where the noisy cats are

There they sat in a small Izakaya tucked in between a yakiniku place and a street food kiosk. Rangiku was able to convince Kira, Shuhei, and Nanao that drinks and skewers were the best way to end a grueling week, and who could say no to an ever-persistent Rangiku? 

The Izakaya was well-lit, but the warm lighting made everything seem easy on the eyes. A few other soul reapers were there, mixed together with Soul Society’s commonfolk. All classes united in this small place, brought together by the clinging scent of grilled meat, alcohol breath, and the lingering notes of cedar. The interior’s humidity was a welcome sensation to combat the night’s cold.

“Kanpai!” Rangiku beamed as she raised her ceramic shot glass. Sake, her oldest friend. “We survived another week of hell!”

Nanao reluctantly raised her glass, along with Kira. Shuhei, however, enthusiastically raised his and clinked it immediately with Rangiku’s. “Kanpai!” He said a little too loudly. Realizing he was the only one other than Rangiku who seemed spirited, he retracted and drank the shot straight.

“Matsumoto, you should ease down a bit,” Nanao said, looking at the near-emptying sake bottle – mostly thanks to Rangiku’s contributions. “How many have you had since we got here? Seireitei is a bit of a hike from here.”

Rangiku barked and threw her head back. “Nonsense, Nanao-chan!” She was getting louder by the minute. “I can make it back. Besides, Shuhei can always carry me, right?” Her voice shifted to a flirtier tone – a method that worked with most male soul reapers.

“R–right! Of course. I mean, as long as you’re safe–” Shuhei stammered as he gulped down nervously. 

“That’s not what I meant! Rangiku, this isn’t like you. Sure you always drank, but isn’t this a bit much?” Nanao’s brows creased as she took the bottle and shot glass away from Rangiku. “That’s enough.”

Rangiku pouted and crossed her arms. “You’re no fun, Nanao-chan! I’ll tell Kyoraku how much of a buzzkill you are!”

The two boys, Kira and Shuhei, tried to laugh off the tension. Nanao simply sighed and shook her head. “Fine. Do what you will.”

Rangiku always drank a lot – this was a known fact by all her colleagues, especially by her captain Toshiro. But ever since Gin’s defection to side with Aizen, those closest to Rangiku noticed her drinking habits have doubled, if not tripled, than usual. She would drink on the job often, her slacking off had also lost all cheekiness to it as she would not make the same remarks as she did before. No more “Pretty people should not be stressed out,” or “Sorry, the couch was seducing me.” Nowadays, it was a simple nod and her saying “I will make sure it never happens again.”

But it does happen, over and over.

Just like Gin leaving, over and over.

Why is it so easy for him to leave me, over and over?

──────────────────

The final assembly among Arrancars had been concluded. Gin made his way past the hallway, past the rash looks from the other Arrancars, and past Aizen himself. Gin simply stated he had something urgent to check in the portal quarters, and Aizen had permitted him. Gin was not entirely sure if Aizen trusted him, or if he silently allowed Gin this one transgression, but he did not care for it. For the first time since Gin’s defection, he was not calculating his advantage in the situation. 

He just wanted to see her. 

He knew he had exactly thirty minutes to get this right. The portal room was cold, only the thrum of the circular gateway’s energy could be heard. Thirty minutes, Gin thought to himself, so that Aizen would not suspect a thing. He did not know what to say, what to do, all he knew was that he needed to see his reminder as to why he had done all this to begin with.

──────────────────

The four lieutenants made their way back to Seireitei, but Rangiku sensed a disturbance in spiritual pressure further down the woods. 

“Nanao,” Rangiku tries to stern down her voice, “I think I need to take a break here. I can sit by the lake. You guys go ahead. I just need some air.”

Shuhei was the first to react. He came closer to Rangiku and gently held her shoulder. “Are you sure? Because I can wait for you. Really, it’s not a bother–”

Rangiku held his hand and slowly slid it down back to his side. “It’s okay, Shuhei. Please. I can manage.”

Nanao’s eyes widened at Rangiku’s insistence, but she knew the effort it took for Rangiku to keep this exuberant mask on for the rest of them. She sighed and nodded. “Okay, Rangiku. Just send us a message when you’ve returned.”

The three lieutenants made their way back. Shuhei reluctantly walked away as he took one last look at Rangiku before jogging uphill to keep up with the group.

Rangiku looked down and let out a sharp exhale. She was alone, once again. Was there anything new to this? She could be surrounded by her friends and colleagues the entire day, she could annoy Toshiro just for kicks and appear carefree, but at the end of the day, she walked home alone, she undressed, bathed, and slept alone. She was the sun to those around her in Seireitei – so why did she always find herself alone in the dead of night?

Gin had often been described as a snake in nature, and so he slithered down the crevices of the forest trail, seemingly looking for his next prey. Who would dare love a snake such as him? Shinigamis either feared him or simply showed disdain towards him, except for one. The one.

Rangiku, my Rangiku. 

The shrubberies and loose twigs showed no challenge at all for him as he flowed freely past them. He could sense it getting closer – a reiatsu only she could carry. Light, but fierce when need be; that was Rangiku for him. He believed up to this point that protecting her happiness meant keeping his distance and leaving eventually; to team up with the enemy who took part of her soul away so that he can one day take revenge. Since then, Gin quietly stood by Rangiku from the shadows, making her the center-point of his moral compass.

In an ideal world, Gin would have wanted to simply stay by her side and make sure no harm ever reached that soft fiery hair of hers he always loved.

But Soul Society was not an ideal world.

