And he knew he didn’t like this mess he’d dragged her into.

“Get out!” He shouted. He snapped his fingers and the door flung open. “Get out, get out, get out! And don’t you dare look at her like that!”

It’s not my fault, he thought, it’s not my fault. It’s not my fault. It’s never my fault.

But he knew for a fact, that in some part of this conclusion, it was his fault. That he’d been the harbinger of her pains, her sufferings, of the first three floors of the apartment blown to smithereens, and that if he’d thought a little more about the things he did, she wouldn’t be here in the bed looking deathly pale. Gojo Satoru knew, in this very instant, that the monitor bleeped to remind him that she was only here because of a boy too stupid.

He settled himself in a chair and grabbed her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers.

“When-” He said, his voice cracking ever so slightly as the doctor stopped at the door, “When is she going to wake up?”

The drawn-out silence was all he could bear, and then the doctor said something like weeks maybe? And the door slammed shut, and he was left alone with the girl of his dreams in her dreams, dreams that were most likely nightmares because of him.

He had to treat her delicately, right now. Like a flower, or a butterfly, or even more. Like a grain of sand that he could drop into a desert of people, but it was the only grain that mattered, and he could burn the rest to ashes before he'd let this one go.

“Happy New Year, Kozue.” He whispered. “Please—

Please just wake up.”

Chapter Text

It was January 9^th when she woke up. It was snowing outside, a soft blanket that covered the landscape gently and almost comfortingly, and the traditional sand and cherry blossom scenery was comforting to perhaps all but the girl who had awoken from her nine-day coma: Suzuki Kozue.

It was January 9^th when she woke up, and when she did, she was in a large, old-fashioned Japanese room all alone, with a large, comfortable bed and a boy sleeping by her side.

Her eyes fluttered open. There was an eerie quiet that surrounded her that didn’t seem right, after all. It was as though the world, which had been moving too fast for her to catch up to, was completely still now, like she wouldn’t even age; and for the first time, she felt a deep sense of peace inside of her, calming her down to the weary bones that she’d stood herself on.

The ceiling was polished wood and oddly textured. She looked up at it, blankly, wondering what the hell was going on.

Her fingers brushed something soft. She looked down: white bedsheets, looking like they’d been changed at least a few hours ago. Her body lay still and stiff, almost like a doll, and she tried to move her leg but found that she couldn’t. Something was stopping her, and it wasn’t just physical.

Next: her surroundings. It was an unfamiliar room, large and empty, polished clean with an exactness she never could have achieved. She felt detached from the room, as though she didn’t belong there, and she was right: Suzuki Kozue didn’t belong in a room like this. She didn’t know where exactly, but this wasn’t it.

There was light streaming into her left. She turned her head and saw a window that illuminated the room, thin curtains on either side. The view was of a garden of trees and trimmed bushes, a classic Japanese-style lawn that looked expensively well-kempt.

Her eyes hurt from the light. She looked away.

Someone had changed her, too, because she didn’t quite remember what she’d been wearing before, what she’d been doing before—

Her eyes roamed around the room, and hit something sturdy to her right. A chair, pulled up next to the bed, and a boy hunched over her form, his arms cradling his head. Completely asleep.

She stared at the boy. His eyes were closed, his hair disheveled, looking like he hadn’t washed for at least a few days. His jacket was thrown over the back of the chair, revealing a crumpled white shirt. It was a white that matched his hair, and that was when it clicked in her brain:

Gojo Satoru.

And her. Suzuki Kozue. His best…

Friend.

She lay there, staring at the ceiling, and felt herself settle completely still within her body as the memories flooded back into her consciousness. It hurt, but she took deep breaths that accompanied pangs of pain in her side, and pushed her emotions to one side.

She couldn’t panic. Not now.

There was Rin… and Rin’s family… and then there were the ‘bounty hunters’, and the bounty over her head—a sum larger than what she’d ever even thought of. There was the dark-haired man, and the blood, and throwing up, and the blood, and just so much blood, blood everywhere, seeping so deep inside her it would never rub off—

Her breaths were turning shallow. She dug her fingernails into her palms and forced herself to stop. Just stop, because panicking wouldn’t get her anywhere, would it?

Sure, she’d lost a friend. Sure, it had been her fault—

Oh, god, she thought, and she closed her eyes and hoped she was dreaming.

God, why her? Yamamoto Rin had been the only girl to show her kindness in a country that despised vermin like herself. The girl had been everything good, and most of all, had made her feel as though she was truly alive. She’d found a passion, attended the same school as Kozue herself in order to stick by her side, and she’d had the best of lives. And then Kozue had come into it and she’d destroyed all of it.

Murder was a tragedy because of its wasted potential, she thought. Rin was… what, fourteen? So many years of life, and all of it down the drain because of a man who could make someone explode with a point, and a terrible taste in friends.

A tear slid down her cheek, and two, and then she was crying, but there was something in her throat and she couldn’t make a single sound.

She raised her hand, ignoring the way the bedsheets rustled, and wiped at her tears. Bandages were wrapped around her wrist.

What would she do now, she thought, as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Satoru stirred, murmuring something under her breath, and as she thought, it was a regretful thing that she thought about him, too, because…

Because, well, she didn’t know what to think about him.

She’d been hurt. Of course she had. No matter how much someone tried to ignore it, there were the screams that resonated in eardrums, the squelching of blood, the metallic taste of her friend being blown into bits. And the reason for this wound had been because of Satoru, no? At least, he played some part in it.

She hated that even at this moment, Satoru was what had caused the greatest tragedy in her life. That, in some part, while she’d killed her best friend, she’d only been so significant because of Satoru.

And yet—and at this, a surge of anger bubbled up in her throat—wasn’t it his fault? Wasn’t he the one who’d failed to communicate, to even warn her of these people chasing her? Was this what he’d meant by the long term project?

He’d had so many chances to say so, and he’d never said something so important. And Suzuki Kozue, stupid as ever, had been worried about some… some stupid… friendship?

Oh, god, she thought, and swallowed back a wave of nausea building up inside of her.

She was a sheep. Some kind of sacrificial lamb. She’d never mattered, had she?

Something wet touched her nails; she rubbed her palms on the bedsheets, and the white was stained with a bloody red that…

That reminded her, a little bit.

She’d thought the tears stopped, but they really hadn’t, and she started crying. She hated herself for crying. For being a murderer. For being a token of misfortune in so many people’s lives.

 Why couldn’t she get it right? First her father, then her mother, then Satoru, then now Rin. And so many of these people had been negatively affected by her. She was a black raven that had flown in, something no one had wanted.

Hell, not even her own mother had wanted her.

And it seemed as though she’d been unwanted in another person’s life, yet again. Rin hadn’t said anything, but the eyes, the eyes that she glanced at Kozue with were enough for her to know that she hadn’t wanted this. If Yamamoto Rin could go back in time, she thought, she’d choose to never be friends with her again. Rin would run so fast in the other direction that even her father would be proud. And she'd be glad for it, because Suzuki Kozue seemed nothing more than a burden. A curse.

Her mouth filled with salt and blood, just like the night it had happened. She wanted her mother. She wanted Rin. And she wanted to know what day it was.

…had she missed the funeral? Would there even be one? What would they put in there, out of the family that had been blasted to pieces?

“No-” Someone choked, and she looked up and she saw the beautiful blue eyes of Gojo Satoru staring at her. Frantic. Panicked.

Scared.

What was he scared of, she thought bitterly, as the tears blurred his face and turned it into nothing more than a splash of colours. What did he have to lose? Him, always so proud of himself, always so confident in what he did. What did he know, of a girl who’d killed her own best friend, the only girl to show her such kindness?

If he was Rin’s friend, she thought, he could have saved her.

It was at this moment Suzuki Kozue felt an inexplicable, deep sense of inferiority within her—not for the very first time, but certainly the first she’d ever felt it so clearly. It mixed with her self-hatred and engulfed her every being, and in this moment, she couldn’t help but think that she truly wanted… no, needed to die.

Her stomach turned inside out. Acid filled her mouth and she slapped her hand over her mouth, fumbling for something, anything. Her hand hit a vase and she threw the flowers to the ground, poured her stomach into it; the force of it made her retch, and she felt her eyes tear up from the taste.

“Kozue!” The boy gasped. “I- what- you- are you okay? How long- since when-”

She set the vase back on the table and wiped the back of her mouth. Her eyes hovered over him for a brief second, but she couldn’t—it dropped back into her lap.

Is this how everyone felt around this boy, this prodigy, this everything? And was it normal to feel this, after her best friend had been murdered in cold blood so recently?

She didn’t know. By this point, the only thing Kozue was sure of was the feelings that stirred within her, and she couldn’t help but stay faithful to them as they rooted her to the only reality that she knew of so far.

Satoru’s hand hovered in mid-air, and jolted.

“How…” He cleared his throat. “…how long have you been awake?”

The undertones of the question were clear. Are you okay? How do you feel? How long have you been conscious of this world?

…do you hate me?

And really, her face told him everything, didn’t it?

That one expression he’d be fine with on anyone but her. He would have been fine with anyone being in this position but her. She was his, and she was more precious to him than his own life. So this expression, that face she made- didn't it hurt him more than death itself? Didn't it burn, so badly, not just by the fact that he'd failed her, but by the fact that she no longer saw him as how she had, with the stars in her eyes and her head above the clouds?

Imagine that, they seemed to laugh in his head. Imagine the sheer irony. More precious to the selfish boy than himself. How could he? How wrong was he? If he found her so precious, why didn’t he let go of her once and for all?

Why would he still be here, with tears falling from eyes that had never cried for another?

His tears were so selfish, she thought. What she’d once found comforting now tightened around her neck like a noose, because the tears that fell from his eyes were like crystals: rare and beautiful, but so far away. They shined for nothing but themselves, but for this moment, they seemed to be offered to her, and she didn’t know what she was supposed to think.

“…long enough.” She said, quietly. His fingers reached forwards and touched hers, gently, and she couldn’t stop herself from flinching violently.

He stared at her, his expression crumbling as though a nation had fallen.

“Are you… are you feeling alr—”

“How long have I been asleep?” Her voice sounded raspy, like she hadn’t talked in a long time. It sounded detached from her throat. Pathetic. Just like her.

“You- you should probably get some r—”

“How long?”

“…” She could feel his eyes on her. “Nine days.”

Her heart fell.

“Did I miss the funeral?”

He knew what she was talking about, she thought. It was one of his saving graces. She never elaborated, because he always seemed to know what was on her mind.

For the first time in her life, she hated it.

“...it’s in a week.”

She told him to get out. He opened his mouth, shut it, and left.

“How does it feel?” The doctor asked her, as she rotated her shoulder. “Any pain? You’re in remarkably good shape. Do you play any sports?”

“I play…” She hesitated. “…played. Judo.”

“Hm. Well, your shoulder’s good to go. And your wrist will be good by tomorrow.” He nodded towards her ankle. “That, too. Your head is fine. The small cuts… any pain?”

“None.”

“Hm. Good. Try not to scratch them. Your left arm, on the other hand, will take a few weeks—it’s been smashed up real good—and you have a few stitches on your forehead and on your side that you shouldn’t touch.”

“Uhuh.”

“Any effects once you woke up? Shock?”

“None.”

“…hm.” The doctor peered at her. “Curious. Well, get some rest—we’ll change your bandages in a bit. The cast stays on for quite some time.”

The door slid open; as soon as the doctor left, hushed murmurs erupted from the hallway. She ignored the sounds of talking, shifting her weight from one foot to another, attempting to process the information that had been dumped into her head in the span of half an hour.

She’d been under a bounty. Thirty-five million, as the creature had said. A high price.

The reason for the bounty—simply to bring out Gojo Satoru, to use her as bait—made her blood boil. Rin had died for her, but she’d also died for Satoru, someone she barely knew, and Suzuki Kozue couldn’t stand the thought.

So maybe, Satoru, who couldn’t take on a single responsibility to save his own hide, had pushed it onto his father. He’d been too busy sparing his own feelings and tiptoeing around her that what had saved her hadn’t even been him, who’d gotten her into this situation. It was his father—the head of the Gojo clan. She'd thought, for one sad moment, that this had been solely under his jurisdiction, but he seemed so powerful yet so powerless at the same time because apparently, it was his father that had saved her like this, provided for her like this.

This was the Gojo house, after all.

The outside was only now recognizable, seeing as how she’d only ever seen it at night, but it didn’t seem like a ridiculous notion at all. What was a ridiculous notion was that Satoru Gojo’s father had rescued her.

She’d always assumed that due to the way he spoke of his parents, Gojo Satoru’s parents would hate her. But that wasn’t the case. The house, the bed, the medicine, the doctor, her mother having a safe place to stay here… all of it had been organized by him.

Satoru’s father didn’t seem like such a bad person, after all.

She’d tried to ask the doctor how long she would be staying here, but all she’d gotten was that she’d be bedridden until her stitches healed.

What about after that, Kozue wanted to complain, but she kept her mouth shut anyway. For someone who’d seen such things, she was oddly calm, but she pushed that thought to one side, instead concentrating on the current as it was.

There were so many problems, even now: there was no point dwelling in the past.

Like what would happen now? Now that she was known to the entirety of the jujutsu world, roped in by a bounty like she was some kind of exotic animal? Would she still go to that judo school like she was planning?

No, but… could she?

If she stepped foot in there… if another bounty hunter found her… then more people would…

No, she couldn’t. She’d have to stay locked up forever, a treasure that was heard but never seen. This was exactly the life she’d dreaded and she’d have to live through it exactly as it was. What other choice was there? What happened to the years of education she had left? Going to college, getting a job… all of that had been flushed down the drain.

The squeak of the door dragged her eyes back to the entrance of the room, where her mother stood, looking completely and utterly heartbroken.

“Oh.” She said.

Her mother took two steps and engulfed her in a hug.

At once Kozue felt tears spring to her eyes; she didn’t know why, but her mother, who had always felt so foreign to her, so far away, was the only thing she felt as though she could confide in at the moment. She felt her mother's arms tighten around her, and squeeze her so comfortingly, and she thought- had her mother gotten skinnier? Or did she just feel everything as more fragile now, as fragile as a body that would combust with a single touch?

This house was full of strangers. She didn’t want to talk to Satoru. Who else was there?

“I’m glad you’re safe.” Her mother murmured into her hair.

“You too.” Whoever had made this decision had been smart. After Kozue herself, they’d come after her mother. “…I was… scared.”

“You have every right to be.” Her mother sighed. “When I’d heard that you’d been attacked… and then the Gojo clan told me to come here… I tried so hard to keep you away from all of this, but I knew it would be impossible as soon as Gojo Satoru walked through that door that day…”

“…wh-” It dawned on her.

That door. That door years ago, when she’d let Kozue bring over a friend for the first time in her life. And protecting her from “all of this”?

“…you knew.” Kozue concluded, incredulously, and pushed her mother away. “You knew about all this. About jujutsu. Fighting. The Gojo clan.”

She felt herself go numb. She was stupid. No, no, no, too much information at once. First she’d found out this then that then even this and what was next? Her mother was a sorcerer? Her father was actually a great guy all along? “Was that why you let me hang around Satoru in the city, just the two of us?”

“If it was a sorcerer like that, I knew I could leave you to…” Her mother hesitated; her eyes met Kozue’s, sensing the strange feelings that churned behind them. “Kozue, I wasn’t hiding anything from you. I just wanted you to have a normal childhood.”

Of course. Theoretically, that was correct. But in her heart, she…

“…I have a lot of questions.”

“I know.”

Kozue took a few steps back; her legs hit the bed and she sat. “Were you a sorcerer? Is this in my blood? What is this about?”

“Not…” The hesitation again. There were a lot of things that a lot of people refused to tell her, she thought. It was one of her least favourite things about the people around her. They always assumed they knew best about her, and acted in 'her interests' when that wasn't the case at all. They always seemed to be hiding secrets, hiding under the pretence of keeping her safe, when… when she’d just… “…not exactly.”

When she'd just been left out.

“What the hell is that answer supposed to mean?”

Kozue felt her jaw tighten. There was just too much to process, too much to think about, too much to take in. How many people had been hiding things from her?

Rin, she thought, I miss you.

And that was when a familiar form stepped into the room, sending shivers up her spine and panic building up to the back of her throat. An oddly familiar form, tall and dark-haired with round eyes that never smiled, just smirked. At her.

The form that had greeted her the last time she’d been awake, covered in blood and gore and her best friend’s tears.

It was the man who had haunted her dreams, the man who had made the feeling of the table above her head and the splinters along her back so familiar, because he was the source of her nightmares and she hated, she just hated, that it was the man who had saved her.

“It means,” Her father said, “It’s in your blood. Just not in hers.”

She felt something shatter in her head.

Chapter Text

“What-” Kozue choked out, panic settling over her like a suffocating blanket of everything, “What’s he doing here?”

Her mother’s eyes flickered to her, then tore away.

“Answer… answer me.” She got up too fast; something in her side throbbed, and she doubled over. “You… was it you? Did you let him in? You guys are divorced!”

“Not legally.”

“I don’t fucking care! You’re divorced! You ran away! What is he doing here?”

“Just here to help.” Her father interjected, quietly. Stupid as fuck. Since when had he been quiet? There hadn’t been a quiet moment in her life with him here, him and his stupid screaming and throwing and his presence so looming that it cast a shadow over so many years of her life.

Why was he being quiet now? He was putting up an act, she knew it, she knew all of it, he was just putting on a facade to come into their lives again and ruin what they'd barely managed to build, she wouldn't trust him ever again.

“Shut the fuck up, Nakamura!” She screamed.

Her mother sighed. “Kozue.”

And then there was her mother, she thought, in her mixture of white-hot panic and red anger churning as an ugly broth within her. Her mother, standing there, looking like she'd done something wrong, out of all things, when all she'd ever wanted was to defend her and to save the two of them from a man who hit as hard as he shouted. She truly, really, didn't know what she'd done wrong this time, because her mother was sighing at her rather than defending herself from a man who'd tormented her nightmares for years, the man who'd only disappeared once her ex-best friend had taught her that men could be gentle too.

What had she done wrong? Why was her mother sighing at her?

A laugh escaped her lips, then another one. Her mother froze, as though she hadn’t expected such a reaction; Kozue pointed at her father and flicked her hand to the door. The message was simple: get out.

And she hated it, that he stayed, that he didn't listen as though she mattered just as little as she'd used to do all those years: she hated it, hated it, hated it.

“So,” She said, “Want to fucking explain?”

“He heard about the bounty.” Her mother said, “And he wanted to help you. So he came back to Japan.”

“Oh yeah? And what did you even help with, in the end?”

“…you wouldn’t have been able to exorcise that curse with a normal knife. The one I sent you was imbued with—”

“Really? What do you want, a ‘thank you’?”

“That would be nice. You have any manners?”

“Oh, well you’re not fucking getting one!” She snapped. “What next? You cast glitter fairy magic on me? Thanks a ton, fairy godmother. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, whom I haven’t seen in years! Why care now, hm? Why come now? Why, when-” She took a deep breath. “When we’ve finally stopped caring?”

Something in her had cracked, and it was crumbling now. Her whole reality was crumbling before her, shutting down in a cacophony of ideas and words she couldn't make out. Everyone was a liar, and no one had ever trusted her. She was nothing but questions wrapped in skin and bones, and she hated that people now despised her for what they'd turned her into.

“I took care of the bounty, too.” He told her. “It’s off the website now. But they know your face now, and they’ll come for you because of that boy nonetheless, so—”

“I never asked.”

The room settled into an uneasy silence. Her father looked at her, then at her mother, then back at her, and shrugged. Her mother sighed again.

What a fucked-up family, Kozue thought. What a comedy. What a soap-opera.

She fucking hated it.

“So- so,” She sucked in a breath, bracing herself. So much had happened so recently and it hurt, but she needed to pull herself together. She could process the information later, when she was alone. She just needed to get through this, and she would be fine, there would be no more surprises, people would stop throwing things at her that she hadn't prepared herself for- “Answer all my questions.”

“Depends if—”

“That wasn’t a fucking question.” She snapped, jabbing a finger at her father. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

“You have stitches.”

“Try me!” She stood up, ignoring the jab of pain in her side. “You fucking try me!”

Her father shrugged again. His hands were jammed in his pockets. “You got spunk, kid. I’ll give you that.”

Her wrist was healed, and the doctor had told her to keep them unharmed. It was because of it, and only because of it, that she stopped, took a breath, another one, and sat down - this had nothing to do with her own feelings for him. She just didn't feel as though it was worthwhile to harm herself for him. She was worth more than that, she had to know this, she had to realize.

“So he’s a sorcerer. And you… you’re not.”

“Yes.” Her mother’s eyes flickered to her father, whom she frowned at. “He’s a special grade one—sorcerers are ranked by-”

“I know what they’re ranked by.” She snapped, and felt guilt nip at her ankles. Instead, refusing to look at her mother, she examined the man who would do nothing but make her mad. A pathetic excuse for a human, of course, but better than the guilt - anything was better than the guilt. “Him? He’s an alcoholic.”

“Not anymore.” Her father quipped. “Quit after you left.”

“Oh, really. And a special grade one?” She had his eyes, Kozue thought, and she hated him for it. They were round with a slight hint of madness that dared anyone to come close. Eyes that suggested someone was batshit crazy on the inside. “So you beat things for a living. No wonder you’re good at beating your wife, too.”

“Kozue!” Her mother’s voice rose.

Her father stiffened. “That was…”

“I don’t want to hear it.” She snapped. “Why did we live in America, then? Aren’t you called Nakamura?”

His eyes flickered to his mother’s, then back to her; she noticed, for the first time, the bags that hung under her father’s eyes.

Not that it mattered, she thought. She’d never been a sympathetic kind of girl, and she didn’t care either way what a wifebeater ended up being, whether it was tired or dead. He just looked a little… different from her memory. That was it.

“…I.” He said, and he cleared his throat then, awkwardly: “I ran away.”

She stared at him incredulously. He didn’t seem to be joking.

“You,” She repeated, “ran away.”

“Mhm.”

“From what?”

“My responsibilities.” He stared down at his feet, shuffling them. “They wanted me to go up to higher society. I had her to take care of,” Nodding towards her mother, “And she was pregnant with you, and being a sorcerer was dangerous. I didn’t want to risk anything. Not you two, anyhow.”

It disgusted her. How he talked about himself as though he was talking about a family man, someone who cared that much.

“Don’t lie to me.” She laughed. “You ran away for us? For me?”

“He’s not ly-”

“You didn’t even want me! I was an accident! What do you mean you didn’t want to risk me? You’d probably be happier if I got fucked up in pregnancy and died!”

“No, I did. I cared. I wanted to-” He cleared his throat. “I wanted you.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me even though you knocked up a nineteen-year-old on accident while having a little bedroom fun, you wanted to risk it all and run away with her to a foreign land because you wanted to play family?” The laughter wouldn’t stop. “And you- you went with him? What, you loved this reclusive little loser and wanted to stay with him forever? You chose to have some nice old romance before your happiness- before anything- you loved him-”

“Yes.” Her mother said. Kozue’s laughter bubbled back into her throat, and died.

“…oh.”

“So you.” Her father started again, “You were born and… I worked a normal job like a normal person. And then your mother started missing home, and I started to get stressed out. And then… we split.”

“And then we split.” She mimicked, clenching her fists. He jolted. “You fucking beat her, you man-child, you son of a bitch, you psychotic little shit—”

“…point was.” Her mother said, “I was going to keep this from you since you… since I wanted you to be safe, but then you started bringing Gojo Satoru over, and everyone’s heard of him. I thought… I thought I couldn’t keep this from you forever, but I could at least try…”

“Uhuh.” She sighed. “I don’t… I don’t blame you, but…”

The word disappeared in her throat. At least you could have told me. At least you could have warned me. At least you could have trusted me.

“I get it.” Kozue muttered. “Now what? He’s repented?”

“He called me,” Her mother said, “and apologized. He wanted to apologize to you too.”

“And that fixes everything.”

“You don’t have to accept it.” Her father said, “But I just wanted to say sorry. I put my own emotions before both of yours. I let my anger get the best of me. I traumatized you. You don’t have to forgive me, you don’t have to accept me, but I just want you to know I’m…

I’m sorry for what I did.”

The room stood in silence. Kozue felt her fists clench, and then unclench. Her eyes blurred with tears, because she hated him for everything but she couldn’t find it in herself to throw that fist at him. She hated the fact that it was just what adults did, they shoved their apologies down your throat to make themselves feel better, and no one gave a shit if she liked them or not.

Adults, Satoru, everyone. They were all the same.

A bitterness filled her mouth that wouldn't go away.

“Go away.” She said. Her voice shook and she hated how weak she was, but everyone was leaving her and she hated that this was all she could say, too. Push people away. “Just- go away.”

Her mother moved towards her. “Kozue, if you—”

“Just leave me alone.”

The door slid open, then shut again.

Soft wind whistled through the doors, and she felt the world collapse as she cried, and cried, and cried.

Rin, she thought, what do I do?

She wanted a hug, she thought, and Satoru would always give them at the right moments; but there was no one she could depend on, and so she sat there, relishing in the embrace of a girl who’d died from the faults of others.

Chapter Text

No, they said, you can’t go back home. You can’t go to judo class. You can’t go to school since it hasn’t started yet.

Suzuki Kozue was like a prisoner in this house, so she decided to go outside for a walk. The lawn was big enough, anyway, and the house was large enough for her to explore. She’d rarely ever been here—only enough to know which way Satoru’s room was—and she didn’t exactly want to go there, so here she was.

They’d told her to stay in her bed, but it wasn’t like anyone checked up on her save for the quiet doctor. She’d told everyone to go away, after all, and it didn’t seem like they wanted to test her patience or her emotions. It was a good thing, because she didn’t know what she’d do if she saw her parents and Satoru; but it was a bad thing, because she was left entirely to her own thoughts, invaded by the paranoia that seemed to take over more and more of herself every day.

It'd been four days since she woke up; she didn’t know how she’d survive any more.

The food didn’t taste good. She could barely force water past her lips, and she knew she had to eat, she needed to recover, she was an athlete and this wasn’t good for her body, but every step felt like a sin and every chew felt like gluttony. She took a bite and threw it straight back up, so she just didn’t try anymore, just like no one tried for her.

The world didn't feel real by this point, thought Kozue. The doctor told her she was recovering steadily, but asked if she was eating, and she hated that the only person who asked if she was okay was a man who was paid to do so. She looked at her hands and they felt detached from her body, everything did, and every day felt like nothing but a blur. Her mind felt hazy, like she'd been sedated, and she didn't know what was wrong with her but she knew this wasn't it. She could hear hallucinations, echoing voices that sounded like a blend between a beaten mother and a dead girl and a man who yelled at her to wait until he got his hands on her.

Kozue didn't even know how she was breathing, by this point. Every breath felt like too much effort.

Navigating the house had been easy enough. It was a big house, but she simply followed the trail of cold air that led her outside. She was wearing nothing but a thin cotton shirt and pants, like the kind you’d seen in hospitals, but she didn’t really care; her arm was in a sling and she couldn’t be bothered to change. Her hair, which was still a little damp from the shower, would probably freeze over.

It was no longer snowing, but there was still a thin layer that crunched underneath her foot. She stepped outside, shivered in the cold wind, and stepped out, breathing in the cold air that sliced at her face and windpipe harshly.

The weather was lovely, she thought. It was just a shame that she couldn’t enjoy any of it: the clear sky, in her current state, looked like a nuisance and stabbed at her eyes, while the pristine snow seemed like nothing if not useless, temporary, something that would melt soon.

The outside world had no doubt found out about Rin’s death. Were her classmates worried? Scared? Blaming her? Her phone had been left back in the house and she wondered what had happened to it, but she also couldn’t care less.

Kozue started walking.

It was oddly calming, and she liked that after all the time she’d spent in bed she actually had to think about what she was doing. She hadn’t gotten up in over a week, after all.

The past four days, there had been nothing to do except sit there and recover. Wallowing in her guilt and self-hatred and misery, she’d been dragged between dream and reality, taking naps fueled by her medication and lack of energy. When she was awake—which was mostly during her mealtimes—she sat there, staring out of the window quietly, wondering about Yamamoto Rin.

She didn’t know if she would ever recover. She didn’t know if she could.

Not after what she’d done, she thought. Not after what she, and her parents, and Satoru, and after everyone had done to a girl who knew nothing.

Kozue felt as though she was walking for eternity. It was a large house, after all, and she was still slow on her feet and a little unsteady. Her breath was coming in white mist and the tips of her ears were starting to hurt, but feeling this was better than feeling nothing.

Even her doing judo had been part of her mother’s big picture to ‘protect’ her, but it didn’t change the fact that she loved the sport: Kozue felt like moving. Like exercising. Like doing something to take her mind off this. She didn’t like to sit around and wallow in self-pity, looking like death (which she did). She wanted to get up and do something to take her mind off all this.

She felt as though she’d been walking for at least thirty minutes. By now she was shivering visibly. The only thing in her room was slippers, so she’d dragged them out, and her toes felt like they would fall off.

A little more, she convinced herself. Just a few more steps.

Her ears felt like they were underwater. How long was she here for, anyway?

Something dripped down her face. She looked down, between her feet, where a single red spot lay in the snow. The track of liquid warmed her cool face, but not for long: it would freeze soon, she thought, and then it’d be harder to get off. She let it slide down anyway and found that her nose was dripping with blood.

The red fell onto the snow, drop by drop. She watched it fall, eerily reminded of the day that Yamamoto Rin had died in front of her own eyes.

A happily married couple, their son and daughter. White hairband. Pigtails. All of that, reduced to nothing but blood. Wasn’t that curious? That after all those differences and all the care in the world poured into physical appearances, that everyone would simply be reduced to blood? Wasn’t it funny? Didn’t it make no sense? Why would something like that…

She rubbed at the blood with the toe of her slipper, slipped, fell.

Her side erupted with pain. She curled up in a ball, feeling her breath come quicker and more rapidly than what she’d ever experienced. Her arm hurt, and her side hurt, and everywhere hurt, but most of all her chest: it felt like someone was stepping on it, squeezing down, refusing to let her breathe, and she knew who it was. It was Rin, coming back to haunt her, coming back to blame her for her death and her family’s death and for all the trauma she’d given her and she was giving it straight back and she deserved it Kozue deserved everything she got because she’d been the one to kill Rin and how could she bear to live with the fact that she’d been the cause of all these problems all along and how was she even alive she should just stop and

“Kozue.” Something fell onto her, heavy and warm. Like a jacket. “Kozue, can you hear me? Are you OK?”

The voice felt so far away. It was a voice that made her stomach churn, but it was also one that made her feel like she was at home, and home was something she needed because god knew if she felt on edge here.

She shook her head, and her grip on her legs tightened. Someone’s fingers wove around her hand and pried them away, gently blowing warm air onto them. “Kozu… god, you’re freezing…”

“It hurts.” She muttered, pulling them away. “I…”

“I know it hurts.” The voice said. It sounded a little clearer. “You… you’ve been out here for two hours, Kozue, please.”

They pulled her up into a sitting position, and wrapped the jacket around her a little tighter; their fingers pried hers away from her legs, and they were rubbing against hers. Much larger, much softer, much warmer.

“You can’t do this to yourself.” The voice sounded so incredibly sad. “Kozue, you want to go back inside?”

She shrugged. The voice took that as a yes, because they muttered an apology and they slid their arms around her, one behind her knees and one across her shoulders, and they went humph and she went airborne. That someone pulled her closer to his chest.

She breathed in, out. Her eyes were still squeezed shut.

“How...” He cleared his throat. A guy. “How do you feel?” She shrugged, to which he rocked her a little. “That’s OK. As long as it’s not too bad.”

The steps were rhythmic, and she felt like she was floating in mid-air.

“God, Kozue, you’re so light.” The voice whispered. “Have you not been eating?”

She ignored the question. “Do you have a phone?”

“Yep. You want…?”

“Rin.” Her voice was small. The name felt wrong in her mouth like she didn’t deserve to say it out loud. “I want her."

An eerie pause filled the air.

"Kozu-"

"I- I know she's-" Kozue said, feeling strange to say it out loud. Refusing to do so, because if she did, that would make it all the more real. "How- at least tell me how she- how they say she..."

The rhythm of walking was getting to her. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. They seemed to know what she was asking for, because they just pulled her closer and exhaled deeply. “A serial bombing. Nothing to do with you. We took your stuff from the house so no one knew you were there.”

“Oh.”

Her voice was small. Her breathing had evened out, so she melted against the chest that felt warm and familiar, trembling as he escaped the cold winter air. Warmth engulfed her and she relaxed, feeling him take a sharp turn.

“A question.” The voice said. "If you don't mind."

Questions? She had a ton of them. She wouldn't mind answering a few, for a change, she thought.

“Uhuh.”

“Do you hate us? Your family, me. Satoru, I mean. Do you hate us?”

What was the person asking? She didn’t know how she was supposed to respond. Did she hate her family, Satoru, all the people who’d kept it from her and had ultimately contributed to the death of Yamamoto Rin? Did she loathe them so much that she wanted to cut off all ties?

She didn’t know. She’d never been one to be in charge of her own emotions.

A door slid open.

“I dunno.” She muttered. “Do you know what Rin’s last words were?”

Quiet. Then, “…what?”

The person set her down. The distant sound of water appeared: the sound of a shower running. She still had her eyes squeezed shut but she heard footsteps return, approach her, and while she flinched she still felt that the hands took a damp towel and began gently wiping at the blood that had dried on her face. The warm strokes lulled her, gently, and she relaxed into the stranger's touch as she wondered if he was really curious, or if this stranger, just like all others, just wanted to satiate her for his own good.

“It was please.” She said. “She pleaded with her killer to… to spare her. Because she was weak. Because she… had no other option.

Think about that, would you?”

The quiet drew out.

“I will,” The voice said, and the hands pressed against her forearms as though asking for a hug; she flinched, feeling nothing but knives and ill intent, feeling that one day she'd die and then she'd finally get what she deserved, in the hands of one of those bounty hunters who treated her like some kind of animal.

"I will." The voice repeated, softly, and the hands instead took her face and slowly kissed her forehead. “The hot shower’s ready.”

The door slid shut. It took her long, too long, for her eyes to slowly flicker open, and for light to rush back into the room around her that she could barely make out. She saw the sight before her, a warm, damp towel folded next to her bed, and the sound of a hot shower running like rain. Her breath returned to her, and she felt the fabric of the jacket, expensive leather like the one Satoru liked so much.

On her bedstand was a pile of clothes, black; a note with an address; an envelope with money. The address, she knew it, it was a funeral parlor she’d walked past many times.

The top of the note said, please.

Chapter Text

It was snowing on the day of the funeral.

Suzuki Kozue waved aside the snowflakes settling from the sky and paid the driver, exiting the cab. It was a twenty-minute distance from the Gojo estate, a little far, but not too much. She hadn’t bothered to pick up an umbrella, and the taxi driver had dropped her off on the wrong block, but she couldn’t be bothered to correct him, either.

Instead, she simply let the snow fall on her, and seep into her dark clothes. The pale day against the blackness of the fabric felt so wrong.

It didn’t feel like a funeral, she thought. It felt like any other day.

And that was exactly what was wrong with it. How did the world operate like this, so normally, so smoothly? Why did the absence of Yamamoto Rin feel like nothing? Was something not supposed to happen? Was it not supposed to end?

Were people not supposed to mourn, just like she had done?

The snow felt like ice on her skin. She wondered how they would bury Rin’s ashes. Could blood burn?

It was easy to find the funeral parlor itself, of course. One simply needed to follow the steady stream of dark-clothed people. It was early morning, which held a certain irony to its words—early mourning—and Kozue wondered whether the ghost of Yamamoto Rin would laugh at that joke.

Probably not, she thought. Too dead to laugh.

But on the other hand, she thought as she paused outside of the doors that lay wide open, did she even deserve to be here? At Rin’s funeral. At Rin’s family’s funeral. She’d killed them, after all. What kind of mentality did she have—a murderer visiting their victim’s funeral? On the other hand, on the very contrary, was that even allowed? She'd heard tales of murderers visiting the crime scene again. Was this what she was, a product of some sick psychological study? Did she even dare?

She was an idiot for coming here, she thought, and felt the cold dread that she’d been feeling so often recently: it slid down the back of her throat and settled in her gut, a cold, unpleasant feeling.

She felt underdressed. A little cold. She didn’t have any winter jackets of a dark color, and it had felt disrespectful, so she was simply dressed in black formal wear, slacks and blazer and all. Her shoes felt disrespectful, too: boots, which someone had laid out for her. Probably to prevent her from slipping.

The stream of people continued. This proved, she thought, that Rin’s absence did something: it affected some lives. People were crying. People were mourning. She was a missed presence in this world. Not everything was the same.

She turned to leave, turned back. Her feet seemed incapable of leaving, even though she didn’t deserve to be there at all.

Did she have a right to go? Would it be better to pay respects, or to stay the fuck away?

No, no. Rin would want her to go, even to repent for her sins a little bit.

With that thought in mind, Kozue swallowed back her self-hatred and entered the parlor. She paid her respects, the money that had been in the envelope, not even her money, which an elderly man accepted with a nod at the front desk. She pried her boots off.

She entered the room.

Instantly, a strong smell of incense hit her. She felt her eyes water, although she didn’t know if it was from the incense itself or the picture that lay in the front: four people. Four members of Rin’s family.

Four people she’d killed.

All the pictures were, ironically, much too happy. Rin’s brother had a tooth missing but his smile was wide. Rin’s parents had crow’s feet but the kindest smiles. And Rin, Rin herself, 

And Rin… Rin, she was the same as ever. Same wide smile, same dark hair in pigtails. Same favourite shirt she wore. The shrine was small, and she noticed with a jolt that several teenage girls were already there: Rin’s other friends. The judo club from school.

Fuck, she thought. She couldn’t deal with this. She loved Rin, but she had to leave. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She wanted to approach the shrine, but what good would it do, when all she could hear around her were the sounds of mourning people, people who’d loved them, people who would shed tears for them? People who would think, innocently, that they’d simply died from a random bombing attack, and they would console her because everyone knew Suzuki Kozue’s only friend was Yamamoto Rin.

Without knowing who the killer was, even. God, it disgusted her. She disgusted her.

Kozue felt tears prick at her eyes: she approached the shrine, hiding the shakiness of her hands, and went on her knees. She bowed, her head touching the ground. May you rest in peace, she thought, and then added, and may you be avenged.

Who else would make such a wish, anyway?

All that hot talk about how funny and how special she was and how amazing she was of a friend and where had that gotten Rin? In a jar of ashes, and in a guilty end.

Kozue took a deep breath in, and out. She wouldn’t cry. Not any more.

The girls from the other side of the room, the judo club members, saw her, and her insides turned to ice. She felt a tear slip from her eye, one more, another, until she was crying, she was just that weak, she could never help doing anything like that because she couldn't even keep promises she'd made to her friends so how could she keep promises she'd made with herself?

They didn’t comfort her, of course. They didn’t even know her that well. But she knew some of them and she found condolences in the way they touched her shoulders briefly as they passed by her, knowing not to disturb her: saying it’s okay, it’s not your fault, it’ll pass.

Kozue stayed there, sitting at the edge of the room for another hour, watching people pay respects to Rin and her family, and staring at the photos that grinned back at her so happily. A family she’d ruined.

Then she got up and moved to the reception room, where they served otaki. There were cakes, rice crackers, beverages…

She couldn’t fucking eat, anyway, and even if she could, who was she to stuff herself with food while someone else had died by her hands?

Instead, she accepted a cup of tea, even though she hated tea. It tasted exactly as she expected, exactly like the day. Metallic and tangy.

The smiles on the family’s faces, she thought, back in the photos. Hadn’t they been genuine? She wondered what Rin would think about her now, the same Rin who’d thought of her in such high esteem.

Probably very pathetically.

But what could she do about it?

Absolutely nothing.

Kozue sat and watched the particles of tea swirl inside her cup.

That’s not true, she thought to herself. That’s just an excuse. She’s a liar. There was something she could do.

She couldn’t stop Rin from dying. She was a murderer. She’d caused that. The only thing she was able to do that day was to save her own hide, and she found with simple horror that such an event would only be repeated.

No one knew about her involvement in this. If this happened more, and if this happened in a public space, and if this happened to more people she cared about…

She envisioned her mother, crying, bloody.

Bile rose up in her throat. She ran outside the parlor, into the nearest bathroom, and puked what little was in her guts out. There was nothing even left to puke anymore, and all the acid made her throat feel raw and stingy, but she ignored it and just shut the lid of the toilet, refusing to look. The toilet gurgled down.

If another person died… no. They were protecting her now, but there was no guarantee what could happen, because if someone died while protecting her she’d- she’d- she’d kill herself.

She retched again, but there was nothing left in her stomach anymore. Unlocking the stall, she made her way out and was met with the sight of herself in the mirror.

God, she looked pathetic. Like death, even.

Suzuki Kozue, what have you turned into?

It was curious, almost, because the very person who mirrored her actions had nothing to do with her. The person standing across from her had the same dark hair tied up and the same expressionless face, but there was something ghastly about it that made her cringe in disgust. Her eyes were dragged down by dark bags, her skin paler than she remembered; her hair lay flat across her scalp and sagged like she hadn’t washed it for days; there was a gaunt hollow of her cheeks that gave away the fact that she simply wasn’t eating. Her lips were cracked and dry, even more so from the winter dryness.

Behold, she thought, bitterly. The judo state champion.

She didn’t even know if she wanted to do judo anymore. It had been the kind of thing that Rin cheered her on with. She washed her hands and stared at her nails as she dried them. They were discolored.

Kozue made her way out of the bathroom and couldn’t face going back into the parlor again. Instead, she chose to divert her way into the alleyway near the bathroom, staring down at the cigarette ends that had been snuffed out by the tips of shoes. She vaguely remembered Rin’s father had smoked, but not too much. There wasn’t really much she knew about the girl, and that very fact disgusted her, too.

She looked up at the murky greyness of the sky, then back to the ground; something hit the tip of her shoe like snow, except it wasn’t snow.

It was red.

She jolted back, fear taking hold of her for an instant, imagining the presence of a large man and a cursed spirit above her, about to point at her and turn her into blood and gore, but there was nothing, and she only registered what it was when the uncomfortable sensation of something trickling from her nostril and sliding down her philtrum.

She was bleeding—again.

Kozue didn’t know how to stop it, and by this point, she didn’t really care. Maybe she’d bleed out and die, who knew: she didn’t even know why she was here. In fact, she thought, she probably would have gone and thrown herself off some bridge anyway. Who knew what she was, a bag of bones and questions and flesh that crawled with shame. Who knew what she was except for a bundle of weakness, made of nothing but blood that constantly tried to escape her body.

But then a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer and she sucked in a breath thinking she was really going to die, and all she felt

Was a gentle hand-

Dabbing at her nose.

Gently.

And a soft, male voice asked, “Are you okay, miss?”

Chapter Text

No bounty hunter asked if you were okay, Kozue thought, feeling ridiculous.

At this moment in time, she could only think of one thing. There was an American play she’d read for an English elective, called A Streetcar Named Desire. She’d enjoyed it more than she thought she would, since it had been about two women being abused by some man who thought he was ‘it’—hitting closer to home than she’d like, actually. At the ending of the play, there was something a mentally ill woman had said… a quote...

Ah, that’s right. I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

That seemed to be her, now, relaxing into the arms of a stranger, the light from this alleyway barely illuminating a face that could be one of a serial killer for all she knew.

She had, she thought. First Satoru, now this. She'd always been dependent on the kindness of those who never knew her. It was the way in which she felt most comforted, the most silent.

The hand was gentle, rhythmical, and it soothed her for a strange reason she couldn’t make out.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the light. The stranger was in front of her, bent slightly, tilting her head down and dabbing at the blood that still fell from her nose. His other hand landed on hers, and gently, he guided her hand onto the handkerchief that he held so cautiously.

“Hold onto that for me, will you?” He murmured. “There you go- you alright, miss?”

Her fingers landed on the handkerchief and she took it firmly, stopping the blood flow. His hand left hers and he straightened, clearing his throat.

He was tall—maybe six foot. The height ought to scare her, reminding her of the bounty hunters, but it didn’t: there was a certain aura about this man that suggested passivity, something she could trust. Maybe it was in his body language, muscular yet completely relaxed; or maybe it was in the kindness written on his face, angular but soft in the way that suggested he meant no harm.

Through the dim light of the alleyway, she could make out dark hair tied into a bun, a strand of hair falling across his face, and small, dark, kind eyes.

Miss, she thought. It was ridiculously formal of him.

“I’m-” Her voice cracked again, to her frustration, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” He said, moving back a little; the light caught on something glittering and she finally noticed that he was wearing a uniform, with a little crest. She recognized it, mostly becaue the school wasn’t from anywhere around here. Also because it brought to light his face again, sharp and angular but a lot younger than she’d expected a stranger with a deep, comforting voice to be. “I can go get you some ice, if you’d like.”

Something rustled as he moved back; panicking, her hand flashed out to grab his own. “No!”

He froze.

“Don’t-” She choked. “Don’t leave. Please. Stay with me.”

Her voice shrunk. It was a weird thing, to hold onto a stranger like this, and she knew he felt that too. It wouldn’t have been strange if he snatched his handkerchief and made a run for it, but for a reason completely unknown to her, he didn’t leave.

Was it pity? Did he see the touch of death on her face, the unsteady swaying on her feet, the way her lips cracked when she so much as opened them to talk? Kozue didn’t know. All she knew was this stranger was kind, much too kind, kind enough to feel the way he turned back and stood in front of her again, hiding her from the real world in his shadow. And all she knew was that it was the only thing that grounded her to reality, a soft touch she hadn't felt in so long, and the warmth of a person who treated her like any other.

Was she going insane? She didn’t know the answer to that, either.

“All right.” His voice was soft, melancholy. “I’m not going to leave, miss.”

They stood, silently. Her fingers tightened around his, and with the strange pity of a pedestrian who had meant nothing to her until minutes ago, he squeezed back.

She whispered, “Thank you for helping me.”

He smiled. She saw the way his eyes crinkled, the kindest smile she’d seen in a long time.

She didn’t know how to describe it—the stranger was just… safe.

“It’s okay.” He said. “I was just a little surprised when I looked into an alleyway and saw a beautiful girl bleeding everywhere. Obviously, I’ve got to play the hero.”

She laughed at his attempt of a joke. “If you were… in a rush…”

“No, no! There’s always time to help someone who looks like they need it.” His thumb was, she noted, rubbing circles into the back of her hand lazily but deliberately. Just the way, she thought, her mother had done when she was a child when she'd seen the bruises her mother sported on her face. Just the way she'd liked it. “I know this is a strange question coming from a complete stranger, but you look…” He hesitated. “…a little frail.”

She knew that. She knew she did, she just couldn’t…

“Have you been eating, miss?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and looked away. She couldn’t bring herself to talk, not because of anything else but because of the humiliation that came from admitting such a thing. Her face burned.

“No, no.” He knelt in front of her as she ducked her head. “It’s okay—I just want to know because you look like you’re going through a hard time. I know how difficult it is for you to eat when you’re suffering.”

This was the most kindness, she thought, anyone had shown her since Yamamoto Rin. It scared her, because even this stranger could die as a result of her weakness, but she knew she had no choice but to lean on someone like this, rather than someone who knew everything about her and would judge, someone who would call her a murderer.

Her identity was gone. She was just a poor, suffering girl, who was helped by a boy who seemed close to her age but so much more mature, so much more helpful, so much more thoughtful.

“I’m assuming,” He said, softly, “You came from the funeral parlor.”

He was gesturing to her black attire. She nodded, hesitantly.

“Who died?” He asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

She shrugged.

“A family?”

Shake.

“A friend, then.”

Nod.

“Oh.” He said. The dark-haired stranger reached into his bag and drew out something she couldn’t make out; she recoiled instinctively, cautious that it was some kind of weapon or firearm, but all he drew out was a tin of cookies.

“Sorry.” He muttered. “This is the only food I have on me right now, but uh, they’re really good. I was going to eat them on the train ride back, but I can just get a new one.”

She stared at the tin blankly. He opened it, and a buttery smell hit her nose; she blinked, staring at the circles of little soft cookies.

He closed it again and held the tin out towards her, and she couldn’t help it, not anymore: her vision blurred, and she felt tears run down her face, dropping the hand she’d been holding so diligently to her nose down to her side, and she began to cry. Once she started, she couldn’t stop, not at the kindness of this complete stranger or the way he reminded her of Rin; not at the coldness and harshness of the winter that reminded her that even though Rin had died, the world still went on in such a mundane manner.

Hadn't she said she wouldn't cry anymore? And yet, this was the second time. She was weak, that was what she was, she was pathetic-

“Woah-” The stranger said, and she felt him hastily tuck the cookies back into his bag, and move towards her, his hands on her shoulders then awkwardly hovering. “I hope it’s alright if I-”

Her footsteps stuttered and she reached out, wrapped her arms around the stranger’s torso, held on tight. He sucked in a breath, and she felt his hands around her too. His hand landed on the back of her head and he stroked her comfortingly, warm to the touch even in this cold weather.

“Shh.” He cooed. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be alright.”

Those were the words she’d wanted to hear so desperately, and the fact that they came more readily from a complete and utter stranger rather than those she loved around her hurt her so much.

“She’s dead-” She cried, “She’s dead and- and it’s my fault.”

This was the most she’d cried in a long time, and certainly the loudest. Hiccuped sobs left her mouth, muffled by the shoulder of a stranger who treated her like she was glass. It was a new feeling and it was a good feeling, because whoever this stranger was, he was certainly good at comforting her. He cradled her, rocked her back and forth, murmured comforts into her ear.

“Hey.” He said, “It’s not your fault. It’s okay.”

She sobbed. “Yes it is- it should have been me- I couldn’t even- even do anything- I watched her die-”

“You’re just a normal girl.” He said. “It’s not your fault you couldn’t stop her from dying, darling. Take deep breaths for me.”

Her breath shuddered. She gasped in a deep breath.

“And out.”

She exhaled.

His palm was rubbing against her shoulder now, coaxing out a breath she hadn’t known she possessed. He shook out his sleeves from under the jacket, and leaning down a little, began to dab at her tears gently.

She took his wrists. “You’re gonna get your uniform d-”

“I don’t mind.” He said. “You need it more, anyway.”

Kozue stood there, silently, and watched a stranger wipe her tears away.

“Thank you.” She muttered, hoarsely. “I- sorry.”

He laughed breathily. “For what?”

“For.” She didn’t know. “Crying.”

“We all need that sometimes.” He straightened again, rubbing at her skin with the pad of her thumb. “Now, don’t touch that, you’re going to irritate the skin.”

“Okay.” She said in a small voice, feeling like a little child.

“As for your feelings-” His hand traveled up, tucked her hair behind her ear. “That’s called survivor’s guilt. It’s a lot more common than you think. You’ve just got to understand that it’s not your fault, and the victim—whoever she is—probably wouldn’t have wanted you to beat yourself up over this stuff.”

“Okay.” She said, again.

“No, really.”

She nodded wordlessly.

His fingers guided hers until they were in a cupped position, and he dropped something into them: it was the tin of cookies again, which she wanted to both laugh and cry at. “Here. Promise me you’ll eat, okay, love?”

“Okay.” She murmured.

“Good.” He said. “And I don’t know who made you come here, but if a funeral is making you panic like this, it’s better to not come. I don’t know who made you come here, but they made a horrible decision. Pretty girls like you shouldn’t cry because of someone else’s mistakes.”

She nodded.

“Now,” He said, zipping his bag closed, “I hate to leave you like this, but my train is in thirty minutes and I’ve really got to make it or my mother will absolutely flip her shit. Is it okay to leave you like this?”

She nodded again.

“You sure?”

Kozue nodded. Her head felt lighter, because the words he spoke, while so incredibly logical, were of a certain calming nature that led her to believe that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t her fault after all.

They were both victims, after all.

The world around her had stilled, a little, enough for her to take a deep breath in the shadow of a comforting stranger who told her all was okay.

He pressed the back of his hand against her cheek. “And you’re cold. So get in there and make yourself warmer again. It’s important, alright?”

His kindness warmed her enough, she thought. And maybe, that was the kind of person she wanted to protect. Another Rin that she would actually get right.

“Okay.” She said, her voice a little louder. “Thank you for- everything.”

He smiled. “No problem. And, if you need-”

Something ripped; he pressed something against the wall next to her head, and in a few seconds, scrunched it up and dropped it in her hand.

“-that’s my number.” He explained. “So call me if you need to talk. Based on how you’re doing right now, I doubt anyone around you is doing a good enough job of it. I may not be someone you know well, but I’m certainly someone you can talk to. Got it?”

She stared at the paper, then back to his obscured face, the bare outline of which she could make out. Ridiculous, she thought. She'd just met him. Five minutes ago. And here she was, getting his number, crying into his shirt, taking his cookies-

Absolutely stupid, she thought, and felt oddly at peace with the absurdity of the situation.

“…got it.” She repeated.

The stranger turned tail and dissipated into the crowd, leaving as fast as he’d come. Her head felt lighter and her breaths seemed to come more strongly, and as she stared at the place where he’d just left, she peeled open the tin of cookies and ate one.

Her stomach kept it down. She ate another one, then another one, and finally, she realized how hungry she was: she went through the whole tin and stood there, her hands smelling like butter, her heartbeat rhythmic for once.

The stranger was right, she thought. This world was entirely unsympathetic to raw, simple emotions.

What she needed to do, then, was turn them into actions.

She had to do something, Kozue thought, and in the midst of the mourning and the crying and the people discussing the tragedy of a family who’d died from an accident, she felt herself still suddenly, as though she’d been splashed with cold water. Slapped awake.

No, she was right. Mourning was something she’d done enough of, and blaming was something she’d done enough of. The important question that arose, then, was what would she do next?

She’d be a jujutsu sorcerer. She’d learn to kill those pieces of shit. She’d get revenge.

She’d learn to stand on her own feet.

She’d repent for the four she’d killed by saving a hundred more.

She’d be so fucking strong, no one would cross her. Then she’d be friends with whoever the fuck she wanted, because strong people always had a choice.

She'd repay the kindness of this stranger to a hundred others.

She’d become a friend to all and she’d prove to them. To her parents, to Satoru, to Rin, to the world. She’d prove that she was better, that she was stronger, that she was independent…

And ultimately, she’d be the best, so that no one would never have to protect her, or to die for her sake, ever again.

Suzuki Kozue, fourteen: and she knew that Yamamoto Rin wanted this.

Chapter Text

When she exited the funeral parlor, it was midday.

By then, the snow had lessened visibly. She didn’t know why it snowed so much recently, but all she knew was that now that the fog had cleared from around her head, now that she knew what to do, the snow was thinning and it was spring soon and it was almost late, she needed to act, now.

To hell with Gojo Satoru, who didn’t want her to be a sorcerer. To hell with her parents, who just wanted her to have a normal life. From the day her father had started beating her mother, no life of hers would be normal. She didn't know what she'd expected, except for the fact that she'd expected her life to turn out completely normal and it didn't so what was the point of all this, anyway?

She wouldn’t let them get to her. She’d do whatever the fuck she needed to do.

She smoothed down her blazer, looked up at the sky, and stood in front of the parlor, staring into the white world that seemed so dull and monotone. What was her first line of action?

How did someone even start jujutsu? She’d threaten her dad out of it, or something. She’d ask Satoru. There were loads of people to ask. There were always lots of options.

She knew she had potential for jujutsu. Satoru had mentioned something about bloodlines. And he’d mentioned that once someone could see curses—curses like the ones she’d defeated that night—there was no going back. She could see curses, and she’d defeated them with what her father had called cursed objects. Cursed energy inside the objects, no doubt. She knew the basics from Satoru’s ramblings.

Her heartbeat thudded in her head. One, two. One, two.

How did someone become qualified to be a sorcerer?

They took a test.

Would she pass the test?

Who knew?

She did sports. Out of all sports, judo. The one sport requiring copious amounts of training and perseverance to practice. She’d worked at tai otoshi once, twice, thrice, two hundred times until she could perfect the move. She’d broken a rib trying to throw someone heavier than her. Her talents lay in the repetition of her moves that forced her to work harder and harder, and that was a talent she would carry over to jujutsu. She’d chip at the skill until it would come tumbling down before her feet.

Her fists clenched, unclenched. She’d originally been planning to go home but she felt a nostalgic urge to visit her talent that she would be abandoning, a talent that had gotten her into one of the top schools in the prefecture.

Her judo academy was almost empty. There were a few stragglers, plus her coach who chastised her that “the star of the academy hadn’t come to practice in a long time” and joked that she was “losing her grip”.

I’m quitting, she wanted to say. I’m going to go for a profession that has a higher chance of dying.

Instead, she muttered an apology. She knew her judo uniform was in the back, so she went to the changing rooms and put them on, shoving her black funeral clothes in a bag; the scent reminded her a little bit of Rin, and she swallowed back the guilt.

She’d pay Rin back. One soul killed for a hundred saved. It was okay.

Kozue stretched, felt herself a little out of practice, and asked if there was a partner she could practice with. Just then, a boy exited the changing rooms: a bit younger than her, but around the same weight class, probably.

You can practice with him, the coach suggested. Although he only started a few months back.

Sure, she said. Rin had been in the same weight class as her, too. They’d practiced together at school but she found that she got nothing done with the girl around, because although they started with competition, they ended with limbs all over the place, laughing, gossiping.

Funny how everything reminded her of the girl.

“What’s,” She started, “Your name?”

The boy blinked. “Haibara.” He quipped. His mouth looked like it was stuck in a permanent smile and it annoyed her to no end. The kind of guy who laughed even though there was nothing to laugh about. Stupid, she thought. Stupid. “Haibara Yu!”

“Nice.” She said, not meaning it at all.

The boy took two steps and stumbled towards her. His smile reminded her, a little bit, of the smiles on the funeral photos…

No, no. She shook her head, clearing the fog from it, and easily countered the boy’s hasty try at an attack. 

“Lies.” She muttered. “Lies, all of it. You said you’d stick with me.”

“What?” The boy going against her asked.

She shook her head. The boy lunged at her, and she tripped him, stepped back.

“Hey!” The teacher called. “Suzuki, that’s against r—”

The boy scrambled up, went towards her again. Easy. Too easy. It was nothing compared to that night, when she’d had to fight for her life with nothing than a knife shorter than her forearm. The terror was nothing, the adrenaline…

It seemed like the night had even ruined the one thing she cared for, judo. She found herself numb, uninterested.

His hand flashed towards her collar. She countered it with her palm, and saw the chance for a cross drop seoi nage—grabbing both his wrists, she flipped him over her back. His back thudded against the floor and he yelped in pain.

“Get up.” She muttered. “Again.”

The boy got up, hastily, and dusted down his knees. He came at her again.

Easy, easy, easy. He was too exposed. She grabbed his collar and his wrist, and flipped him over her hip. He thudded to the ground again. How was it this easy?

“You’ve been practicing.” The coach commented. No, she hadn’t. She’d been too busy watching people fucking die.

“Get up.” She told the boy, who was now groaning. “How do you think to win like that?” Her voice sounded detached from her throat, it wasn't her, it was meaner, and she didn't know why but she couldn't stop. It was just the way things were like now. She was bitter, she was mean, she was horrible...

The boy was nothing like the people she’d fought. The people she would go against in judo matches would be nothing like it, too. There were so many rules, so many regulations, so many people watching in competitive sports.

What did rules matter in survival anyway?

The boy bounced on his toes, his eyes fixed on her, and came at her again. She grabbed his collar and pulled herself down on the floor, forcing his legs apart and hooking one around his knee, pushing him down.

He yelped in pain. She ignored it, pressing him into the ashi-garami.

She needed more, more, more. This was too simple. Too easy. Too…

“Suzuki!” The coach yelled, blowing his whistle. “That’s enough! He’s tapping out!”

She snapped to her senses. The boy’s face was screwed up in pain, and he was tapping at the mat weakly, something she hadn’t even noticed. She let go of him and let him roll away from her, grabbing at his knee.

“Suzuki, that’s a banned technique for a reason!” The coach snapped. “You could have torn his leg joint, he could have gone to the hospital—” He was reprimanding her, but it all seemed like nothing but buzz in her ears. Great, she thought, because the jujutsu world had ruined something even judo, even the one thing she'd always thought she was good at and the one thing she thought she'd like. The delight was gone, leaving her with a buzzing in her ears that seemed to suggest she was dangerous and nothing more than that.

“I know.” She muttered. “Sorry. Haibara, I… sorry.”

He looked up at her with wide eyes and a smile, stabbing her straight in the chest with guilt. “It’s okay, that was cool! No wonder they call you the star!”

“Where’d you even learn that?” The coach sighed. “God, Suzuki. You’ve improved, but you seem to have lost your self-restraint.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” The apology slipped from her mouth easier than she would have liked. It was an apology aimed towards the boy, but also towards Rin; the coach was saying something about improvements, but she ignored him. Instead, she got up, grabbed her things, and left.

She wouldn’t be coming back, she thought. Not after all of this.

This wasn’t enough. To fight in the jujutsu world, she needed more, much more.

She needed power.

There was a car outside, sleek and black, and she wondered what it was doing here—probably the Haibara boy, he looked rich—but the back window rolled down and a middle-aged albino man was staring back at her.

He was dressed peculiarly, in a light blue kimono that looked almost white. He was tall, over six foot, and the structures of his face reflected something oddly familiar that she couldn’t quite place.

He smiled. It struck her, then, why he was so familiar.

“…Gojo-san.” She said, surprised. “Satoru’s…”

“Father, yes.” The car door swung open. “Get in, Suzuki-san. I was looking for you—good thing I expected you to visit here, yes?”

“Y…yes.” She got in, placing the bag between her feet. She could tell where Satoru had gotten his physical features from: he was tall and handsome, with broad shoulders and strong arms. Although he didn’t have the six eyes, his eyes were filled with a stern authority that made her shrink into her seat.

Kozue glanced to the front, half hoping someone would be there. It was one of the Gojo family servants, a driver who glanced back at her through the rearview mirror before sliding the separating screen up.

The car began to move. She fidgeted in her seat, wondering what the head of the Gojo clan wanted from her.

“Uh.” She said, feeling his eyes boring into her, and feeling like she had to at least say something. “Thank you for the accommodation. And the food. And the treatment. And a lot of other stuff. Just... thank you in general, I guess."

“It was nothing.”

“…uhm.” She spoke up again, feeling a little stupid, “Satoru told me a lot about you?”

“You don’t need to make things up, Suzuki-san.” He said. He threw back his head and laughed. It was deep and throaty, and sounded exactly how a man in power would laugh.

“Just trying to make conversation. You’re welcome.”

His laughter faded, and slowly, died. The air was left still and silent.

“I’m sorry if this feels awkward, Suzuki-san.” He said, quietly. His laugh seemed to have disappeared altogether. “I’m simply trying to… put this into the best words possible.”

“Take your time.” She murmured. What else could she say? “…and call me Kozue, please, Gojo-san.”

He nodded and smiled at her. She wondered what he wanted, as the silence stretched out; there was no reason for him to pick her up otherwise. It wasn’t like she’d ever talked to him, much less seen him before, and while she was thankful for everything he’d done for her and her family, it also puzzled her to no end.

Why was he going through such lengths, just for a girl like her?

Was this because of Satoru? She wouldn’t be surprised. By this point, it felt as though almost everyone in her life had some connection to Satoru, almost like she had no independent life from him. It hurt like hell, it did, and she knew she couldn’t blame him, but she couldn’t help the bitter taste from spreading through her mouth.

The car continued on. It was a good car, she thought. Smooth driving.

Another thing that reminded her of the different worlds her and Satoru lived in: there was the world of her and Rin, with the walks home and the cheap street vendors, the 100-yen shops that they giggled in, the sensation of not having ridden a personal family car since she was in America. They didn’t have a car: her mother took the subway to work. She didn’t believe in cars, especially when there were two people in the household.

Then, there was this, ridiculous as it sounded. Personal servants and chauffeurs, a large, sleek, black car imported from Germany. Men wearing traditional kimonos and yukatas swooshing around like they had all the authority in the world, sitting at the back seat and staring out of the window just the way she’d imagined elegant, rich men to do.

It was confusing.

When Satoru’s father finally spoke, it felt as though she’d been melting into the seat. The air conditioning was cool, yes, but the pressure wasn’t. “Kozue-san, I’d just like to apologize.”

“Uh-huh.” She sat up. “Wait, what?”

The one thing she hadn’t been expecting.

“Apologize.” The man repeated. “For everything. For getting you into this mess, into this world. For not visiting you while you were confined to the bed.”

She blinked. “Well, I- uhm-”

Her face felt hot. She didn’t do apologies very well.

“And, mostly,” And at this, he turned towards her and folded, the way she would have greeted an older person. Bending down with his hands gathered by his front. “I apologize for my son’s behavior.”

What?

No, no. This was insane.

“You don’t-” She shook her head. Satoru’s dad was like this? Like- like this? He apologized to her for something he hadn’t even done, apologized for his son in his stead? Really? “I don’t understa- sorry?”

“Yes.” He said, earnestly, his voice calm. He still hadn’t gotten up. “I am.”

This whole time, she’d wondered what kind of parents Gojo Satoru would have. They didn’t seem to care whatever he did, and they seemed to hold unrealistically high expectations for a boy that would be overwhelmed if not for his power.

But… but not this. This wasn’t what she’d expected.

“I believe,” He said, softly, “My neglect towards my son and our high pressures has caused his unstable attachment towards you. It was his fault, but ours as well, that you had to witness such a traumatic experience like the death of Yamamoto Rin. I’ve been keeping him at bay for the past few days; if you wish, I could prevent him from seeing you forever.”

The words went through her head, but it didn’t register. She ran it through a few more times, blinked, shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her.

“And furthermore,” He continued, “While your bounty has been lifted, many enemies of the Gojo clan have heard of you and will no doubt threaten you. If you wish, I can offer you a permanent living in the Gojo residence, or a protected house. We will also support all your future ventures, including the judo school Mrs. Nakamura has informed us of your attendance in.”

“Ms. Suzuki, you mean.” She corrected, and immediately slapped her hand over her mouth. “I mean- but what-”

“Or,” Did his head not hurt, from being pushed down this entire time? Or his back? “If none of these grant your forgiveness towards the irredeemable crime we have placed upon you, you can require anything of the Gojo clan. It’s only fair we do so, after what crimes our son has committed upon you.”

Crimes. She’d not thought about it in such a way. He’d hid her own bounty from her, endangered her, killed Rin with ignorance, and here his own father was, asking her for forgiveness, offering anything in return.

It was an apology she’d wanted to hear for a long time, she realized. An apology that said, it wasn’t your fault.

You were a victim, too.

You deserve an apology, too.

Kozue’s eyes fell down towards her lap, and her vision blurred; something warm hit her squeezed fists and she felt tears sliding down her cheeks, even though she’d cried so much today. Out of anything, his father…

“But only,” Satoru’s father spoke up, and it was quiet, calm, so soft she could barely hear it; “If you wish so. It’s entirely up to you.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. The older man had his eyes closed, his back bent at a ninety-degree angle in a sincere Japanese-style apology. She was shaking a little, trying to stifle the tears that couldn’t stop.

“You can,” She sniffed. “You can really get up, Gojo-san.”

He tentatively did. An awkward silence stretched out.

“…I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He said. It astounded her the difference between the younger Gojo and his father, the head of the clan. The thoughtful silence that filled all his words. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She wiped away the tears with her sleeve. “The funeral just got me a bit emotional, that’s all.”

“I see.”

She glanced outside. She hadn’t even noticed they’d stopped, and she didn’t know how long they’d stopped for. All she knew was that the residence stood in front of them, and no one could see them through the tinted windows.

She could sense the driver’s presence, waiting at his seat, patiently, as though it was his assigned role.

“So, uh.” Kozue laughed nervously. “Thank you for apologizing. I’m not sure why you’re… but… yes… I didn’t know Gojos apologized.”

The last part was half a joke, but it seemed to strike a nerve in the older Gojo; he winced. “I’m sorry about that. My son and his behavior is… sometimes problematic. It seems to have left you with disrespectful experiences.”

“No, no! I’m just…”

She didn’t know how she’d say this. She moved around words in her mouth. It’s just… your son’s just… he just…

“Satoru cares for me,” she said. “Anyone can see that. And he’s a shitty guy who makes some shitty choices, but he’s also fourteen. And I’m his only friend.”

He blinked. “…you…don’t blame him.”

“I don’t blame him. And I understand him, and it’s…” Kozue raised her hands. “He’s not what I expected. And you’re not what I expected, either.” She shrugged. “This world isn’t… quite what I expected, but whether forceful or not, it’s what I got, and I have to make the most of it. I can see curses now, and I don’t think I’m going to attend a normal school and go back to a normal life.”

“…please elaborate.”

She took a deep, shaky breath and wiped the remnants of the tears from her eyes. “Gojo-san, I know you care for your son, but I also know you’ve neglected him. And I know that I’ve filled that empty space, because he’s done the same for me in the same situation; and I know that taking me away from him would only worsen his current predicament, and that as much as he’s hurt me, taking him away will hurt me too. I’ve already lost one friend, and I can’t—I won’t—lose another.”

His eyes bored into her.

“And you are suggesting…?”

“I’m staying with Gojo Satoru. There’s going to be times like these, or even worse. And I know he’s done me a lot of wrong but that’s what friends do, they stick to you until the day you drop down dead. Furthermore, I know this isn’t what you want to hear about your son, but this is what you’re getting: the fact that I’m the only one who understands a prodigy like him, and the problems you caused with your own flawed parenting. And the fact that he has the heart to do good things, like what he tried to do to me, and that he only needs effective actions to be paired with that. I know that he’s the poison of his own success and he needs someone sticking by his side.

So let’s make a deal, Gojo-san.

I’ll stay with him. I know you say all these things but you still want the best for your son and that you don’t want me to leave him. So this is what you want. The only thing I ask for is that I’m enrolled, after this spring, at Jujutsu High. I want to be a sorcerer and I want to be better than him.

How does that sound?”

She’d do anything for power. She’d do anything to never be killed, to stay alive, to be the strongest so that she could protect herself and everyone around her. And that needed power. The man in front of her: him, the head of the Gojo clan, he had power.

She stuck out his hand and smiled. The man shook his head, his expression stunned, and slowly took her hand.

“You want to be better than him.” He repeated. “I’ve never heard that… in all my years of life…”

His handshake was firm. She exited the car, and leaned down to close the door, greeting him with a catlike smile. Satisfaction filled her chest, excitement, anything if she could live as a sorcerer. The dream she'd had all those years ago rekindled, burned itself into her memory like a mark she'd never forget. “Thank you for the ride and the clothes, Gojo-san.”

His eyes flickered down to the black clothes she’d left in the car, then up to her. Dressed still in her judo uniform. “It was no problem.”

“Oh, and you don’t need to keep ‘Toru away from me any longer, as well. I need to talk to him, anyways. I hope you don’t mind.”

He surveyed her. She smiled, and closed the door behind her, straightening. The scrap of paper that the stranger had dropped in her hand dug into her palm and gave her the strength she never known she'd had.

Step one: getting into jujutsu high. Check.

Now, for the next step…

Chapter Text

He’d obviously heard the news.

When she got out of the shower, he was sitting on her bed, facing away from her, shuffling his feet, muttering under her breath; she couldn't quite hear what he was saying, due to the distance between them. Kozue was so used to him being composed, looking fabulous in front of her, and trying his absolute best that she’d forgotten one fact: that he was human. It was hypocritical of her, she thought, to forget that fact. She was the only one who seemed to be aware of it, after all.

But it was true, the first thought that had slipped through her mind: the thought that the Gojo Satoru looked like he was in ruins, like absolute shit.

His hair was damp like he’d taken a hasty shower, and she wasn’t sure if it was sweat or excess water running down his neck. His glasses were on the bed next to him and he was muttering something, rubbing his hands against his thighs like he was nervous. He was slumped over like he hadn’t slept in days, and she wondered, with a jolt: had she really affected him that much?

She’d become so used to his mannerisms that she’d never stopped to think about the possibility that he was actually sorry.

Regret wasn’t an emotion he seemed to express frequently. She was one of the people he showed his emotions in front of the most, she knew this, and she knew that she knew him well enough (and him vice versa) to be able to read each other’s feelings from a single face: from his anger to his frustrations to even the silent grief that plagued his thoughts when he sat on her roof, gazing off to nothing. But it felt as though he found the need to close off his worst emotions from her as well, hiding the parts he thought were the worst.

She paused from where she stood, the hot steam of the closed-off bathroom blowing against her back and exiting with a sigh around her, contrasting with the dryness of the room where she’d turned on the heating.

He was murmuring things she could only half hear.

“…sorry I… I won’t do… no, no…” Muttering something. “No, that sounds… I know you might… but… no, that sounds bad…”

She watched him intently. He scraped his hands against his face and fell over backwards on her bed, and sighed.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered. “Let’s go with—”

His eyes opened, and met hers.

It looked like an electric shock had zapped him. Satoru scrambled up, his eyes wide, his hands moving from his face to his sides to his pockets to down by his sides, patting awkwardly at something, anything, before his eyes landed on the glasses on her bed; he snatched them up, shoved them into his pockets, and stood, rigidly.

“H- hey.” He cleared his throat. “…Kozu.”

She felt the rough fabric of her towel under her fingers, and swept it down, tossing it onto the bed. “…hey, ‘Toru.”

His face lightened a little at the familiar nickname. Now that he was turned directly towards her, it was clear just how little he’d taken care of himself over the past week. His beautiful eyes—the ones she’d always loved—were rimmed with dark bags, and his skin was riddled with a rough texture as though he hadn’t washed his face for a while. There was a small cut on his cheek from where he’d cut himself shaving. For someone who cared so much about how he looked, he hadn't even put on proper skincare, she thought, because she knew how he always glowed and this wasn't it, this wasn't the Satoru she knew with his rough skin and his lips reddened as though he'd irritated them a little too much.

But most importantly, Satoru was looking down. Down. At the floor.

That wasn't right, she thought, those weren't two words that went together well; her hand rubbed the back of her neck nervously. She wanted to clean him up. Stupid, she wanted to berate him. Dumbass. Absolute crackhead. He couldn’t even take care of himself.

“Look,” He started, and his eyes flickered up to her face; they paused, travelled down, and his voice cracked audibly. “Ko-zu-”

He was staring at her.

At a specific…

Satoru’s face froze for three seconds, then erupted in red.

“I-” He hiccupped. “I didn’t mean to lo-ok- Kozu, I- I’m not a- I’m sorry!”

“Wh-” She turned back and stared at the mirror, then it struck her. “Uhm.”

She was dressed in the clothes that had been delivered to her door in boxes, the rest of which she’d pushed to the corner hastily to procrastinate cleaning, and she wasn’t sure if the clothes were his or hers. Her hand was clasped over her neck, her hair still dripping a little bit.

She was wearing a very large shirt that he’d left at her house a few months back, and in the action of raising her arm to touch her neck, she’d completely neglected the fact that she wasn’t wearing pants.

Gojo Satoru in her room, and she was flashing him with her panties.

“Oh, uh-” He hiccupped again, whirling around to face the wall, “You- you can change! I don’t mind.”

“Relax, ‘Toru.” She said, even though she felt like dying. “I, It’s not your first time seeing me with-”

No, no, wrong phrase. She felt heat flutter over her cheeks in embarrassment in shame, because the last time he’d seen her panties was when they were ten and she’d tripped straight onto his lap, and that had been Christmas when they’d accidentally- when they’d banned cake. After that incident.

She pulled the box open and threw on a pair of shorts. “You can, you can look back now. ‘Toru.” She added, in hopes that it would diffuse the sudden awkwardness that hung over both of them. It did nothing, evidently.

He turned back. His face was red, and he slipped on his sunglasses, looking anywhere but her face. She watched him as he took two steps and hiccupped.

“S- Sorry.” He hiccupped again. “I can’t-” Hiccup. “-seem to-” Hiccup. “-stop.”

“Well,” She began awkwardly, “Now it’s clear you’ve never had a girlfriend, huh.”

She'd half expected him to laugh or brush it off, just like he would always do: but it only made her feel uncannier, just how wrong he acted. Instead, he hiccupped again, and buried his face in his hands.

“God, I can’t-” Taking a deep breath. “-can’t seem to get anything right.”

The words stabbed at her heart, because it seemed so wrong.

That wasn’t a Satoru kind of thing to say at all. She didn’t know how the hell she was supposed to respond to that, so she just kept quiet.

And plus, he sounded upset. On-the-verge-of-tears level upset. She picked up the glass of water by the bedside she’d had for herself and passed it to him: he drank it, took a few deep breaths, and hovered awkwardly, attempting to calm himself as she sat on her bed, leaning herself against the bedframe and looking up at him.

He was in her room, drinking her water; and at this moment, she realized just how much she’d missed the presence in her life that had been Gojo Satoru.

It wasn’t just the endless chatter, but the presence, the gap that was filled. The way nothing was ever boring around him. The way he talked with her, walked with her, sat in silence with her. The way he just was, was something she’d missed. It dawned on her that he’d become such a big part of her life that his mere lack of presence felt so wrong.

She’d realized it, then, when Satoru’s father had offered to keep him away forever. Her decision to stay wasn’t her trying to use him as a foothold, or her being a forgiving person: she simply couldn’t. Because she’d missed the shit out of him, and while he’d done her wrong, his intentions had always been good with her and she had absolute faith that he’d never do anything with the intention of harming her. She’d realized that he was as crucial a part of her life as anything she could think of, more than her American life, more than judo, more than her studies, more than anything, and she felt a solitude in the week without him like something she’d never felt before.

A week. A week without him and she felt so damn relieved in his presence.

“So, Kozue…” Satoru cleared his throat. His hiccups had stopped. “How… have you… been living your life?”

She shrugged. “Fine. Wounds are gone. That family doctor of yours is damn good.”

“I know, right?” He grinned. “When I was young I used to climb that tree in the garden—the one you see out there—and he healed me cause once I almost broke my…” His smile fell. “But, uhm. That’s not important.”

They fell into a deep silence again. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring straight ahead, and his mouth formed a thousand words she couldn’t hear.

“Kozu.” He said, finally.

She didn’t think they’d been this quiet around each other since their last sleepover, when they’d been lying in the dark trying to sleep. The silence was filled by the clock, going tick, tock. Tick, tock.

“Uhuh.”

“Do you hate me?”

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Her mouth formed words and discarded them; she wondered why it was that words always seemed so fragile at the most crucial moments.  She'd always been bad at words.

That's why she liked Satoru so much, she remembered. Because he seemed to know her without a need for words.

“…I’d never hate you.” She said, finally. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

He exhaled, shakily.

“…yeah.” He said, so quietly she could barely hear it. “You did.”

The silence stretched out.

“Are you going to leave me?”

Easier, she thought. She’d already made up her mind.

“I’d never leave you.” She repeated.

“Oh.”

The silence stretched out. He seemed to be processing her answer, his eyes fixated on the ground in front of him, and she reached forward and sunk her fingers in his pale hair like she used to do, turning his head to face her.

“Uhuh?” She emphasized. A silent prompt to speak. A plea: don't look down.

He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. “…I just wanted to say… I just… well…”

She watched him in silence.

His mouth moved rapidly, quietly, then he turned to her and the words almost spilling out of his lips, he said, “Sorry. I’m really sorry. Please… forgive me.”

She stared at him. He stared back, his glasses hooked low on his nose, and his eyes fully visible for her to see: she took in the sight of his dark circles, his dull eyes, the way he blinked lazily as though he hadn’t slept in ages. It sent a jolt of pain and guilt through her heart.

Gojo Satoru didn’t apologize, her own voice nagged in her heard. She hadn’t realized it would… hurt him this much.

“I know I treated you like shit.” He continued. “Like… like a doll. I didn’t trust you. I treated you like glass and like you were useless. I assumed that I would make the best decisions for you even though you’re not weak, you’re one of the strongest people I know. I know what I did wrong, Kozu, I swear I did, I swear can change, I swear I can get better. I swear I’ll never do this ever again, if you don’t want me to, and I’ll always listen to you because I’ll be loyal to you forever. I swear. And I just- I know it sounds like excuses, but I- I can be level-headed, I can be rational, I can think-”

He choked back a breath.

“But in front of you- I can’t. I can barely breathe. I don’t wanna lose you- don’t wanna let you go- don’t wanna see you get hurt, or get sick, or get dead-

And I tried too hard to protect you and I made you lose trust in me and I’m… I’m… I’m…”

He bowed his head.

“I’m really, really, sorry, Kozu, and I’m regretting everything in my life right now, so please, can you,” His breath was erratic, “Please, can you forgive me?”

His hand reached out to grab hers. His fingers felt stiff and awkward. He pulled himself closer, and she could feel his breath on the back of her hand, a ghost of a kiss on the back of it, warmth caressing her skin as though he found it comforting, somehow.

“-I really miss you.” He whispered. “Please don’t leave me.”

Something wet hit her fingertips. It struck her then, that he was crying.

Crying.

Gojo Satoru, the most powerful man she knew… and he really, truly seemed to care.

“Please…” He repeated, and she could hear the soft whimper in his voice, “I’ll… I’ll do anything. Just stay with me. Please. Please. Please. Please.”

The tears, the soft voice that sounded full of snot and tears, that was a voice she didn’t hear often from him, and she knew that whatever he was saying, he meant it. These weren’t crocodile tears; this was him, afraid.

Gojo Satoru rarely ever cried, even in front of her.

Kozue felt a strangeness in her gut like she’d never felt before. It was a churning sensation, like something unfamiliar, like a feeling that she couldn’t and wouldn’t feel.

She didn’t know what it was, but she knew that Gojo Satoru…

“You made mistakes.” She said, “But you’re fourteen. You’re a kid, and so am I. Making mistakes is what we do. I’m not like your higher-ups. I don’t think you have to be perfect. I was just mad because a girl I liked died, but that’s it. Your intentions were good, but you just made some shitty decisions. And it’s not something I hold you for.”

He was silent.

“Got it?”

He nodded, slowly.

“So I don’t hate you. I don’t blame you for a few decisions you made that turned out like shit. You tried your best, and the fact that you prioritized me over everything, even your health, was…” She shook her head. “…I don’t know, Satoru. It was a lot.”

He brought his hands up to wipe at his eyes, and she batted them away, pressing her thumb to his cheeks to not irritate his skin, wipe them away with her sleeves gently. He looked at her; she smiled, the kind of smile that only Satoru could get out of her.

“‘Toru, I… I don’t know how to say this.

You’re allowed to make mistakes.”

His head rose and his eyes flew up to her, from the frown knitting her brow together to the hands that cupped his face gently, wiping at the tears that had fallen from his beautiful eyes. Yes, because everything about them lay in the arms that stood an awkward length apart, not open but not closed. It was the soft, awkward steps that they’d always taken, and it was always this silence they relished in, the comfort of two people who simply understood each other better than others.

This wasn’t the first time she’d fought with Satoru. How could it be? They’d been stuck together for six years. But they’d always been true to their emotions, and all she could feel now was that the tears that fell from his eyes hurt her, physically, enough for the dull ache in her heart to be a reality. All she knew was that he was by her side and that it somehow seemed to make everything feel better.

“Kozue,” Satoru whimpered, “I…”

“Please don’t cry, ‘Toru.” She murmured, and he jolted forward and wrapped his arms around her.

She let out a soft oomph as he brought both of them down onto the bed, swinging his leg around her frame and bringing a vague scent of sweat. He’d since got into the bed too, and while he was dressed in dirty clothes and she hated it when people went on the bed with dirty clothes, it was something she’d put up with for years now and she really couldn’t be bothered to say anything less.

"Kozue." He murmured, "Kozue, Kozue, Kozue, Kozue, Kozue."

Her name sounded like a plea, but even more than that: like prayers. Like she was some kind of magic.

She laughed, softly, wrapping her arms tighter around him, bringing him impossibly close. Closer than anyone had been to her, she knew, and closer than she knew herself. But not close enough, not with how much Satoru meant to her. "Satoru." She called back, and watched him smile back.

They lay there in silence.

“Before you say anything, Satoru,” She then spoke up, softly, rubbing his cheek with her thumb comfortingly, his face in her hands. She could sense a timing here, an opportunity. “Listen before you react, yeah?”

“Mhm?”

“…I’m attending the same school as you next year.”

His eyes whipped up to hers. “But I’m- I’m attending- the school- but- but the school I'm attending, it's Jujutsu High.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

His eyes widened in realization.

Gojo Satoru, one of the strongest sorcerers-in-training in the world, opened his mouth, closed it, looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. Instead, he nodded: a sign of submission.

“…okay.” He said, almost reluctantly, and nuzzled his face into her palm. “Whatever you say, Suzuki Kozue.”

Bingo.

He’d never felt so useless in his life.

He lay there in her arms, not moving an inch, wondering what she’d do to him next. Would she kill him? She had all the reasons to, and he knew for a fact that if she asked for it, he would let her. That was how much he loved her.

Her forgiveness wasn't something he would take for granted. She wasn't that kind of person, he knew: but if she asked for his blood, he would tear himself in half, and if she begged for a tear, he would cry until he himself dried up. It was a miracle she didn't hate him, and he found his affection in that fact, still.

The problem here didn’t lie in how deeply he felt towards her, because he did. He loved her. It was a revelation that shook him to the bone because he’d never loved anyone else so much before. It was the problem of how he’d expressed it, because how else was he supposed to care for someone? He held on to her like his paranoia did to himself, and he clung on so hard that she’d finally done it, she’d hit him hard and he couldn’t look back at her because he was too afraid of the look of loathing that would surely be on her face.

Gojo Satoru, not invincible. In fact, useless in front of her.

But then it didn’t feel like love. No, he’d heard all those descriptions, all those movies, all those love stories that had always depicted the sensation of love as gentle and all-powerful, something comforting yet omnipotent, but this was something else. Because if that was true, love couldn’t burn this badly, love couldn’t hurt this much, but love couldn’t feel so good. This was something stronger.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t want. It wasn’t anything normal, he thought, because Gojo Satoru did not feel emotions the way an ordinary man could ever.

The closest thing to it was a necessity. Like oxygen, like the ground one stood on: she was a necessity of his, vital to live. This was something he’d discovered in his discourse towards the girl he loved the most in the world, the person he valued the most in the world.

If she must die, he would envy even the earth that wrapped around her, even the breath that slowly left her. Even now, he envied the blood that flowed through her, the smile that graced her face because they seemed so much closer to her than he was, and he wanted nothing more than to be with her.

She was right; his intentions had been correct, but his actions contained flaws. She’d already shown him the way, just like she always did. He didn’t need to force things upon her, but to coax them in; he needed to not force, but give.

He had to change himself.

This wasn’t what she wanted, his will being forced upon her. No one wanted that. He’d mistakenly assumed that he would push her further, little by little, but that wasn’t effective, because he’d forgotten that she could snap. One could only get so flexible. No, what he needed to do was to follow her. To pledge his allegiance to her. To put himself in a collar and present her with the leash.

Gojo Satoru needed to conquer the world and offer it up to the girl on a platter.

She didn’t know yet- and, to tell the truth, he wasn’t sure if he could ever let her know. It drove him crazy, how she touched him like she didn’t know anything and her arms around him were so comforting, so tranquil. Her hands in his hair drove him crazy because she didn’t mean it that way, she was just being friends, she was just a familiar presence to him.

He’d always been so used to getting his way, to navigating the waters around him with ease, that he’d forgotten other people were on the ship too, and it was her that he really needed to navigate around. She’d never let him have it easy.

The past week had been the worst for him—he’d stayed up, haunted by her eyes that loathed him and blamed him. But it was different now, and now that she’d forgiven him, no one was taking her away from him, ever again. He would gift-wrap the most precious thing in the world and give it to her if she wanted it of him. Her presence scared him but her absence scared him more; he would coax her into being his, one step at a time, because the feelings that bound him so tight, they felt like a chain around his neck that she held the other end to.

She breathed slowly under him, her chest rising and falling. Rhythmic, calming, assuring. She was safe—inhale—and she was with him—exhale—and she was alive.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. The pattern that would define his life.

The pendulum that swung before him as the life of Suzuki Kozue was so fragile, so easily broken, that it scared him. The notion that he would open his eyes, and she would be gone: it scared him. To no end. He was the strongest, but that just meant everyone else was weaker. It was a curse that had befallen him, to be so strong, but a blessing that would be his greatest weapon in his pursuit of her.

His arms tightened around her, and he closed his eyes, finally relishing in the peace that was Suzuki Kozue to him, the silence and utter tranquillity that lay in her arms. He hadn't slept for almost a week, but he felt as though now, here, with her, he could. 

Suzuki Kozue, he thought. The only thing he wanted in the world, and the only thing he could never, ever, lose.

Chapter Text

There was nothing she knew how to do better, so she hit the field early in the morning.

Normally, she would have gone to the gym to do some weight training, or even have a go at the treadmill; there was a gym near her house, and she’d bought a yearly membership so that she could keep her body in top shape. Kozue was one of the top judo athletes in the prefecture, after all, and consistency was important in sports.

The problem was, she didn’t know if there was even a gym in the Gojo estate, or anywhere near it. it looked pretty darn secluded—probably to hide the fact that they were shamans—but it came with the disadvantage of having to drive or bike everywhere.

She’d neglected to ask Satoru, and starting tomorrow wasn’t really an option: she’d barely moved for nearly a week, and she had no doubt that a) she was losing shape and form, and b) she could feel the fat accumulating on her thighs and stomach. It was a bothersome thing to be a girl, she thought, because Satoru sure as hell didn’t seem to like the gym and ate sweets every day and he was still in perfect form.

After wailing, gossiping and patting her head for a full three hours, Satoru had fallen asleep on her bed. She’d spread a futon on the floor and rolled him down, where he’d slept just fine. Now she stepped over him, having changed into sports clothes in the bathroom, and stepped out into the outside environment.

It was a little cold, she thought as she slipped her headphones over her ears. An obvious insight, since it was winter, but she couldn’t help but shiver from the decision she’d made herself.

If only this place had a gym – which, it probably did. It was her lack of insight that had led her to neglect to ask any of the Gojos who originally lived here.

But it wasn’t like she wasn’t grateful, she thought. They’d given her a place to stay, three meals a day on a tray left outside her door. Hell, she thought as she stretched, some pretty damn good magic healing dojo.

Her side, which had been riddled with stitches a few days ago, was now completely healed. It was the effect of someone who apparently knew something called the reverse cursed technique. She wasn’t one to question it, but if it was up to her, she would say that reverse cured technique would be a pretty shitty technique to have: it would just mean serving people all your life, like that doctor served the Gojo family. Pretty good pay, but not much glory to it.

Ignoring her thoughts, Kozue broke off into a steady jog, humming along to the music from her iPod. ABBA. Satoru had always liked it.

Gojo’s father had given her a new phone a while back, calling it “compensation”. She’d received it, found it backed up with all the pictures she’d had in her old one, but all the contacts had been wiped except two: Satoru, and a contact simply labelled Gojo.

It was a warning, Kozue thought, keeping a steady pace as she did laps around the house. She’d been warned to stay near the place, but it was a big enough estate that the scenery wasn’t that boring anyway. Her contacts, all her former friends wiped, Rin wiped…

It was a warning to stay away from her old life. This is your new one. Get rid of the old.

She wondered if her mother had been asked for her number, to put into this phone. Undoubtedly not.

As Kozue’s jogging neared thirty minutes, she slowed down noticeably: while she’d warmed up considerably from the start, the fact that she hadn’t exercised for the past few weeks stuck with her. Her body felt a little heavier than usual.

No, this wouldn’t do, she thought. It was the only weapon, the only advantage, she had over shamans who had studied this path for a long time.

The day was cold, so she made her way inside swiftly; she’d ask Satoru if they had a training area or a gym later. The doors were traditional Japanese housings, but for some reason seemed to block out the wind and sounds perfectly.

It was an eerily big house. She could understand, at this moment, just why Satoru had felt so lonely in this house, enough to come out to a world he found ‘boring’, enough to be on a set of abandoned benches on that day he’d met her.

If she shouted, her voice would probably echo.

“Try it.” Someone said, in soft English. She whipped around.

Her father stood there, unsmiling, his arms crossed. He was dressed in a traditional kimono – something that seemed to be standard wear in the Gojo estate, and something that made her stand out even more – and he blinked at her, unimpressed.

“Try it.” He repeated. “The voices do echo. It’s not fun being an only child, in a large place like this. It’s lonely… tiring… and at some point, you just want to run away.”

“No one asked.” She snapped back in Japanese. “Get out.”

“And when you do hear people,” He continued, seemingly unhearing her, “No one wants to…”

“-talk to you?” She stopped. “What do you want? Condolences that having a sad childhood made you a wife-beater and a child neglecter? Did you even pay your child support?”

Just when she could forget his presence, he seemed to pop up everywhere. Her mother had come to visit her a few days back, and she’d been accompanied by him, trailing after her like a disgusting lost puppy. She didn’t know what he wanted to do – forcefully insert himself into their lives after years of being missing? – but she knew for a fact that both herself and her mother wanted nothing to do with this.

His mouth tightened. “…you’re never going to…”

A surge of anger left her gut, threatening to exit her mouth. Great. Her morning was ruined now. “To what? Forgive you? Let that go? Oh, yeah, you just fucking up and disappeared, but you know, you want to tell me about how you gave everything up and ran away to go to the U.S. with your pretty little family, and you accidentally smacked the living daylights out of your wife, and forgot about your kid, huh?”

He was quiet. She stood there, arms crossed, tapping her feet.

“Oh, sorry.” She laughed. “Do you even know my name?”

“…Nakamura.” He said. “Nakamura Kozue.”

“Wrong.” She watched his expression, carefully, and hated herself for doing so. “It’s Suzuki. I got my name changed, remember? You had to sign it off. I bet you don’t even remember it.”

He stood there, silently.

It was as though he was waiting for her to stop, or as though he was being patient with her. Why? Why, after he’d done so much, did he suddenly decide to be the patient one now?

“What do you want?” She said aloud, and instantly regretted how his face twisted from indifference to fake care. What did she care about the truth? Even if he cared now, it was still fake. Because he didn’t care all these years, and it was a little too late now.

Why were the men in her life so, so bent on making her life a living hell? Rin had never caused these problems; her mother had tried her best to provide for her, regardless of how little time she’d spent with her own daughter because of the hours spent working. But the men…

“I…” He licked his lips. She hated how he looked older, a little more exhausted. A little less youthful than how she remembered him.

He was fucking thirty-five. He was years younger than the average parent. And he couldn’t look a little more alive, at least?

“I want to, help.” He said. He sounded like he’d choked out the last word. Good – at least he was ashamed.

“You want to what?”

“Help. Both of you. Your mother didn’t accept my apology, but she… but she said, she’d come back to the U.S. with me. She doesn’t want to be an obstacle to you. I’m planning on keeping her safe since she might be under danger from all the curse users going after you.”

The news sent a jolt running through her. No way it was real but- if it was-

No, no. She scoffed, pushing the thought aside. “You want to help.”

“Yes. I took care of the bounty, but there’s no telling who else is coming after you, now that the Gojo boy’s-”

“Satoru.”

“…now that Satoru has been linked to you explicitly. The bounty may go away, but the information doesn’t, and you might be targeted. And in your current state-” He stopped, swallowed his words.

Her blood ran cold.

“My current state being what.” She said, quietly. “Just spit it out.”

“…you don’t know any jujutsu.” He told her; it hit her in the gut. “I can’t force you to forgive me but I can atone. I can make your lives easier. I can try to bring back everything as it was. I know you liked your life in America better. Your mother told me about all the things you missed… about all the things you went through… I can, I can provide a house.” His eyes flickered to her, then fell all the way back down. “I can move out… give you back your old house.”

And apologizing, she thought. What was it with men and their apologies? Why would they… what…

Why would they force their feelings on her, try to talk to her even though she’d never asked for such a thing? Why did they always think that, with a little prodding, she would forgive them with a snap of their fingers? Why was she always seen as weaker than them?

“So,” Kozue said, slowly, emphasizing her every word, “You want me to come back so you can protect me?”

Her father opened his mouth; she raised an eyebrow at him. He closed it again, and sighed.

“Pretty much.” He admitted. “You’re smart.”

“No thanks to you.” She shot at him. “All genes from my mother, thank fuck.”

He grimaced. “Touché.”

“Oh, you think it’s fucking funny, yeah?”

They faded into awkward silence. She made a mental note to ask her mother about this later, and the questionable decision she’d made to follow Kozue’s father back to the U.S., but that could come later. But for now…

There was something she could use in front of her, she thought, and something in her head clicked like a jigsaw puzzle.

“Nah.” She sang, as nonchalantly as she could, “I’m not coming. Gotta attend Jujutsu High.”

He stiffened. “What?”

“Oh,” She said, feigning surprise, “You didn’t know? I’m going to Jujutsu High starting next year. Just gotta learn jujutsu, but I’ve always been something of a fast learner.”

“But,” He seemed at a loss for words, which was oddly satisfying to her, “But why? It’s, it’s nothing but hell. You’re going to stay stuck here forever, in this corrupt son-of-a-bitch-”

“So I gotta deal with not being able to protect people I love?” She crossed her arms. “and I gotta deal with people saying they’re going to protect me and making me feel like deadweight? No thank you. I’d rather learn to fend for myself than rely on some godforsaken man like you.”

His mouth opened and closed, like a goldfish.

She was kind of getting the hang of this, she thought. Threatening adult men. It was a skill she’d newly discovered, because although she hated attention and felt most comfortable being at home, she wasn’t afraid of jackshit, not after all that had happened to her.

“And if you want to act like a father for the first time in your life,” Her voice was low, grating, condescending. She took a few steps forwards until her mouth was level with his ear, and jabbed her finger into his shoulder with each syllable, with as much force as her weak body could muster. “You better teach me every goddamn thing you know so that I can learn to grow up and be nothing like you, hm?”

Her father stood there, silently, and slowly, his eyes dipped down to the floor. He took a deep breath in, then out.

Bingo, she thought.

“What can I do?”

“Jujutsu.” She blurted out, immediately. “Teach me how to use cursed energy.”

He licked his lips again. He’d really quit drinking, she thought: she could tell, because he no longer reeked like alcohol and that scent she’d trembled at since she was young, and his eyes were no longer red. But most of all, now that drinking no longer flushed his face red, only now she realized what a handsome, clear-skinned, pale man he was.

He would have been popular in his younger days, she thought. She’d gotten her straight dark hair from him.

The fact that she’d gotten anything from him disgusted her, but then again, she’d gotten her jujutsu heritage, and she could use that to the fullest. One thing to thank him for.

“Deal.” He said, and held out his hand.

She shook it.

She held the phone to her ear.

The number you dialled does not exist.

Kozue scrunched up the number, and thought back to the stranger with the cookies and the warm smile, with the embrace that was so comforting. The paper had been scrunched up to tatters, and the ink was blotched and barely visible. She could barely make out the numbers- but no, no. She couldn't-

She dialled again. No, she couldn’t let go.

The number you dialled does not exist…

Chapter Text

The cold wind scraped at her bare skin, even more so in such an open space. There were no trees, no buildings, nothing to escape this wind: there was simply the vast field of dead grass, withered over cold tombstones that bore names of people who had once lived.

Suzuki Kozue, dressed in a suit, stood in front of the freshly marked grave and leaned down. There, she nestled the flowers that she’d brought, white that fit perfectly with the marble of the tomb; the color added variety to the other flowers that people had brought, she thought. There were certainly a lot of them, some fresh, some old. The burial had taken place weeks beforehand, obviously, and this meant that the scents that decorated either side of the tomb were fizzed out and the flowers that lay in the bottom of the pile were withered and weak.

The grave was larger than most and read, Yamamoto. Four names were inscribed on the bottom of it. The one on the bottom left read Rin.

Kozue grazed her fingers over the carved name, flinching at the cold stone.

“Hey.” She said.

She imagined Rin standing next to her, admiring her own grave. Still dressed in the exact same outfit she’d died in, a white night-dress with a white hairband. Her dark hair braided and hanging down her back.

Strangely, it was the only way she could imagine her recently killed best friend.

“Hey.” She repeated. “I hope everything’s going well. The procession was a few weeks ago, and I heard your family was pretty darn popular. I could tell why, you know. The cake, the keychain…” From within her pockets, she drew out the very keychain, handcrafted, given to her on Christmas. She set it next to the flowers. “Just thought I’d give it back. A good luck charm.”

In her imagination, she thought, Rin was always laughing. Kozue had always taken that smile from granted. She’d never realized how easily it could be taken away, replaced in her memory by the look of terror and blame that glazed her eyes over.

When Rin died, Kozue reminded herself frequently, she hadn’t been laughing. She hadn’t even been smiling. She’d been staring accusingly at Kozue, her mouth parted in the midst of choking.

“Just so you know,” And here she drew out another, a polaroid they’d taken, “In case you think I’ve forgotten. In case you think I’ve let go of my remorse and self-hatred. In case you think I’ve forgotten who did this to you, I just. I just want to say.” She cleared her throat. “I haven’t. And I’ve… well, I’ve been thinking about you every day.

And I don’t think I’ll be able to stop until the day I die.

Just because I’ve started to get my ass up and moving doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about you. You’re still here, always, with me. I just wanted to drop by to see you, reassure you that I’ll be visiting every year from now on. New Years’ won’t be a happy celebration for me anymore. Because you died before you could experience that happiness, I’ll do the same: I’ll sit here, alone, remorseful, sad, and hating myself. No more festivals. No more candied apples. I promise. I’ll stay here with you to keep you company.

And you keep me company too, you know that?” She took a seat, drew her knees up before her, and hugged them close. The ground was dusty, but at least it was dry; the snow had stopped a week or so ago. “I’ve begun my journey and you’re coming with me, all the way. I took my first step a week back. Started my first class for learning jujutsu with my dad—you would have socked him. I wish you would, but dead people can’t exactly throw hands with their best friend’s dad.

I started my first class today. I was taught the basics of cursed energy. I can’t really use it, which is apparently normal for someone who’s never used it in their life, but I can’t do jackshit yet and I don’t like it. I got Nakamura to promise that he’d give me his armory, because he sure as hell doesn’t use it and I sure as hell need it.”

Kozue looked back. A black car was parked in front of the gate, and leaning on it was Satoru; he waved at her, and she nodded back. He was guarding her—safety protocol that Gojo-san had instructed her, in case any more enemies of the Gojo clan came to get her.

“Hey, Rin, I know you always admired me. Before the end. You were a real boost to my ego, actually. But the thing is…” She pursed her lips. “…do you think I can be a shaman? I’m learning years later than any other person, and I know people start in adulthood too but that’s different. I have two months to learn this shit. And I’m not going to Jujutsu High to joke around—I’m going there to be the most powerful. To win everyone. To be on top. But there’s probably going to be people like Satoru, so many more people, and I sometimes think whether I’m being too naïve.

I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t think I want to know. The answer isn’t something I’ll like.

Because my dad told me what his cursed technique was. A lot of it is based off of genetics, especially the larger clans. The Zen’in clan. The Gojo clan. They all have their little techniques, and you know what my dad’s is? Fucking useless for a girl who wants to defend everyone, I think.

Some magic power he has.” She laughed. Sarcastically. “Apparently he was born with abnormally low levels of cursed energy—he has something called heavenly restriction, so he can’t do jackshit but he’s strong. Maybe that’s why he hit my mom so goddamn hard, huh?

And he’s no help until the end, right? Some good that’ll do, in a fight with someone like Gojo. A stronger body, that’s just plain stupid, I have that already—I need something bigger, flashier, better. I want to fight people with a power of my own and I want to win, but what good will a nice body do against guys who can hit like tractors? Against ‘Toru’s Red? I really, really want to be the protagonist of my own story, and I need my own strength for that.

Rin, is that too much to ask for?”

The grave was quiet, too quiet. Only the wind and whistle of dry grass fluttering against a cold winter weather.

Suzuki Kozue was talking to a gravestone: she’d finally gone insane. Absolutely mad.

“Apparently I’ll develop my own technique as time passes, but with such a heavy influence leaning on physical strength than anything else, with my father and everything, I don’t know.” She sighed. “Maybe I just need to defy fate. Sounds easy enough, huh?”

Reaching over, she touched the gravestone fondly, and beneath her fingertips she could almost feel the softness of Rin’s face. The face which, before death, had still been warm to the touch, laughing at her jokes, talking animatedly, blowing on her hands as Kozue muttered, I’m cold.

“And for, for Rin’s family,” Kozue took a deep breath, “I’m… I’m really sorry.

I don’t think I’ll be able to ever atone for what I did, but I promise I’ll come every year, because you were the first family to ever take me in as their own. You were… and I was…”

Fucking stupid. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. She’d already cried at home, alone, and she didn’t need Satoru staring at her on their way home. She took a deep breath and sucked the tears back in; then she took another one, and another one, until she was breathing slowly in and out as a reminder that she was alive and her friend wasn't.

“You weren’t even my family, but you were the closest thing I had to one.”

She stood up, dusted down her knees. “And I’m sorry they snuck into your house and disturbed your peace. I took all my stuff back, so don’t worry about it.”

The grave was silent. She took another breath, and bowed to the tombstone.

“Thank you for taking care of me. I hope you’re not lonely, and I’ll see you next year.”

Kozue wiped her eyes dry—not that she was crying—and turned back, bumping into a small frame. “Ow!”

She staggered back and caught the person as they swayed, noticing how light they were: it was a boy who was a little shorter and younger than her. He had dark hair, a bright smile, and an oddly… familiar face.

“Oh, sorry.” She let go. “You okay?”

He swayed back and forth, scrunching up his face as though deep in thought; just when she was wondering what was up with him, he made a sound of exclamation, pointed, and yelled, “Oh! Star-san!”

Kozue blinked. “…wha?”

“Star-san, right? The… the star of our judo academy! The one that the coach always boasts about! You fought me a few weeks back, remember? The last time you went to the academy?”

It dawned on her. The boy she’d nearly broken the bones of.

“Oh.” She opened her mouth, closed it. Talk about karma. “Yes. Right. Uh, sorry about the academy back then, I was a bit…”

“No, don’t be!” His face broke out in a huge smile and he grabbed her hands. Behind him, she saw Satoru jolt towards her, and sternly gave him a look: stay. “That was awesome! I always heard about you, but that was the first time I got to fight you, and boy, you were awesome! I mean- I- senpai was awesome! Your moves went this way, and then that way, and then bam!” He shook her hand. “Are you here to see Rin-senpai as well?”

She jolted. “You know Rin?”

“Oh yeah, our family were friends. It’s so horrifying, the Yamamotos were awesome, but I guess the best people always have the worst luck… but it’s fine, they’re someplace better now.” At her puzzled expression: “I’m, I’m Haibara, Haibara Yu. A year younger than you. Please call me Yu! And, oh, Rin-senpai told me so much about you! She said you were awesome and she finally got to be friends with you, but… uhm…” His eyes flickered behind her, at the grave. He trailed off. “But anyways!”

“Anyways.” She agreed, watching him talk. He was bubbly, a smart kind of guy. The kind of person that Rin ought to attract. “I was just seeing them. I’ll get going soon.”

“No, wait! Before you go!”

Kozue’s feet, which had just begun to move, stopped awkwardly: she stared at him, curiously. “Huh?”

“I just want to say, the stuff you said to me before at the academy, that stuff actually was super inspiring and helpful for me! I was talking with my parents a week or so back and you helped me find my direction. I set my goal as this one high school in particular, and now that I have a goal thanks to you, senpai, I’m really excited. So I just wanted to thank you for that fight!”

“I almost broke your arm.” She said, stunned.

“I know! Judo is dangerous for a reason. I’m not very good at it—only started learning a few months or so back.”

“Oh.” She blurted, unsure of what else to say in the face of this strangely cheery boy in a graveyard. He looked at her expectantly. “…thank you?”

“And I just wanted to say that, cause, uhm,” There, his ears reddened visibly, and he ducked his head, “You looked a little down. And I wanted to help. You said sorry a lot—not that I was here from the start! Only since the end!—but you did apologize a lot and I wanted to say, uhm, it wasn’t your fault they died. Also, they’re really great people, so they probably wouldn’t have blamed you even if it was, ‘cause you’re a nice person, too, and I’m sure you wouldn’t have done it on purpose.”

She felt her face go numb. The boy was… he was saying these words… for what?

“And, so, thank you for inspiring me! And know that, well, you have a good influence on people, so there’s no need to get yourself down from a death! That was all I wanted to say!” His eyes shot up to her, and he dug around in his pockets, pulling a notebook out and scribbling something down. “I heard you’re moving out from the coach and stuff, but I just… well, this is probably a really sad time for you, so uh, if you want to…” He cleared his throat. “If you want someone to talk to or something, senpai, I’m- I’m just going to!” He ripped out the paper, folding it neatly, and pressed it into her hand. “Thank you! See you! Bye!”

He swept past her like the winter wind, and she heard his footsteps fade: something strange pricked at the back of her throat, nothing bad but nothing good either, and she stared down at her palm at the present that the storm of a boy had given her.

It was a note, and a lollipop; a part of the writing stuck out from the fold and grinned at her. His email. Above it, he’d written:

gambare!

-yu-kun :)

She stared at it in awe, wondering just when Rin had made such normal friends, such deserving friends, such good friends. And just when had Suzuki Kozue been any sort of influence to anyone?

The boy was strange, she thought. Short and light. All smiles. Just the kind of person she seemed to attract.

Strange, she thought, and dropped both into her pockets.

“Satoru,” She greeted, as she got to the gate. “I’m done.”

“Who was that you were talking to? Little prick-lookin’ guy, huh? Want me to beat him up?” He adjusted his glasses and made the nastiest face she’d seen so far. “Threatening my Kozue? On my watch? Never, you little—”

“Shut up and get in the back seat.”

“Ow!”

She really didn’t know what it was with people ambushing her in her own room.

When Suzuki Kozue got back from her lesson of the day, wiping the sweat from her forehead, she could instantly tell that someone was in the room. Not only had the lights been flicked on, but she could see a swaying shadow under the door that seemed to insinuate the presence of a person in her room, someone she definitely hadn’t been expecting.

The feeling of someone accompanying a space that had been given to her only was a notion she didn’t really like. Satoru was Satoru, so that was okay; but if it was someone else, like her father or even that head of the Gojo clan, she’d knock their teeth out.

Just in case, she jammed her hand into her pocket and felt the small knife that she’d been given in case she got attacked. The Gojo estate was secure as it could be—she’d spent weeks here already, she should already know—but it still bothered her that anyone could be in that room.

Plus, readying yourself for what was behind a door would be a useful habit. It was a habit that probably would have saved the life of Yamamoto Rin, anyway.

As always, it seemed to remind her of Yamamoto Rin. Everything did.

She’d gotten her closure, she’d started working for a goal to make sure she wouldn’t make the same mistakes: but she’d never forget. And she’d never stop feeling the pang of guilt that closed around her neck whenever she thought about the girl herself.

Kozue saw the shadow shift; she flipped out the knife and pressed her fingers against the door handle, counting down from three silently before throwing the door open.

Feeling herself collide with someone around the same height as herself, she grabbed their wrist and planted herself firmly against the ground for a throw: then, she turned, and saw herself about to judo flip her mother.

“Oh.” She said, awkwardly.

“Kozue.” Her mother said, awkwardly.

They stood there for a few seconds, not quite sure what to do: her with her fingers wrapped around her mother’s wrist, her core balanced and halfway in the middle of a judo position: and her mother standing there, stiff, unmoving.

She didn’t think she’d felt so awkward with her mother since… well, since they’d last met.

It seemed like every time they interacted, there were nowhere to step but landmines. Everything could hurt, everything would hurt, nothing felt like a safe option to talk about… she remembered, vaguely, that she’d always tried talking to her mother when she was young. It was only when she’d gotten older that she gave up on the older woman, that she let her mother have dinner in peace and make her way into her bedroom.

Then she’d hear the door lock click, and she’d see her mother next half a month later.

Her mother definitely looked healthier that she wasn’t working anymore—news she’d had to hear from her father. The dark circles were gone, and she no longer looked so pale. Kozue let go of her, and took a step back, rubbing her hands together nervously.

“Uh,” She said, “I’ll just… leave.”

She whirled around, ready to leave this godawful silence, and find someone who would make her feel better—Satoru, maybe—but her mother said, in a strained voice: “Wait.”

Kozue froze. It wasn’t a nice feeling.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Oh,” She said, dumbly. “Sure.”

Every cell in her body was screaming no, don’t talk, it’s awkward and gross, but her body never seemed to really listen to her anyway: she turned back around robotically, took a few steps, and sat down on the bed.

To her surprise, her mother followed suit: the bed sank a little as she sat next to her, and the awkward air felt a little more stuffy in an enclosed room. The door swung shut.

“It’s a nice change.” Her mother started, softly. “We never get to spend New Years’ together.”

“Uhuh.”

Kozue wondered if she should bring up the fact that it was probably because her mother was goddamn working all the time, but as a single mother who’d had to start from scratch, and a loner in a country where all her relatives had disowned her, working many jobs was something that came with the package deal. It was for Kozue, anyway, and she knew that: it just didn’t feel good to be alone all the damn time, and she’d probably have done a nose-dive off a bridge years ago if it wasn’t for Satoru’s presence.

You have no mom and dad! She vaguely remembered a boy teasing her in primary school, at a parent-teacher conference. Kozue had sat there alone, knowing for a fact her mother couldn’t make it. It didn’t change that she’d felt horrible.

And all those family shrine visits on the pamphlets had been a lie for her, too. Going to a shrine with family on New Year’s? It was some kind of twisted, sick myth.

She felt all those words bubble up in her throat. Instead, she pushed it down and said, “How’s… not working?”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “Fine. It’s… it’s good. The Gojo family is providing so far.”

“You planning on doing anything fun when you, uh.” She shrugged. “go to America? Life’s still short. You’re still young.”

“I’ll have to get a job.”

“You should really stop working.”

“I’ll only work one.”

They faded into awkward silence. Kozue remembered she’d had a bunch of questions: why she was going to the U.S. with her father, why she was leaving her, why she always left her, why she would always bee alone. Why her mother had never told her about Gojo Satoru. Why her mother always looked at her with those eyes, a mix of regret and apology and something that couldn’t be pride, because she’d neglected Kozue her whole life and Suzuki Kozue could not be anyone’s pride.

“So,” She begun again, “You’re leaving. To the U.S.”

Her mother opened her mouth, closed it. She didn’t think she’d ever seen her mother look so lost before: strict was one word to describe her, always, and so was direct. Lost? Never.

“Yes.” She said, softly. “I am.”

Kozue wanted to close her eyes. Block her ears. Fade off into somewhere no one could find her.

“…you must be questioning my decision.”

Was that a trick question? “A little.”

“Do you… blame me and your father?”

“I blame Nakamura, for sure.” She wanted to say, I blame you too. But the words didn’t leave her mouth: what was the point of Suzuki Kozue, snarky, anarchistic, if she couldn’t ever get the right words out? She was just stupid, that was what she was.

“Listen,” Her mother said, “Kozue. I’m not leaving you because I don’t need you. I’m not leaving because you don’t matter. I took you with me when I first left America because I treasured you that much. It wasn’t the lack of care that forced my hand in this.”

The words should have brought a warmth into her, it should have given her relief: instead, all it seemed to do was settle a cold, uncomfortable feeling deep in her gut.

Which didn’t make sense. Because this was what she’d wanted, right? This was what she’d always wanted to hear from her mother: that she’d never left her alone on purpose, and she wasn’t going to the U.S. like this, suddenly, all because she wanted to leave Kozue. That Kozue had never been an extra mouth to feed, an extra person in the house. That Kozue had meant something, Suzuki Kozue the daughter of a single woman, a product of an accident and a teen pregnancy. That Suzuki Kozue wasn’t misfortune, wasn’t the thing that made her mother quit college and run away to the U.S. and ruin her future.

Then why did it make her feel

So

Bad?

Something swelled up inside of her, inflating her like a balloon: something packed in her too tight, about to pop. Something uncomfortably pushing at her insides like it wanted to get out.

“Oh.” She said, quietly. It just sounded like excuses to her, that was why.

“No,” Her mother said, and it sounded hurried, like she cared—“That’s not it, Kozue, I’m not making excuses. Listen.”

“Uhuh.”

Even that sounded pathetic to her ears.

“I’m leaving to America and your father promised to protect me in case something happens, but that’s it. I’m not getting back with him and I sure don’t forgive him for what he did. Understood?”

“Uhuh.”

“And I’m doing this because I don’t want to get in your way, Kozue.”

Her eyes snapped up. “Huh?”

“Kozue,” Her mother said, and this was the calmest Kozue had probably ever heard her speak: not strict, not tired, calm. Like there was something she needed to do. “You have so much potential. You have the blood, you have the talent: and I know you work hard. You’ve worked so, so hard all these years. And you need to work harder.

Right now, my best decision isn’t to be with you. People will be coming after you—the Gojo boy has that kind of effect on a person—and they’ll come after me because of it, too. And I know you want to be a jujutsu sorcerer. I’ve tried to stop it but it’s going to happen anyway, Kozue, it’s your fate. And my best decision is to stop getting in your way.

That’s the only reason. You’re going to be the best. And I want you to be free. I don’t want to weigh you down. That’s why I’m leaving you.”

Kozue felt a numbness in her that started from the tips of her ears and spread, as though the words travelled through her body and resonated in her.

“So,” Was all Kozue could say, “I need to be the best.”

This was always how it’d worked. The silent promise between her and her mother, the news she got back from school, the judo and math Olympiad trophies that were stacked on the shelves of a home she’d never go back to.

Her mother’s eyes hardened.

“Yes.” She said. “The best.”

This was a conversation she knew. It was the only one she knew with her mother, with the teachers who watched her in schools, with the people who applauded her in the stands whenever she did a throw or a good counter.

That was how far away her mother seemed to her part of the audience, or maybe even further. So far, she wouldn’t have time to watch a single match.

Because the matches, the prizes, had never been the intention of her mother. Kozue had realized this, growing up: that while the karate place next door was famous in its prefecture and while taekwondo was a popular sport for teen girls, the reason her mother had grabbed her hand and dragged her into judo was ultimately because it was the best for self-defense.

The reason was clear as day: be better than me.

Never live through a beating, her mother always warned her, because it was the very thing that had always haunted Kozue when she got under a table: her mother’s black-and-purple face hushing her, the scratching of the table. That was lesson number one she’d been taught.

“And your father is right about this.” Her mother said. “Kozue, remember: never let anyone get the better of you. No sorcerer, no curse, and especially no man.

Never let them get the better of you, ever.”

Suzuki Kozue knew her mother’s deepest wishes: that Kozue would turn out better than herself. To have enough power so that no one could get the better of her, whether it was physically or financially or emotionally or anything.

Kozue needed to be on top.

“Okay.” Kozue said. “I promise.”

“Good.”

Chapter Text

Her parents left the week after, in late February. The day reflected a not-quite-winter but not-quite-spring feeling that tickled the end of her nose.

She didn’t get to bid them goodbye. There were no proper goodbyes in the Suzuki household: it was just the way it was. No crying, no sobbing. It was simply that one day, there had been two occupied rooms, and now they were empty. Everything had been folded and packed neatly, and the sheets were clean as though the rooms hadn’t been occupied in years.

She felt an indescribable feeling rise up in her when she saw the empty rooms, greeting her cheerfully as though nothing had happened.

But that only lasted for a few days. Gojo-san had assigned her with people who would teach her the basics of jujutsu, classes four times a week. School wasn’t a necessity—although she hadn’t sat the final exams for her middle school, she’d still been told that strings had been pulled to get her the middle school diploma—and high school was approaching, quickly, something she needed to learn much more desperately.

Jujutsu High, she thought, would be much different.

First of all, she’d been told that she would be moving into the high school dorms, something she hadn’t expected: which was a good thing, she thought, as she didn’t really want to keep living like this in the Gojo estate. It was easy to tell why Satoru didn’t like this place.

Satoru, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind either way.

“I don’t mind,” He’d said, “As long as I get to be with you, Kozu-chan!”

She’d smacked him upside the head. “Dumbass.”

“Huh?”

He looked at her with such a happy look in his eyes that she hadn’t told him that dorms were usually split male-female. She would probably live in the one wing, and he’d live in the other… but they were all minor details.

And it was true, that the presence of Gojo Satoru helped in adjusting herself to this strange new environment.

He’d been much more compliant than she’d thought he would be. For someone who had been so against her attending Jujutsu High, now that she was set to attend it, he seemed perfectly content: happy, even, to hear that she would be attending the same school as him again. His biggest happiness seemed to lie in the fact that they were now pretty much housemates, and it was undeniable to someone as pessimistic as Suzuki Kozue, her best friend Satoru cheered her up immensely.

There was simply no time to think about anything else. Between classes, physical training, and Satoru barging into her room holding board games, she was perfectly distracted in what may have been a tragic moment of her life.

No parents, no Rin, no house: and, astoundingly, Gojo Satoru filled the space perfectly.

Was it normal, she thought, for one person to be able to fill the gap of three? Or did this just mean Satoru meant that much to her? This was an arrangement that she had yet to know more about. Satoru himself was an arrangement she was still in the midst of figuring out.

Classes exhausted her, too. The jujutsu world was much more technical than she’d have thought, too. There were all sorts of domains and simple domains and barriers, and she needed to learn theory before anything else.

Sighing, Kozue rolled over on Satoru’s bed. He’d left to fetch something important—strange, as it was late at night—but she didn’t really question it, because it was probably a snack, and both of them knew that late night snacks tasted the best.

Instead, she fiddled with his phone, navigating the clunky Tetris and trying to avoid the discarded pile of Go Fish on his bed. They’d long since given up watching any kind of show. It was the middle of the night, deep when everyone else was asleep.

Time passed quickly, she thought. Soon, it would be April, and soon she would begin her Jujutsu High education. The very fact that she was getting older seemed strange enough, but the entirely new environment completely unnerved her.

Would she even make friends? She had Satoru, of course, so no one else really seemed to matter; but it would be good to get along, no?

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Clicking her tongue, she swore as she lost yet another round. When Satoru did it, it always seemed so easy to play…

Knock again.

“’Toru,” She said, abusing the buttons on his phone, “This is your room.”

“My hands are full!”

She tossed the phone on the bed and sprung up; confirming that it was indeed the voice of Gojo Satoru, she pulled the door open. “Yo, you’re going to have to help me beat that-”

Kozue trailed off.

Satoru stood in front of her, a smile on his face. The corridors were dark, but it was clear what he was holding: a chocolate-brown cupcake in one hand, the other behind his back. And illuminating his face was a candle that emerged from the pile of frosting.

It was small, green, and flickered as though it was dancing.

“…Satoru?” She asked, confused.

He cleared his throat and stepped into the room; closing the door behind him, he begun to sing in a low voice. “Happy birthday to you… happy birthday to you… happy birthday to dear Kozue…”

“’Toru, what-” She blinked. “What day is it?”

“Better question.” He corrected. “What time is it? Well, Kozue, I’m glad you asked. Today’s March 31^st, the last day of March, 00:02 AM. 2 minutes past midnight.”

Her mouth opened, closed. He brought out the hand from behind his back and thrust something into her hands. It was a neatly wrapped package, wrapped in a similar green to the candle.

She hadn’t even… she’d forgotten her own birthday. Completely.

And Satoru had remembered, and managed to celebrate two minutes in.

“I-” She started. “Wh- wow. Organized. For once.”

“Is that all you have to say?” He pouted. “You’re such a tsundere, Kozu-chan. Now, the wax is dripping and it’s kinda hot, so please make a wish quick!”

“Uhm.” She blinked. “That’s for kids-”

“Nuh-uh.” He pressed a finger to her mouth. “You’ll jinx it. Now make a wish!”

She stared at Satoru; he grinned back at her, mouth wide.

“Oh,” He said, “And the real cake is bigger. I thought you’d like a smaller one since, you know. It’s twelve. You don’t want to get fat.”

She scowled at him. “This is double chocolate. You can’t say that and get me the sweetest cupcake of all cupcakes.”

“Well,” He sung, leaning in closer, “Buyers choosers. I have the wallet, after all. Now quick, the frosting doesn’t taste as good when there’s wax in it.”

He took her hand and led her over to the bed; she sat down as he instructed, and closed her eyes likewise, too.

“Now,” He said, “Make a wish!”

This was stupid, she thought. She only complied with it because it was Satoru, because he was the only one who could make her do something so stupid. She called Santa an old fat man—and she certainly didn’t make wishes at candles.

Who was she supposed to make a wish to, anyway?

Dear… God, she decided, and brought her hands together. Let me be the most powerful sorcerer alive. Let me be strong.

Let me never have to see another friend die.

Let me be able to stay with Satoru forever.

Her eyes flickered open, and she blew the candle out gently. The flame flickered off.

“We’re both fifteen now.” She told him, as he plucked out the candle and discarded it in the trash. “A ripe age to be indoctrinated by the patriarchy. We’ve got to be careful, especially around this age, or they might brainwash us.”

He laughed. “When has that ever worked out?”

When has that ever worked out?

She thought about her position now: something she’d never expected. Sitting in a household of sorcerers, about to attend a school where she would learn how to kill curses. Nothing had ever gone as planned, ever since she’d met Satoru. Not a single aspect of her life. It was just the banal chaos he brought to a girl who’d had a similarly chaotic life, and it matched with the twists and turns in her life perfectly. No, it had never worked out; and she’d settle for nothing less.

In that moment, watching his face, she felt as though the wishes were real, that when wished upon a small birthday candle in a small room with a boy and a girl, it would all become true. That she would become strong, that she would never see anyone die, and that she would stay, in this moment of time, forever. With the only one that made her feel at home.

“You’re right.” She agreed.

She leaned forwards and brushed her lips against his cheek: a gesture that felt instinctive, as though it was an action so normal between the two of them. His cheeks were warm, and as she pulled away she saw his mouth part slightly. “Thanks, ‘Toru. For everything.”

Satoru smiled at her, the smile she loved so much: not the handsome smirk that accompanied his confidence, but the soft smile that spread across his lips. The one that seemed to be reserved for just her.

She wanted this side of Satoru to be hers forever.

“Anything for you,” He spoke softly; his fingers reached up to tip against his cheek. “My one and only.”

Chapter Text

It was the day before school started that Suzuki Kozue moved into the dorms of Jujutsu High with Satoru.

This was the first time she was moving into a new living space since she’d come to Japan. A few weeks back, she’d finally gotten to visit her old house with Satoru—everything had cleared, and paper that said FOR SALE in huge letters were now taped to the windows that were marked with her presence—and it gave her a strange feeling, moving out.

Moving in was a similarly strange experience, especially since it was the first time she was moving into dorms.

The school itself wasn’t exactly what she’d imagined, either. When Satoru had mentioned a high school for jujutsu sorcerers, she’d expected… something different, not quite it.

It was old, for starters. As she stepped foot inside the boundaries of Jujutsu High, she found a strange fascination with what it was in itself: a shrine-like school, isolated from the rest of the world. It was neatly tucked into the mountains, something that an average person would have missed if they weren’t explicitly looking for it. There was a tranquil beauty to the school surrounded by nature, the scent of leaves and musky earth hitting her as soon as she stepped into the boundaries that separated this world from the one she’d lived in until now.

The school was still Tokyo, obviously. But this was a side of Tokyo she’d never seen, a side of the world she’d never seen. As a girl who’d grown up in busy cities, in hectic traffic, in the monochromatic greyness of a metropolis, this was something entirely new to her.

The tranquillity was only added by the fact that it was so quiet.

She’d expected something larger, too. The way a school was. Her middle school had been packed with students, thirty per class, full of bustling hallways and long lunch cues.

But Jujutsu High was empty. There were barely any people here: no students, much less teachers.

“D’you expect an actual school?” Satoru had laughed, when she pointed it out. “There’s around three or four people per year. The faculty is, like, four people. If it was larger, you’d see way more people smacking curses around.”

“Oh.” She said. She hadn’t thought about that. “Wait, but the numbers don’t…”

If there was a curse for every five square kilometers of Tokyo, and four new sorcerers for every age, that would be…

Satoru winced. “Well, we don’t talk about that.”

He seemed excited to be her guide, she thought. It was an effect that had taken place even when she had made up with him after coming into his house. He’d turned up at nine in the morning, excitedly, asking if she needed someone to take her around.

The whole time, she’d been so afraid that he’d be a part of her life; now, she was a part of his. Of the Jujutsu. And strangely, he seemed fine with it.

A man had greeted them when they got there. He was the first years’ teacher—she’d never had good relations with most of her teachers, but she greeted him anyway. He looked like he wanted to say something to her, but didn’t.

He’d been about to guide them around, but Satoru objected.

“I know this place.” He quipped. “Plus, Kozue’s new here, and it’s all a bit foreign. She’d probably want someone more familiar leading her around. Right, Kozue?”

He turned to her expectantly, giving her those puppy dog eyes: please?

“Oh.” She said, albeit dryly. Who was she to say no? “Yeah. Oh no… this is all so foreign. I think I’m gonna hyperventilate. Ah- bleugh.”

The teacher looked at them, and she wondered for a second if Satoru would be smacked with a ruler like she had, back in her old school. To her surprise, no such thing happened: the teacher looked at him, then at her, and his face still looked like he was holding in something he really wanted to say. Instead, to her surprise, he just said, “Alright.”

The school was pretty well funded, she thought. There was a basketball court, a lunch hall, classrooms, a warehouse—

“Oh,” She remarked as they walked past. “Is that where you keep all your torture devices?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Wanna see?”

“I’ll pass.”

Then, after the tour, came the dorms.

Gojo Satoru was, in fact, unaware of the fact that boys and girls would be on opposite wings of the dorms: and that going to each other’s dorms were forbidden. They went anyway, though, since it wasn’t like they would do anything weird and they’d been in each other’s rooms loads of times anyway.

Satoru’s room came first. His things were already half-unpacked, clothes spilling out of boxes. Decorations were laid across the bed; she picked up a particularly questionable poster of a busty model girl in a white bikini, and raised her eyebrow at him.

“Wait-” He snatched it out of her hands, face red. “I can, uh, explain.”

“Hey, hey, I understand.” She laughed, patting his shoulder as he turned even redder. “Teenage boys need a little…”

“Kozu, shut it!”

She gasped dramatically. “I didn’t know you were into that kinda thing, but honestly if you are then good for you, I was starting to think you were gay—”

“No! Kozue, wait—”

The wall beside his bed contained an array of film photos, dried and hung up the old-fashioned way. She examined them and found her face and his, plastered everywhere. Shrine visits, the trip to central, the karaoke, school days… exactly the same as his old room had been arranged. She sat on the bed and grinned at him as he screwed up the poster tight and shoved it in a wardrobe, his face still glowing pink.

“Oh, now you’re closeted?” She teased, eyes wide and feigning innocence.

“That’s,” He said, “Not mine.”

“Uhuh.”

He was the only male student of the first-years, based on the dorms around him. There were one or two—all of them older than him, and already fully settled in—and they’d been told they were two out of three students, which was actually kinda fun.

“So,” He suggested, awkwardly, his eyes flickering to the closet, “Wanna go see your room?”

“Nah. What else you got in your closet, you perv? Anything worse? Hey,” She poked, as he glared at her with a flustered look, “I didn’t know you were into big oppai. Wow, I guess I've got something special to compensate for the sheer lack of size—”

“Sto-op!” He wailed. “That’s it! We’re going to see your room!”

She laughed as he grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and zoomed out of his room and into the girls’ wing.

It was obvious which room was hers. The door was swung open, and she could see the edge of a box peeking out; she peeked into the room, found nothing but the standard bed and table, and decided that it was, indeed, hers.

The room was quite spacious. Definitely bigger than her old room. She supposed it made sense to have this much room, seeing as how there weren’t many students in the first place, but she opened a door in the hallway and saw, to her surprise, a bathroom with white and blue tiles, complete with a shower.

“Behold.” She remarked. “Capitalism.”

Satoru giggled.

Obviously Satoru had had more time to look through his stuff, so she spent her time opening the boxes and checking to see that all of the things were hers and that they hadn’t missed anything out. It was all her stuff, the ones she hadn’t unpacked back at the Gojo estate. There was one more box, though, which she opened to see all sorts of…

“Your dad,” She called out to Satoru, who was snooping around in her clothing boxes. “Left me a nice gift.”

He made his way next to her, leaning his arm against her head.

“Huh.” He said, “I guess he did.”

The box was filled to the brim with cursed weapons. She couldn't even identify half of them, an impressive feat seeing as how she'd been trained in these since she was small. He picked one up and twirled it, nearly hitting her; she dodged narrowly and scowled at him, but he only grinned innocently.

“Payback’s a bitch, Suzuki-san.”

She rolled her eyes at him and moved on to the next box when something caught her eye. There was something on her bed, which she noted with slight surprise because it certainly wasn’t hers. The fabric was dark blue, and it, whatever it was, was neatly folded into a square as though it had been just made.

Kozue blinked, approaching it cautiously.

“What-” She’d just begun, when Satoru cut to the chase: he was in front of her in a flash, picking it up and examining it closely with an ugly expression that resembled some kind of thinking walrus. "Oi! That's mine! I think."

“Oh.” He said. “Oh, it’s your uniform! Looks cute.”

“My uniform?”

He pointed down at the foot of the bed: brown leather shoes. “See?”

She peered at the uniform. It wasn’t quite what she was used to: her old uniform had been a white top and black skirt with a navy finish. Certainly more stylish. It really did remind her that she was going to a new school, a special school, somewhere she’d never been before: the uniform in his hands both terrified her and intrigued her.

“Huh.” She said. “You have yours?”

Obviously, he hadn't seen it - he'd been too busy looking at the fine pair of tits on his wall (SHUT UP KOZUE), so they made a compromise. He promised to return to her room five minutes later; she changed into hers, too.

It was more blue than navy, now that she’d put it on: and it looked nice. The button was at the shoulder instead of in the middle like in her own uniform. The skirt was a pencil, which was a little uncomfortable if she was going to be kicking around in it, which she made a mental note to ask about. The most significantly different part of the uniform were the cuffs and collar, which were light blue and differed from the rest of the uniform.

How was this practical, she thought, picking at the cuffs, but decided they were a nice addition anyway. She hadn’t realized they would have such unique uniforms.

The brown shoes blinked back at her: leather, and entirely unpractical. She eyed them, then looked back to her Converse and decided no. The skirt was uncomfortable enough. At least she could have some nice shoes to kick around in.

It was practical for combat, she supposed, apart from that. Especially the shock-absorbing jacket: nothing against knives or guns, but the general hit would be dulled by it. The shoes could stay as sneakers, and for the skirt…

She bounced on her toes, wondering how free her range of movement would be. The room was certainly big enough, so taking a few steps back, she took a running leap and spun herself, doing one kick, two, three, and landing on her feet deftly: a triple-spin horizontal spinning kick, something she’d learnt a little from the taekwondo summer camp she’d been sent to a few years back.

Huh, she decided. The skirt wasn’t so bad. But maybe she'd have to switch to a pleat. It wouldn't quite do.

Something creaked to her left: she whirled around, half expecting it to be someone laughing at her, but instead found a short-haired brunette gaping at her lazily, clapping.

“Woah.” The girl said. “Impressive. Is that karate?”

“Uh.” Kozue replied, in an incredibly intelligent manner. “Uhm. Taekwondo. Hello.”

“Hey, nice to meet you.” The girl was small—probably around 160, or maybe a little more. Kozue watched her as she flitted into the room, holding a lollipop in her mouth. “Are you a first-year?”

“Uhm. Yeah.” She got out. The girl didn’t seem to care that she was unpacked; she made her way in anyway, until she stood in front of Kozue. “You too?”

“Yep.” The girl smiled at her; Kozue wondered if she was going to get bullied now, because she’d heard some stories about high school and none of them were good. Her eyes seemed to be examining every inch of her: from her uniform to the tips of her toes, but all Kozue could note from the girl was that she had a particular mole under her eye: the eyes flickered back up to Kozue’s own. “Wow, you’re tall.”

“Yeah, I do sports.”

“I see.” The e stretched out into what seemed like oblivion. The girl kept staring at her, as though thinking, and finally said, “So we’re probably classmates. I’m Shoko—Ieiri Shoko. Call me whatever. First year. And you are?”

“Suzuki Kozue.” Kozue took the hand that the girl offered her, ignoring the way the girl's eyebrows shot up at her name—was something strange about her today? All these weird looks... “Just Kozue is fine. No honorifics. Nice to meet you.”

“Same. I heard there was going to be another guy, but it’s good to see you first! That kick was cool. I take it you do some kind of fighting sports?”

“A few.” She looked down at the hand. The girl was wearing her uniform, too, but there seemed to be one key difference. “…your cuffs look normal.”

“Huh? Oh, apparently this is what they look like before you customize anything.” Shoko took a few steps back and spun. “It’s just plain. I wasn’t bothered to get any customizations, but it looks like you did. Interesting colour choice, though...”

“No, I…” Kozue frowned. She’d have to ask Satoru about it later. “Uh, never mind. Yeah. So you live right next door, or…?”

“Oh, yeah. I moved in a few days ago.”

“Huh.” She blinked. “Sorry, this is all a bit new to me, I’m just…”

“No, take your time.” Shoko smiled. “You got scouted only recently, huh. Trust me, years in and it’s still a little weird for me, too.” They trailed into silence. Kozue looked at her, wondering what else she could say. Shoko looked like she didn’t mind, either way, so she just closed her mouth again.

“Kozue,” The girl opened her mouth abruptly; Kozue looked at her, startled. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but are you—”

“Kozu-chan!”

Both of them turned. Satoru stood at the doorframe, waving. Perfect timing, Kozue thought, obviously mixed with sarcasm. Whatever she'd been saying had sounded pretty darn important for Satoru to barge in like such, but she guessed it couldn't be helped. Kozue was simply too accommodating of a person.

“Yoo-hoo. And…” He eyed the girl. “…new person.”

“Satoru,” She chided, as he reappeared in a flash behind her, “Be nice.”

“Sorry.” He murmured, and placed his elbow on her head, leaning against her with a brilliant smile towards the girl that suggested friendliness to everyone else but slight suspicion to Kozue. “I’m Gojo Satoru. From the Gojo Clan. And you are…?”

Shoko looked at Kozue, and then at the boy. Something seemed to have clicked in her brain: while the lazy look never left her eyes, Kozue could tell she’d figured something out.

“Kozue, huh.” Shoko said, softly.

“Sorry?”

What, what, what was it? Why the look? Was there something wrong with her?

“Nothing.” Unlike with Kozue, she didn’t offer Satoru her hand; the girl simply smiled at him. “Ieiri Shoko. First year. Kozue and I are having lunch together. Wanna come?”

She felt Satoru move slightly; surprised? Why would he be?

“Sure!” Satoru quipped. “You’re interesting.”

Shoko grinned back. “Come along, then.”

Suzuki Kozue, about to make the third friend of her life: and strangely, she didn’t hate it one bit.

Chapter Text

Contrary to what she both looked and acted like, Shoko was from the countryside. She’d started learning jujutsu a while back, but really had no such interest in fighting; in fact, she thought the whole thing was quite horrifying. She’d only come to Jujutsu High, she said, because there were less strict rules here about everyday life.

“Like smoking,” She’d said, “Or smoking.”

Then she’d offered Satoru a lollipop. Satoru had taken it, grinning brilliantly, and Kozue had reminded both of them that they were still eating lunch.

Shoko was laid-back and incredibly easy to get along with. Kozue instantly decided that she liked the smaller girl, who looked at her with the laziest eyes that held no prejudice whatsoever. It was as though she only perceived the world, never judged. She liked that kind of person.

The girl was interested in the two of them, yes, but it was a curiosity rather than probing.

“So where are you guys from?” She said, as she stabbed a sausage on the school’s plate. They’d decided to try out the school cafeteria, which was freakily good for somewhere that served a total of nine students. “You look kinda… I dunno, foreign.”

“Me?” Satoru pointed to himself.

“No, no, I know you, you’re famous,” She waved him aside, “I’m talking about Kozue.”

Kozue had been startled, then. Were all jujutsu sorcerers like this, or was it just the two she’d met who seemed to be so incredibly perceptive in seeing everything they wanted to? If it was everyone, no doubt, she'd be a little unsettled. “Oh, I used to live in America. Years back.” She squinted. “Is it obvious?”

“No,” Shoko laughed. “You just don’t seem like a typical Japan girl. Just in your mannerisms and everything.” She must have made a strange expression, because Shoko shook her head. “Not in a bad way. Just new.”

“And plus, Kozu-chan,” Satoru added at her face, “Everyone in the jujutsu world is a bit wacky! You’re normal here. See, I told you you’d fit in perfectly.”

She looked around: the cafeteria was deserted, seeing as how they’d come a little early, but the few stragglers who were here weren’t exactly dressed normally. She tugged up her collar and noted, with surprise, that the inside linings of her jacket were light blue as well.

“What the fuck.” She muttered.

Shoko, sitting across from her, tapped her foot. “You alright, Kozue?”

“No, this uniform is kinda wack.” She frowned. “Do you know how to… get it changed or something?”

“Oh, the customization is on the first floor. I can take you there in a bit.” Shoko picked up the final sausage from her plate. “Hmm, I thought you customized the blue. It looks pretty.”

“I didn’t.” She tugged apart the jacket, showing them the lining. “See?”

Satoru frowned. “I’ve seen that color before.”

“Yeah, the sky.” Kozue retorted; he pouted at her, and she stole the sausage off his plate. “And I gotta change the skirt—it’s bad for kicking in—”

“I saw some of the older years’ girls change theirs to pants,” The girl across her suggested. “So you can try that if you’d like.”

She pondered the thought. “I don't want to rip the seams. Maybe just a freer skirt. I was thinking A-line.”

“Oh, that sounds cute.”

"Yeah," Kozue said, "It does."

Satoru hummed and leaned down, stealing a fish cake from her plate. “Look,” He said, his mouth half full. “Maybe you should think about it a little first.”

The two of them swivelled to look at him in unison as he lay there, his head against his arm. “It looks good on Kozu, okay? It’s the colour of my eyes.” He blinked up at her innocently. “I could get mine tailored to match, if you want.”

She ruffled his hair. “You dumb fuck.” She said, affectionately.

“Hey! I’m serious.”

“So anyways,” Shoko rapped at the table with her knuckle. “Wanna tell me about you guys? Are you dating, or what?”

Kozue groaned. “We’re not.”

“Yet.”

She slapped Satoru’s arm. “We’re not. Just childhood best friends. I pride myself on surviving this dumbass for record time. Six years?”

“Seven.” Satoru corrected. “Gee, Kozue, I’m so hurt.”

“Your face probably hurts you more.”

“From its beauty, yeah it does!”

“It could break mirrors, shut up.”

“The only thing it’s breaking is your perception of beauty.”

Shoko laughed.

“Anyways,” Kozue continued, “We, uh, met the first day I arrived at Japan, actually. And I lived in Tokyo until… a while back.”

Shoko seemed to have gotten the message; her face fell a little. “Oh.” She said.

“Yeah.  I was going to go to a judo school, but some pretty bad shit went down and I ended up not being able to go.” Kozue shrugged. “Not a big deal. And he’s…” Kozue trailed off: Satoru was grinning languidly at the two of them. “Is he famous?”

“Very.” The two said in unison.

She didn’t know the specifics, and she didn’t really care, but she said, “Oh.”

They ate the rest of their lunch, chatting and generally getting to know each other; nothing about Jujutsu. Shoko didn’t seem that interested in it, anyway, and Satoru seemed to always steer the conversation away whenever it neared that area. He’d look at her sideways whenever he did, and the meaning was clear: you okay?

He always seemed to know when she was uncomfortable. In a strange new environment, the simple presence of Satoru made it feel like home.

The first years seemed to be getting along fine: Kozue liked it more than she thought. She didn’t know it was just the general jujutsu atmosphere or Shoko in specific, but it seemed as though no one really judged whatever she was, whoever she was.

Or maybe Rin had eased her up for this. She’d certainly done a lot of that: in fact, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say Rin had made her into a functional human being.

“Oh, right,” Shoko said, checking the time, “You want to head over about now? The tailor room should be open.”

“Sure.”

Before they stood up, they traded numbers. Kozue saved her as Neighbor Shoko.

“Oh, cool,” Shoko said, peering at her phone, and saved her as Neighbor Kozue too. They laughed.

“Oh, right,” Said Shoko, as the three of them headed over to the tailor room, “You have your student ID, right, Kozue?”

“My what?” It was the first time she’d heard such a thing.

“Student ID. It should have been in your uniform pocket,” She said, drawing out a small rectangular card. Kozue took it from her hands, examining it: it was simple, just her name, Ieiri Shoko, date of birth, school, and grade.

Grade 2, she read.

“Second grade?” Wasn’t that really good?

“Oh, I don’t really go on missions.” Shoko shrugged. “My technique isn’t really offensive. It’s just rare, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Kozue said, and dug around in her own pockets to find nothing. To her confusion. “I don’t seem to have one.”

“It’s ‘cause the higher ups haven’t tested you, remember?” Satoru tapped at her head. “They don’t have anything to base your grade off of. You’ll probably go on a mission soon and get one.”

“A mission.” The thought of a mission sent electricity spiraling up her spine. “Right.”

They stopped in front of a room: Shoko turned to the side. “I’m taking a smoke break.”

“You were serious about the smoking?”

“What?” Shoko grinned. “It’s fine. Just tell the staff your name, grade, and what you want changed. Satoru, leave her be.”

Kozue looked up at Satoru; he stared back down, wetting his lips nervously. Asking a silent question.

“It’s fine.” Kozue said. “Go talk or something. I’ll be a few.”

The door was heavy; ignoring the Six Eyes that bored into her back, she pushed the door open to reveal a strangely normal office. The door creaked shut behind her; suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious at the eyes that flickered up to her, Suzuki Kozue cleared her throat.

There were, what, three people? One of them squinted up at her, looking like he wanted to get off work already. She stepped up to the desk, wondering if she was disturbing them. “Uh, hi.”

He dipped his head. “Name?”

“Suzuki Kozue.”

He stiffened.

Something was wrong, Kozue thought. The feeling that accompanied her into the school wasn’t a lie, because her name turned heads and now it seemed as though everyone was staring, like everyone wanted to see a piece of Suzuki Kozue. What was so wrong about her? What was so popping, so unique, so strange that everyone ogled at her like a zoo animal?

She didn’t know. It frustrated her to no end.

Instead, she held her head high and cleared her throat: acting as though she hadn’t noticed, she continued, “First year. I came to customize my uniform.”

The faculty member cleared his throat awkwardly. Now he was avoiding her gaze.

“Which part?” He asked, stiffly.

“I want the blue parts gone.” She said, a little harsher than was probably deserved of the man. “And I want to change my skirt to a pleated one. A little shorter with more room for movement.”

He hummed. The room was dimly lit, but she could make out him rustling a few pieces of paper, and drawing out a folder with her name labelled on it. She watched him, curiously, as he scanned the records, still obviously avoiding her gaze.

“Uhm.” He cleared his throat again, as she waited, “I’m, I’m afraid we can’t.”

“The skirt?” She scowled. “Why not? Is there some kind of sexist rule I should know about?”

“No, the… the blue parts.”

“Why not?” She repeated, feeling a little astounded. Great. Now she seemed to have no bodily autonomy towards what she got to wear, too. This surprised her to no end.

It seemed as though the jujutsu world, even, was hostile to her in moments like these: it seemed as though without Gojo Satoru, she could never find peace, because she was nothing more insignificant than a worm that twitched when stepped on.

And of course, she should have expected the answer: because what was she, if not left in the absolute dark, even in things concerning herself?

“Orders from higher up.” The man mumbled.

She wanted to die. No, she wanted to kill someone. It was obvious what the ‘orders from higher up’ were doing: they were distinguishing her. Marking her as different.

But why?

Satoru’s voice echoed in her head: the same color as my eyes. No, no, that couldn’t be true. They couldn't have done that on purpose, they wouldn't have marked her as Satoru's. Something so horrifying, something so disgusting. The higher ups wouldn’t do such a thing to a girl they barely even knew the name of. They… they wouldn’t…

“You can change the skirt, right?” She snapped, instead.

“Y- yes, but.”

“I don’t care.” She said, a little fiercer than she should have, “Change it.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

What was she, some kind of zoo animal? They stared at her, they marked her as different… what would they do next? Lock her in some cage? Feed her scraps?

Make sure she was never strong enough?

Satoru stood in the sun quietly as Shoko lit a cigarette; taking a deep drag, she plucked it from her lips and stared off into thin air.

Her eyes flickered to him, then back to the cigarette. She seemed to be pondering something, and it certainly wasn’t anything good for Satoru himself. The girl was nice, but she seemed too bright, too perceptive. He didn’t like it.

“So,” She said, quietly, “It’s not really my place to say, but Kozue…”

“Is fine.” He said, firmly. His heart beat in his chest like crazy, even though he’d done nothing wrong. “She’s alright.”

She stared at him. He stared back.

“Does she know about all this?” The girl finally said.

He felt a surge of anger in his chest against this girl—not her fault for caring about Kozue, but definitely her fault for getting in his way. Who was she to say something? Did she know Kozue as well as he did? Did she stick with him as he did? Did she love her, as he did?

He didn’t know. He knew the thoughts he was thinking weren’t exactly right, but he didn’t know what else she was supposed to think.

Take it slow, Satoru, he thought. Remember what happened.

He would have to take his time. The last time he’d tried hard he’d been an utter failure; and then he’d promised himself that the best he could do for her was to do anything that would make her the happiest.

“No.” He said. “I’m trying to figure out a timing.”

“I think you should tell her.” She replied. The smoke drifted from between her lips, diffused in the air. “For her sake. I’m not enforcing any opinions; just suggesting. She’ll be in pain, and I like her enough to not want that.”

He leaned against the pavilion. “She’ll be in pain either way.”

The girl—Shoko—looked at the door that Kozue had disappeared into, then to him again.

“Both of you aren’t what I expected.” She said. “From the rumors.”

“What did you expect?”

The girl stared at him. He wondered if his feelings were that obvious, because it was getting harder and hader; he stuck to Kozue’s side almost every day. How could it be easy to hide? Every movement, every gesture squeezed his heart like an oath. He didn’t know if it was possible for him to love her more, but if it was it certainly would be the case; every time she came near, he felt an irresistible urge to sweep her in his arms, to taste her, to feel her.

“There are some parts,” The girl mused, quietly, “that don’t seem that false.”

And Gojo Satoru wondered when this had become a problem for him. He was an expert at hiding what he felt, he’d always done that, because everyone found faults in a boy who was supposed to be perfect. But in front of Kozue, it all seemed to crumble.

Was it so obvious, even to a person he’d just met? Was it obvious, to everyone but the girl he worshipped so desperately?

Everyone seemed to realize, and everyone seemed to be aware; everyone but her. Who had said ignorance was bliss? Suzuki Kozue missed the mark every time, and she knew nothing of the strange heart he harbored and that was what was so painful.

The rumors leered at him, taunted him. Rumors could be ignored if they were false. But if they were true, if they followed Kozue around like a tail she couldn’t cut off for the rest of her life, if they marked her for her entire career and maybe even more…

No, no. She’d. be branded for life. And it would hurt her.

He didn’t want her to hurt.

Chapter Text

Satoru proved right about the mission a week later when she’d gotten fully settled into life at Jujutsu High.

It was easy to adjust, even in a place like this. The slow churning of the world around her had become a pendulum that she followed easily, and she found herself settling into this new life she’d brought herself into gradually, comfortably. Between lessons, getting to know her new friend Shoko, and the relentless training she indulged herself in to get herself adjusted to her new armoury, time passed by in a flash.

They still hadn’t changed her uniform, even after she came by thrice to get a request in. All three times it was blocked by mysterious people; she wasn’t one to give up, she knew that, but this was simply a losing fight against authority. It was over something stupid, too, so she just gave up and went around with her sleeves rolled up.

“Still haven’t changed it?” Shoko asked languidly as Kozue angrily shoveled food into her mouth. She looked up, glared at the other girl; she shrugged, asking, what do I know?

“I’ve put in so many orders.” Kozue picked up an oden and waved it around. “At least they got my skirt changed; but why not a little bit of blue, huh?”

“Maybe they like your skin undertones with blue.” Satoru suggested, sliding his own tray next to hers and sitting down with an oomph.

“Maybe they like my fist in their mouth.” She told him.

Maybe it was because of the uniform, maybe it was because of her dazzlingly good looks (with full sarcasm, she wasn’t Satoru) but the eyes never seemed to stop looking, either.

She noted it to Shoko, casually, once when Satoru was away on a mission; the other girl, however, shrugged, and told her not to mind it.

“People are dumb, anyway,” Shoko mumbled, cigarette hanging between her lips. After Kozue had stated her obvious hatred of smoking and drinking, the girl had stopped doing the former explicitly in front of her, and now took to having a cigarette between her lips, unlit.

Shoko was, apart from the chain-smoking, a nice girl; she liked most that the girl didn’t judge, and they got along well enough. Sometimes Kozue wondered whether she was leaving the girl out when she talked with Satoru, too, but she didn’t seem to mind, “as long as she got to tag along”.

“I’m not trying to separate you two.” The girl waved her hand, when asked about it. “I don’t mind. I don’t like to get involved, anyway. Gojo Satoru brings too much drama.”

Kozue blinked, surprised by her chill demeanor, and said, okay.

Satoru, on the other hand, did seem to mind. Kozue wasn’t sure how he wasn’t bored of coming over almost every night, but after dinner, he’d ask whether she wanted to go the library, or come to his room, or go anywhere, actually, and they’d end up spending the afternoon together. There seemed to be no end of things to do. They weren’t allowed in each other’s dorms, but he snuck in anyway; Shoko either didn’t know, or didn’t care.

The normality of life—with the addition of a whole lot more presence of Gojo Satoru—brought her to an easy, strangely peaceful start-up to a life that she was sure wasn’t supposed to be this way.

And then, it struck: her first mission. The thing she’d been both looking forward to and dreading the most.

It was just for her, the teacher told them as they sat in a stuffy spring classroom. The other two students would come, but they’d stay outside. This was explicitly meant to test Suzuki Kozue, a solo mission to see her talent as a girl who’d come in with no prior experience to the jujutsu world. A fourth-grade spirit, in the heart of Tokyo, in an abandoned boarding school.

“Cool.” She noted. “Field trip.”

She wondered how difficult it would be. Last time she’d injured that bounty hunter and his curse, sure: but she’d also caught them off guard, and this time she was simply walking into the lion’s den completely vulnerable.

After being told to get ready, her fingertips scanned the box of weapons given to her by Gojo-san, wondering which weapon to take—since she couldn’t use cursed energy as of now—and settled on a bo staff. Something she’d learnt before. Easy. Trustworthy, too.

She picked it up, spun it around. A little long, but…

“Ready?” A voice said, from the door. She knew who it was, from the sound of the voice; running her palms along the edges, she shrugged, trying to appear as nonchalant as she could.

Goddamn, she thought internally. She would be fighting a real cursed spirit, a real mission, just like the ones Satoru had been sent on so many times. She’d be a part of his world, kicking and struggling. It felt strange.

Externally, she told Satoru, “Eh. Still wondering.”

He stepped into the room. She lowered the staff and looked up at him: his glasses were tucked above his head, giving her full view of his eyes, and he stood there with a strange look on his face. It was a cross between a frown and a pout, she thought, a look that seemed to insinuate that something was bothering him.

“You OK?” Kozue asked, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair.

He leaned down a little. “Uh-huh. Just a little worried.”

It was obvious, she thought. Satoru had barely wanted her to come here—it was a wonder he had agreed to her coming here so simply. She’d merely thought he’d been concentrating on the good sides, but now, if one was to think about it…

Satoru wasn’t a guy who was easily denied. It was a wonder he followed her so well.

“Again,” She told him, nonetheless, “You don’t need to worry. I’ve got this.”

He opened his mouth, frowned, and closed it. She scratched his head lightly; he hummed in content, and said, “’s not fair, though.”

“I’m not gonna get hurt.” She laughed, but it felt unconvincing—at least in front of him—as though she was trying to convince herself rather than him. “I’ve got this cool staff and everything, you know? Watch me do some major ass-kicking.”

He stared at her, pondering. Running his tongue along his teeth.

“Okay.” He said, finally, “But Kozu-chan, you have to tell me if you’re in trouble, okay?”

“So what? So you can come and save me?” She patted his shoulder. “I’m fine, ‘Toru. Just you wait.”

Just you wait.

She’d left him hanging like that, but the entire way to the boarding school, he refused to leave her side; the ride there was silent, apart from Shoko’s occasional rustling, and she felt Satoru’s fingers nestled against the inside of her arm, refusing to let go. They were uncharacteristically cold and clammy, and a little uncomfortable, but she let it stay. Worried, she knew it, she knew he just didn’t want to lose someone precious to him, and she would have complied to him any other time, but this time was not the time.

It was the perfect opportunity to show him her capability as a sorcerer, and to make sure he wouldn’t get worried in the future.

They arrived in front of the boarding school around midday, and waited in front of the gates as their teacher set a curtain around the school, observing the area they’d been put into. The gate was criss-crossed angrily with black-and-yellow parameter tape, old enough to be ripped and fluttering in the wind, and a musty scent emerged from the dark school as they stared at it half in horror, half in awe.

The doors were creaking from the wind. Although it was midday, it was behind a hill that was rarely visited by people and, as a consequence, was covered by shadows from the hill that seemed to make it darker than it already was. It didn’t help that the lights had probably turned off years ago, only adding to its look.

She ran her fingers along the staff she’d set to the side and laced up her Converse, standing up to give the house a curious glance. She’d never been scared of horror movies—at least, she liked to think so, seeing as how she was much better at watching them than Satoru was—but this was on a different level. It wasn’t just scary, that wasn’t it. It felt as though a certain element of ominousness oozed from each pore, like it was really telling her to stay away.

Satoru caught her eye and swooped down. “It’s the cursed spirit.” He told her, quietly. “They give certain auras.”

He was uncharacteristically serious. She reached up and smoothed down the frown between his forehead. “…’Toru—”

“It’s fine,” He murmured, “I’ll be keeping watch. You’re fine. You’re the coolest person I know.”

“Of course I am.”

Shoko lit a cigarette. “We’re staying out here, right?”

They bid her goodbye. Their teacher opened the gate with ease and ushered her inside, and, with a step into the soil that rasped dryly under her feet, Kozue was in: her first mission had officially begun.

Satoru and Shoko grew smaller as she headed into the school, until they finally disappeared behind the doors that she closed behind herself.

It struck her, then, that she was truly and absolutely alone.

Each step felt like it was being cleverly followed, each rustle of paper against the wind like it would summon a monster; feeling on edge, Suzuki Kozue took one step, two steps, three steps, and decided that this was just a fourth-grade anyway. The info file had said so. She could—no, would do better.

She’d do this methodologically. First floor first.

“Hey,” Shoko said to Gojo Satoru, “Calm down. She’ll be fine.”

He nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“And stop shaking your leg.”

He stopped shaking his leg—something he hadn’t even noticed he’d been doing.

“It’s a little weird, though,” The girl continued, as they stared up at the building in front of them, “Don’t they usually never let you do your first mission alone? The school is usually too worried you’ll die, no?”

“Uh-huh.” He said, none of the words making their way into his head.

“So what’s so different about this? Is it just because it’s a fourth-grade? I mean, it's still pretty dangerous to the average human, I'm guessing.”

“Uh-huh.”

Shoko exhaled a thick stream of smoke, and pondered on an idea that seemed to linger on her mind.

“And she’s new, too.” She mused. Her eyes flickered to Satoru, as though wondering if the words were okay to say or not: but it seemed as though the boy was barely paying attention. The smoke drifted in the air, wavered as though unsure, and dissipated with a hiss.

“What’re they doing, hoping she’ll die off or something?”

Chapter Text

The house was eerily quiet.

Kozue wanted to cry.

Honestly speaking, she wasn’t sure why she wanted to cry. There was nothing about this place that was scary enough to shed tears from her, and something like this was certainly something she’d prepared herself for. Nonetheless, the familiar prickle of tears in her eyes was something that both confused and irritated her at the same time.

She wiped at the tears in annoyance.

There were three floors total to the bedrooms that she was told the spirit would reside in. She’d already scanned the entire first floor, and was currently on the second floor, wiping away at her eyes (which felt like someone had chopped onions near her).

She stepped over an abandoned rucksack that looked like it had been molding away for years, and flinched as the floorboard creaked.

There was no doubt about it, she thought as she pushed the door open, feeling the wood scratch at her hands. There was something about this place that made her feel weird. Not just your average cursed-spirit kind of weird, but something that seemed to be caused by this particular cursed spirit.

The wind outside whistled gently, and the floorboards creaked again; something under the bed scuttled, and she ducked down to see a rat emerge from its depths.

“Ew.” She muttered under her breath. “Gross.”

The feeling was stronger than ever.

It was definitely on the second floor, she thought. She was halfway through the bedrooms, but who knew?

“What’s the data on the cursed spirit again?” Satoru asked. He looked like he was going to chew his finger off. “Wasn’t it some kind of… Isn’t she taking a bit too long in there?”

“Some kind of kid who died.” Shoko shrugged.

“Manslaughter.” The teacher told them. “They played a prank on a girl, kept her in a closet longer than they should have. They didn’t know she was having an epileptic seizure. She’d been played as a joke too many times, it seems—she came back to haunt them. Everyone who’s reported as missing are teenage girls, and anyone else reports hearing a ghost saying it’s your fault.”

“Trying to find the killer.” Shoko mused. “Nice.”

“And it does what exactly?”

“Emotion manipulation.” The teacher told them. “It’s not that strong. It just muddles up your feelings a bit, makes you more scared of it than you should be. It’s a fourth grade—she’ll be fine, Gojo-kun.”

Emotion manipulation, Satoru repeated in his head. She could be crying, she could be hurt, she could be blaming herself—barely months had passed since Yamamoto Rin had died. He’d never known the girl personally but even he’d been horrified by the sight left in the scene: blood everywhere, bodies mangled and twisted.

Suzuki Kozue, although she tried not to show it, was still deeply unstable, deeply affected by the death that would no doubt be engraved in her soul forever. He still heard her moaning the girl’s name in her sleep, flinching at the sound of a door lock.

Suzuki Kozue could only see good things. And that curse wasn’t a good thing.

Kozue, he thought, his fists clenching by his sides, tell me you’re doing good.

Her hand, which held tightly onto the staff, was shaking.

She observed it quietly, her breaths coming in shallow puffs and her other hand gripping the folds of her school skirt tightly.

No way, she thought. No way in hell she was scared. It might have been a normal reaction for a newbie sorcerer, but not for Suzuki Kozue. She’d watched her friend die in front of her eyes, she’d stabbed a bounty hunter who came to get her, and she’d lived through experiences people couldn’t recount without trembling.

And she was shaking? At this joke of a horror house?

No, she thought. This wasn’t just wrong. This was humiliating.

Still, she couldn’t shake off the chills that ran up her arms, the sweat that clung to her palms nastily, the way each breath shook raggedly like she’d run kilometers; it wasn’t like she was trying to stop, but just something about the way the fear overtook her felt so artificial, so wrong, so misplaced, that she couldn’t help but wonder if something was messing with her mind.

The door behind her creaked. She whipped around.

She wondered what Satoru and Shoko were doing outside. Shoko would probably be smoking—like she always did, which Kozue didn’t like but couldn’t say anything about either—and Satoru, she knew what Satoru would be doing.

Worrying.

Sorry, Satoru, she thought bitterly as something to her left snapped. A rope she’d been one hundred percent was sturdy now dangled in front of her tauntingly. I don’t think I can keep you happy.

Not without making myself miserable, anyway.

She knew what the cursed spirit was. It was something that people who thought they’d won on the boxing ring did often: taunting her. Making fun of her. Raising her fear factor.

Now, with this chilly feeling rising all the way up to her throat, she knew that the spirit was here. It was watching her, keeping her on her feet: but it was somewhere here. Her years of instincts told her so.

Kozue gripped her staff, her eyes darting to and fro. A sound from her left. From her right. Behind her. In front of her. There? No.

Was it invisible?

No, it couldn’t be. How could a cursed spirit be invisible.

Unless…

…she couldn’t see it?

No, she thought, a forced laugh choking out from her throat. There was no way she couldn’t see a cursed spirit. She’d seen one when Satoru had taken her to see a fight to brag about it, when they were kids. She’d seen one on that night Rin and her family had died. She’d seen cursed spirits all the time. There was no way she was someone who couldn’t even see one measly cursed spirit.

Even normal people could see it when they were near death—which was damn near what she was.

Now that the thought had struck her mind, it didn’t seem to go away. The panic crept into her mind and while she tried to shake the sneaking suspicion away, it just wasn’t possible.

The trickle of dread seemed to be so much more than that. More than just a suspicion. But there was no way it was true, right? She’d seen them, she’d felt them, her entire life had been changed by them, there was no way she was a regular person or worse, some kind of defect—

Something crunched to her left sickeningly. She turned and saw the bloodied, dead carcass of a mouse that she was sure had been alive five seconds ago.

Something in her mind whispered, you’re going to end up like that.

Fuck, she thought, her mind scrabbling for any bits and pieces of just how to beat something she couldn’t even fucking see. She’d have to rely on her ears and her intuition—no, she’d have to—no, was she even right for this? What kind of stupid decision had she made, to come into a world where she could die, where she could be crushed, where she could end up like that mouse—

Her palm felt sweaty on the staff.

The bedsheets to her left, dirtied and discarded, whispered—and then a screeching, grating, utterly unpleasant voice whined, it’s your fault.

…Rin?

Her throat constricted.

Satoru had long since given up ‘taking his time’ or ‘waiting’—it had been well over twenty minutes. He stood, his sunglasses discarded in Shoko’s hands and his eyes glowing, glowering at the building that towered in front of them. Monitoring everything.

It was wrong, he knew; but this was the only way he felt truly content. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, rather the opposite, that she would attempt at the job until she died.

He would rather have her give up; but if she gave up, he thought, that wouldn’t be Suzuki Kozue. No, this was the very part of her that hurt him the most, but the very part that drew him to her as it did.

Yet as he stood, his six eyes picked up on something, something wrong. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there, something—

His heart fell as he recognized just what it was.

“No!” Satoru surged forward. Shoko put a hand on his shoulder; he shook it off and whipped back, his finger quivering as he pointed towards the abandoned school. “That’s a second grade, that’s not a beginner mission. They fucking lied!”

“Wait.” Shoko told him.

“She could-” He shook his head. “She could be dying in there, it’s too strong, what do you mean-”

“I think you underestimate Kozue too much.” Shoko said. “Just wait.”

“You- it’s dangerous!” He whirled on her. “Do you not care at all, Shoko? She’s—”

“You’re not allowed in there.” The teacher said. “Calm down, Gojo-kun.”

Fuck, he thought. He was right. As much as he hated it, if he barged in, she would not only have to go through a mission again—increasing her chances of being maimed or killed—but she’d also hate him for ruining her chances at getting a grade, which would hold heavy against him. The best yet only decision he had was to stay put.

His hands clenched into fists.

This was just the trial, he reminded himself. Once she became a real sorcerer, it would hurt more. Much more. He had to learn to care less so that she wouldn’t hate him, ever again.

Still, how was he supposed to stay still?

It’s your fault, the voices sang. Your fault, your fault, your fault.

You did this to me.

You killed me.

Your mistakes ended my life

It was all you

You

You.

Kozue’s head whipped around, eyes wide, her fingers shaking as she gripped the staff, attempting to find the source of the whispers.

It could be here- there- somewhere- anywhere-

No, she needed to calm down-

The whining of the voice, unpleasant in a way that seemed to grind against the ears inhumanely, brought bile rising up her throat. The words it said didn’t make sense- it couldn’t make sense- it wouldn’t be Yamamoto Rin, cursing her to the very end.

It scared her. She was a fucking idiot. Just because she’d overworked herself into forgetting a dead girl doesn’t mean she wasn’t dead. She was still angry, still guilty, still scared—

She took a step back, sweat rolling into her eyes and clouding her vision, and something squelched against her feet and she looked down and oh god it was that rat that dead rat it was dead just like she would be

The staff fell to the floor. She found that her hands had lost control.

She was useless, she couldn’t even see this thing—

See.

Six eyes.

See.

Satoru’s got my back, she thought. He wouldn’t ever let me die. I won’t rely on him, but I won’t disregard his presence. I do whatever the fuck I want because he’s got my back. He’s my backup. He’s always been my backup.

Satoru, she realized, wouldn’t be this scared. He’d come out swaggering, cocky, not having broken a single sweat.

And what was good about worrying whether she could see this thing or not? Invisible or no, she’d still fucking kill it. She, she couldn’t prove her father right. She had to survive, even if it was in spite. She needed to use her ears, her intuition.

Something rustled to her left, and she felt herself go completely still. The wind brushed against her cheek, and Suzuki Kozue thought, at that moment, that for someone with two eyes, she’d been incredibly blind.

She had more than one sense. She could listen, she could feel…

And then, after she’d gone through all her other senses, then she could see.

“Caught you.” She muttered, and she took a step back and a running start, and she drew back her foot and kicked a hole in the wall, and the monster reared its ugly head and laughed at her, and she could see it.

Yes- she could see it.

It had been playing on her fears all along.

“You messed with my head.” She muttered. “You don’t- you don’t fucking do that.”

The cursed spirit let out a terrible grating sound. She realized what it was doing, then, something so unthinkable to her it had seemed like a joke at first: the sound, the terrible sound, was laughing.

It was laughing.

At her.

Kozue felt a surge of something rise up in her throat, and that something was anger, and she knew, weak people had no right to be angry because all weak people like her could do was sit there and take it but it was laughing at her, after playing on her deepest fears and deepest insecurities and the panic that had driven her to the point of self-doubt, self-hate—

The anger bubbled up to the back of her mouth and burned her insides.

She took two steps, covering the distance between them, and she grabbed it by the neck and she drew back her fist and she punched it.

The satisfying yelp erupted from its mouth—if you could even call it that, she certainly wouldn’t—and it strained against the vice grip she held it in, wanting to be free. The message was clear: let me go.

“Oh, no you’re fucking not.” She muttered, more to herself than anyone else, and she heaved and tossed it in the air and she bounced on her toes lightly and she spun, her leg reaching out to collide with its body. She landed perfectly, but she simply didn’t waste time admiring the perfect kick she’d done, because that didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that this… this inhumane thing, had the audacity to pretend to be Rin—

The anger shot up again. She took three strides, grabbed it, hauled it up, and threw it against the wall. “You laughing now? You fucking laughing now?”

It squealed.

“I bet you’re fucking not!” She snarled, and drew back her fist. Whack. “You think that hurts? You think that hurts more?”

It was dumb, it couldn’t even reply, but she was so mad—

“Fucking parasite—” She kicked it. It was squealing now, reduced to nothing but a pathetic sandbag that had played with her. Suzuki Kozue was weak, allowing herself to be taunted by such a disgusting creature— “Fucking piece of shit—”

No, she couldn’t kill it. She didn’t have cursed energy. She’d have to…

Her eyes fell on the staff. The cursed spirit must have landed on it, as it was splintered into half. She picked up a piece, spun it around so that she was holding the splintered end, and whacked it into the cursed spirit like a baseball bat.

It slammed into the wall. Dust rained down on it. So it could touch real things, it had just chosen not to, it had taunted her, it had made her paranoid.

Suzuki Kozue saw red; before she knew it, she’d taken the sharp end of the staff and rammed it down the cursed spirit’s throat.

There was blood, gore, something inhuman all over her, she thought. She was painted in the blood of a creature she’d killed out of anger. But she’d killed it nonetheless, and she’d completed a mission that was soon to be first out of many.

Suzuki Kozue wondered if it was okay. It was, after all, a death that had brought the smile now twisting on her face.

She emerged from the abandoned school at 2PM, holding a splintered piece of wood in one hand and burying her face in another.

His heart skipped a beat as she raised her head and looked straight at the three people who had been waiting for her: a teacher and his two students. One of whom had only just released his technique, terrified by the prospect of her being maimed or, worse, dead.

There were specks of something on her face, smeared against her palm.

Not her blood, he realized as she stood still, swaying slightly. Not even blood. Cursed spirit.

Shoko stamped out the cigarette. “Oh- Kozue.” She called. “You did it.”

Gojo Satoru was not so lenient on whether she’d simply completed a mission or not. He rushed forward, and his arms wrapped around the girl in a huge hug. She stood there for a second and, after what seemed like forever, dropped the wood—the staff she’d entered with, he realized—and patted his back awkwardly.

“Toru.” She mumbled. “’m dirty. Your uniform’s gonna—”

“Oh, shush, you.” He chided, and pulled her away to examine her. “Are you okay? Hurt? How was the spirit? You killed it—you killed it.”

“Yeah.” She swallowed. He felt her grip tighten against him. “I did.”

He pulled away from her, hearing Shoko and the teacher approach them. Instead, he dug his fingers inside his pockets and brought out the handkerchief she’d given him, the one with his name on it; he leaned down in front of her, his face level with hers, Satoru gently began dabbing at the residue splattered on her face and over her hands.

He caught her eye, then.

There was something that hadn’t been there before: the glint in her eye, the little twist in the curve of her mouth. The sheer look of self-satisfaction that wrote itself over her features. The way she ran her fingers through her hair and caught his eye, as if to say, see?

Satoru felt something warm spread from the tips of his ears all the way down to his toes.

“I killed it.” Kozue mused, and whipped towards Shoko, the smile now fully visible and making its way across her features. “Shoko, I killed it.”

“Exorcised it.” The other girl corrected. “But yeah. You did.”

She grinned, turned to him, grabbed his hands. “’Toru, you see now? You see?”

Ah, that was it, Satoru thought. The warmth. The heat that he was sure was breaking through his skin, painting his features bright pink as he marveled at the sight of the girl before him, the one who had laughed at the death of a spirit.

She’d never looked so beautiful in her life.

“Yeah.” He said, He brought the handkerchief to his own face, hiding the flush that was sure to be there. “Yeah, you did.

I see it now.”

Chapter Text

Happiness, as always, was short-lived.

Suzuki Kozue could still feel the buzz in her, the feeling of pride mixed with something else that had settled satisfyingly in her gut like a feast. It had been a week, and although the moment had long passed, she still felt a strange happiness that came from the fact that she’d achieved something that Gojo Satoru did, something that all her peers seemed to be able to do. Without a cursed technique or just cursed energy at all, she’d beaten a spirit that had charged towards her will full intent to kill.

She was in a good mood, thus, for the next few days. The exam had been passed with flying colors: what more could she hope for, what more could she ask for? Shoko had told her Satoru had identified it as a second-grade, and while she had no idea why she’d been lied to about the true nature of the mission, she couldn’t really care at this point.

All in all, now that she’d confirmed her abilities, it seemed like this school was a win-win for her. She could stay with Satoru; she could do what she wanted; and most of all, it seemed to be freer than most schools, too.

They were allowed to leave campus on weekends. Last week Satoru had been carried away by a mission and she’d gone to the city with Shoko, where they’d gone shopping for clothes—Satoru, unfortunately, hadn’t been too happy. As a result, the two of them had conceded by allowing him to do whatever he wanted.

It was at this moment they stood, right now: fuck classes. The weekend was coming up, and Satoru wanted to go to—

“Not another karaoke.” She rolled her eyes. “You microphone hogger.”

“No, I promise I won’t! Really, this time I won’t!”

“Last time we went you spent thirty minutes singing Digimon.”

“Are you saying there’s something wrong with that? Digimon is awesome! Kozu-chan is just salty that I can-”

“Shoko and I wanted to sing Hyde.” She pointed out, “And you said we’d also sing Moonlight Densetsu.”

“-sing better than her.” Satoru finished with a pout. “OK, maybe I got a bit carried away. Thirty minutes was a bit too much- maybe twenty would have sufficed. But you always sing Moonlight Densetsu too, and I don’t see what’s different about that.”

An eraser hit his head. Thwack. Shoko watched them with interest as he threw it back to her; she caught it perfectly and looked at him smugly, who gave her another pout.

“Shoko,” She called, “Tell him what’s wrong with singing Digimon for thirty minutes straight.”

“It’s a kid thing to do.”

“See?”

“Not to say you aren’t a kid too.”

“See?” Satoru mimicked; she held up her fist at him intimidatingly, which he fist-bumped with a grin. “Plus, it’s either this or shopping.”

“I like shopping.”

“Me too.” He scooted closer, and leaned his head against her shoulder, looking up at her with wide blue eyes. “It’s fun to go shopping together.”

She laughed. “I think Shoko has better taste than you.”

“Not true! Plus, when you’re out with me we always go to that ice cream parlor.”

They’d found a new place closer to school; although it was different from where they’d always gone, back when they were kids, it was new and exciting. She didn’t mind that things had changed so much, as the one thing she cared about was still consistently there.

Yuki’s had been good, too, which was sad. Her hometown was a fair distance away by car, which was one of the many reasons they hadn’t been able to visit it since the incident.

“Huh.” She said. “Shoko, how do you feel about ice cream?”

She looked towards Shoko. The girl was looking back at her with an uncanny expression, as though asking a question she hadn’t said out loud.

“Uhm,” The girl said, “Sure.”

“See – you’re not so special, ‘Toru.” She joked with a laugh, leaning her body weight back against him as she pulled out her flip phone.

She’d half expected a response, something along the lines of not true to I know Kozue best, but to her surprise, he remained in absolute silence, his head heavy against the top of hers and his breaths shallowly hitting the top of her head. She clicked into the camera on selfie mode, and turned the screen up to see him looking at the camera directly. His expression resembled something strangely anarchistic and hopeless, a strange look written all over his features.

“…huh?” She said, and giggled, snapping a photo before he could protest. “What’s with that dumb face?”

He stared at her through the screen. She turned to Shoko, about to ask what was up with him, only to see she’d disappeared.

Not to worry, of course—she always seemed to disappear at the strangest moments—but still, Kozue wondered if Satoru had something to say, whether or not it was serious.

“Kozue.” He said, finally, with a sigh, and she turned, pushing herself up into his face with a curious look. He jolted, his brows knitted together. “Kozue, I—”

The door scraped on the floor as it opened.

“Suzuki?” Someone called. “Suzuki Kozue?”

“Huh?” She groaned, and jolted up from Satoru’s shoulder. “Wait, gimme a sec, ‘Toru—what?” She repeated, louder.

“I’ve got something for you.”

It was her teacher’s voice. She frowned, and turned back to Satoru. “Sorry, just finish your sentence and I can go.”

The chair scraped as she stood up, leaning down for him. He looked up at her with that same expression: was he in a bad mood today? She didn’t think so. He’d been happy enough to joke along with her, and plus, he didn’t get into bad moods often. Not around her, anyway.

“…nothing.” He said. “Nothing. We should hang out sometime, just the two of us, anata. Yeah?”

Anata. Dear.

What was that about?

He often called her by nicknames that made them sound like a couple, which was exactly why people always asked, she knew this. But they were always teasing—aw, you hurt, sweetheart?—and they never sounded this… this…

This... this strange.

She hoped he couldn’t see it, because for some strange reason, she felt the word and the way he said it reverberate in her ears and flush them light pink.

“Uh.” She told him, only half processing what he’d asked, “Sure. Okay. Definitely.”

She reached down and absentmindedly, straightened his collar, her fingertips brushing against the lobe of his ear. He looked up and blinked languidly at her; she felt something strange in her mouth, like something was under her tongue, but chose to ignore it. Instead, she headed over to the teacher who waited by the door.

“Kozue-san.” He greeted. “They finally processed your student ID.”

“Oh!” Admittedly, just what she’d been waiting for. “Nice.”

He was holding it between his fingers, facing the other way so that all she could see was the blank side. She reached for it, but he pulled it out of her reach.

“Just saying,” He thought, and even in her good mood her eyes flickered to his face and she thought, was something wrong? But she ignored it. Just like she’d ignored the eyes that stared at her for weeks since she’d come here. Like the strange sensation of people watching, people talking about her, people paying attention to her every move… “You’re new.”

“I, I know.” Kozue blinked. Where had that come from? “Give it. Please.”

He stared at her, with that look again, and she really did wonder what that look was. Pity? Satisfaction? A kind of twisted sympathy for a technique-less, power-less girl like her? It drove her up the wall, the way everyone looked at her since she’d come here, it really did.

She was used to being watched her entire life, ever since she’d come here as a foreigner and a half-family. But the way these damn sorcerers looked at her, like she was inferior somehow, like she was useless somehow, like she needed to be protected.

Those damn sorcerers, she thought, and their superior, snobbish aura. What made her so different?

Glowering at those eyes, Suzuki Kozue snatched the card out of her teacher’s hand and flipped it over, scanning over the student ID information. Suzuki Kozue, born March 31^st of 1989, assigned student number. Her photo she’d taken the other day, with her hair a mess and her smile crooked. And above it, was…

No,

No, way.

“What?” She whipped around, her eyes falling on the first person she could see to blame: the teacher, who stood there with that same look on his face. “What the hell is this supposed to be?”

Your assigned sorcerer grade, he told her, but with the buzz in her ears and the strange way her throat felt like she was choking, she couldn’t even think of a snarky reply.

She’d killed it, the other day. She’d felt so confident. She’d killed it with her bare hands, without even a technique, without even her own cursed energy, for god’s sake.

So what was that stupid number supposed to mean? A representation of her abilities? No way!

“Fourth grade?” She said, louder than she should have, but she didn’t care because the blood was rushing to her head and she couldn’t think straight. “What does fucking fourth grade mean? How did I—”

The ID dropped from her hands. With a pathetic clatter, it hit the wooden floor. A useless piece of plastic.

Great, she thought, as tears pricked at her eyes. Her good mood was ruined now.

“The thing I killed the other day was second grade on a tight scale.” She said, trying to gather her wits. Her voice trembled ever so slightly and she hated it. “Then how come I’m a fourth grade? Do I look— do I look that fucking useless?”

Calm down, he said. Don’t get too angry yet.

“Yet? Yet?” She barked a laugh. “So there’s worse news?”

No, it wasn’t what he meant. He just thought—

“Thought I was deserving of this?”

Her fists clenched hard, hard enough that her skin hurt and her entire arm felt numb. She laughed sarcastically, bringing up an arm to rake through her hair, gripping it tightly since it was the only damn thing she could do with her own hands.

Fourth grade. Fourth grade! Not even dogs were fourth grade!

Her eyes trailed down to the ID card, at the stupid face that grinned languidly as though it knew nothing of the fate that she’d called upon herself. It made her mad, everything made her mad—

And so did the eyes, like the ones that her teacher sported. The eyes were everywhere.

Was it pity? They pitied her, didn’t they? They saw her as inferior. They pitied her the way a master would pity their pet for being dumb and illiterate and uncivilized.

Fourth grade, she thought, and wondered what her mother would do. Laugh? Probably. Stupid, fucking, useless Kozue, having barged out of her world just to land herself in the lowest of the lows. She’d tried her best; had she really been this useless?

“Stop—” She snapped, and she felt someone’s presence behind her and she turned and saw Satoru picking up the ID, staring at it in his too-large hands, “Don’t, don’t look at that.”

She snatched it out of his hands, face burning in humiliation.

After all she’d said to his father about beating him, about being better than him, what kind of public spectacle was this? What a humiliating thing, to be lower than the lows? What a pathetic girl, who’d bitten off more than she could chew?

Especially, especially compared to a guy like Satoru?

He looked down at her, and her eyes fixed themselves to the floor in utter humiliation, not even caring that the feet that belonged to her teacher turned and left without another word, probably unable to deal with her outburst. Instead, they were replaced by Satoru’s shiny shoes.

Satoru, the one person she wouldn’t have wanted here.

Who cared, when he’d heard whatever she’d said anyway? She’d nearly shouted the word for him to hear. Fourth-grade Suzuki Kozue, useless as well as desperate. The eyes that looked at her now would never calm down, would keep laughing at what a pathetic excuse of a sorcerer she was.

There seemed to be no such thing as karma, she even thought. Her father, who was one of the worst humans she knew, was a special grade one. The average rank for most students was grade three. She, who she’d thought had tried so hard to get to this very place, was considered useless.

“Kozu.” He said, quietly. “Kozue.”

She bit her lip and remained silent.

“Kozue.” The soft voice said again. “I don’t think they ranked you right. I think the higher-ups had something to do with this.”

He was saying that just to make her feel better. She knew this. Satoru, who’d been on the front-lines of her judo matches, he knew she felt bad when she lost. She was the kind of person who couldn’t tolerate being bad at something. He was offering weak consolations.

Something slipped under her chin. She felt his fingers push her face up, until she was looking up at him, and she hated it, she hated the way her eyes were so close to tears…

“Kozu.” He murmured. “My one and only. What do you want me to do?”

Her eyes widened. His fingers rooted her to reality, a gentle pressure on her jaw that told her he didn’t think that way of her at all. She hated this situation she’d been put into, but she also hated more the way he stood so calmly, so patiently.

What do you want me to do?

She felt the anger that throbbed in her chest like a heartbeat, the spite that spurred her on. Would he kill someone for her? Would he kill everyone for her?

She was a fourth-grade. She’d been ranked as useless. And if Satoru was right, she’d curried the spite of clan leaders and of people in power, of higher-ups that ran the jujutsu world. Because no way she was a fourth-grade, and no way she’d killed a second-grade to be called useless by this damn world.

She hadn’t fought tooth and nail for a student ID in this damn school, just to be stopped by some old men. Hadn’t that been exactly the thing she’d hated?

“I want,” She said, “I want to go up. And I don’t want a goddamn glass ceiling stopping me from doing whatever the hell I want.”

“You want that ceiling blown up?” He said. The curve of his mouth suggested a teasing tone that cooled her head, and with his other hand, he slipped the ID card into her breast pocket, his fingers grazing against the curve of her chest.

“I want it disintegrated.” She told him, firmly.

“Consider it done.”

They looked at each other. She felt her face grow hot.

Now, right now, all she wanted to do was barge into the principal’s office and throw the card at him. She wanted to shove that fourth-grade card in their faces and prove she wasn’t it. She wanted to kill them, but she knew she couldn’t have that.

She needed to wait. She needed power—she needed time. And for that, she needed patience, and most of all, herself.

“No,” She said, quietly, “I’ll do it myself.”

He laughed, his chest vibrating deeply, and his head dipped; she felt her face grow hot as he raised her fingers to his lips and planted a kiss on the back of her hand. The way a knight would do for his lady.

“Then consider me yours to use.”

Chapter Text

Ever since her registration as the one and only fourth-grade sorcerer in jujutsu high, she found a shift in the languid days that were not so languid anymore.

Wake up. Train. Class. Train. Dinner. Train. Sleep. Repeat.

Once the shock of fourth-grade had settled into her mind, the one thing that she’d come to terms with was that simply, things couldn’t stay this way. If she couldn’t use cursed energy, she’d simply train herself hard enough that she could beat it with nothing but a cursed tool.

Hell, she could beat it with her fists.

The school had a weaponry, which she’d visited the other day with Satoru. He’d picked out a few items that looked nice and powerful, and she’d chosen between them. Of course Gojo-san had given her the weapons, but she needed to expand her vision, try new weapons.

She needed to be good enough that she could pick something up and just use it.

And Kozue, Kozue didn’t think she’d ever trained so hard in her life: not for any judo match, certainly, and not even to win the approval of her mother that she desperately wanted. No, this was something that she wanted, and she’d never wanted something so desperately in her life.

 She didn’t have any opponents for her martial arts, since she didn’t know anyone else other than her two classmates. Obviously, throwing Shoko to the ground wasn’t a good idea, and Satoru was off developing his cursed technique most of the time anyway, so she spent her days feeling stupid and practicing her moves on dummies they had and on trees. They wouldn’t let her off on solo missions—she was a fourth-grade sorcerer after all—so she tagged along on Satoru’s, watching off the sidelines as he beat the shit out of his enemies and watching the spirits move. She’d get home and recreate the scenario in her head, wonder what she’d do, list down its characteristics, and most importantly, how to spot it before it spotted her.

Kozue hadn’t gotten a mission ever since she’d been given her student ID, and it frustrated her to no end.

But patience was key, and she knew a mission was coming up sometime soon, so she just trained, and trained, and trained.

She’d just gotten back from the training grounds and had taken a deep shower to chase off the soreness that clawed at her muscles before changing into more comfortable clothes. Flopping down on the bed, she took a deep breath to gaze at the window that lay slightly ajar. The wind fluttered in, already hot now that it was late spring. She ought to buy a fan, she thought, but she simply didn’t have time to.

The sky was dimming. It was well past dinner, and she wondered how Satoru was doing on his mission, the one he’d set off for a few hours back. He’d asked if she wanted to go, but she’d refused and simply told him to bring back a nice souvenir.

Yes ma’am, he’d said with a grin, and she hadn’t seen him since.

Kozue wondered if this would ever change, absentmindedly, and looked up at the flickering of the light, then towards the wall where she’d pinned rows of macrame string. Processed and printed camera photos held in place by wooden clips gleamed back at her, years of memories with Gojo Satoru. The most recent ones had been pinned with Shoko, too, when they went out during the weekends: and one specific one showed the grinning face of the person she’d never forget, Yamamoto Rin, her grin catlike as she wrapped her arms around Kozue’s neck.

Rin, she thought, am I making you proud yet?

Probably not. She couldn’t even use cursed energy, and after a whole day of training, her body still hurt like hell.

She was getting better, sure. But not as fast as she wanted to.

Her hair was still damp around her, and she lay comfortably in the scents that had surrounded her for a long time. Her mother had barely taught her anything—it was Satoru, actually, who had picked out her skincare products for her, under the harsh suggestion that she “needed to take good care of herself”. It was the kind of scent she liked, clean but not artificially sweet-smelling.

In fact, she thought as she rolled over on the bed, he was right. She’d been so busy that she’d neglected to hang out with him for quite some time, just the two of them. Of course there had been opportunities beforehand, but she simply hadn’t wanted Shoko to feel excluded…

Just as she fell into thought, someone knocked at her door.

“Coming.” Kozue called, and stood up, shaking her hair hastily and slinging the towel around her neck. “Satoru, thank god, I was wondering when you were getting h—”

The door jerked open. She stood, her words halfway out of her mouth, staring at the girl who had come to visit her: Ieiri Shoko, her hands jammed into her pockets and a lollipop dangling from her mouth. She held a plastic bag that dragged pathetically.

“Oh.” Kozue said.

“Oh.” Shoko said.

They stared at each other for a second; then, Shoko smiled at her. “Expecting anyone?”

“No, not—” Kozue blinked. “Uh, not really.” She stood aside as a gesture to let Shoko in, which the girl casually did, making her way into the dimly lit room. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just wanted to hang. You’re kinda busy, and I thought afternoon would be a better time.” Kozue tiptoed up and grabbed a cushion from the top of the wardrobe, which Shoko accepted gracefully, plopping down on top of it. “I brought snacks.”

“Snacks?”

Shoko held up the bag and handed it towards her.

“Oh,” Kozue repeated, “Thanks.”

She settled herself down on the floor with another cushion, leaning her back against the bed behind her. She’d brought a few lollipops, a few cans of soda, a single bag of chips, and a packet of M&Ms.

Kozue stared at her questionably, to which Shoko shrugged. The meaning was clear: neither of them really knew what to buy for night snacks.

She set them out anyway. It wasn’t the first time Shoko had been to her room, but she still looked around curiously; Kozue winced as she moved a little too quickly, feeling her muscles creak at the base of her neck.

The movement didn’t go unnoticed by Shoko.

“Aren’t you working yourself a bit too hard?” The girl said, as she popped a coke open and handed it to her. Kozue accepted with a thanks. “It’s only the first semester, hun. You’re gonna be worn out before you get into second year. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I think I’m fine.” Kozue shrugged. “I was gonna go to a judo school anyway, and that just means more training. There’s no difference, really.”

“Oh, right, judo state champion… I keep forgetting about that.”

They trailed off into quiet banter. Kozue had never been much to talk. It was always Satoru talking, filling the gap between them with mindless conversations and affections that he didn’t mind, and Rin had been no different. Of course, not to say she didn’t like Shoko: it was simply two introverts, one of which had trained all day.

So, of course, there was a certain saving grace that came with another knock at the door.

Shoko had been in the middle of telling a story about her in middle school; but as the knock sounded, her words trailed off into midair. Both of them quietened, straining their ears to hear a quiet sound that scratched at the door. Someone was talking outside in the hallway, two women with low voices.

Kozue frowned—she didn’t know anyone else—and turned to Shoko in a silent question. You?

Shoko shrugged. Not me.

Alright, she thought. Here goes nothing.

Kozue pulled the door open, her towel wrapped in her fist ready to… well, probably punch someone. Instead, there were completely unexpected and new visitors who stood outside of her door, something that she’d definitely not anticipated.

A girl with choppy bangs and long dark hair tied in pigtails, dressed in a pink nightgown; and an older girl, taller, with strange pale hair and similarly pale skin, dressed in a tank top and shorts with her arms crossed in front of her chest. The first girl held a plastic bag, as well, and stood as though she wanted to kick the door open.

A strange duo, Kozue thought, and her eyes widened as the two swiveled towards her.

“Uh.” She said, surprised. “Wrong… wrong person.”

The two of them looked like American high school teen movie girls, the type that laughed at other girls for having pepper between their teeth and tripped disabled kids over. To tell the truth, Kozue had fought cursed spirits and bounty hunters, but she was terrified of girls ganging up on her—strange, she knew, but perfectly rational. High school girls were a scary bunch.

But as she turned to close the door, she found that the door was stuck; glancing down, she found a foot jammed between the door and the frame.

Oh, she was definitely getting bullied.

“No, no, we’re at the right place.” The taller girl—the one who the foot belonged to—said, and smiled at her. Kozue felt chills run up her spine.

“What Mei Mei-senpai meant,” The shorter girl broke in hurriedly, “Is that we came to see the right person! First year student, Suzuki Kozue, no?”

“Erm.” The taller girl was the bully, then. “Yes. I’m not buying anything.”

“What are we, scammers!?” The same girl laughed. “No, we’re just here to hang out! We heard two new girls are in the first year, and Suzuki Kozue is one of them, so we just wanted to check her out.”

Suzuki Kozue?

They knew her name? That was something she’d never heard before.

Had information been lost somewhere again? She swore, if Satoru forgot to tell her something again, she’d kill him…

“Oh,” The girl continued, as she opened the door slightly, “I’m Iori Utahime, second year; and this is Mei Mei. Third year. We’re the only girls here apart from you guys! Oh, and we brought snacks!”

She raised her arm and jangled the plastic bag at her.

Admittedly, Kozue thought, it was a bit fuller than their own snack supply. But she didn’t even know them, and plus, she didn’t like people coming into her room all of a sudden. Her father had barged in all the time when she was a kid, and it had barely been a good experience…

“I think we have chips… some bread?”

Her stomach growled threateningly, which she disguised with an annoyed cough. Two suspicious individuals at her door? No way she was letting them in, even if they were upperclassmen. Back in her old school, upperclassmen had tried to befriend her all the time just to get closer to Satoru—

“Oh, and a lot of beef jerky.”

The door swung open.

“Uh.” Kozue said, awkwardly. “It’s, uh, a bit cramped.”

The girl’s eyes brightened.

Utahime hummed to herself as she spread the snacks on the floor; Kozue felt awkward as she sat by the base of her bed, the frame digging slightly into her back, looking at the three other girls who had infiltrated her room without so much as a plan.

It was a weird combination, and certainly more people she’d had in her room than all her years of life combined.

The air was awkward, mostly because (from what she’d seen) no one in this room seemed to particularly know each other enough to talk. Kozue was the kind of person who would rather sit back and listen to someone talk, and with Satoru being the majority of her human relationships, she’d pretty much found it more comfortable to listen to him talk her ear off and just react to whatever he said.

She wasn’t used to… well, this.

Mei Mei—the tall girl in the tank top—sat with her back straight on the ground, looking around the room passively with her arms crossed in front of her. It was strangely self-deprecating for others to see her room, but she supposed she couldn’t really do much about the weapons in the corner and the yoga mat rolled up and shoved in a box, and she really couldn’t find herself comfortable with the way the older girl looked at the wall of photos with an unreadable expression on her face.

Utahime looked a bit friendlier (a little less murderous and a little more human, was more like it) and she had a nice nightgown, but Kozue was also scared of her, mostly because she kept pulling things out of the plastic bag and by this point she’d just raided an entire store.

Her only other option left was Shoko, who didn’t seem to care either way. But then again, Shoko never did seem to care. Even when she’d first met them, the only reaction she’d given to meeting them had been a “hey”, and most things seemed to be then and there for her.

Lucky, she thought. Shoko’s impassivity was a desirable trait.

Especially right now, in this stuffy room where no one seemed to be able to say anything. Kozue flinched as Shoko nudged her for the third time. “…what…?”

“Loosen up.” Shoko said, and patted her hand. “Sweetie, you’re really tense.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. They’re not going to hurt you. I know Mei Mei-senpai. She’s famous.”

Kozue took a breath, and then two. Maybe she was a little tense, but she couldn’t help it. “Is she?”

“M-hm. She’s from a famous clan.”

“You know,” Mei Mei said, and Kozue’s eyes snapped up to land on the upperclassman who was staring at them with an amused look, “I can hear you. And she’s right—you do need to loosen up a little. I won’t bite, after all. I just wanted to see.”

“See what?”

Something crunched. Kozue’s eyes flickered over to Utahime now, who held a bag of chips in her hand and had scooted closer. They were in a circle now, which was a little ridiculous. “See you, of course!”

“…me?” Kozue said. Chills went up her spine. “You mean like, the first years. Right?”

“No, silly.” Utahime laughed. “You! Suzuki Kozue. The talk of the year.”

“You’re nicer-looking than I thought you’d be.”

“Mei-senpai, that’s weird to say—but anyway, yeah, you.” The two upperclassmen exchanged glances; Kozue felt something in her stomach drop. Was she missing out on something? In fact, was this…

“Is this,” Kozue said, cautiously, “Is this why people keep staring?”

The eyes. The eyes, she knew the eyes weren’t just her imagination. She wasn’t just being self-conscious. She’d just thought they were staring because she was new to this place, because she was her father’s daughter, but there was something more.

“Oh.” Utahime said. Her eyes were comically glancing side to side. “Should I not have…?”

“No, I don’t think she knew.” Mei mused. “It’s difficult to say, after all. You’re quite famous around these parts, Suzuki-san. They say Gojo Satoru pulled a civilian girl into the jujutsu world, and that she’s attending Jujutsu High.”

Satoru. Kozue frowned, Satoru’s face flashing through her mind: when he’d told her, it’s nothing. He’d hidden that from her again.

No, no, she couldn’t be angry with him. He always tried his best for her. It wasn’t his fault they talked; she couldn’t blame him for anything. He was a victim of circumstance just as much as she was.

“So that’s why they know me.” She said distastefully. “Gojo Satoru’s girl.”

Utahime winced. “Not exactly.”

“Exactly.” Mei Mei said. The older girl seemed to have no such filter. It hurt, sure, but Kozue appreciated it, the fact that this girl who seemed so powerful and cold was merciful enough to tell it.

Kozue’s eyes drifted sideways, and landed on Shoko. The girl froze.

“And you knew this?” She asked. No wonder she’d looked so serious when talking to Satoru, no wonder she’d laughed and told her nothing’s wrong, let’s just go, it’s okay—

Shoko shrugged. The meaning was clear: it’s a sensitive topic, and I didn’t want to upset you. “Plus,” She added with a glance, “rumors change. Everyone talks a little different.”

“That’s true.” Utahime says. “That’s why we came. We don’t like to believe rumors, and we wanted to check out what kind of girl you were.”

“What do they say?” Kozue asked immediately, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Utahime’s eyes flickered to Mei Mei; the woman’s eyes, for once, flickered back. They both turned to her. “You really want to know?”

“What?” Kozue interrogated, suddenly feeling a little defensive. “It’s rumors about me. I can’t hear my own rumors? You think I can’t handle it? Come on, what do they say; do they call me a massive whore?”

The room went strangely and awkwardly quiet.

Oh, hell no, she thought. No way in hell…

“Well.” The second-year said awkwardly, “Not exactly.”

“Then…?”

“I’m not sure you’d…” She started, but was soon broken in by the older girl.

“They say you used him to get into Jujutsu High and become a sorcerer because you wanted power. They say you’re using him, he’s hopelessly entwined by a temptress. They say he can’t refuse anything you say, because he’s utterly in love with you.”

She laughed.

Her? Use him?

Her, want this? Want Rin dead, want her world overturned, want her dad back, want her mother in another country, want her hometown in chaos? She’d used Satoru, the only person she could rely on, to…?

“No, way.” Kozue shook her head. “No, no, no, no way. Those rumors are as false as they get. That’s… people are saying that? No, that’s not true.”

The room went quiet again. She found herself distasteful of the rumors, but worse than that, she found herself quite accustomed to it. She knew the truth was all that mattered, but still, the fact that she was trying so hard from such a low point was…

Devastating? No. Maybe a little resentful.

The silence continued, only broken by Utahime crunching her chips. She picked up a piece of beef jerky and chewed at it thoughtfully, wondering if they would leave her alone now that they’d gotten an answer.

“You know,” Utahime started, jerking her out of her thoughts, “It’s true that we just wanted to hang out as well. Sorry for interrogating you. You’re Shoko, right?” The girl nodded. “Yeah. We just don’t know how to deal with this, since…” She shrugged.

“This is the most people there’s ever been in the female wing since I’ve come.” Mei told them. “Four of us total.”

“Bu-ut, we live on the floor above!” She pointed up. “So feel free to come up when and if you need any help or something. If you’re missing home-cooked food, I can also make a really mean rice bowl.”

“Four girls, huh.” Shoko mused.

“I know, right?” Utahime giggled. “Mei-senpai, just look at their faces!”

She hadn’t realized she’d been looking at them with a mixture between horror and fascination, but she apparently had; wiping the expression off herself, Kozue settled for something close to mildly uncomfortable.

Four girls, total? She’d thought that, in a profession like this, there would be at least half, seeing as how there were two in her year…

Four girls. Was this another obstacle she’d have to get past?

“Oh, trust me.” Utahime said, and Kozue only then realized she’d said it out loud, “The jujutsu system is harsh on women. You need a good enough grip on life to get past all that. All those men leading the system, I couldn’t even. Mei-senpai had to beat everyone in her clan at hand-to-hand just to get permission to up a grade. I heard there were these twins from the Zen’in clan, too, two girls… and you know how the Zen’in clan feels about twins…”

“And I thought the sports world was bad.” She muttered under her breath, and leaned back, sighing. The obstacles never seemed to stop. The fatigue of fighting all day had suddenly hit her like a truck, and seemed to weigh her down now. “…god…”

“Sports?” Utahime perked up. “You did sports? I like watching sports—what kind?”

“Uh.” Her eyes flickered to Mei Mei, the third-year: she suddenly seemed much more attentive, watching her with piercing eyes. Something seemed to have interested her. “Uh. I mainly did judo. A little.”

“She was state champion.” Shoko butted in, and she flushed. “Really good, actually.”

“Oh?” Utahime’s eyes shot up. “That’s pretty useful.”

“I do others, too.” Kozue rushed on, feeling more and more like she was being interrogated, with the way the third-year’s eyes burrowed into her. “Taekwondo… karate… jiu jutsu… boxing… MMA… most hand-to-hand combat and martial arts. Also some self-defense weapons.”

“Oh, I watch judo and taekwondo!” The second-year said, excitedly. “Cool, maybe you can show me sometime?”

“Sure, I—”

“So how do you find that for jujutsu?” Mei Mei finally spoke. Kozue felt sweat on her palms and rubbed them against her shorts nervously. The girl—no, the woman—had an intimidating aura about her. Well built. Probably did martial arts and some form of weaponry, from the callouses on her hands, and she looked pretty damn strong, too.

Kozue liked her, but she was also scared of her. A nice combination.

“Uh- sorry?”

“For jujutsu. You can’t use cursed energy or your technique is weak, from the likes of you, so you’re trying to make up for it with hand-to-hand, no? How’s it faring?”

Kozue liked her. She didn’t want to seem weak.

“It’s… fine.” She said, and swallowed back the bitter distaste in her throat from being weak, inexperienced, new. “I… still have room to improve.”

The upperclassman smiled.

“It’s a long way to go, isn’t it? Especially compared to someone like the Gojo Satoru.”

“I… well, I mean.”

Right, right, right. This woman seemed to know her inside and out. Kozue scooted closer to the bedframe and tucked her knees between her arms.

The woman smiled at her some more.

“Just out of curiosity,” She said, “If it’s not for Gojo Satoru, and if it’s not for your own ambitions… just exactly why did you come to Jujutsu High?”

She hesitated, and turned back.

In the array of photos on her wall, there was one that stood out more than others: a photo of Yamamoto Rin. Such a fleeting moment that she couldn’t even remember it that well, if she was being honest with herself. It had been a few months, and that was it: but still, Yamamoto Rin had been there, at the right place and the wrong time.

She still dreamt about the girl. It no longer clawed at her, but was more of a dull throbbing that followed her heartbeat: kill-er. Kill-er. Kill-er.

That was what she was, she reminded herself. A killer.

“I had a friend,” She started, and paused. Something she hadn’t even told Shoko, and it had been months since they’d started hanging out.

But this woman, Mei-senpai, the way she spoke…

“I had a friend.” She said. “Dead now. My fault. I wanted to protect her but I couldn’t, and I want to be stronger so that I don’t ever have to be helpless again. Is that a good enough answer for you?”

Mei Mei stared at her, impassively; then, to her surprise, threw back her head and laughed.

Feeling heat rush to her face, Kozue shrank back in her seat and fiddled with a can of coke. The girl continued laughing for what seemed like a solid two minutes, before lowering her head and wiping a tear from her eye. She sniffled, her eyes meeting Kozue’s again, and she said, “Oh, I like you.”

“Wh-” Had she heard that wrong? “Sorry?”

“I really do like you.” The woman said. “In fact, I don’t understand how the rumors got you so wrong. I wish they’d told me about this part.”

She flushed. “Th- thank you?”

“Suzuki Kozue,” She said, “Think about this.”

The whole room was quiet. Even Utahime had stopped eating, and Shoko was completely quiet beside her, so quiet she almost didn’t seem to exist.

“Your fighting is impressive, yes. But your innate technique is the most important thing you can have. Us women—Utahime, she’s, simply speaking, a buff. Your friend Shoko over there is a healer. For people like me—all I can do is control birds. I only got here because of my physical abilities. So you, especially you as related to the Gojo Satoru,” She snapped a cracker in half, “You either become a valuable support character, or you become powerful, but live with the fact that you’ll never be as powerful as Gojo Satoru, and even other men who were given similar opportunities. In fact, even now you must have noticed their subtle warning with no doubt a lower grade than you deserve: they don’t care how powerful you are, honey. They only care that you move aside for the real main cast. And oh, honey, honey, honey…

Do you think you’ll be okay with that?”

The harsh words trailed in the air, otherwise completely silent.

Suzuki Kozue was a gaijin. She’d been called that often—gaijin—a slang term meaning “foreigner” that she learnt quickly had a culturally sensitive context to it. Even though she was completely ethnically Japanese, she’d been chased around as an American, as a colonizer, as some kind of gaijin monstrosity that came from the outside and was thus shamed for it. She was alienated; she could never fit in. Gaijin, that word, suggested exclusion, alienation, outlier.

And this place, with these awesome upperclassmen and the awesome friend Shoko and the mindless fun she had with Gojo Satoru, her best friend… this place was set against her?

Nothing new, really, was it?

“I,” She said, “I don’t care. I don’t care if that’s the way with girls around here. I’m still going to prove them wrong.”

Mei Mei laughed. “Well, that’s to be expected from a girl like you. I quite like you. Tell me, Suzuki—”

“Kozue.” She corrected, automatically. “It’s just… just Kozue.”

“Kozue.” The woman said. “Do you train on your own, or does your handsome little friend help you along the way?”

“On my own.” She assumed she was talking about Satoru.

“No training partners? I’m guessing you use equipment?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, then.” Mei Mei told her, “I’d love to train with you sometime, get to see just how good a state champion at judo would be. It would be fun, hm? Just us two girls.”

She glanced up at the woman and found, to her surprise, an honest-to-god smile on her face. Nothing sarcastic or out of the ordinary.

This jujutsu world… yes, it was fucked up, but it also produced people like the three girls in her room right now. Honest-to-god people. People with good intentions. People who didn’t judge her, laugh at her, call her any of the names that had made her feel lonely like gaijin or hakuchi or ainoko. People who found her fun even though she was kind of annoying.

“Sure.” She said, quietly, feeling strange that she felt like part of an actual community. “Sounds good. Senpai.”

Utahime perked up. “Well, in that case, as the buffer—” Shooting an angry look at Mei Mei, “I’ll come see! I watch quite a lot of sports, you know.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah—my favourite is baseball.”

“Oh. I used to watch a little, uh…”

“Oh, right, you're from America.” Shoko pointed out.

“What? Have you seen the New York Yankees play?!”

“I saw the, uhm, Little League championship.”

“Disappointing.”

“But I did see—”

The doorbell rung. Kozue froze in the middle of her word and they turned towards the door. She ran herself down the list of names in her mind before arriving at the only answer.

Pushing herself up, she bounded across the room and pulled open the door in a hurry to see the very person she’d been waiting for.

“Satoru.” She said, breathlessly.

And yes, it was Gojo Satoru, standing there in all his glory: he’d come straight from his mission, she could tell, because he smelled a little like sweat and he still had his button-up shirt on. His eyes were sparkling and his lips were curved upwards, and he opened that obnoxious mouth wide and he called, “Kozu!”

Something pushed up into her chest. She remembered the rumors that the girls had told her about, and at the face, blinking and smiling so innocently as though he knew nothing.

A corner of her mind thought, what else isn’t he telling me?

Another corner shoved it away. It wasn’t his fault, she told herself desperately. It was their faults for talking. Gojo Satoru was nothing but a scapegoat. There would always be things that he wouldn’t tell her, and she just needed to trust him because it was for her own good.

The rumors, the voice in her head reminded her again, and she choked back the words that had been forming in her mouth, and instead watched as he tilted his head, confused at the silence.

“Kozue?”

No, she had to believe in the best. The wavering truth was nothing but his bad decisions. She’d always known he was prone to making bad decisions. Why was this bothering her now? It really shouldn’t have. He was smiling at her, still, without a care in the world…

“You’re late.” She told him, snapping herself out of it, crossing her arms in front of her. “Plus, you stink.”

“Yeah, well, who asked for souvenirs, huh?” He pouted, and leaned his head on her shoulder; she realized he’d probably put something on in the train, because she could smell a little musk in an effort to hide the sweat smell. Of course. He cared this much for her, he tried so hard. It would never be his fault. She just had to trust him. “I’m sitting there, so tired from all that fighting, and I realize I haven’t bought Kozu-chan a gift. What do I do? Turn back and get her one, of course!”

He looked up, eyes glittering. The doubt in her head evaporated like fine mist.

She laughed, instead, her fingers skimming up his neck to land in his hair, which was annoyingly as fluffy and gentle to the touch as ever. “M-hm.”

“You better be grateful, Kozu-chan.”

“M-hm.” She scratched him gently. “What’d you get?”

“Oh, nothing new.” His gaze travelled behind her; she stiffened, a little, but he just smiled languidly into her shoulder, his hand coming up to wrap around her other shoulder as he tilted his head at the three girls staring. “I can see you were having a girl’s night out. Hello, ladies. Hiya, Shoko-chan.”

“Stop flirting with my senpais.”

“I’m not.” He smiled brilliantly and stood up languidly, as though he had all the time in the world, leaning against the doorframe to look down at her. “Jealous much? In fact, ladies, care if I join you?”

Kozue stiffened. “I’d rather you not.”

His smile faded. “Why?”

Because you’ll flirt with them. “Because it’s a girl’s night for a reason, you doofus.” She pushed him out of the door, scowling as he dragged his feet in resistance. “I’ll visit you later. Go wash or something.”

She looked up in annoyance, only to see that the smile that had dimmed only widened even more. “Wait, baby, are you jealous?”

“No! And don’t call me baby!”

“Aw, you’re still the hottest girl in the room.” He ruffled her hair, and she narrowed her eyes at him, the meaning clear: get out. “Okay, Kozu. I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Oh, and I’ll prolly borrow your toothpaste later.”

“Because you haven’t restocked.”

“I knew you’d have some, that’s why.”

“Get your own!”

He stared down at her, a teasing smirk on his lips.

“Nah.” He mused, and the door swung shut behind him.

Now that Satoru was gone, a peaceful silence settled over the room; the three girls stared at her, and she flushed, laughing a little breathlessly. Her head felt airy. She felt oddly self-conscious, her fingers twitching as though she could still feel his warmth under her fingertips.

“Well,” She laughed uncertainly, “Uh. That was a whirlwind.”

“Don’t you two look close.” Mei Mei commented.

Utahime, meanwhile, could only scowl.

“I don’t like him.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, she woke up in Gojo Satoru’s bed, feeling sick from all the beef jerky she’d eaten the night before. The boy himself had gone for a run, so she sat there, wondering just what had happened.

She gazed up lazily at the neon clock that Satoru insisted had to be there, the exact copy of her own in her room. The blinking digital letters read, 10:45 AM.

Luckily, she thought, it was a Sunday. Her homeroom teacher would have beaten her ass.

It was the first time she had woken up this late in a long time, the first time in a long time that she hadn’t gone out at 7AM for a morning jog. She decided her morning routine could be broken, just this once, so instead she just sat there, leaning her back against the headboard and wrapping the blankets that smelled like Satoru around her.

Yesterday, her upperclassmen had left her room a little before midnight, bidding her goodbye; Utahime had given her a hug and told her she had to show the senpai a taekwondo kick someday.

Oh, and they’d also…

Kozue picked up her flip phone, staring at the new additions to her list of phone numbers. Apart from Satoru, his father, and Shoko, two other numbers had been added, and she stared half in disbelief at the growing list.

It only reminded her that she was sinking deeper and deeper into the jujutsu world.

Not that she could go back or anything, of course, but the more time she spent in this place, the less it felt like a dream and more like an arena. More like reality. Kozue was slowly beginning to realize the weight that lay behind the name of Gojo Satoru, and what it meant to her, the only person who hadn’t been as aware of it. She wouldn’t give up her best friend for anything, but she had to admit that some things unintentionally hurt sometimes.

And the eyes… after she’d found out about what they meant, she’d been dreading the day after.

Ignorance was bliss: if she went out today, what would she think of herself? Would every look at her burn? After she’d finally understood why people looked at her like that, would she confirm them to be true? Whoring herself out to a guy for power. A snake, seducing someone just for their strength and protection.

Otherwise, useless.

Because she wasn’t useless otherwise, and fuck it, she wouldn’t prove them right: she was fairly confident she’d never fall for Gojo Satoru, right? It would be humiliating, for her to fall for him that way. But other than that, she knew she was more than what they made her out to be, and she’d have to believe it.

Her mother had told her never to live in the shadow of a man, and she couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t live with herself if she did that.

Suzuki Kozue took a deep breath in, and out.

The towels were in his second drawer. She grabbed the cleanest one she could see and turned the water on scalding hot, her skin pink from the heat. The steam crept into her airways and choked her out slowly, but it was still okay because there were things that grounded her to reality, away from the rumors, away from the eyes that told her you’re power hungry you’re taking the easy road you’re just a slut.

The guilty rhythm in her head told her, you’re not, you’re not, you’re not.

Satoru, she thought. Satoru always comforted her. Even when the boys at her primary school had thrown things at her and laughed because she was a foreigner and an American and she belonged nowhere, Satoru always grounded her to reality.

She wasn’t a monster, he’d told her. She was foreign, but so what? She didn’t fit in, but so what? Neither did he, with his white hair and his blue eyes. He was just as much alienated as she was.

They’d be alienated together, hadn’t he said so?

She just had to think, she thought, that she was just joining Satoru in the loneliness corner. She’d never truly be alone, not with Satoru here.

His bathroom was neatly arranged for a guy his age, and she laughed a little, even, because he was probably the only teenage boy who had both shampoo and conditioner instead of a 2-in-1.

Even face cleanser!

She hadn’t brought along any new clothes, so she just put on her pajamas again and stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around her hair. Perfect timing, too; as she sat back down on the bed, patting at her dark hair with the towel, the door’s lock clicked and it swung open.

Satoru walked in, the door closing behind him, kicking his shoes off, stripping his socks off, and finally flopping down beside her on the bed. He smelled like sweat, and his hair was slightly damp with sweat, which was understandable, since the weather was getting hotter.

“Hey,” She greeted, eyeing the damp stain on his shirt. “Hot today?”

“Very.” He confirmed. “Do you mind if I take it off?”

She jolted. “Huh?”

“My shirt. It’s sweaty.” He grinned coyly. “Ya mind?”

Oh, that was an easy question. Did she mind if he undressed in front of her? “Does- does my answer matter?” She asked, crossing her arms.

“Well.” He said, “It’s my room.”

He huffed, and still grinning at her, pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor.

One thing that Kozue could indeed confirm about her childhood best friend was that, in fact, Gojo Satoru was a very fit boy. Probably, he’d be a very fit man, too. He was on the taller and leaner side, quite lanky, but was still well-built, and she sat very still as he ran his fingers through his hair, still panting a little. His skin was slick with sweat, and his stomach was defined by traces of lines that suggested he would probably be… more toned. In the future. Possibly. Not that she was thinking of it, of course.

Oh, she thought. She had not thought her answer over. The last time she’d seen him shirtless was probably when they were twelve, and it was because they’d been doing some prank that she couldn’t quite remember.

He also had thicker biceps than hers, which was a little unfair considering she had pursued sports professionally, but he was also a guy and those were unrealistic standards. She also was definitely not staring at his body.

Kozue snapped her gaze back to her lap, and proceeded to continue drying her hair.

“You should really take a shower.” She said, instead, ignoring the way his breaths were slowing. “You look sticky as hell—hey!”

His fingers wrapped around her wrist. She yelped, pushing him away, but he persisted with a laugh; on instinct, she used her free hand to push him, just like they always did, except this time he was very shirtless and her hand was now resting on his very naked chest.

“Ah!” He squealed. “I didn’t know you had a thing for shirtless men, Kozu-chan! Stop undressing me with your eyes—”

“You undressed yourself, you idiot—”

He stuck his tongue out at her. She stuck hers out back and snatched back her wrist, wiping it on the leg of his trousers. “Stop trying to touch me.”

“You’re the exhibitionist.”

“Oh ho, you know a lot of terms, now—”

She smacked him in the arm. He yelped and rubbed at it. “I was going to talk about something serious, you know, and now you’ve made me lose my train of thought.”

It was true. She’d been planning to ask him about the rumors, to confront him about the people that always seemed to stare at her weirdly wherever she went, but now that his jokes had tripped her up, she couldn’t think straight. It was just the kind of stupid Satoru thing to happen.

She’d been planning on talking about, the rumors.

Right.

That had certainly put a dampener on the mood. She placed her hand on the bed, felt the soft bedding under her fingertips, and scooted back until she was leaning against the wall. Satoru stood up, gesturing for her to continue, and picked up articles of clothing from the floor, throwing on a new shirt.

“Yesterday,” She said, quietly, “Mei-senpai told me about the rumours.”

He’d been opening the drawer to take out a towel, but at her words, he seemed to freeze almost comically.

“What rumors?” He asked slowly.

She stared at him in silence.

Satoru turned, dropping whatever was in his hands, and approached her, climbing onto the bed until he was kneeling in front of her, his hands curled into fists. “Kozu-chan, tell me. What rumors?”

She stared at him, at his furrowed brows. “The ones about me.” She clarified.

The furrow between his brows deepened.

“Kozu,” He said, quietly, “You okay?”

“Why would I not be?” She sniffed. “They’re not true, after all. Some rumors they are, calling me a whore—”

“Kozue, I—”

“Or power-hungry. You know, they think I took advantage of you—of your strength. Like some kind of gold digger—”

“Kozue!”

“Or a snake.” She pointed out. “A snake works, too, after all I’m in your bed right now—”

“Kozue!” He grabbed her hands; she jolted, surprised, at the strength of which he gripped them. His hands were far larger than hers and far warmer; she’d always had cold hands, after all. “Kozue, you know those rumors aren’t true.”

“I know they’re not.” She told him, “And I know you were trying to keep me from being hurt when you weren’t telling me. I don’t think it was a bad decision. But it’s just bothersome, I—”

Bothersome. That word didn’t sit right. She wanted a word that would describe the feeling better, the feeling that had been sitting in her gut since last night when she’d first heard about what people said. That word was too vague, and it certainly didn’t capture the complex way that the rumors made her feel about herself, but also about their relationship, their friendship, the most precious thing she had.

It was… it was…

“No.” Kozue corrected herself quietly. “It’s frustrating.”

The hands on hers tightened. He grabbed her wrists and with the gentle strength of someone who didn’t want to scare, pulled her closer; he shifted position until he was sitting with his back against the headboard, and she was sitting between his parted legs. He leaned down, one hand still holding hers, and tucked her still-damp hair behind her ear carefully, letting his eyes fall upon hers.

She glanced up at him.

“Why?” He asked. He flicked his hand at the direction of the door carelessly; the lock clicked. The meaning was clear: no distractions. His ears were hers. “Kozue, talk to me.”

The soft tone in which he spoke to her was annoying. Too annoying, because he’d been teasing her about seeing him shirtless just a few minutes ago, and now he was treating her like a little kid, talking to her so softly, holding her hands in his and soothing her. It was annoying how little the rumors affected him, because according to them he was just a stupid boy who’d let himself get seduced by some bitch but he didn’t seem to care either way.

Of course, some bitter part of her thought, if she had as much power as he did, she’d probably care less, too.

“Because,” She said, unable to stop the tears that sprung to her eyes, “Because I’m trying hard. And no one sees it. I’m training so hard, Satoru, every part of me hurts. It’s not my fault I can’t use cursed energy, it’s not my fault they won’t give me a grade higher than fourth, but it seems like they just assume I don’t try at all.”

She wiped at the tears, which, thankfully, didn’t fall. She couldn’t stand the thought of Satoru seeing her like this.

Once the emotions had burst from her chest, it never seemed to go away. And she hated that fact, that Satoru made her so emotional, made her cry, made her happy, made her everything. She hated that she was even crying in the first place, because it was just a sign of weakness and she cried much more than Satoru did.

“Kozue—” He started, but she stopped him.

“And, and,” She continued, unable to stop the torrent of words, “And I hate that they misunderstand us. You’re so precious to me, Satoru, and I’d never think of taking advantage of you in any way, and you’re the most precious friend I’ve ever had, and you’re everything I’ve ever asked for— you’re irreplacable! But these people are talking so lightly about our relationship, about what we have, about our friendship. They’re taking us and interpreting us in their own way and we’re reduced to so much less and that, that’s what’s making me so fucking frustrated.”

She rubbed at her eyes, frustrated that the tears kept coming.

“They make us seem so cheap.” She spat out.

He was quiet. She sniffled, wondering if he was okay, but then the hand left hers and his index finger slowly brushed at the skin under her eyes, wiping the tears gently as to not irritate her skin.

And she thought, now that her truth had come out, just what would be on his face? Fear? Hatred? Maybe a little bit of everything, because Gojo Satoru was never good with emotions and he certainly wouldn’t recognize it.

His finger traced the side of her face, fell, and then he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, and as she tipped forwards he caught her in a hug.

He was still a little sticky and didn’t smell the best, but she still wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, impossibly close, relaxing into the one person she knew the best out of anyone else. His hair tickled her face and she laughed, feeling the way his hands grasped at her waist and pulled her close, cradling her in his embrace that had turned so big when she wasn’t looking.

He rocked her back and forth, slowly, his breaths shallow but tickling her neck.

“Oh, Kozue, Kozue, Kozue.” He repeated, like a prayer; the name he muttered into her shoulder, and she let him, because Gojo Satoru worked magic in the sense that he made the whole world disappear. The largest stunt trick she’d seen. “Oh, Kozue.”

“What?” She asked, breathlessly.

“I know,” He said, “I know this is bad timing, I know you’re serious, I know this is supposed to be a genuine concern, but Kozue…”

He held her closer, so impossibly close.

“Kozue, you make me so happy.”

She laughed. “You make me happy too, doofus.”

“You mean so much to me.”

“Me too.”

“Kozue,” He repeated, and he pulled away from her; it was then she saw just what expression he’d been making. His eyebrows furrowed, his eyes glittering, and looking at her with an expression she couldn’t describe, but the only thing she could tell was that he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world. His cheeks were tinged pink, flushed all the way to his ears, and his fingers traced slow circles into her back that reminded her of the truth that others didn’t know. “It’s just what they think. Rotten brains only have rotten thoughts. You’re one of the strongest people I know—and you and I are the bestest friends I know.”

She grinned.

“That’s damn right.”

Oh, fuck it. She thought. Rumors were rumors. She couldn’t always care about them, be on edge because of them, and she definitely couldn’t let them control her life.

Rumors were false, and they sure weren’t as tangible as the boy that sat in front of her right now. If she let a few rumors ruin their relationship, ruin what they had, would it be real? Certainly not. She’d been a loner since she was young, anyway, and as long as a few people believed in the truth that was all that mattered.

They just didn’t know her and Satoru.

Chapter Text

Even so, time passed; the rumors seemed to interest people less, because they looked at her less with hatred and more with lazy disdain.

After all, hating someone took a lot out of you. She’d know from personal experience.

Spring left through the window, and in came summer, dragged in by the collar of the neck: their first holiday, which reminded her that she’d already gotten through a full term of the jujutsu system without being maimed, dead or worse, expelled.

It was only a week or two from the very first holiday she would be getting, and if Suzuki Kozue was being honest, she was kind of looking forward to it.

Although she wasn’t going on missions due to her low grade, she’d still been training, and a strict routine had been forced onto her by Mei-senpai. They’d been training together since a little after their nighttime meeting, and she’d quite liked it: having someone to train with was satisfying, and although he didn’t admit it, she could see that Satoru had a grudging admittance for the strength of the woman called Mei Mei.

About a week after the invite to train together, Kozue had first mustered up the courage to go see the upperclassman. As promised, she was there at 9AM sharp, lacing up her shoelaces and doing some simple stretching. Kozue had come up to her, a little cautiously.

“Uh,” Was what she’d said, “Hello.”

“Oh!” Came the reply, and the woman had laughed, tossing her braided hair behind her, “You actually came. I knew I could count on you!”

It was a little after that in which Utahime-senpai explained, Mei-senpai was a little bored. She’d invited people to train with her, but they always seemed to get scared and run away—nothing new, since the tall woman was quite intimidating when she fought, and she was an incredibly powerful first-grade, but it did make Mei-senpai’s life easier that Kozue was here.

But back then, she hadn’t really known that fact. They’d done a few warm-ups, stretched a little, and then Mei-senpai had tossed her weapon to the ground and said, “Fight me.”

Long story short, they’d fought; according to the senpai, she’d ‘fought well’, and was ‘one of the best fighters she’d seen in a long time’.

Didn’t change the fact that she landed pathetically on her ass.

Of course, as time went on, she did get better: it was just that she was a little rusty in hand-to-hand with another person. She even won fights, around one in ten, but always a hair’s breadth away from a loss. Mei-senpai almost seemed impressed, but that was impossible because Kozue wasn’t even that talented, not compared to the scary senpai who wielded an axe and made birds explode.

Utahime-senpai had come to watch a few times, tagging along with Shoko. She was much kinder than Kozue had initially presumed her to be, a lot more compassionate, a lot more reminiscent of the kind of people Kozue seemed to draw in.

In some aspects, she was a little similar to Rin.

It was funny, too, how Satoru kept getting kicked out of these training sessions. He always whined that he wanted to come along, of course, especially when he found out that Utahime-senpai was there (she’s funny to tease, he’d told her, to which she’d smacked his head and called him rude) but they never did let him.

He was much too busy, anyway: as a special grade, the youngest one in probably a lot of years, Gojo Satoru was constantly getting sent away.

That was, admittedly, another reason why she was looking forward to the summer holidays so much: that they wouldn’t be sent on missions anymore. She’d have more time to hang out with Satoru. Because unlike what she claimed, she did miss him when he was gone.

Kozue was definitely getting used to this life. The casualness with which she relayed her day seemed to prove it.

It was a day similar to the one described as above that Suzuki Kozue and Ieiri Shoko sat in the shade of a white parasol, out by the baseball pitch. They’d had a stupid idea to go outside and have fun, which was indeed stupid considering it was burning outside. Upon gazing far off into the distance, they could vaguely make out heat waves rising from the ground; the concrete seemed to smolder, and Kozue waved the fan she’d brought in front of her face lazily, a rapidly melting drink clutched in the other hand.

The season had changed so quickly it was almost astounding.

“Kozue.”

“Mm.” She said, as the short-haired girl leaned her head on Kozue’s shoulder, “It’s hot- gedoff-”

“Nah.” The girl said. “What’re you planning on doing during the holidays?”

“Not sure.” She shrugged. It was true, she hadn’t really started. She’d had her hands full with getting her ass beat by Mei-senpai every other day.

What would she do, anyway? They were ideally supposed to move out for the holidays, go somewhere like home, but she didn’t have somewhere like home; and even if she did, she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave this paradise of their own making. The only place she felt comfortable enough to stay in for an entire summer was, maybe….

“Maybe the Gojo estate.” She said, since she’d stayed there for a few months before, and Satoru had assured her that her room was still there. “But… really, not sure.”

“Huh.”

Maybe she’d visit the judo place, train a little more. Who knows, maybe she’d go to America over the summer, but that was assuming her mother had settled in and was willing to take her in and assuming that the action wouldn’t put her mother in danger.

“What about you?” She asked, half in thought. “Anywhere nice?”

“Oh, my old man wants me to come home.” Shoko responded with a shrug. “Down hometown. My parents want me to come over every holiday—it was one of the terms we agreed on before I could come to Jujutsu High.”

It made sense. Shoko wasn’t in danger—she didn’t go on missions except to tag along on others’—but she did have healing missions for the sorcerers who came back injured, and her parents would no doubt be strict on her because of all the things she’d see. Protection wasn’t a bad thing, not in the jujutsu world.

On the other hand, Kozue thought, she wondered how her own parents would think. Would they want her to come back? Would they tell her to stay, in case she brought danger with her? Would they be living their lives, content without her?

She grimaced. Probably not the best idea to go disturb her mother.

“Nice.” She hummed. “Anything fun?”

Shoko, as the only child of a peaceful family, seemed not to care either way. “Nuh-uh. Probably just fooling around at home. I’m just counting down the days until I come back.”

“Any siblings?” She asked, curious.

“Nuh-uh.” Shoko flipped her phone open on camera, adjusting her hair a little. “You?”

“None.”

“Oh.”

They sat outside until both drinks were finished. Kozue knew they should probably get going—it was hot, anyway—but it was one of the few instances where she actually got a semblance of a break, so she just sat quietly, staring at the empty baseball pitch in front of them.

It felt like at least half an hour had passed before Shoko spoke up again.

“…hey, sweetie.” She said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but.”

“Huh?”

“Is that Satoru?”

She squinted, and sat up. Shoko did the same, and the two of them peered into the distance.

Someone was running across the baseball pitch, waving their hands excitedly; she could vaguely make out a ruffled school shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and disheveled white hair bobbing up and down.

“Oh.” She said. “Yeah.”

That was unmistakably Gojo Satoru.

“What’s he doing in this godawful weather?” Shoko remarked, leaning back against Kozue. She accepted, watching him as he panted and slowed down, now walking to them at a leisurely pace.

“No idea.” Kozue replied. “God, he’s so stupid-”

She laughed fondly as he shook his head like a wet dog, no doubt spraying sweat everywhere. Good thing he’d turned up just in time—she’d probably ask him what they were doing for the holiday, since she had the chance to. They could take a short trip, maybe? She knew how much Satoru liked his little trips, the ones he always brought souvenirs back in.

She hadn’t realized she was still smiling until she looked down at Shoko, who seemed to be staring at her with an impassive look on her face.

“Huh?” She asked, as Shoko shrugged. “Shoko, what?”

“Kozue.” The girl said, in a strangely serious tone, “Have you ever had a crush?”

That was random, she thought. “Loads. Why?”

“Like who?”

“Uh.” She shrugged. “That one guy from Slam Dunk.”

The deadpan look from Shoko told her that she didn't read Slam Dunk.

"I used to like that one guy, from the Marvel Com-"

“Real people, Kozue.”

Oh. “One or two. Why?”

Her eyes flickered to Satoru, then to her again. “…you ever had a boyfriend?”

“Not really interested in that kinda thing. It’s really time and money consuming.” She watched as Satoru dug into his pockets and whipped back, panicked. He picked something up from the ground, relieved. It was like a one-man skit, and really funny, too—she laughed again as he put it back in his pocket and continued heading over leisurely. “And Satoru gets jealous easily.”

Shoko’s look shrunk into a shrewd stare.

“What?” She repeated, as her eyes flickered to Satoru then back to her face again. "Imagine me having to introduce a boyfriend to that dork. He'd eat the poor guy alive."

“Kozue,” Shoko said, her voice slightly estranged, “I don’t think you—”

“Ko-zu-chan!”

Satoru leapt into the shadow and landed deftly on both feet, his hands shoved into his pockets. “It’s so hot! What’re both of you doing here, anyway?”

“We thought we’d come admire the view.” Shoko said, then gave her another look: we’re talking later. “Didn’t think we’d get interrupted.”

“Aw, you ladies love me.” Satoru grinned. “Shoko-chan, the principal is looking for you. Something about a second-grade who got gutted.”

“Oh. Ew.” Shoko paused. “You two think you can manage without me?”

Kozue laughed and saluted. Satoru followed suit; rolling her eyes, Shoko disappeared into the pitch, muttering about how hot of a goddamn weather it was and how she didn’t have energy for this shit.

Now that Shoko was gone, Satoru now sat down next to her, his face slightly pink from the heat; he grinned at her, still. “You OK? Not hot, Kozu?”

“Speak for yourself.” She snorted. “You’re red.”

“Well, this is actually because of my undying love for you.” He placed a hand on his chest dramatically. Stupid Satoru as always, she thought, but something about what Shoko had said bothered her. Something about crushes. What had been the point of that, even?

Probably nothing, she thought, and pushed it to think about later. Instead, she reached up, brushing his sweaty hair to one side. Strange, that even now with his forehead covered in a sheen of sweat he still seemed to smell so good. To tell the truth, even when sweaty or after eating the most atrocious things to mankind, he never seemed to smell bad at all. “You’re sweaty. Trained pretty hard, huh?”

“Nothing to do with training, no. That was easy.” He shuffled closer, set his head on her shoulder; she ought to push him away, she thought, he was sticky and he was getting sweat all over her. But she let him stay anyway. “I was just excited."

She frowned. "For what?"

" Well, I just have a proposition.”

A proposition? She tugged at the hair on the back of his head, and he whined softly. "What, you loser?"

"Well, the summer is so hot, but apparently the weather’s so good, and I thought, you and I have so much time on our hands, you know? We ought to take a break from all this sorcerer stuff! So I was thinking about what we could do over the holidays that would be awesome for our first full summer together. And I thought of a solution!”

He held up what he’d dropped, a slightly dusty sheet of paper filled with words. She took it from him and glanced at the top. Some airlines.

Not just any airlines. Two first-class airlines booked under the name of Gojo, a two-way flight with three days in between.

She stared at the destination, then back to his face, which stared back at her with a strangely satisfied look.

“No way.” She said, only now realizing what it was: a receipt. “’Toru, no way.”

He grinned. “Yes, way.”

“What-” Her mouth opened and closed.

“Well, it’d be boring to spend your entire life trapped in Tokyo, no? You haven’t travelled outside of Tokyo since you first came to Japan, so I thought it would be a good idea.”

She stared down, and her face split into a grin.

“Gojo Satoru, you stupid-”

The paper wrinkled slightly in her hands and she looked back up at him. She’d been so worried about how they would spend the holiday, so lonely, and while she was off being sad and lonely he’d just thought of what to do and said, fuck it.

“And plus,” He said, in a slightly smaller, embarrassed voice, “It’s been ages since we hung out, just the two of us. I kinda want some quality Kozu time to myself, y’know, and…”

She laughed. “Okinawa, you dumbass? Yes, oh god, yes-”

She tackled him in a hug, stunned that he’d think of such a thing, to even do something just for her, to pay for first class tickets to Okinawa. Only the hottest Japan summer destination. He knew it, he knew it was her dream to travel, he knew the way her eyes followed the planes that flew in the sky whenever they passed above their heads. He knew, too, the hectic half-year she’d been through, and she really did appreciate the fact that he simply wanted to relieve her tension, just a little bit.

Unbeknownst to her, of course, Gojo Satoru found that his excitement lay not in the destination, but in the three days that he had her, all to himself. He didn't really have any concerns with money, after all: money came and left. It was time with her that would stay forever.

Nice, he thought, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She was smaller than he remembered.

Or had he just grown bigger?

Chapter Text

They arrived at Okinawa at 12:30PM.

Kozue was buzzing with barely contained excitement, her feet having only just left the first airplane she’d ridden in years. She’d never ridden first-class, either, but she supposed those were the perks of a rich guy like Satoru. He stood next to her, examining the itinerary he’d printed out; she held her suitcase behind her, waiting since he’d told her he’d take care of everything, the sensation of holiday still unfamiliar and very unreal.

They’d gotten off school on July 20^th, the day before. Shoko had taken the first train off to her hometown, with nothing but a quick goodbye to accompany her departure.

“Have fun.” She’d said, and with a side-eye, added, “And we’re definitely talking when we get back. Don’t think I forgot about this stuff, girlie.”

“What stuff?”

She’d rolled her eyes, given her a hug, and had left, leaving her alone with Satoru who was nothing less than buzzing with excitement. They’d immediately headed off on an emergency shopping spree, with Satoru’s large grin and him whipping out his card.

“Let’s get you a bikini!” He exclaimed, laughing.

To Satoru’s disappointment, they didn’t get her a bikini.

They woke up at 6:30—or at least, she did. She’d just finished getting ready, had grabbed her suitcase and her bag, and turned up at Satoru’s door, ringing the bell with anticipation kicking inside of her. Her room she left locked, but mostly empty anyway, as the Gojo family chauffeur had taken the summer necessities she hadn’t packed back to the Gojo estate (where she’d be staying the rest of all summer).

She waited for a good three minutes before ringing the doorbell again. Something crashed inside; she frowned, and waited a bit more.

The door swung upon, five minutes later of course—Gojo Satoru stood there in all his glory, his socks mismatched, his hair a mess, but otherwise immaculate. He’d recently gotten another growth spurt, which meant he towered a good four, five inches over her. He’d lost some baby fat, too.

Apart from the fact that his hair was still damp, she could almost believe he’d woken up at six thirty, too.

“You just woke up, didn’t you.” She accused, with narrowed eyes.

He laughed. “Okinawa time! Kozu-chan, we’re going to have such an amazing time together, I’m so excited for us.”

“Don’t ignore my—oi!”

The flight was uneventful, and airport procedures weren’t much of an issue. Although he was insistent on going to the beach—“I want to see you in a bikini, look it’s not that I’m a creep, I just think you’d look really good”—she pulled him to the hotel to check in.

She could tell they stared at him in the hotel. Satoru had always been handsome, but something seemed to have changed after they’d started going to school together again. Unlike primary school, it was in the way people treated him. The girls in the hotel glancing at him with flushed cheeks, even the receptionist smiling when he gave her a flattering grin and leaned over to ask for a single room, two beds. Pretty privilege, of course, she thought, a little annoyedly, and smacked Satoru's head (much to the boy's complaint).

“Of course.” The woman said, fixing her blouse hurriedly regardless of the fact that he was fifteen. Of course, he looked older than he was, and the height didn’t help, but— “A single room, two beds, for you and your…”

Kozue was still tall, for a Japanese girl. She was easily two, three inches taller than the average teen. She glanced over and saw the woman’s eyes flicker up and down, and tried her best to stare back at the woman from the tip of her nose. Not hard, considering her height.

“…oh, does that matter?” Kozue rolled her eyes. “I’m going to order plenty of room service, just you wait.”

“Hey, do what you want.” Satoru said, giving her a cheeky grin. The receptionist slipped over their two key cards and a piece of paper, which Kozue eyed uncomfortably. “Me, personally, I’m checking out their buffet.”

He took the cards and left the paper. She grinned as he handed her a key.

The room was huge, courtesy of the Gojo family’s economic situation. They could see the beach from the window, and Satoru immediately claimed the window-side bed, collapsing onto the blankets and staring blankly up at the ceiling. She followed suit, stretching with a yawn as they both lay in silence.

Three days, she thought. Three days with no one but Gojo Satoru, three days away from the problems, three days all to each other just like it had been in the good old days.

She had him, her mind repeated with a strange satisfaction, all to herself.

She’d been working herself hard, anyway, she thought, and she certainly thought that she deserved this. At least three days, right? It wasn’t like she was taking an entire vacation off or as much to leave her behind. It was just three days, no one but her, her and Satoru.

“Satoru?” She said, out loud.

“Mhm?”

She laughed, took a shallow breath. “Nothing.”

There was a pause. The bed beside her crinkled, and Satoru descended next to her, his nose inches away from hers as he looked at her so prettily.

“What’s up, Kozu?”

She reached forward and flicked his forehead. “Nothing. Let’s hit the beach.”

“Oh, oh, oh!” He sat up. “Bikini? Bikini Kozue?”

“What is it with you and bikinis!” She laughed. “You can wear one if you like it so much, Satoru baby, yeah?”

He flushed a deep scarlet. “You’d just look good in one, that’s all.”

It wasn’t like he could handle seeing her in anything close to a bikini, anyway, and it wasn’t like Satoru had ever felt the touch of a woman despite being so popular with them. They took the elevator down, and she couldn’t help but relish in the familiarity that was just the two of them, in a world of their own design.

“Kozu-chan,” He spoke up, as the elevator slid open with a pleasant ding. She hummed as they stepped out and made their way across the lobby, ignoring the stunned eyes that followed Gojo Satoru as always. “I was thinking, what do you think we should get for dinner?”

“Dunno,” She said, shifting her t-shirt around the rough fabric of her rash guard uncomfortably, “You’re probably gonna eat most of it, anyway. Any ideas?”

“I’m glad you asked!” He hopped ahead of her, and pushed the door open for her in a flourishing gesture. She ducked under his arm and out. “See, I’ve done all my research. After spending a magnificent day at the beach—hopefully with hot women in bikinis—ow!”

She swatted him. “Watch it, ‘Toru. Just ‘cause you’re paying for my trip…”

“Joking, joking!” He dug something out from the small duffel bag he’d brought and tipped it onto her head: a straw hat, like the ones people would buy nearby in souvenir shops. She gave him an incredulous glance. “What? It’s for the sun! I don’t want you to get burnt.”

“Watch out for yourself.” She grabbed his zipper and tugged it up. “Exposing yourself like that, what a whore."

“Kozu-chan, you’re just jealous you don’t get as much love and admiration as wa-ta-shi-”

“What’s with that shitty chunnibyou accent?”

“I’m just in character!”

“Uh-huh” She said, dryly, as they walked across the beach. Satoru had been right, she admitted begrudgingly, because the sun was relentless and he pulled out his own hat soon and fixed it on top of his head. Nothing as fun as the straw tourist hat he'd gotten for her, but just a cap that vaguely covered his face and hair enough. “You’re awfully organized, aren’t you?”

“Hey! I’m always organized, thank you very much, and the matter of fact is that you’re just underestimating the sheer talent of my-” He tripped and flailed; she grabbed his collar and pulled him back up. “Anyway. My organizational skills.”

They stepped down onto the beach, and she wiggled her toes, feeling the sand seep into her flip-flops. He laughed, and they continued on, looking for an empty spot in the sand.

“As I was saying,” He continued, “Food options. There’s apparently a really good Okinawa soba place around here, so I thought we could go there.”

“You’re paying, right?” She joked.

He scoffed, adopting a posh accent. “What gentleman makes his lady pay?”

“Thank you, my dear Henry.”

“Madame Charlotte, it is to my utmost pleasure.”

He bowed. She bowed back. The two of them burst out in laughter, because they had the humour sense of ten-year-olds, before they spotted an empty parasol and headed over.

“You put on sunscreen, right?” She asked him, reaching up to feel his face as he pulled out a few towels. “Don’t irritate your skin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Everywhere as well?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Even your back?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How the hell did you manage that?”

“What can I say? I’m a master contortionist.” He unzipped his windbreaker, revealing that he was, in fact, shirtless underneath. His abs were as annoyingly picture-perfect as ever. “Want a feel? Ten bucks.”

She smacked him.

By the time they reached the soba restaurant, it was well near 5PM; she found that after all those years of sports, nothing paid off, because she was absolutely exhausted.

They took a cab to the restaurant, dressed back in their clothes; she’d put on a sundress that Utahime had recommended her the other day, and sat in the back seat, scrolling through the dozens of photos that they’d taken at the beach. Next to her, Satoru gestured; she twisted her neck to look at him in confusion.

“C’mere.” He said. “I’ll dry your hair.”

“Just leave it.” She said, flushing. “It’ll dry on its own.”

“You’re gonna get a cold.”

“’m fine-” She protested, but he grabbed her and pulled her back anyway, and she sat there as he scrunched at her hair gently, patting it dry so gently she could barely feel any pressure. “Satoru-”

“Mhm?” He said. She tilted her head up and looked at him, his face reflected the sunset that was beginning to bleed through the sky, and found that his glasses had been tucked into the breast pocket of his Hawaiian shirt and that his eyes, cerulean blue, were looking at her with an emotion she’d seen all too many times but couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Am I pulling on your hair? Tell me if it hurts, OK, Kozu-chan?”

She flushed. His fingertips just barely grazed the back of her neck, making her feel a little more self-conscious than she usually did. He always did this: act so soft she couldn’t refuse. His breath was barely fanning out against the back of her head, his hands rhythmic on her scalp as he massaged gently.

“It’s fine. Thanks.”

“Uh-huh.”

The trip, the trip was a sentimental kind of trip, she thought. She watched the sunset fade as the slightly bumpy road took them to their dinner. Okinawa seemed like the kind of place she wanted to stay forever in, the kind of place where nothing bothered her: not the scary higher-ups, not the angry violent father, not anything but Satoru, sitting behind her and squeezing the moisture from her hair in case she’d catch a cold.

The place he’d talked about was strangely empty; the door jangled as they entered. The lightings flickered, and Satoru frowned as he stuffed the towel he’d been using to dry her hair back into the bag.

“Huh.” He said, peering up and about. A few people lingered around—a group of men, tourists in their mid twenties, sat in the corner laughing quietly.

“You sure we’re at the right place?” She joked, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. “I know how clumsy you are…”

“Hey- of course we are!” He complained, as they took their seat at an empty table in the corner. The old woman over the countertop stared at him, which they ignored: it was a regular Tuesday experience for someone like Satoru, after all.

“Thought you said this place was popular. Real popular.”

“That’s what the website said, anyway.”

“Gojo Satoru, technological genius?”

“Oi! Kozu-cha-a-an!”

She giggled as he gave her an indecent pout, reaching over to overturn the cups at the edge of the table. The old woman from the counter came over to them, swaying slightly on her feet and looking at them with a tight-lipped smile. In her hands, she held two menus and a kettle.

Something squelched under the woman’s foot. Kozue glanced down with a frown to see that the floor was streaked wet, a little muddy.

“Ay.” She commented. “That’s wet.”

He snorted.

“Damn right it is.” Satoru said. “As wet as I get my women.”

“Ew, ‘Toru, gross-”

The woman took one step, another, and set down the menus, which they picked up. She filled Satoru’s cup first with steaming hot tea, before turning to Kozue, who was sitting on the other side. Satoru took off his glasses and set them on the table, leaning back to spread the menu wide open.

“Let’s see,” He said. “Kozu, I’m assuming you’re pretty hungry, but it really depends on whether all that seawater you drank filled up your stomach or not—”

She laughed. “Look, Satoru-”

Squelch. The woman’s feet stepped sideways. Kozue frowned—the water was probably dangerous, so she didn’t know why the staff hadn’t cleaned it up—and kept a side-eye on the steaming kettle as it poured a stream of hot tea into her own cup. The woman looked well past retirement age, and her hands looked like they were shaking from the force of holding the kettle up that height.

Maybe it was just a characteristic of famous restaurants, but they always looked like little local hole-in-the-walls that had food made and served by old people. Not that she was complaining.

“-okay, how’s the soba?”

“I’m hungry, though!” Satoru whined. “You know how much I eat…”

Ever since he’d hit puberty, Satoru had begun to eat a ridiculous amount of food. Before it had been bad enough, but Kozue had once seen him eat six burgers in one sitting, with a bottle of two-litre coke.

He’d been the talk of McDonald’s for months. She’d had to stop going to the fast food chain just to get them to stop talking about him.

“Okay,” She relented, “Then the chicken, too.”

“Just ‘cause you like meat.”

“Damn right your dad’s meat.”

“That’s weird, you know my dad-”

The water trickled, and slowly thinned as the woman held the kettle up; then, with another squelch, she slipped.

The stream of stinging-hot liquid flew up and splattered against Satoru’s shirt. He stumbled out of his chair and back against another table with a hiss; Kozue, who had been fully expecting the water to fall towards her instead, had jolted away from hitting range of the tea and stared at the sight before her with her back to the wall. The woman was clutching the table, and as they stood in their respective spaces, frozen, felt the eyes of the other customers in the restaurant watching them.

“Satoru!” She blurted out, her eyes landing on him first and foremost. Her heart sank, taking in the sight of his tense muscles. “You- you okay? That’s gotta hurt like shit- ‘Toru-”

He pulled the shirt away from his skin. “I’m, I’m fine.”

She turned to the woman, who’d pulled herself up since and was apologizing. Satoru frowned, one hand pulling the shirt away from his chest and the other gripping the sleeve of her tee.

“It’s fine,” Kozue said, more to herself than anyone else. “Just try and clean up- and, oh, ice, please.”

She nodded and trotted away.

“You okay?” She said, immediately, turning back. “’Toru-”

She’d half expected him to still be looking like he was in pain. He was human, after all, and no matter how many times people pounded it into his head to stop worrying so much about him, he was just a teenage guy. And as a girl who’d lost her friend not so long ago, she’d found with herself a new paranoia that Satoru, the strongest of them all, would somehow get hurt, too.

Instead, to her surprise and relief, she saw him straighten up, grinning from ear to ear.

“You sure get panicky, huh, sweetheart?” He told her, winking. “My infinity got faster – isn’t that cool?”

She felt something swell up in her chest.

“You-” She snapped. “You fucking idiot! Do you know how much that scared me? I thought you had first degree burns for sure! You can’t just-”

He held a finger up to his mouth. The sign was clear: quiet. He’d been faking to prevent suspicion. Not that it made anything better, but it was at least a relief that he had common sense.

“-just do that and expect me to-” She watched him as he grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her down into her chair. “-to- Satoru, you idiot.”

“I’ll just pop by the bathroom to make sure no one realizes, ‘kay?” He said.

Kozue stared at him, eyes narrowed.

“’Kay?”

She stared at him.

“Fine.” She relented, and scowled as he ruffled her hair. “Take your damn time.”

“Trust me, I will.”

He stood up, chair screeching, and made his way over to the entrance. She watched him leave, raking her hands through her hair with a dissatisfactory hum. Above her, the lights flickered, and she glanced up in slight disbelief before staring back down at the menus.

This place felt awfully off, she thought. Maybe it was just her workaholic nature catching up to her, and she knew she was supposed to be on vacation, but still, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that they’d missed something awfully important about the area.

Fuck it, she thought, sipping at her tea. She was just overworked. Suzuki Kozue had never been this paranoid before.

A few tables away, the tourist men stood up, all of them in differently colored loud Hawaiian shirts, and the chairs screeched loudly. She counted three of them.

The old woman who had served them tea pushed the door to the pantry wide open, and emerged with a pack of ice and something else tucked under her arm. Kozue watched her leisurely, fiddling with her phone, and watched the men head towards her, laughing boisterously.

Something, something she couldn’t quite catch…

No, she was certain something was off. She tensed up, and her fingers slipped inside the duffel bag Satoru had put down beside her, fingers wrapping around the short sword she’d brought just in case. She didn’t want to make the same mistake she’d made with Rin, when she’d been too off guard to notice anything. Better paranoid than nothing.

It was a shame that she'd turned out like this, untrusting and paranoid, but what else could she have possibly become?

Think, she thought to herself, because Satoru wasn’t here and the timing for all of this was odd, and the group of tourists were barely five steps away from her own table and the woman was heading towards her, too, and it seemed like they’d meet right in front of her own table.

The puddle in front of her table. Something about that bothered her, too. The scene in front of her seemed awfully uncanny, somehow…

Something about the water. The water, the women, the tourists-

Something in her mind went, click.

The tourists, their faces blurred together, they looked the same. They looked identical.

And the woman, she thought, her heartbeat thudding loudly in her ears, and she unsheathed the sword slightly, hearing the metal go click. It was crazy. The old woman, she’d stepped on the water, she’d slipped on the water. She’d left the water. She’d gone all the way into the pantry. She'd walked away. She'd stepped on the water and walked away, and she hadn't even cleaned up the water.

But where were the footprints?

Chapter Text

It all happened fast—but not so fast she couldn’t register it.

The water on the floor shot up and tendrils reached towards her. She swiped her weapon out in a wide arc and split the water in half like Jell-O, pivoting off the chair and knocking down a screen. The three tourists were heading towards her, but they’d taken off their hats and sunglasses and she could tell for sure that all three of them looked the same, like they were dopplegangers or something.

Kozue took a deep breath in, and out. Now that she knew how to defend herself, this all seemed a lot less intimidating.

The water struck again. She took the sword between her teeth, grabbed the table and flipped it with all her strength, and the water collided against it. She kicked the table and something split it in half and she saw that it was one of the three tourists who had done that.

Strong, she thought. But seemingly only a little above male average. Nothing to be afraid of.

The water, it was probably the old woman doing that. She had to lay her cards on the table, she thought, and kicked down another table to buy her time, stumbling behind it. The woman who could control water. The men—man?—could clone himself, seeing as how they looked identical.

She’d seen enough superhero movies to know that the water only stopped attacking if she knocked the old woman unconscious. As for the man, she’d just have to play whack-a-mole until she found the original.

It wasn’t so deep. It wasn’t so hard. In fact, it was nothing compared to the exploding technique she’d seen on the night of Rin’s death.

Kozue worried about where Satoru had gone, but that could wait for later. Saving her own ass was first.

They didn’t seem like curses. Then, what, bounty hunters? She hadn’t realized they were still after her, but she supposed it could be the ones after Gojo Satoru. The ones who saw the connection between her and Satoru. Her father had warned her that there would be people like that who still came after her, whether or not a bounty existed, because they were always after Satoru no matter what.

A knife splintered through the table, an inch away from her eyes. She pushed it away and kept running, behind a pillar this time. But this was only temporary; it was a small restaurant, and she'd get caught soon.

Kouze found that her hands didn’t shake anymore. Good, the adrenaline had kicked in- she felt a hiss of breath leave her and readied herself for what she was planning to do. She gripped the sword in her hand and took a breath, two, before tearing herself away from the pillar and running towards the old woman first, the easier option.

She was in front of the kitchen counter. Kozue landed her foot on a chair and leapt onto the tables to use them as footholds, jumping from one table to the next. She took two steps, soared over the men’s heads, and took a running start at the woman.

The old woman didn’t look so sweet and harmless now; in fact, she noted with surprise, the woman was now glaring. Kozue whirled the knife around and with as much strength as she could muster, slashed downwards starting from the shoulder to the hip. Blood gushed out like a fountain, and the woman took a step back and fell.

The blood pooled around the woman and mingled with the water. Not dead, but probably too maimed to do anything useful in the fight.

Deserved, Kouze thought, because she’d almost hurt Satoru anyway.

Now, as for the three men…

It almost seemed too ridiculous to be true: three men in brightly coloured and patterned Hawaiian shirts hunting her down. She could almost laugh.

They charged towards her, almost in sync. Could she win a 3-versus-1? She wasn’t sure, but she had to try, anyway: one charged at her straight and she sidestepped, swept out his feet from under him, and grabbed her knife to stab downwards.

The training sessions with Mei-senpai had really helped, too: she could see that she’d improved. The man below her dissipated with a poof.

Fragile, Kozue thought. They were fragile. That gave her a little bit more hope.

Something from behind her grabbed her wrist and she took the opportunity to pivot around, wrap her legs around the arm and twist hard, and a deep voice howled inhumanely and she felt something crunch under her. Something went poof and she knew she’d found the clone, and she fell to the floor—

A hand scrabbled at the back of her neck. Before she could register, she felt herself being torn away and she went airborne for a moment, the breath being punched out of her lungs, and she crashed into something hard and painful. Red-hot pain dotted her vision and she fumbled behind her, feeling debris and a solid structure.

A table? A pillar? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that it hurt like shit.

She couldn’t feel the weapon in her hands anymore, which meant in the struggle she’d lost the weapon—great. It had been pretty expensive, something her father had given her.

On the other hand, she thought as she struggled to get up, maybe it was a good thing it’d been lost.

She peeled her eyes open and forced herself to stand up, bracing herself against the pillar despite her ringing ears. The two men were advancing towards her. She’d hurt an arm but he was twisting it back into place, and seeing no options left, Kozue squared her shoulders and brought her fists in front of her.

Satoru, she thought. Where was Satoru? It wasn’t like she was waiting to be saved by him, but on the contrary, she was worried about him—it was too big of a coincidence for Satoru to have gone to only the bathroom, and the fact that all this had happened while he was gone told her something.

An ambush? No. He probably wouldn’t take so long in an ambush. They’d taken him somewhere, she knew it.

Was this really the time to worry about Satoru? He could handle himself, couldn’t he?

Her, on the other hand…

Something clattered. She looked up and found, with cold dread settling in her gut, that one of the men had picked up her sword.

“Nice item.” He spoke, finally, and a familiar uncanniness settled in her gut, so uncomfortable and twisting she could throw up. Why was it that all those who were after her, all the bounty hunters, all the non-curses, why did they all sound the same?

That same, grating voice. It annoyed her to no end.

“That’s mine.” She snapped, with the same firmness. To some account surprised she still had a voice. “Give it back.”

She’d take this as a chance to clear her head and calm down a little, she thought, and shifted her weight from one leg to another. She'd buy some time. Try to get the sword.

He twirled it. “Gojo Satoru’s little whore, aren’t you? Cute little plaything. I might have you for myself.”

At this point, she supposed, he was no longer talking about the sword. It was language she was all too used to, and the kind of thing that now brought nothing more than a slight annoyance deep inside of her. At this point, she thought, there was no point correcting them anymore—who’d believe her, anyway?

Great, she thought, rubbing her fingers against her temples. She’d come to Okinawa to get away from this shit, only for it to have caught up to her.

“No thanks.” She said, annoyedly, “At least Satoru looks cute. You ugly motherfucker.”

His brow twitched. “Acting expensive, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” She corrected herself, grinning twistedly with mock sympathy, “you ugly cheap motherfucker.”

The man charged towards her. She had to make sure she didn’t get cut, she thought, before he swung at her with all his force.

She ducked the swing and saw his ribcage wide open, bringing her elbow swinging up to it with all her might. He staggered back when it hit, but it was oddly dissatisfying, like he’d done something to his body, like he was on fucking drugs or something. He moved towards her again, swung the weapon—she moved out of its swing—and brought his hand back in a backhand. She grabbed his wrist and twisted it but something was up with it, too.

His body was oddly solid.

He should have gone down at least twice, she thought, and found that something was off about him, something she couldn’t quite name.

“Stereoids?” She said, and he laughed and he grabbed her loose hair and yanked it back.

Kozue hissed in pain. She knew she should have tied it up, she just didn’t have time—

But she’d have to make the most of what she had right now. Making sure she didn’t stay off balance, she followed the direct of his pull with her feet and grabbed his wrist, digging her fingers into the flesh. It wasn’t a solid hit, but at least it got him to release her hair.

She backstepped, watched as he swung towards her. She could use his body weight. Her opponent was, what, easily two hundred pounds? He was a big man.

He swung the weapon towards her, and she ducked, watched his feet lose balance momentarily, and flipped him over her hip. He crashed into the ground and she made a run for the short sword, but something grabbed her ankle and pulled her down to the floor. She barely had time to brace herself—thanks to her judo training—and tucked herself into a roll, narrowly avoiding a jagged stone.

They both rose up again. She swore and found, to her annoyance, that he seemed fine. The only thing they’d lost in the conflict was the weapon, which was now discarded and most certainly buried somewhere in the mess of things.

“What,” She coughed, squaring her shoulders back and raising her hands into a boxing position wearily, “happened to the original owners?”

The bounty hunter bared his teeth.

“Dead.” He said. “You play judo?”

She took two steps and found herself backed into a wall.

“Got no space to move, have you?” He said, and laughed. “You’re really inexperienced. I don’t sense any of that cursed energy stuff in your hits. And guess what—my body is reinforced with it. Gotta try harder if you want to land a hit, yeah?”

She muttered a curse under her breath so foul her mother would have washed out her mouth with bleach. Of course it was reinforced with cursed energy. She’d tried to fight Mei-senpai when she’d reinforced her body like that, and it had been the kind of fight that wasn’t pleasant at all—the hits felt like they were making contact under water, and she’d felt like she was punching someone with body armor on.

Fuck, she thought. What had the instructors at the self-defense camp said? When an opponent wears body armor, the best course of action would be…

A weapon. She glanced back at the rubble. Good to know so soon.

Run away. Not an option.

Or the standard answer to all fights hard to win: wait for backup.

Really, she thought, where was Satoru? He wasn’t one to take so much time, he wasn’t one to be so late, something must have happened to him…

To hell with that, she thought. It wasn’t like she could afford to be worried about him. She had her hands full with some Hawaiian-shirt-clad bounty hunter who wanted to keep little girls all to himself.

In fact, she thought as the man watched her with a curious gaze, why was she relying on his help so much anyway? Wasn’t the whole point of this to stand on her own two feet? At this point, she barely had a wheelchair. She was codependent, that was what she was. She felt a feeling tug at her gut, something deep inside she'd been hiding for ages.

She was angry. At how utterly useless she was.

“I will.” She muttered.

“Come again?”

“I said,” She snapped, her voice rising in a burst of anger, “I will!”

He grinned and took one, two steps towards her, and she squared her shoulders back and took a deep breath and something snapped inside of her, something with all that anger and with that annoyance and all that stray emotion inside of her, and she felt something other than her own heartbeat beating inside of her so loudly—

And she took one step towards him, and then two, and she countered his soccer-sized fist and she drew back her fist and swung with all her might.

“Kozue!” Someone shouted, but she didn’t let the concentration leave her.

She could feel something. Kozue grabbed onto that something with all the strength and concentration she had and hooked onto it, dragged it into the spotlight, forced it to reveal itself.

Something flashed. She knew, then, that something had clicked, that she’d finally done it, that what she was feeling was cursed energy, and she found that her fist was engulfed in a glowing energy that seemed supernatural. It cut through the air and connected with the man’s body and he folded like a piece of paper, and he went flying back through the air several meters back and hit the pillar with a thunk that brought rocks raining down on him.

Her heart was thudding with excitement. Kozue felt her fist unclench, and turned, ears ringing, breathing heavily in the dust to see Satoru staring at her with a look in his eyes that seemed unreal.

“Satoru.” She whispered, and found her voice. “Satoru!”

The door was wide open, and so were his eyes, taking in the sight before him. He’d rushed here, obviously, with how his hair was unruly and there was blood on his cheek and he was panting heavily, but she rushed towards him and jumped into his arms because he was just what she wanted to see. He was the way he was and always had been, the kind of beautiful that she'd only ever associated with Satoru, and she found that happiness sparked in his eyes that ignited a flame when they met hers.

He caught her perfectly, and his mouth grew into a smile as wide as her own.

“Satoru!” She gasped. He pulled her up until he was eye level with her, her arms around his neck and his arms under her supporting her body, her legs wrapped around his waist. She felt her heartbeat thrum in her ears with excitement, because after all these months she’d done it, she’d finally done it, she wasn’t a failure— “Satoru, cursed energy—did you see that?

Satoru, Satoru, did you see me?”

His eyes were sparkling. He’d lost his glasses along the way but it didn’t seem to matter, because in the glowing sunset his eyes reflected Kozue herself like he was drinking her in with every word she spoke. He spun her around, laughing, and she pulled him towards her, hugging him tight, because he was safe and she’d defeated them and she could use cursed energy.

She wasn’t a failure. She’d finally done it.

And the only person who seemed to matter at that point was Gojo Satoru.

“I did.” He said, and his voice was hoarse with an emotion she could only point as pride, “Yeah, Kozu, I saw you.

You did so good.”

Chapter Text

Suzuki Kozue.

Name | 鈴木 Suzuki, with the physical meaning of bell tree but typically representing shade or shelter. 梢依 Kozue, which physically means end/tip but can also mean to depend, rely, or trust in someone. Her mother named her, back in the USA, with the idea that Kozue would become a shelter for the weak and the misfortunate.

Aliases/Nicknames | Kozu-chan, Kozu, Babygirl, Honey, Sugar, Sweetheart, Anata, Gaijin. She doesn't like any of them except for the first two. Suzuko.

MBTI | INTP. Her intuition is the highest out of everyone she knows. Her perception is around halfway, but she hasn't changed in nearly five years, so she's pretty sure this is just how she was born. She hates the idea that a little more extroversion would make her into Satoru, but Satoru assures her that it's not how MBTI works.

Height | 171cm (5’7’’). She's on the lean side for someone who does sports, but is also considered very tall for a Japanese girl. Because of this reason, she's never worn heels before, neither is she planning on doing so. However, she thinks it's useful to look down at people as an intimidation tactic.

Weight | 64kg (141lbs). A bit heavy for a girl, but she doesn't mind because she thinks it's the boys' problem for being so weak. Satoru has lifted her up on multiple accounts.

Birthday | March 31st. Aries. "I don't believe in that bullcrap astrology stuff."

Ideal type | A guy who doesn’t hit her and doesn’t drink or smoke. A guy who treats her like his equal. Other than that? Fun to be around. Taller than her. Ready to smash the patriarchy if needed. She likes obedient guys, because she heard somewhere that girls with strong personalities go well with guys like that. Doesn’t really have a physical type, but she likes it if guys have pretty eyes and if they smile a lot.

Hobbies | Watching TV shows and movies, particularly anime - her current favourite is Mobile Suit Gundam Wing. Reading comics. Playing games. Hanging out with Gojo Satoru. Making fun of Gojo Satoru. Collecting figurines. Baking (a little), because Satoru likes sweet things and she knows for a fact that she puts less sugar in her food than store-bought ones, and she gets concerned for his health. Practicing martial arts, particularly judo which became more of a hobby than a sport after she attended Jujutsu High. She also really likes taekwondo, but doesn't see it as very useful when fighting cursed spirits.

Favourite dish | Fried pork rinds. Or maybe smoked beef ribs. Just meat, maybe? She can’t really decide, but she likes meat that goes well with rice. She for sure likes meat, because it's a nice source of protein and she likes the rich taste. When she wins judo matches, Satoru always buys her BBQ, which she really appreciates.

Least favourite dish | Tea. It’s bland and she doesn’t see the point in it.

Fun fact | While she seems like she’s quite heavy, she does sports, so her body fat percentage is quite low and she doesn’t look as heavy as she is. In fact, she’s beaten everyone in her judo class in arm-wrestling. Her arm strength is particularly impressive, especially for a girl. Although, you wouldn't say that in front of her - she hates the phrase for a girl.

Cause of stress | She can’t figure out how to use cursed energy. The higher-ups who mock her for it.

Pet peeve | People who smoke or drink. She hates the smell of alcohol and cigarettes because it reminds her of her father. She’ll excuse Shoko, because she knows the girl is trying her best, but is still trying to get her to quit.

Artist/song of choice | Conan Gray. Probably Astronomy or Family Line, which is the kind of song she would have cried to when she was back at the large house, all alone at night.

Gojo Satoru.

Name | 五条 Gojo, meaning fifth street or fifth condition and a traditional family name descending from Sugawara no Michizane. 悟 Satoru, meaning to perceive, understand or be enlightened.

Aliases/Nicknames | 'Toru, Stupid, Idiot, Dumbass, Capitalist, Sato. He always adds in Latverian, because it embarrasses Kozue to no end.

MBTI | ENTP. "Look, Kozu, we're almost twins!"

Height | 188cm (6’2’’). He's still a growing boy, though, and he predicts to be more than 190cm by the time he's a full adult. He likes it, though, because it annoys Kozue to no end; plus, it's cute looking down at her like that. He wants to be tall enough to pick Kozue up.

Weight | 84kg (185lbs). He thinks it's the perfect lean-to-mean ratio (whatever that means).

Birthday | December 7th. Sagittarius. He thinks astrology is real because it fits his personality perfectly, and apparently they're funny, just like he is.

Ideal type | Suzuki Kozue.

Hobbies | Hanging out with Suzuki Kozue, making fun of Suzuki Kozue, trying new foods with Suzuki Kozue, training with Suzuki Kozue, eating Suzuki Kozue’s food. Playing video games (but only against Suzuki Kozue, A.I. is too easy). Watching TV. Preferably with Suzuki Kozue, but the last one's optional.

Favourite dish | Sweet things. He'd initially started to stimulate his brain, but it's beginning to really grow on him, and now it's just a habit. He likes cake, and he also really likes chocolate. If you rummage through Kozue's bag, you will probably find a Kit-Kat or Snickers bar to keep Satoru off of her when he's hungry. It's really not that different from being a mom.

Leash favourite dish | Alcohol. Kozue hates it.

Fun fact | Surprisingly, there is something Gojo Satoru is bad at: philosophy. People think it stems from his self-centric nature. Kozue has always criticized him (especially since she has a strange fascination for it) for the fact that he won't listen to any of her political philosophy lectures, but he doesn't want to hear a two-hour rant about Alexis de Tocqueville again and he's just so bored.

Cause of stress | The higher-ups keep getting on his nerves and suggesting they’ll do something with Suzuki Kozue. He wants to wipe them all out, but he can't, because that's Kozue's job.

Pet peeve | The Jujutsu High girls keep giggling and talking behind his back. For once, he can't tell for the life of him what they're saying. He's tried to bribe it out of Kozue, or at least let him join one of their frequent hangouts, but has been rejected every. Single. Time.

Artist/song of choice | Bruno Mars. Definitely. Almost every song goes hard at different parts of the fic, but Locked out of Heaven and Runaway Baby has always been one of my favourite picks for Satoru's vibe in this fic.

Yamamoto Rin.

Name | 山本 Yamamoto, with the physical meaning of mountain but also read as origin. 臨 Rin, meaning to face/confront. Ironically, her entire name and character was based off of the idea that she existed for the sake of Kozue's development.

Aliases/Nicknames | Rin-rin, Rin-chan, Baka-moto. Kozue only ever called her Rin - Rin had been trying to get her to say Rin-Rin when she'd died.

MBTI | ESFP. Unsurprisingly, her extroversion is the highest.

Height | 162.5cm (5’4’’). One of the shortest people in the judo team. She'd always thrown hands at Kozue for her height, to which Kozue had just laughed. But she secretly likes it, because she feels like being this short makes her a 'cute-kinda girl'.

Weight | 57kg (125lbs). Her weight range is a little problematic because of her status as a judo student, but she's never been able to find enough motivation to lose weight or remove body fat properly.

Birthday | June 13th. Gemini. She doesn't actually believe in astrology, but she likes characterizing herself, so she has little Gemini trinkets and she likes boasting that she's a summer baby. No idea why that's worth boasting, but that's what Rin likes, and most people leave her be when she's happy.

Ideal type | A guy who’s fun and good at listening to her talk. A guy who isn’t competitive but likes to do things for the sake of doing them. She thinks introverts are cute. She's admitted on multiple accounts that she'd date Kozue if she was a guy, but thankfully she's not.

Hobbies | She’s surprisingly good at drawing. Her teacher says she's sensitive to colours and that's why, which seems fair: she likes shopping and expanding her closet, which has an absurd amount of colours and different items.

Favourite dish | Chocolate cake. She likes sweet things but it’s hard to lose weight.

Leash favourite dish | Cucumbers. They smell bad.

Fun fact | She thought Kozue was a drug dealer for a bit when she first met her because she slept in class all the time and she’d always run out first thing after last period.

Cause of stress | Well, she’s dead.

Pet peeve | People who take things too seriously and make the mood awkward for everyone. She's never outwardly disapproving of them, but if they dampen the mood too much, she'll try her best to make them realize what they're doing. Life is supposed to be fun!

Artist/song of choice | Cavetown. She was modelled after Lemon Boy, but her death is a lot more reminiscent of Devil Town.

Geto Suguru. (NEW!)

Name | 傑 Geto, meaning great or excellence. 夏油 Suguru, meaning summer and oil. His parents probably didn't name him with much deep thought or meaning, but he likes the way it sounds so he's satisfied nonetheless.

Aliases/Nicknames | Geto, bangs, bangs guy, Sugu. Unsurprisingly, he hates being called bangs guy, because it's not that deep. C'mon. And plus, they're cool, right? Sugurin.

MBTI | INTJ. He's the only one with the judging trait in the entire first years. He's not quite sure how he's supposed to think about this fact, but he does find it incredibly chaotic whenever the first years plan to go out into the city.

Height | 185.5cm (6’1’’). He likes his height the way it is, but it's a little frustrating that Satoru's taller. He thinks someone like Kozue is the perfect height for him.

Weight | 88kg (194lbs). He weighs more than Satoru because he's a lot stockier and have more muscle, which he's quite proud of.

Birthday | February 3rd. Aquarius. He has no idea what that means. Satoru has informed him it means he's "a smartass", which he doesn't quite believe based on Kozue's reaction.

Ideal type | A woman with strong morals, and a woman who is willing to work towards them herself. A headstrong woman who can keep up with him and one who puts herself first. A woman who knows what she wants and is willing to put in work to get it. Physically, he’s attracted to tall women who are lean and on the muscular side, but he doesn’t really mind as long as they fit the criteria above. He likes a woman who will talk back to him, and knows when to have fun. He’d like to joke around with her and have not just a sexual/romantic but a spiritual partner. He has a lot of fantasies about romance and love, which is something people don't expect out of him.

Hobbies | Reading, practicing martial arts. He also quite likes magazines, but he'd never admit that to Satoru. Kozue flicks through them sometimes when she comes over, lying belly-down on his bed and cackling out loud at the strange poses of the models. He rolls his eyes every time but secretly finds it very endearing.

Favourite dish | Zaru soba served on a woven bamboo tray. They tease him for having rich tastes, but he's always been fond of traditional Japanese things.

Leash favourite dish | None. He's not picky, that's just how he's been raised: but if he had to choose one thing, he wouldn't like cheap alcohol. He much prefers the wrapped kind of expensive sake, because it hits different.

Fun fact | He’s strangely very popular with women; even more than Satoru. After coming to Tokyo, at least five girls asked for his number. However, he never accepts the numbers because he’s the kind of guy who likes meeting women naturally instead of actively seeking for them. He’s a fan of the friends to lovers dynamic.

Cause of stress | He's wondering if coming to Jujutsu High really was the right decision. It's a pitifully small school, and he's forced to do the thing he hates the most: ingest cursed spirits.

Pet peeve | People who try to get things without trying or working for them. When he was in school, he hated people who would get good grades with minimal effort, whereas he always worked hard to remain on top. It comes from his sensitivity to unfairness and injustice that led him to become a sorcerer in itself.

Artist/song of choice | Easy: Gorillaz. His entire character - more than that, this entire fic - was born out of She’s My Collar. Mitski would also work, out of which My Love Mine All Mine is an especially good option.

Chapter Text

Year Seven ½.

“I can’t believe,” Shoko said, “After staying at Okinawa for a week longer than you were supposed to—and going to a bunch of other cities—you didn’t even get me a souvenir.”

“Shoko!” Satoru wailed. “I’m sorry!”

“I got you one.” Kozue spoke up, hopefully, and Shoko gave her a grin, holding up the small shark keychain that she’d gotten at the aquarium. “Pretty cute, huh?”

“I know, babe. You’re pretty great.”

Summer holidays had passed in a flash—and the only thing Kozue could say that she was most definitely not a planning type of person. Neither was Satoru, of course, but she’d expected better from herself.

The original plan had been to get back from Okinawa after three days. Having completely spent her cursed energy, she’d slept through half the second day, and by the time she woke up, was met with the sight of Gojo Satoru having ordered too much room service for himself, stacking cookies on top of each other whilst sitting next to her in bed with pillow propped up behind him. He’d obviously taken good care of her, as she noted a small electric fan going off next to her and the curtains drawn tight despite himself being awake.

He'd jolted up, when she’d stirred from her sleep with a sigh. “Kozue!”

“Hm.” She cracked her eyes open. “Mor-ning, ‘Toru. What time?”

“Not morning.” He told her with a sheepish grin. “It’s 3PM.”

And, obviously, what kind of friend would she be if she didn’t give him another day here with compensation?

But one day had turned into two, two into three, and hell if she knew; they’d spent a whole week there, and then they’d gotten back to travel to Tokyo and Kyoto and Roppongi and Shibuya and all those places she’d never had the opportunity to travel to. She got paid a very small sum for her grade 4 status, but the Gojo estate had funded most of their trip. She wasn’t guilty—it was Satoru’s father’s money, after all, and consequently the money of some old people a few hundred years back.

Alas, she thought with a twinge of annoyance, all good things had to end, and the summer holiday had ended earlier than she could wake up in the morning.

Class hadn’t started yet: she’d woken up early in the morning to get breakfast extra early, and had ended up meeting Mei-senpai and Utahime-senpai, just like she’d hoped. Mei-senpai had spent her holidays working (obviously, she’d realized that the older woman had quite a thing for money) and Utahime-senpai had spent the summer watching sports.

Satoru, as expected, had stumbled into the cafeteria nearly an hour later, desperately trying to tame his hair which stuck up everywhere.

Now this was where they sat: Kozue and Shoko had already finished their meals and were sitting in conversation, while Satoru hurriedly wolfed down his meal.

“So,” Kozue said, leaning her head on her arms and looking up at Shoko expectantly, “Anything for me?”

“It’s a pretty secluded place, hon.” Shoko said, twisting a lollipop in her mouth. “Right out there in the countryside.”

“Yeah, but-” Here Satoru paused to swallow the mouthful of bread, “You could have gotten us anything… like, potatoes, I dunno.”

“Potatoes?” The girl asked, incredulously.

“That’s racist.” Kozue affirmed, taking a lollipop from Shoko with thanks, and glared at Satoru playfully. Banana split.

“I got something for Kozue,” Shoko said, “But none for you. And we don’t hang out with racists.”

She tossed her something, which she caught deftly before looking down at what it was. It was a little ceramic cat keychain, about as large as her thumb. She turned it over and saw it grinning at her, spotted red and yellow.

“I heard you finally used cursed energy.” Shoko told her, pulling the lollipop out of her mouth as though it was a cigarette, “So it’s a good luck charm. Congratulations, by the way. I heard it was an impressive feat.”

“How-” Her mouth opened and closed, and something clicked: she whipped around to Satoru, who glanced at her with an embarrassed look before stuffing his face with more food. “Satoru!”

“Mmf.”

After they’d defeated the bounty hunters, she’d finally found out how to use cursed energy properly. It was all in experience, she supposed—sitting around learning theories on a desk wasn’t going to do much for jujutsu.

Still, it would be a lie if Kozue said she wasn’t proud of herself. Because after all this time, it was undoubtedly true that she’d released cursed energy, and even though she’d fainted (embarrassing, she knew, but come on—) she’d still done it, and that was all that mattered. It was one step closer to proving the higher-ups wrong, that she wasn’t useless and overly dependent on Satoru, that she was someone who could stand on her own two legs.

Beat that, she thought smugly, tugging at the blue sleeves of her uniform.

Relishing in her own victory, even just for a few minutes, wasn’t too bad after all. She deserved this, after all the shit she’d been put through.

She reached down and pulled up her bag, hooking the cat around a zipper. Satoru’s finger crept into her vision and touched it.

“Ooh.”

“Grubby hands off, idiot!”

“Ow! Kozu-chan-”

Shoko pointedly ignored Satoru, leaning her head against the table to look at her as she set her bag back down on the floor. Throughout this time—and especially now—the girl’s whole body language was slightly on edge, facing the door like she was waiting for something: something that didn’t go unnoticed by Kozue.

“Uh…” Kozue tapped her fingers against the table gently. “Something… wrong?”

“What?” Shoko’s finger paused on her lollipop. “Hm. I guess the two of you haven’t heard the news, huh.”

“News?”

Satoru rubbed his hands together. “Tea?”

“Gossip?”

She high fived Satoru.

Shoko, on the other hand, snorted. “Not tea or gossip,” She said, sitting up lazily as though she couldn’t be bothered, but Kozue knew her—she was all about gossip. Shoko was the kind of girl who hated getting involved in drama but loved talking about it. “Just some news.”

“News?” Her and Satoru said in unison, and they high fived again. Shoko rolled her eyes.

“Yeah. Apparently we have a new student—no idea who, don’t ask—this guy from some other place in Japan. First year. Same class.”

“First year?” Kozue blinked. “Like… like us.”

“Guy?” Satoru made a face. “Like… like a dude.”

“A guy. And get this-” She shrugged. “There are rumors he might be special-grade.”

Kozue leaned back and frowned. A special grade—the same as Satoru. The strongest sorcerer she knew.

It just went to show, she thought, how unfair life seemed to be. Here she was celebrating the fact that she’d released any cursed energy at all, and suddenly waltzed in this guy who was so good at cursed energy that he was a special grade. Of course, there was no guarantee it would be one—people lied, after all—but she couldn't stave off the idea that it would be a special grade. It would be right up in her alley of misfortunes.

And it was rare, too—two special grades in a year? There were barely five in the jujutsu world. It didn’t make sense that she’d be like this, that in her class, the one she wanted to be the best of, had two special grades and a healer. She’d been born in the wrong year. Fuck, she thought, with a little disdain, and sighed.

A head leaned against her shoulder. She turned to be met with Satoru’s messy white hair, and his pouting face looking up at her as if to ask, am I cute?

No, she corrected, her hand coming down to pinch his cheek. She had to stop blaming others.

This guy: this new guy, he was probably perfectly nice. She just had to concentrate on how she could get a new friend, another connection in the jujutsu world.

“Oh.” She said. “When’s he coming, then?”

“Babe, if I knew, I’d tell you.” Shoko shrugged. “It’s good to have another student, though. I’m going crazy hanging around you two.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shoko frowned. “Nothing much.”

Satoru, who had been leaning against her until now, sat up. “Pfft. You just love me too much, Ieiri.”

She slapped the back of his head.

“…sorry, Shoko-chan.”

Satoru rubbed the back of his head with a pout and laid his head back onto the table, looking up at the two of them with his sunglasses discarded somewhere. It occurred to her, then, a point that she’d thought about—making friends.

Weren’t first impressions kind of… important?

“But I… if we don’t know when he’s coming,” Kozue pointed out with slight annoyance, “Then how are we supposed to say hi or whatever?”

“I dunno.”

“We could go check his room out.” Satoru suggested, grinning. “Next to mine, right? Can’t wait to meet this new neighbour of mine.”

“We could,” She agreed, “But that’d be rude.”

As soon as the words had left her mouth—maybe it was karma? Something else? She didn’t know. A large boom resounded through Jujutsu High, and she felt the floor shake beneath her slightly; dust poured down from the ceiling, and the sound echoed around them as though they were in a cave. Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom.

The three of them looked at each other in silence.

“You reckon that’s the new student?” Shoko pointed out, quietly.

You reckon, Kozue agreed. It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to the dramatics, anyway: she’d lived with Satoru attached at the hip most of her life, and she was sure one more dramatic friend wouldn’t do her any harm. Plus, anything that large and impactful was surely a special grade.

Special grade, she thought. She couldn’t help being spiteful: it was her dream, after all.

“You know what,” Kozue muttered, “Fuck it. We’re checking out that room.”

The room was, to say the least, underwhelming.

With the information they had added together—the fact that this new student was a special grade, along with the boom they’d heard—she had assumed some sort of lair. Something for the dramatics. Even something like Satoru’s room would have satisfied her, because although he did have some Digimon posters on the wall, there were still things that suggested he wasn’t exactly, well, normal.

The scattered papers full of calculations littered across the floor, for instance, that suggested he’d been trying to do something with his infinity. Or the bent punching bag. Or even the list of names he’d taped up on the wall, crossed off one by one—the one she’d pointed to and asked what to which he’d replied, a little sheepishly, enemies.

The Gojo clan’s?

No. Yours.

But the new guy (whose room lay open right next to Satoru’s, something he wasn’t very happy about) was strangely… normal.

It was obvious he’d gone somewhere in the middle of packing, because a box was wedged between the door and the frame, propping it open and leaving his room completely vulnerable for anyone and everyone to find. The box was filled with stationary—a lamp, a few books, an ugly mug full of pens.

Shoko nudged the box with her foot. “Hard worker, huh.”

“Yeah,” Kozue poked Satoru. “You should learn a thing or two.”

“Hey!”

Ignoring him, she stepped over the box and into the room. The bedsheets were plain white, tucked in neatly, and the bed was empty save for a little stuffed animal of a dragon propped up on the bed.

She picked it up.

“Should you be touching that without permission?” Shoko mused. “Thought you said it was rude.”

Kozue bit her lip.

“Whatever,” She said, pushing away the guilt that crept up her throat. “He’s a special grade. Boy can take care of himself.”

The uniform that was supposed to be lain out in the bed was missing, but something on the floor glinted, which she picked up: a nametag he’d seemingly dropped. She flipped it around, fastening the pin so that she wouldn’t poke herself.

“It’s strange,” She scoffed, turning the nametag back over mindlessly, “If this guy is special grade— a special grade student, something ground breaking, as I know from personal experience—then why hasn’t the jujutsu world gone aflame? We don’t even know this guy’s name?”

Shoko and Satoru exchanged nervous glances.

“Look, sweetie,” Shoko said, wearily, “It may or may not have… uhm, something to do with… your current predicament.”

“People are simple-minded, is all.” Satoru muttered, rubbing the back of his head nervously. He was refusing to meet her eyes—she could see it. Something was up. “They can only really focus on one rumor at a time. Dogs.”

She blinked at him: then, it dawned on her.

“Me?” She exclaimed, setting the pin down on the empty desk, and turned around to face her classmates incredulously. “You think people were too worried about me to care about some special grade guy?”

“To be fair,” Shoko told her, as she shuffled over to the wardrobe and yanked it open, “This special-grade guy is some nobody. Satoru is from the Gojo clan.”

Kozue nodded. It left a bad taste in her mouth—but she supposed, it was true. And it was true that she’d been bothered enough by these rumors to further take it out on Satoru, rather unfairly: the boy, who was standing near her awkwardly, seemed to be waiting for a fight to happen like some guilty child.

She sighed. “You’re right.” Reaching up, she pat Satoru’s head comfortingly, to see him visibly relax. “His wardrobe…?”

Shoko turned to pay full attention to it, and let out a slow whistle. “Not bad.”

The wardrobe had an assortment of clothes—from this, she could obviously tell he was a pretty well, neat-dressed guy—but that wasn’t what had drawn her attention. What had done so was the assortment of martial arts weapons neatly arranged in a cardboard box at the bottom of his wardrobe, laid out perfectly among the shoe boxes that it almost looked too natural. Ranging from knives to staffs to even, she noted, something that resembled a meat cleaver.

“Assassin?” Shoko noted, twirling the lollipop in her mouth. She grabbed Kozue and pulled her in front of her—hey—hiding behind her with a grin. “Nope. You’re gonna protect me.”

“You’re better off grabbing Satoru for that-”

Satoru puffed out his chest. “You’re right, Kozu-chan! I’ll protect the two of you. In fact, I’m sure you ladies can depend on me for anything. Anything for my two girls-“

“Shoko.”

“I agree. We’ve seen enough.”

They shuffled out of the room, leaving a whining Satoru trailing after them.

“I reckon something, though,” Shoko said, quietly, as they made their way back to the classrooms with a low hum, “There’s something a bit off about that room.”

Kozue frowned. “Is there? I don’t really think anything’s out of the ordinary.”

Satoru jogged towards them, draping an arm around Kozue’s shoulders leisurely. “No photos.” He said, in a very matter-of-fact way that was strangely uncharacteristic of him. She looked up at him, incredulously. “There weren’t any photos. Family or friends. Or himself, for that matter.”

“Family photos?” Kozue asked.

She felt a strange feeling settle in her mouth, dragging down her down all the way to her stomach. It felt as though she was living in a world all by herself. She wasn’t supposed to be so damn negative all the time, she wanted to agree with them and ask what’s wrong with this guy?

But was she the only one who hadn’t noticed the strange anomaly. Because she’d never had a family photo in her room, not ever. Not even a full one, not even a half-assed one. Just no photo, because after all, at the end of the day, she wasn’t the type of girl who’d notice that something was off about a room if there was no family photo.

In fact, having a family photo in the room seemed stranger to her.

Satoru didn’t have one, but he’d been surrounded by the construct of a family all his life—and while his mom and dad hadn’t married out of love, they’d still stayed together. She’d seen family photos, seen everyone in formal traditional Japanese outfits when she’d lived in his house. It seemed like nothing but décor to her, personally, and she knew Satoru thought of his parents as nothing more than people who had birthed him.

But this was some normal guy. The lack of knowledge she had about him made it all the more unsettling, an unconscious nervousness that came from the knowledge (and lack of knowledge) that came with her would-be competitor.

Another special grade, she thought, a little spitefully. She couldn’t think like this—she needed to be accepting to this guy, she didn’t know him, he could have crawled out from the depths of hell for all she knew…

But he was the same age as her, and he had everything she wanted, and more.

The strange feeling crawled down her throat and settled itself selfishly in her gut, like a toad that had made its place in a well.

Jealousy? No, she couldn’t be jealous. Not of a nameless, faceless, person she barely knew the name of.

“You okay?”

No, it could never be.

“I’m fine.” She said, pushing down the strange feeling in her gut. “It’s nothing.”

“You ought to be glad,” The teacher told him as they entered the half-arranged room again, “The principal is so accepting of you. Try not to use curses to transport your things again—I know it’s a useful talent to have, trust me, but you’re going to trigger the school’s defense system again. We don’t want anything breaking again.”

The dark-haired boy looked up at his teacher. “Yes, I understand. Sorry for what happened earlier.”

“Ah, no worries. As long as you know the rules—we should have been clearer about it.”

He stepped into the room, and something felt strangely off: he first noted the shoe print on the box of stationary that had been used to prop the door open, then the nametag that he’d dropped hastily on the floor now placed on the table neatly.

The wardrobe was a little open, too—whoever had come and left obviously either didn’t care about getting caught, or they were just that sloppy. He stared at the stuffed dragon, which was obviously not where he’d originally put it.

“Is there anything you want to know,” His homeroom teacher said, “About your arrangements before I introduce you to the class and we get started?”

Geto Suguru, special grade prodigy, looked up at his teacher and let out a soft smile.

“Just one thing.” He said, his grip tightening around the nametag he’d picked up from the desk, “I’d just like to know about my classmates. I’ve heard they’re quite famous.”

Of course he’d heard of them. How could anyone involved in the jujutsu world not? Gojo Satoru’s very birth had shaken the jujutsu world upside down, and now, to have some kind of connection to him…

Some girl, he’d heard. Some girl it was, to capture a guy’s heart like that. All those rumors, he was sure, was at least a bit of an exaggeration, but it didn’t change the truth: that this girl had gotten into the school through nothing but sheer connections. Hell, he’d heard she couldn’t even use jujutsu! And to treat the jujutsu world like some kind of romance story, well…

That was simply ridiculous.

Chapter Text

Geto Suguru could already sense a headache coming as he made his way to the classroom.

He’d barely made the decision to change schools to Jujutsu High, after sorcerer after sorcerer being sent to scout him out. He was a special grade, he knew, and he lived in the kind of household where that kind of knowledge wasn’t uncommon, but he’d only very recently made the decision to pursue a career in jujutsu.

After a term of normal high school, he’d switched—under any other circumstances, he knew it wouldn’t be a good decision. But he was a special grade, so obviously any chance to get him into Jujutsu High was duly welcomed.

As he trekked the somewhat unfamiliar halls of this school, he was half wondering if he’d made the right decision at all. There were reasons why he hadn’t wanted to come to Jujutsu High, and as he was already here it seemed all the more prominent.

He was a bit skeptical about the career goals that jujutsu brought, too. Of course he was born from a family who knew all that stuff, and they’d support him. But he, personally, wanted to live quite well off.

And this shiny new school didn’t help his worries.

He remembered the last time he’d been here to scout the school out. It had seemed a lot more foreign back then, probably because it was his very first time. He’d expected something different, but then everyone who came to this school seemed to: a lot less rickety shrine and a lot more polished jujutsu institute. He’d even run across some crying girl on his way back, he remembered, because how could he not forget? Her face had been covered by the shadows but he remembered her clear as day, her hands clutching fists into his uniform and her sobs wracking her frame. She was tall for a girl, he remembered that much, but seemed just as small as every other—maybe even smaller.

He couldn’t say that the one encounter, just that one, had solidified his will to come here. He was simply stating, as a matter of fact, that there were a lot more people in the world in pain than he was. Just because his cursed technique tasted a little funny wasn’t any excuse.

He was here to do good, he reminded himself, no matter how many of these people made him a little… skeptical. He was here to help people like that crying girl.

The classroom was just around the corner. Suguru fixed his name tag and took a deep breath, wondering how he’d introduce himself. Probably just a hi would do—he’d heard there were a couple of others, but much less than the standard high school. Probably three or four.

Something nearby went, crack.

Suguru frowned and took another step, and with each step he took closer to the classroom, he could hear the sounds coming louder. Laughs and shrieks and little giggles, probably only two or three people. But very loud people.

God, he thought. Really loud people.

The floor shook as something crashed again. Something snapped very loudly and a female voice hollered something he couldn’t quite make out, and he took a few steps closer in awe.

The door was just in sight. Suguru could hear someone stomping inside. It was insanely chaotic, he thought, for a school that was about exorcising curses. He could hear a guy and a girl screaming their heads off inside. It reminded him, of sorts, of the new life he’d be leading, with these strangely loud people.

Someone cackled loudly. “-and it just went, fyoom!”

The guy laughed, too. He could feel the migraine already.

He stood outside of the door. He could see a little over the semi-transparent plastic on the top of the door, and could vaguely make out three figures. Only natural—he’d had a huge growth spurt during the last few years of middle school, and now towered at a good six feet. He was bulky, too, built with muscle from all that martial arts.

He shouldered his bag. Two girls and a guy. He could do this.

He reached down to grab the door handle, took a deep breath—

Then it slammed into his face hard, and the door was thrown open dramatically. Pain hit his nose and his fingers and he hissed in pain, staggering back before falling on his ass pathetically in a heap.

“Yo!” The loud voice that he’d heard from the corridor said. A pair of feet stepped into his vision. “Holy shit, that looks pretty painful. Are you okay?”

He groaned something inaudible.

“Aw, cut that.” The panicked voice said. “Of course you’re not okay. Is your nose broken? Do you want me to take you to the infirmary? You’re not—not dying—?”

He looked up, squinting, and his eyes landed on the figure who’d maimed him so terribly. A girl stood there, her mouth wide open as though permanently startled, and her hand frozen on the door handle guiltily. The cold metal doorframe was the only thing separating the two of them, from the tips of her feet an inch away from him. Her eyes were fixed onto his and his onto hers, and he swore, he could swear, he’d forgotten how to breathe in that second.

She towered over him, her eyes wide—so wide, and so damn familiar. They were unusual eyes, he thought, a cynical sparkle in them he couldn’t quite place.

He was blown away. No, he was calmed by the feeling that washed over him like how waves washed onto the beach, lapping at his ankles gently and ever so ticklish.

Her sleeves were rolled up and her tie messily pulled to the side, a button undone. Her skirt was crumpled, her ponytail hastily done up, wisps of stray dark hair pulled out as though she hadn’t bothered to tie it up properly. There was nothing about her that seemed out of the ordinary, yet the summation of all factors seemed to only point him in one direction.

Pretty.

God, he thought, she was so, so, pretty.

His heart skipped a beat as her tongue darted out to lick her lips nervously.

God, he thought. To whatever God was out there. To whatever being that had led him to enroll in this goddamn school. To whatever currents of time and space that existed that had washed him up on the shores of jujutsu high—was this what fate felt like?

“Can you say something?” She begged, her eyes growing even wider. “Please don’t tell me you have a concussion, that’s nasty.”

Her eyes were unusually light, he thought. The color of sweetened caramel. And she laughed like a metaphor he’d been trying to write down for years – no, decades.

And that was Suzuki Kozue, to him.

“Dude, your nose is bleeding—”

The new student sat on his new desk, a little grumpily, holding his slightly bruised fingers to his nose as he tilted his head back from a Kozue-induced nosebleed.

This wasn’t the most ideal, she thought. She’d made up her mind to make a good impression on this new student, and look what had happened! He’d stared at her dumbstruck for what seemed like forever, before the blood had slipped down his nose, dripping ever so slightly. It had taken Satoru ages to shut his ass up from all the laughing. Even Shoko was snorting just a little.

Kozue sat on her desk, frowning a little, and trying her best not to look absolutely devastated.

The new student wasn’t exactly what she’d expected. The largest factor in this, possibly, was that he seemed so contrasting to the most prominent male presence in her life, Satoru.

They seemed so different—cut that. They seemed like opposites.

Geto Suguru—or so his nametag called him—was a little taller than Satoru himself, and better built than him, certainly. Probably more muscle, based off the first glance. He’d customized his uniform a lot differently: contrasting the slim-fitting pants Satoru had shown off (“fashion”, he’d said, with a proud twirl, and she had to admit he had nice legs), his was wider, ballooning out before ending at his ankles, his legs crossed in a somewhat questioning manner. His jacket had a much lower collar than the standard jujutsu, and lacked an extra button. Unlike Satoru’s pale hair, unusual eyes, and overall rounder features, this guy was completely different in that sense. With long dark hair and narrow, darker eyes, Geto Suguru seemed a lot more… angular. A lot more older. Mature, in that sense.

His eyes darted to hers, then darted back to Satoru. He sniffed a bit.

His voice was a lot softer, too, she noted. He was conventionally attractive, she had to give him that, because although he lacked the flamboyant beauty that Gojo Satoru had been born with as a gifted child, he sat straight and he seemed to know fashion. His hair was tied up into a bun and a strand of hair fell over his eyes, which crinkled when he smiled.

She wasn’t checking him out, she thought. He was simply surprisingly attractive. She didn’t know a lot of people who could retain their looks next to Satoru.

“So,” Satoru finally said, wiping a tear from his eye, “Now that we’ve got the whole me-” Another giggle erupting from his mouth. “-mess. Sorry. Now that we’ve got this sorted, let’s introduce ourselves!”

“Alright.”

“Where’s the sensei gone?” Shoko frowned, twirling the lollipop in her mouth.

“No idea.” Satoru cleared his throat, making his way to the very front of the classroom where the teacher was supposed to stand. “My name is Gojo Satoru. Special grade.”

“Everyone knows who you are, asshat.” Kozue jeered, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Boo.”

Satoru frowned. “Hey! You’re supposed to cheer.”

“Boo.” Shoko agreed. “Take him away. No one wants him.”

“Anyway,” He said, ignoring the two of them completely, “The first girl to your left, bangs—”

“Bangs?” The new student said incredulously, sitting up. “I’m not—”

“The first girl to your left,” Satoru continued regardless, “That’s Suzuki Kozue. That’s the love of my life, so don’t touch her or I’ll bite your arm off. And that’s just Shoko.”

They’d changed the seating a little to accommodate the new student—four tables on the front row, now. Shoko was closest to the window, as she’d requested, and then it was Kozue, Satoru (as he’d requested to be next to her), and the new student on the right-most seat, closest to the corridor.

Kozue guffawed. “I can touch whoever I want, asshat.”

“Just Shoko.” Shoko sniffled, to which Kozue patted her back, sighing quite pointedly at Satoru while shaking her head. “Just Shoko, he said.”

“Apologize immediately!” Kozue booed.

“Boo.” Shoko echoed.

“Now,” Satoru said, hopping out of the teacher’s aisle, “It’s your turn to introduce yourself, bangs. What’s your name?”

Kozue turned to look at the new student—Geto Suguru, she repeated inside her head. His eyes flickered away instantly, or had it been simply a figment of her imagination? His face was strangely stoic, and as she tilted her head to grasp a better view of him, his eyes flickered back to her face, and his eyebrow dipped into a slight frown.

He lowered the tissue from his nose, which had now stopped bleeding.

“Geto.” He said, in the strangest voice. Soft in its speech, but strangely hard as though he’d realized something particularly distasteful. “Geto Suguru. Special grade.”

A bitter aftertaste snapped at the back of her throat and spread throughout her mouth, like medicine that had finally melted.

Special grade, she thought.

She frowned back.

Taking Geto Suguru on a tour through the school was a memory lane, of sorts.

It was also a reminder of how much she’d gotten used to what was once an unfamiliar place: the halls she’d trembled in were simply halls now, and the classrooms that seemed so strange and marvellous were now a sight to groan at.

Nonetheless, as they walked through the halls, she couldn’t help but remember her own tour: just her and Satoru, with no teacher (just like now, since they’d successfully shooed the sensei away) walking through places that they’d be spending the next few months of their lives in. She remembered how much she’d been awed by the sight of the warehouse full of items.

They walked as a four: the same order as their desk arrangement. Ironically, she thought, almost in height order.

She craned her neck a little, attempting to see Geto Suguru a little more.

Was it just her, or did it seem as though the newcomer was purposefully avoiding her—and upon certain interactions, acting a lot colder towards her than he originally had been? She wondered why, if not for the door slamming, but she knew that wasn’t it. He’d acted completely fine when she’d done that. She’d lent him a hand up, apologizing with a wince, but he’d shaken it off, smiled, and told her, it’s okay.

But then—boom. Out of nowhere, suddenly it wasn’t okay, because he was a bit more distant towards her. Or was that her imagination?

Gah, she couldn’t tell.

Next to her, regardless of her worries, she could see Satoru talking his mouth off: he was obviously doing most of the leading around here, seeing as how well he was describing the place to the new student. The new student seemed completely fine with it, even interjecting a few times.

“That’s the cafeteria. You’re going to be eating with us from now on, bangs.”

“Don’t call me—”

“Or you could eat with the scary upperclassmen. Not scary for me, of course—I’m Gojo Satoru—but scary for you, probably. There are these two ladies, Utahime and Mei Mei—hey, you ever had a girlfriend?”

“You look like you’ve never had one yourself.”

“Hey! That is a complete and utter lie, you know when I—”

Kozue turned away as Satoru began to describe his past experiences with a hundred women in great detail, rolling her eyes. She’d been somewhat interested in the boy’s answer, but never to mind. Instead, she turned her eyes towards Shoko, who was looking at her curiously.

“What? She asked.

“Is something bothering you?”

Shoko had always had a knack for figuring out how people felt, just at the glimpse of an eye. It seemed like the side effects of being such an observer: unlike Satoru and herself, who had always been the first to jump into action, Shoko had always stood and merely watched, passively.

“What?” Kozue said, her voice cracking a little. “No. I mean – no.”

Her eyes shifted slightly, back to Satoru and to the new student (what did she call him? Geto-kun? Suguru? Would he be insulted by that?) whose eyes instantly snapped to the front with a distasteful frown. They were discussing one of the new models, one of the large busty ones on Satoru’s wall.

“Pfft.” She repeated, her eyes darting back to Shoko. “No.”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “Fine, if you will. Lollipop?”

She took a chocolate one and stuck it in her mouth with a thanks.

It didn’t bother her, Kozue thought. At all. Her father had hated her for no reason and it was only fair that some random stranger must hate her, too, just like the jujutsu world did. He’d been perfectly nice until some point in time, and then he’d started to look at her with some kind of disapproving frown that made her feel as though she was under supervision of some teacher she didn’t particularly like.

On the other hand, the new student seemed somewhat familiar. Maybe because of the long-haired guy in her middle school, and how long-haired men weren’t exactly uncommon? She didn’t know. She didn’t like the fact that he was bothering her this much.

“-right, Kozue?” Someone called faintly, dragging her out of her thoughts.

Geto Suguru. She’d never heard of that name, and she certainly didn’t know enough about recent jujutsu news for her to know that there was some new special grade boy. So it must have something to do with his demeanor.

“Right? Right? Right?”

He had the same dull combination as she did—dark hair, darker eyes. The kind of combination she’d always hated in herself, but he didn’t seem too ordinary to her, probably because of the hair. Or maybe the stature.

“Kozue­-e-e.”

Six foot wasn’t a common height in Japan. Maybe that was it?

“A-na-ta—” A heavy arm draped around her. Someone shook her violently, jolting her out of her thoughts. “Kozu-chan! Quit daydreamin’!”

“Wha- huh- I- what?” Kozue finally relented, her eyes snapping up to meet the only person who could possibly bother her that much. “I’m thinking!”

Satoru grinned. “Oh, it’s alright. If you lack that much brainpower, it’s only natural that—ow!”

“Next punch is going straight to the family jewels.” She joked, raising her fist at him. “Anyway—what were we talking about?”

“I said,” He poked her cheek, to which she gave him an irritated look, much too lazy to do anything. He was leaning against her, dragging his feet unnecessarily, and she shoved him a little. “Second year is Yaga, right? I can’t remember if it’s Yaga or Fukuda.”

“Fukuda is third year.” Kozue corrected. “First year teacher Ueda, second year Yaga, third year Fukuda.”

“Yeah, see? So we’re getting Yaga next year. I heard he’s real weird.”

“He’s the one with the dolls, hm?”

“Hey, you have no idea how terrifying the dolls are—”

Maybe she’d gotten her hopes up, she thought, and too much for that. She’d never had friends – she’d just gotten too obsessed over the fact that she had two to talk to daily now, and she’d completely forgotten just how isolated she was.

“Anything to know about Ueda?”

“Oh,” Kozue spoke up, in an effort to speak to the new student. “He just gets a little pissed when you don’t do your homework, but, uh, as long as you tell him a believable enough lie he’ll let it slide.”

The new student looked around, his eyes very pointedly not on her.

Not even a verbal response! She was beginning to wonder the weight of her sins and whether this treatment was truly proportional. She poked Satoru, hoping he’d reply to the awkwardness that had now fallen over the group. Satoru was usually in charge of these things.

“Oh, so, bangs,” Satoru begun, poking at Geto Suguru’s hair (much to the other boy’s annoyance), “I heard that you’re a special grade. You got Yaga pissed for a bit, set off those security alarms. You do anything special?”

He swatted away Satoru’s hand. “It’s in the name, Gojo-kun.”

“Call me Satoru! Everyone does. Well, except for Kozu-chan, but she’s the love of my life.”

Was it her imagination, or did the boy shoot a disapproving look towards her? He had what was potentially a very soft voice, but she could tell it had been hardened with intent to hurt. He had a slight accent, but it would fade in a few months—everyone’s did. Shoko and Mei-senpai’s had.

“Well, Satoru.” The boy said, “I control cursed spirits.”

“Oh,” Kozue said, glad finally something she’d studied came up, “Like, shikigami.”

“No. Like, nothing like that.”

They trailed off into awkward silence again.

“Well, I’m of the Gojo clan, so obviously you’d know me.” Satoru puffed out his chest. “Gosh, too popular. Shoko can heal.”

“Hi.” Shoko waved. “I’m the healer.”

“Hi, Shoko.”

“And Kozue started late, so she’s just figuring things out now.” Satoru said. Kozue winced—that hurt a little, she admitted it, but it wasn’t untrue. “She used cursed energy for the first time during the summer holidays, actually! Congratulate her!”

Geto Suguru stared at her.

She stared back.

His mouth, for the very slightest moment, turned up into a smirk. Her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, searching for meaning in that face of his. Wondering just what he was thinking, of her in specific.

What do you think? He seemed to say, his eyes dark and disapproving.

“Con-gra-tu-la-tions.” He drew out, and his mouth twitched up into a proper smile. “Still on your way.”

It wasn’t a question, but rather, a statement.

“Thanks.” She said, swallowing down what little pride she had. She’d hit him in the face, after all. That was probably it.

Thankfully, Satoru had always been a master at interjecting.

“And here we lead you through the first floor of the school! There are quite a few vacant classrooms, but we usually use these to have karaoke nights and such. We also have some private fun time, just the three of us.”

Shoko snorted. “Like that doesn’t sound wrong.”

“I meant game night! Suguru, you know I meant game night!”

“I knew nothing.”

She laughed. “Gosh, ‘Toru, didn’t know you were into group orgies of all things—”

“Hey, since when did I ever—”

“That ass is too scrawny to do a group anything.” Shoko waved her finger at him somewhat belittlingly. Kozue high-fived her.

“Hey!” Satoru whined, pulling at her arm weakly. “Kozu-chan, you traitor, you’re going off and taking the side of everyone who isn’t me, you know I’m not scrawny- hey-”

“I knew nothing.” She echoed Geto Suguru’s words, hoping he’d at least smile. She’d completely failed; instead, he just frowned at her slightly, as if asking, are you making fun of me? “Oh, fine, you big baby. You’re so cool and strong and powerful.”

“Great, now it sounds like I want an orgy.”

They walked a little longer, Kozue’s laughter bouncing off the halls. The hallways echoed, filled with no one but them—there were probably, what, ten students in this entire school. She wondered how Geto Suguru felt about this, about the empty, lonely school filled with absolutely nothing but a jujutsu society barely tethering on its edges, but then wondered why she cared what he thought. Maybe she was too compassionate for her own good. Or maybe she saw a bit of herself in him.

Her, seeing a bit of herself in a special-grade snob who’d probably had everything handed to him on a plate since he was young? Seeing a bit of herself in some social deject who couldn’t respond to a single word she said?

No way, she thought. That was plain stupid.

Instead, as they passed by a particularly narrow hallway, Satoru slipped in front with Shoko, leaving her—coincidentally or not—with Geto Suguru in the back. His loud voice announced, “-and the place to our right, that’s the uniform shop. You go in there to make any changes about your uniform as necessary. Although I guess you’ve already done that.”

She licked her lips nervously before glancing up at the special-grade. He glanced back, and his eyes narrowed.

“Nice pants.” She said. “You have your own style, huh?”

He laughed. Dryly.

“Nice shade of blue.” He retorted sharply. “You have your own obsession, huh?”

Her eyes shot down to her uniform, to the blue of her sleeves and on the linings of her jacket and on the undersides of the pleats of her skirt.

She stared up at Geto Suguru, and decided she didn’t like him.

Not the way he judged her like he didn’t care to know her better, not the way he carried himself so humbly despite being a special grade, because that was all fake humility, all of that. Not the way he stared at her with a little bit of disgust whenever she wound her arm around Satoru’s, not the way he stood so tall, high, mighty, so much stockier compared to Satoru. Not the way his eyes seemed ever-so-haughty, as if his rules seemed to make him so much better than her.

“Mm.” She said, and brought out her best sickly sweet smile. “Yeah, I do. Thanks.”

No, she didn’t like him. She didn't like him at all.

Chapter Text

It took a lot out of her to hate someone.

Someone had said the opposite of love was indifference, not hate. If that was the case, indifference would have been an easier option for Suzuki Kozue; because the tenseness in her shoulders never seemed to leave since Geto Suguru had come to town.

The position she’d been put in was somewhat compromising as well, because she needed to concentrate on improving herself. However, sadly, with the sheer amount of attention she was pouring into the new student, she seemed to have not much left for jujutsu itself.

Was it normal to care about someone this much, even? She didn’t know. All she knew was that every morning she brushed her teeth angrily, wondering just what that long-haired bastard would come up with now, and every lunchtime she wolfed her lunch down next to Satoru, tensely watching every move of her chopsticks in case the high-and-mighty Geto Suguru, special grade extraordinaire, would comment on her chopstick skills next.

There, she thought. She’d figured it out. It wasn’t hatred, or worry, or disgust. The eyes he looked at her with were always that of disapproval.

Regardless of her own relationship with Geto Suguru—who she still referred to with a full name because she didn’t know what to address him by—him and Satoru seemed to be getting closer by the day. Even if she herself hated the newcomer, she couldn’t bring it up on herself to enforce the same thing to Satoru.

“So what do you think of him?” She’d asked. The two of them had finally arranged a free weekend with no classes, no pent-up homework, no emergency missions. They sat in the ice cream parlor, a bucket of five different flavors between them as Satoru dug in furiously to cotton candy, one of his favourite flavours. “The new student.”

“Suguru?” Satoru’s eyes shot up. “He’s great.”

“You like him?”

“Like? He’s the new love of my life!”

She’d raised an eyebrow, then. She wasn’t one to get jealous—she knew her and Satoru had something that people could only dream of—but she was certainly curious as to what this new student had. Satoru had a wall between himself and the world, and he rarely let anyone in, apart from herself and Shoko and a few others. Even with the smiley demeanour he held, she knew he was always setting up boundaries between himself and the rest of humanity.

So this new student coming in, and Satoru declaring him his new best man—that was, that was strange. It meant that Geto Suguru certainly had something that others didn’t.

“Uh-huh.” She said, unimpressed, and scooped up a spoonful of cookie dough. “Glad to see you like him, regardless of the bad haircut choice.”

“Yeah! We should hang out sometime, us three. You and Suguru don’t interact much but I think you two get along great, right?”

She opened her mouth, wondering if she ought to tell him about their psychological warfare. But his eyes sparkled back at her—large and cerulean and terribly, terribly naïve for someone who was so powerful.

She knew Gojo Satoru better than anyone else, and she knew that although he set a distance between himself and the world, he could die for the ones he loved. He’d already tried, for her. She knew Gojo Satoru better than anyone else, and what she knew in this point in time was that the new student had something that had drawn Satoru to him.

And it wasn’t often that he let down his guard for someone, even if it was a terrible special-grade sorcerer with judgemental eyes and a soft voice that thinly disguised criticism.

What was it? She didn’t know. Maybe some special-grade something that she could never grasp ahold of.

That very thought made her hate him more, but, she thought, if ‘Toru was happy…

“Mm.” She said, and pushed her spoon into Satoru’s mouth, which he accepted with a grin. “Sure. If you say so.”

“He has some strict moral codes, though.” Satoru had hummed, straight after. “Some shaman-versus-normie bullshit. He said he’s in this school because he wants to help the weak, or something, but that’s absolute utter bullshit in my opinion—something in his head must have been terribly unscrewed—”

Or maybe, she thought, it had nothing to do with his moral codes. Maybe it was just her he hated. Maybe he didn’t like the fact that her hair was so much more lustrous than his was.

She giggled a little, at that thought.

But then again, Kozue thought, a week after the encounter. She was still pondering long and hard over the sheer existance of Geto Suguru, and although it had perpetually been on her mind, she didn’t know who she could tell. Satoru was out of the picture, obviously, but if there was anyone she could consult about this, just to make sure it wasn’t in her head…

Her eyes drifted to the innocent form of Shoko, who lay on her bed scrolling through her phone. Kozue didn’t quite know how she wasn’t choking with a lollipop in her mouth upside-down, but she supposed that was the mysteries of Ieiri Shoko.

Shoko had, as always, visited her room after dinner. They usually attempted to cheat off each other’s homework in their respective best subjects, but today had been a free day so they didn’t have work to do. In this particular instance, Shoko lay on her bed, her head hanging off the edge of the bed and scrolling through her phone. Kozue herself was looking through her snack bar, wondering what she needed to replace.

Beef jerky, was the conclusion she’d come to so far. Lots and lots of beef jerky.

In fact, she remembered bitterly, she’d offered Satoru one, and Satoru had asked Geto Suguru if he would care for one. She remembered the dark-eyed stare he’d given her then, as well.

“Bastard.” She muttered under her breath, the chocolate bar in her hand snapping in half. “Shit.”

From the bed, Shoko called, “You alright, sweetie?”

“I’m- I’m fine. Just.” She hesitantly opened her mouth, then closed it. Was Geto Suguru even worth this effort? It was exhausting, all this psychological warfare, but she knew that she really, really didn’t like him, and letting him win would prove some stupid point that she couldn’t even see by this point. “Just some stuff.”

Shoko seemed to get along fine, too. Everyone seemed to be fine with Geto Suguru, except for herself. It seemed as though maybe Kozue herself was the problem.

“Is this about Suguru?”

Kozue’s head snapped towards Shoko.

The girl looked at her with a raised eyebrow, her eyes drifted away from her phone and zeroed in on Kozue’s face. Her expression asked, really?

“How—”

“-did I know?” Shoko sat up, blowing her hair away from her face. “Oh honey, it’s obvious. You two have been glaring daggers at each other since he’s arrived here.”

“So it’s not just me.” She mumbled, unwrapping the snapped chocolate bar.

“Anyone with half a brain can see it.” Shoko paused. “Well, maybe not Satoru, but definitely me. Probably the senpais if you spend a bit more time around them.”

“Right?” Kozue’s eyes shot up, frowning in complaint. “Right?”

“And plus,” The other girl said, “He’s a very polite guy to everyone else. Apart from the tomfoolery he’s started fucking about with Satoru, he’s quite respectful. Very proper young man. He’s not half bad looking himself.”

“Yeah,” She said, bitterly, “And if he’s so polite and respectful and so golden boy, then why the hell is he treating me like absolute garbage? Fucking bourgeoisie.”

Shoko stared at her, tilted her head—what seemed like minutes passed before she finally frowned and replied, “I dunno.”

“Thanks.”

“No, I’m serious, hon. He seemed completely fine when you slammed that door on his face, and then suddenly, a few moments later, he’s acting all strange towards you.”

“Why?”

“…I dunno.”

Cue the silence. Kozue sat there, a feeling of annoyance bubbling up from her stomach, but something more than that—deeper than that. Complaint? Anger?

What, she’d finally found her people and he waltzed in and sneered at her from every corner?

“He hates me for no reason!” Kozue complained, whirling around and closing her cupboards with a thump. She pressed her back against the doors, sitting on the floor with a grimace, clutching the chocolate bar in her hand so hard she felt it melting by the very second. “You’ve seen him, always looking at me like he’s so high and mighty! I’m not to blame here, not when that little bitch has been glaring at me for doing absolutely nothing this whole time!”

Shoko seemed to have sat up straighter. Shoko Ieiri had always loved gossip.

“Have you tried talking to him?” She suggested, eyes glinting with sadistic intent.

“Tried? Almost died! I’ve apologized to him already for knocking the blood out of his nose, I don’t know what else I’ve done wrong—in fact, if he’s acting this immature over that, then maybe it’s really fuckin’ immature of him, isn’t it? Says something about him, doesn’t it?”

The frustration poured out from her as soon as Shoko had let it loose. She had, Kozue thought, a lot more piled against the new transfer student than she’d thought.

“Babe-”

“And, and,” She warbled, sounding more pathetic and more childish by the second, “He always seems to look at me like he disapproves of something—but what’s there to disapprove about? It’s my fucking life. He shouldn’t give a shit whether I hang out with Satoru or with you or with anyone. In fact, he seems to hate it when I’m out with Satoru! What’s wrong with that, huh? He’s never had friends in his life? Is he- is he gay? Is that it?”

Shoko laughed.

“I’m serious, Shoko—I, I need help—”

“No, no.” Her classmate wiped a tear from her eye, her mouth still . “No, I get it’s serious thing, but Kozue honey, I don’t- I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this angry at something so normal before.”

“…huh?”

Kozue’s anger wavered, unsure where to go. She stared at her friend instead, stumped.

“Like,” Tapping her fingers against the bedsheets, “You’re always angry at the higher-ups or whatever, but that’s all long-term goals. But being mad at someone your own age because of something so normal, that’s… I’ve never seen that in you. It’s very new.”

She wondered, was that true? That wasn’t, was it?

It astounded her how quickly she’d gone from a girl who knew nothing of the jujutsu world to a girl who only worried about jujutsu affairs. If Shoko, of all people, characterised her as worrying over only Jujustu, then maybe she had been too invested in it.

But then again, that didn't change the fact that what she was mad over was Geto Suguru.

“Are you trying to say this asshole is good for me?" Kozue picked out, scowling, and tightened her grip on the bar, which felt mushy and terrible against her palm now. "Because he certainly-fucking-isn’t.”

“I’m not saying anything, sweetie.”

“Why’d he always look at me like that, anyway?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some… some…” She scrunched her brows together. “Some lower-class scumbag.”

“He doesn’t-” The girl hesitated. “Alright, a little. But he has his reasons- you have yours. Why do you hate him?”

“Because he-”

“-hated you first. Got it. Anything else?”

Oh, Kozue thought, that was easy. She didn’t even have to think twice about it before the words were spilling from her mouth, pathetic insecurities she hadn’t told anyone except for this girl now because Shoko was the type of girl who didn’t judge whatever you did. She’d always been neutral, and at this point in time, it was somewhat comforting.

“Well,” Kozue said, “I don’t like his special-grade ass. You- you know how hard I’ve been working, Shoko, you know- you know I go out every day. You know I train so hard. You know I barely managed to output cursed energy. I- I try so hard, and then this special grade fucker comes along and wow, his powers are so magical, he can talk to animals like Snow White and shit, oh, look at me, I’m fucking animal whisperer or something-” She choked back a laugh. “Effortlessly perfect. I fucking hate it. How dare he judge me when he’s probably been given everything with zero effort all his life? How dare he look at me like that when he’s mister golden boy, so fucking perfect?

And I mean-” Noticing Shoko’s questioning glance, “-Satoru is different. He has his struggles. I’ve seen him go through as much as I have. But this guy, he- he judges like that, he thinks he’s so high-and-mighty—I’ve heard from Satoru that he has some high-class morals, too, just as snobbish as he ought to be-”

“So you’re jealous.”

“I’m not-” Kozue winced. “I’m not jealous.”

“Well,” Shoko said, raising an eyebrow, “It sure sounds like it.”

She wasn’t jealous. Not of some snob like Geto Suguru. Always smiling at the higher-ups with so much damn respect like he was trying to be a teacher’s pet, always so perfect with his snobbish little smile and his manicured nails and the way he breezily passed through the missions they set him.

She wouldn’t ever be jealous of some snob like him. He’d won the birth lottery and her… she’d drawn the short stick. It just wasn’t fair to begin with, and now he was judging her for some unknown reason when she really didn’t need more troubles in her life.

“Never.” she said, and tossed the chocolate bar in her hand into the bin. It had melted away completely.

“I heard,” Mei-senpai said, “You’ve finally used cursed energy.”

Kozue blinked at her as they circled each other, the sun beating down on them languidly. It was 10 AM in the morning, and yes, news had passed by a little slowly, and yes it was their first time seeing each other since holidays had ended, but she wondered just how much news spread around, how much people had been talking about her that it reached Mei-senpai of all people. Mei-senpai, with a total of four acquaintances, one of which was her own brother.

“Uh-huh.” She said. “Yes.”

“I believe congratulations are in order.” Mei-senpai dipped her head and smiled. “One step closer to your goal. What do they say… slow and steady wins the race?”

“Uh-huh.” Kozue repeated. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to be thankful ab-” Parrying her fist— “-about. I heard it was a few bounty hunters again?”

“Uh-huh.” She stepped out of the range of the senpai’s kick, and thought, annoyedly, why was it always bounty hunters?

It seemed like she had some kind of toxic relationship with them: she hated them, yet they were always present for the most crucial moments of her life. It wasn’t as though she was being picky about her opponents—it was, rather, that she would have preferred curses over these… people.

She’d barely gone on missions so far. It was only natural, she was a fourth-grade and everyone knew it was impromptu wording for useless, but it was frustrating to see Satoru (and now even the new student!) flick in and out of the classrooms talking about their missions while she sat there, rock rigid, wondering when her time would come.

Shoko wasn’t right at all. She wasn’t jealous.

It was simply that she didn’t know how she was supposed to prove herself when she wouldn’t even be given a chance.

Yes, bounty hunters were human. Yes, curses were, by contrast, relentless killers. But she couldn’t help that she preferred them. She’d prefer something inhumane, bloodless, inherently evil, over other humans who only chased her for two reasons: money, and her connection to the Gojo Satoru. At least for the former, she knew that she was the reason why the curses tried to kill her—it was her existence as a sorcerer. But for the latter, she knew she wasn’t important, she knew she was just caught in the crossfire.

“Are you paying attention?” Mei-senpai mused, and she jolted away from her thoughts, narrowly missing a jab that would have sent her head to space. “Kozue…”

“I am.” She saw an open spot near her legs and went for it—the senpai stepped out of range easily. “There’s just, uh, something on my mind.”

The senpai laughed. “I’ll listen to your worries, if you need.”

“Really?”

“Twenty-thousand yen. A good price, no?”

“Uh.” Kozue shrugged. “No thanks.”

 Was it just her imagination, or did the senpai seem to attack her with more vigor after that?

Nonetheless, she thought, it wasn’t a secret—to the first-years, save for Satoru the blockhead himself—that whatever had been going on with Geto Suguru had been bothering her more than it should have. Normally, if someone hated her (like the rest of the jujutsu world) she could merely pass it up.

I’m too good for them anyway, she’d say, with a lazy laugh. Fuckin’ bourgeoisie. Looking down on the working-class like that.

But Geto Suguru, this guy, this guy was different.

In fact, this guy was annoying on a whole new level.

How did she even address this matter? Kozue frowned, more to herself than anyone, and felt Mei-senpai’s fist connect with her forearm. She’d explicitly asked the senpai to train today, but for her body to be reinforced with cursed energy, as she probably needed practice for that. She felt the breath exit her lungs and dug her heels into the field as she was pushed back half a meter. She glanced up at the school, blinking from the sunlight, and saw, to her surprise, exactly who she’d been thinking about.

Speak of the devil, she thought: Satoru and the new student were standing at the top of the staircase where Utahime and Shoko sat, ogling at her as she fought Mei-senpai.

A rush of humiliation flooded over her. She hadn’t even been paying attention. How long had they been there? Enough to see her take Mei-senpai’s punch? Enough to see her fall on her ass? Enough to see her punch Mei-senpai and have no effect?

Why where they there, anyway?

Stupid Satoru, she thought, bitterly, lowering her now-sore arms. He’d always known her so well, but at this moment, he seemed utterly incapable of sensing just how she felt.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” A voice mused, right beside her left ear.

Kozue stiffened, her eyes darting back in front of her, but found that Mei-senpai had completely disappeared. Instead, she found that an arm grabbed her from her left, and something went whoosh and she found herself slammed against the ground, eyes blinking, her own judo move used against her.

She stared up at Mei-senpai’s unforgivingly beautiful face, then to the sun, which blinded her eyes no less. She’d lost, but it was well-deserved—after all, she hadn’t been paying attention. She’d been too busy thinking about that stupid Geto Suguru.

She missed when it was just the three of them, she thought, bitterly, and groaned as she sat up. “Sorry, I’m just… out of it.”

“I know.” Mei-senpai laughed, held out a hand. She took it and was pulled up with a strength that no longer surprised her. “Something’s bothering you, little Kozue.”

“Thanks.” She grumbled. “I didn’t know that.”

Her eyes flickered back towards the two guys. They were turning back, to her complete and utter ridicule: Satoru was talking animatedly, no doubt talking about her judo as he waved his arms in a futile attempt to copy her nage-waza. Geto Suguru, on the other hand…

He turned back, his eyes glinting; she was far away, but that didn’t change the expression that she saw, she hated.

Not good enough, it said.

She knew for a fact that he’d gotten some kind of sick, twisted satisfaction from seeing her lose, something that conformed and abided by his strict-ass morals that Satoru had told her about. She knew this guy, whoever he was, needed to be sorted out as fast as possible.

“Hey, you seem a little out of it.” Utahime told her, as she headed back to the staircase. She handed her a bottle of water, which she drank from gratefully. “You okay?”

Kozue sighed and collapsed on the staircase next to Shoko. The girl leaned against her, uncaring of how damn sweaty she was. “I’m just…” She muttered. “Whatever.”

“She’s distracted.” Mei-senpai laughed. “That’s what I’ll tell you. You could have won that one, with the amount of mistakes I made.”

“Lies.” She muttered. “You don’t make mistakes. You’re a terminator with a braid.”

“I’m glad you think of me that way, at least.”

She groaned. Shoko glanced up at her, her eyes impassive as always, and leaned back—“Why don’t you ask them?”

“Ask them what?” Her eyes told her everything. “No, no.”

“Yes, girl.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Well, you’re acting kinda stupid, aren’t you?”

She gave the girl a look. The girl shot her one back.

Shoko had a point, didn’t she, though? Kozue opened her mouth, then closed it. She’d ask. Just ask. There was no harm in asking, was there? In fact, wasn’t an objective third-person view better than her, or Shoko, or Satoru? She trusted her senpais, but more than that, she trusted the objective viewpoints of the women in the jujutsu world.

She wondered if the senpais would think it was stupid, too. It wasn’t fair, because Geto Suguru the cause of her worries didn’t seem to give a shit at all, but there was her, and she cared so much, and she hated that damn special-grade snob with his cute little bangs.

She’d ask, she convinced herself. She’d just…ask for advice. Utahime-senpai was’t the kind of person who’d laugh at her, contrary to many others.

“Uh.” She started, and wanted to slap herself. Smartass. “Uhm. Senpais.”

Mei and Utahime turned to look at her from where they’d been having a conversation, surprised. She pursed her lips.

“Mm.” Mei-senpai said, seemingly remembering. “Is this about the twenty-thousand yen?”

“My bad.” She pointed out, “I’m broke.”

“Your little boyfriend isn’t.”

“He’s not my-” She stared at the two impassive faces. “Whatever. I just have this, this thing. I need advice about it.”

“Go on?”

“Say,” She started, “Hypothetically—just, hypothetically, there was this guy.”

“Oh!” Utahime’s eyes widened, “A new crush? I’m happy for you, Kozue, it’s got to be better than that Gojo boy—”

“No, what?” Kozue must have looked horrified: Shoko giggled, and before she could protest, snapped a photo. “Oi! Delete that! I mean, I…it’s the opposite.”

Mei-senpai raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Say there’s this guy.” She continued. “And, uh, he hates my guts. I hate his guts, too, because he hated mine first. And stuff.”

“Oh?”

"And it bothers me and shit. Like he keeps... yeah. He keeps looking at me. In a weird way. And we fight. And shit like that."

“What do I…” She trailed off, meeting Mei-senpai’s amused eyes. “…uh. Do?”

The silence that ensued was humiliating.

After all, she’d never asked anyone for advice on her own emotions, neither did she care enough to ask. She’d never even cared, up to this point. She didn’t know what had changed now, what was so different about Geto Suguru that she had to ask, but she knew that this wasn’t the kind of hate like how she hated her father. It was a weird kind.

“Why are you even pondering this?” Utahime asked, incredulously.

“Uh?”

“If you hate them,” She pointed out, “Just ignore them. It’s quite easy. If you hate them, it shouldn’t even be that hard.”

“I tried.” Kozue told her. “I tried but that little shit keeps looking at me this certain way—”

“Just ignore them.” Utahime repeated. “Don’t you just wish they weren’t there?”

She blinked. “I mean, yes, but-”

“Then just pretend they’re not.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, that’s what I do with Gojo Satoru all the time.”

“Uh.”

Utahime laughed. “I mean, Kozue—they say the opposite of love is indifference. If you really don’t like this person, you shouldn’t even be thinking this. You should be ignoring them like… like you do with the rumors, for instance. The fact that you’re wondering what to do with them at all is a little strange in itself. It means you, on some level, feel, some kind of emotion towards them at all, apart from hate.”

Kozue frowned. “Huh.”

“It means, on some level.” The senpai continued, “You already made up your mind on what you want to do with them.”

“Which is?”

“Well, if you keep thinking about them like that,” Utahime pointed out. “Doesn’t that mean you want to confront them once and for all?”

She sat, stunned, in absolute silence.

Was that it? Was that what Suzuki Kozue wanted, in the end? To yell at him for a bit, sort out the understanding, do something about this uncomfortable feeling? Was the senpai right when thinking that she felt something other than hate?

It had been weeks. Why was she even still thinking about Geto Suguru?

“Okay.” She said, cautiously. “Say, uh, say I do wanna talk to them. What do I do?”

Mei-senpai laughed. “Lock them in a closet.”

“Oh, good idea.”

“That is not a good idea."

Maybe, she thought, maybe all she needed was to talk it out. Maybe she just needed to throw some hands.

Maybe, she thought, maybe that would sort out that electric feeling in her heart, the one that appeared in the presence of Geto Suguru: and it would sort it out good, once and for all.

Chapter Text

As a student who’d pursued sports professionally, and for a girl whose mother had imposed strict standards upon her, a regular routine was nothing new for Suzuki Kozue.

Would she have liked to stay in bed and watch an hour of her new favourite anime? Yes. Would she have liked to stay under the cold A/C instead of jogging on a hot summer day? Yes.

Did she have a choice? No.

Slowly but surely, her mother had—like it or not—tossed her lazy attitude into the trash, and the incredibly lazy Kozue was forced to get up her ass and move. Yet still, she thought as she laced up her shoes, it was a habit that had built up her endurance to do whatever new thing was thrown at her. All she’d been taught was that new things simply needed a little consistency.

In that aspect, maybe, her mother hadn’t completely and utterly abandoned her. These were the habits of a mother who’d at least wanted her daughter to survive.

Now, even in Jujutsu High, Kozue found herself unable to abandon the routinely life she’d been forced to live as a sports player. She supposed jujutsu was not much different in the sense that she had to take care of her body.

She would jog a few times around the track outside, before heading to the gym to practice her martial arts. Her judo skills were getting a little rusty—probably an effect of the way she’d cut down on practice vastly, especially having no partners—and although the school kept a few dummies and punching bags around, it just didn’t feel the same.

Kozue yawned as she made her third lap around the track, leisurely. She severely disliked jogging, but she supposed it couldn’t be helped: it didn’t have flair, neither was it exciting. It was simply just running in circles. She had never quite liked it to begin with, but she’d been told that her stamina wasn’t very good for someone her age, and she needed to keep herself in tip-top condition if she wanted to spend the rest of her time in jujutsu high running after curses.

Plus, she thought, there wasn’t much she could do. Her cursed energy output was frustratingly slow.

That’s strange, the teacher had told her when she’d demonstrated her cursed energy in front of him. Your cursed energy acts in a very strange way.

Huh?

It’s not like regular sorcerer’s, although it could be because you lack control of your cursed energy just yet…

What- what’s wrong with it? She’d asked. A dread had settled in her gut.

He’d neglected to tell her what, but she supposed that didn’t matter. It wasn’t like she knew enough about cursed energy to know whatever he’d attempt to explain to her, anyway, and what more would it do but make her feel worse about herself?

Suzuki Kozue had simply sighed and said, let’s just watch it a bit longer.

But even beyond all things cursed energy, there was yet another thing that bothered her, in the form of a boy named Geto Suguru. She’d tried approaching him; god knew she had! She’d thought that a conversation couldn’t hurt, and had tried to approach him.

But no, she thought angrily, he never listened, did he? He was too busy making disapproving faces at her, to an extent where she couldn’t even enjoy herself around Satoru.

His eyes seemed to be so much more disapproving around Satoru. She wondered if it really was a homoerotic thing.

And at this point, Satoru and the new boy were getting closer and closer. It would have been a lie if she said she wasn’t curious about Geto Suguru, because for someone who seemed like such an asshole, he’d drawn Satoru’s attention—and she trusted her best friend’s taste enough to know that something, something about him was different.

He wasn’t like the rest of the sorcerers. That much was evident.

She huffed in frustration, pushing the stray hairs away from her face, vaguely noting that she’d just hit her fifth and final lap.

Good, in any case. She could head to the gym, beat some punching bags up, blow off some steam. Maybe that would make her feel better about this entire predicament that she was stuck in, with her cursed energy problem and Geto Suguru the snobbish special-grade and the eyes, always the eyes, looking at her.

They never really seemed to stop, did they?

Kozue had stopped caring about them a while back, though, was a thing that she’d realized. Maybe it had been her excessive focus on the new student’s hatred towards her, or maybe it was the promise she’d made with Suguru to concentrate on each other—or maybe, even, they’d toned down the disdain towards her because they were getting tired. She didn’t know. It was a good thing, because she could now sleep a little better at night, at least.

Maybe, she thought, Geto Suguru had finally done a good thing.

Satoru didn’t talk about the new student in front of her too much. It wasn’t the fact that she’d told him to stop talking about it or anything, but more to do with the idea that he’d simply been aware of the lack of her presence in his life.

He’d told her this himself, too. The last time she’d visited his room, hanging upside-down from his bed while flicking through the photos they’d taken in the city the other day.

Just know, he’d said, with a flush on his face, even though Suguru is now my best man, you’re still the bride.

She’d looked up at him, then.

Shut your ass up, she’d told him, lazily. Who said I’d be your bride? I’m going to marry Gundam.

Gundam is a suit. He complained, pouting. He’d headed over, flopped down on the bed neck to her, and proceeded to stare at her with his head propped up on his chin with a fond look in his eyes. You can’t marry a suit.

Watch me, she’d laughed, and had yelped—he’d bit her arm.

But, she supposed, it didn’t change the fact that she’d felt pretty damn good about the fact that he’d said those words.

Kozue slowed down from her fifth lap, her breaths coming quicker than she’d like. She re-did her ponytail, took a few swigs of water, and noted that the sun was higher in the sky than she’d thought.

No time to lose, she thought. She could now head to her favourite part of her morning routine: beating up inanimate objects.

Fun, wasn't it?

The gym was a five-minute walk, courtesy of a large campus. She wiped what more sweat had formed on her forehead, and rolled her shoulders back, finding herself in front of the large gym doors in no. time. No one was here in the morning—it was one of the few times she had an area all to herself.

All hers, she thought with a laugh, and pushed the door open.

…it was always those bangs, wasn’t it?

“Eh?”

“Eh?”

Suzuki Kozue stared at the face of Geto Suguru, the smile dying immediately in her throat. He stared at her with those stupid almond-shaped eyes, and she stared right back—and they stood there, stunned, for what felt like an infinity.

He was dressed for sports. She noted that he looked a lot better without those stupid balloon pants, then wondered why she cared.

Then, she thought, he was dressed for sports.

“Wh- what are you doing here?” She asked, tearing her eyes away from him. She wanted nothing more than to come in and start training, and she knew the sun was beating down mercilessly on her back behind her; but still, she stood exactly where she was.

He seemed to have regained his senses as well. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do you mean?”

He blinked at her somewhat stupidly. “I’m here to train. If you couldn’t tell.”

She scowled back. Was that an attitude? “Okay.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to train as well.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up, as if to laugh; she felt a ball of frustration in the back of her throat, and swallowed it back. What did he have to laugh at? Was she so funny? Did he not believe her, when she said she could fight, when she said she could do as good—no, better than any other sorcerer out there?

“Okay.” He mimicked, and turned back to the punching bag that he’d been annihilating.

She wanted desperately to leave. Of course she wanted to! She didn’t want to stay with this guy who hated her seemingly for no reason, and she certainly didn’t want to train in a place where she didn’t feel comfortable.

But she didn’t have a choice. It was either this or run, and she didn’t back down.

Suddenly, Kozue was ten years old again, standing in her first judo match, trying to hide the way she trembled ever so slightly. Her mother hadn’t come to see her, because her mother was always busy. The shame, she thought, the utter humiliation, was always the same.

Her face burned as she brushed past him, briskly, and found her own spot a little across the gym. Plopping her things down—iPod, earphones, water bottle—she headed into the storage room.

Since when had he started training, anyway? Did special grades even need training? Wasn’t this place just for lowlifes like her, idiots who couldn’t even use cursed energy? Why did he need to train, if he was so damn good at cursed energy that he didn’t need to struggle through everything she did?

A thousand questions suffocated her, but she found that she couldn’t say any of them, not out loud. Instead she grabbed a hanging punching bag and dragged it out, still a little sweaty from running outside. The bag, filled with sand, went tss… tss… tss…

She could feel his eyes on her. She ignored it.

The bag she hooked up, and she went back into the storage room to grab the box of hand wraps. She’d placed it on the top of the shelf when she came here a few days ago, and she knew it had to be in the room somewhere, but she found that it had disappeared.

Where…?

Not behind the shelf.  Not inside the shelf. Not dropped somewhere on the ground, after she’d taken all that effort to get on her knees and look beneath all the dusty cupboards.

Kozue found only one answer: it wasn’t one she liked.

She found a sour taste in her mouth as she wondered if she should go over to Geto Suguru and ask if he could give her the wraps, if he was done with them. Did she want to do that? Did she want to humiliate herself and kill her self esteem, go all the way to Geto Suguru who seemed to hate her so much? The answer she found in herself was no. She wanted to preserve what little ego she had, because she knew for a fact that if she went over to the boy and asked if he could lend her some, he’d definitely look at her with those eyes that she oh so despised.

Fuck it, she thought, she didn’t need wraps.

Oh, but she did, didn’t she? She didn’t want to spend a week getting over how she’d sprained a wrist because she’d been stupid enough to box without wraps.

It was for her own good, she convinced herself. For her own good.

She kicked a punching bag. What did Satoru see in this guy? What could possibly be so much better than the rest of those special-grade scumbags—

She bit her lip and swallowed her pride. Then, Suzuki Kozue took one step, two steps, three, four, and walked until she was right in front of Geto Suguru.

He was sitting on a bench, a water bottle next to him, and the wraps—she could see the wraps. The box was sitting right next to him; he was winding one around his hands ever so slowly. She opened her mouth, closed it.

Her feet must have entered his vision, because slowly, he looked up; his eyes narrowed and he tilted his head, and with the most condescending, accusatory look, he asked, “Can I help you?”

She cleared her throat.

“Y- yeah.” She said, hating the way her voice cracked. “The wraps.”

“What about them?”

She clenched her jaw. He knew what she was talking about, he knew what she was insinuating, he didn’t care—

“I need them.” She said, curtly. “Can I have them?”

“They’re occupied.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. “I meant after you’re done.”

“…” His eyes glanced up at hers, and caught them. Dark brown, but not the murky, stupid, boring kind of brown hers were. Dark brown in the way that resembled coffee grounds, tree bark, fresh dirt from the earth. A dark, mahogany brown, brown in the way dead leaves and dried-up flowers and feathers and almonds were brown. Brown, but a beautiful brown that would go perfectly with Satoru’s.

God, she thought. How she hated him. Him and everything he had. He had the same friends, the same hair, the same eyes, the same everything, but he’d just been born different. He’d been born a main character. And how she hated him for that.

“Okay.” He said, and added, “Do you know how to wrap your hands?”

She bit her lip and whirled back around. The tragedy of mankind had never been so much bitter.

If only she’d been born a year earlier, she thought. No. If only she’d been born a first or second-grade. If only she’d been born a man!

Of course she knew how to wrap her hands. Probably better than him, too. From the way she’d glanced at his fingers, he’d been doing a mess of a job. She could certainly teach him a thing or two about martial arts. After all, out of everything she’d been doing in life—the math she hated, the English she barely remembered, the cursed energy she could barely harness—the only thing she could do best with confidence was just that: fighting for her life.

Right, she reassured herself, and forced herself to sit straighter as she collapsed on the bench on her side of the gym. She was a goddamn judo champion. She’d learnt martial arts most her life. She could probably beat this guy in no time.

In this place, right here and now, she was better.

Suzuki Kozue counted five minutes—more than an entire Gundam Wing opening number—before she heard the sound of footsteps echoing across the hall, and a pair of clean sneakers entered her vision.

The nerve you have, she wanted to say, to wear clean shoes to a gym. Instead, she looked up, and was met with the sight of Geto Suguru smiling down at her with a hostility that pierced her bone deep.

“Do you come here often?” He asked, politely. Surface-level courteous.

She hated it.

“Nah.” Kozue said, voice dripping with sarcasm, and hated the way his face twisted into a knowing look. As though he’d said, I told you so. “I was joking. I come here every day.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” She retorted, shooting back with as much malicious intent she had left in her. “What about you, hm? You don’t seem to come here often, do you?”

 “I’ve just recovered from an injury.”

She didn’t know if it was true or not. She didn’t care.

“Oh.” She said. “Right.”

“Nonetheless,” He said, “Here you go.”

Something dropped into her lap, pathetically. She looked down, surprised, to find exactly what she’d been looking for: two hand wraps, taken from the box that she’d spotted across the gym. He’d thrown them down at her, and as she stared at the objects lying pathetically in her lap, she couldn’t help but feel something rise up in her throat.

Something… something suffocating. Something stupid. Something so utterly shameful she wanted to cry.

That’s right, Kozue thought. She was angry.

Satoru… Satoru had to have a reason…

She picked them up and began wrapping them, slowly, hoping he’d go away.

“Do you know how to put them on?” The soft voice asked, so damn mockingly. “Surprising. There’s nothing ‘Toru’ hasn’t taught you, hm?”

The anger pushed through her throat and turned her vision red. Something in her felt terribly wrong, screaming in frustration, because just what, what, what what had she done to deserve this? All she’d tried to be was nice and there was this idiot

Couldn’t he tell he was trying hard enough—

Why would he say that—

She jolted up and her hands wrangled his collar, pulled his face closer to hers.

“Keep-” She seethed, “Keep that name out of your filthy fucking mouth!”

There. She'd done it. She'd finally fucking exploded, finally given him the reaction he wanted. And the worst part was that he didn't seem to hate it: the fact that he, he...

He laughed.

“Are you trying to pick a fight, Suzuki Kozue?”

“Is there anything wrong with that, huh?” Her grip on his collar tightened. “Is there anything that says fucking lowlifes like me can’t even pick a fight with whoever we want? Can’t you even let me have this, or is your majesty too damn royal for a dogfight?”

His eyes darkened. She could tell she’d struck a nerve, and a sore one, too.

Good.

“Why so serious?” She probed, forcing a grin on her face, hoping it would seem as spiteful as she felt, “I thought this would be nothing for you, damn special-grade!”

“Watch your mouth.”

His voice got lower, quieter, when he was angrier.

She was a little scared, she thought, and it was no secret why. She’d always hated these physiques, in men: the muscular, stocky builds. It had first reminded her of her father, then it had reminded her of the bounty hunters who had killed Rin. She liked Satoru because of that—because even though he was lanky and tall, he always stooped down to her height, talked with wide arms as if to prove he wasn’t a threat. Making himself smaller, just for her.

You’re the only one, he’d told her, who can look at me from this angle.

His head had been lying on her lap, his glasses askew on his forehead. Looking up at her.

“Why should I?” She snapped, her heart pounding in her chest. And this boy, so damn different from Satoru, so damn rude and condescending and judgy and- “Why should I watch anything when you treat me like some sinner, Geto Suguru? Tell me, what have I done wrong? All I’ve ever wanted was to protect the things I love. Is that so wrong?”

“You’re so damn proud of yourself.”

“Of what?”

“You don’t think what you’re doing is wrong? Is unfair? Is… is disrespectful, to all the sorcerers who died before you? You don’t think Lord Tengen is keeping us safe, just for you to play kissy-face with your wovely wittle boyfriend Satowu?”

Something in her head went, snap.

Her hand released his collar. “Fight me.”

“What?”

She snatched up the other hand wrap, wound it around her hand tight. Her strides led her over to the boxing ring she’d always wondered the purpose for, but now, she could see it, she’d damn prove him wrong. “Fight me.”

“You?” His eyes narrowed. “You can’t fight. It’ll be dangerous for both me and y-”

Her voice rose.

“Fight me, you fucking coward!”