Gin stopped in his tracks as he finally saw her from a distance. He was behind a tall shrub, and so he crouched down to see her better. The moonlight touched her light skin and gave it a softer hue. From where he was hiding, she seemed ethereal – but in his eyes she always has, even when they were kids, and even when she lost part of her soul. Even then–especially then–she was beautiful. Otherworldly. Gin knew from an early age that he was in love with her, but how was he able to express that in a way that would not hurt her? How could he say he loved her when he had already believed that betrayal and violence were the only tenets in his nature?

He looked at her more intently, his eyes peered heavily past the shrubbery and past the distance. My Rangiku, always so beautiful. And yet, her eyes seemed distant, as though gazing into a void of nothingness and not the serene view the forest offered.

Was it his doing?

He tried to keep his spiritual pressure at a neutral state, but as he saw Rangiku without her usual spark, a new sensation had occurred inside him. It wasn’t the rage he felt when he first saw her abandoned in a forest similar to this setting when they were but mere children. No. This was different. 

He felt his chest ache in a way that it hasn’t in a hundred years. His arms felt as though they wanted to reach out and hold her, just hold her, until everything was forgotten and forgiven. He wanted to feel her skin on his lips as he whispered his apologies to every part of her body. He wanted to feel her tears seep through his clothes until she hushed completely.

Rangiku then jolted up.

Her eyes widened as she looked around the forest. Shit, she knew. Of course she knew. She stood up and turned her head from one side to the other. “G–” she tried speaking his name, but it would not come out. Would she dare, after all this time? After everything he’s done?

She steps forward for only a fraction, small branches crackling under her step. Only the hum of cicadas and croaking of frogs could be heard in the night, but she felt it. She felt it in the way her heart throbbed as though it wanted to escape her chest.

Finally, she mustered up the courage to say it.

“Gin…?”

Tears built up in her eyes. She couldn’t believe it. He slowly emerged from the sea of trees and bushes. He now wore his Espada uniform – his chest open and a familiar white cloak, except it was not the white cloak of a captain. To Rangiku, it was the coat of a traitor.

Gin is a traitor, that’s what she told herself, over and over again. Gin is a traitor, so why did her heart pound harder as she looked at him? Why did she feel the urge to run to him and wrap her arms around him, forgiving years of repeated abandonment?

Right now, Gin faced her fully. All she’s ever known was the sight of his back walking away. His eyes were slanted shut, but he did not wear his signature smirk. His mouth was slightly agape, solemn.

“Rangiku.”

Both felt as though their feet were planted on the ground. Gin, for all his strength and coyness, did not know what to do. He had simply intended to watch her, see how she was doing. Thirty minutes of watching her, that’s it. He did not expect her to detect him in an instant.

“What are you doing here?” Rangiku forces to break through the suffocating silence growing between them, as though holding the entire forest hostage.

“I don’t know,” Gin’s expression remained stoic, but Rangiku sensed a crack in his voice.

She was the first to take a step forward. Raising her foot to move was akin to carrying steel. Rangiku clutched her zanpakuto as she moved. She knew Gin would not harm her; if Rangiku could bet on anything in the world, it would be that. Gin would not physically harm her, despite how many times he has hurt her every time he walked away. The painful irony of it all is that Gin believed his absence was for the best.

“You don’t know?” Her brows scrunch together. She balls her fist on one hand and clutches her zanpakuto harder on the other. “You disappear again and then just show up, and you say you don’t know what you want?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Rangiku scoffs and wipes a tear, the flow becoming uncontrollable now. “So you just do what you want?”

“Rangiku, please–”

“No, don’t ‘Rangiku, please’ me! Just–” She gritted her teeth and came closer until they were at an arm’s length. “Do you have any idea how it felt like watching you leave me again? Do you have any idea how it was for me waking up every day since then?” Gin was about to retort, but Rangiku kept talking, the leftover alcohol in her system taking over. “You don’t get to disappear and then come back whenever you want, Gin! You just don’t. You…” her chest began heaving. She stepped a fraction closer and hit his shoulder. “Why? Why come back at all? Just to taunt me? Just to see that I’m not doing well?”

“You’re not doing well…?”

“No!” She scowled with her voice strained. “In what world would I do well with you leaving me over and over again?!” She began sobbing uncontrollably.

Gin finally closed the gap and wrapped his arms around her. He squeezed his eyes shut harder as he buried his head on her hair. She smelled of grilled meat from the izakaya, but her signature floral perfume fought through the notes. He embraced her tighter, pushing her body against his. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs in her hair. “I’m sorry, Rangiku. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how bad it affected you.”

He turned to kiss her forehead. He still whispered against her soft skin. “I’m sorry,” his voice turned lower and more rasped. Rangiku heaved and cried as she looked up to him. He didn’t stop even after their eyes met. He kissed the tip of her nose, “I’m sorry,” as he gripped her shihakusho tighter. He kissed her neck, letting his hot breath spread through her skin. “I’m sorry,” he said, as he kissed the same spot. “Rangiku…”

Rangiku’s knees buckled, but Gin held her tighter. “I got you, Rangiku. I got you,” he ran his hand gently on her back, afraid he might break her. He eased in that Kansai-ben he knew Rangiku loved hearing. “I’m sorry,” he lost count of how many times he’s said that.

“Stop saying ‘sorry’ if you’re just going to leave again,” Rangiku finally managed to say with a stern voice. “It’s not going to work this time, Gin. You can’t just look at me a certain way and expect me to be okay.”

He grazed his thumb on her cheek as he gently wiped a tear away. “I promised you I’d become a Soul Reaper so you wouldn’t cry anymore,” he kissed the part where the tear stained. “And I failed. I failed you, Rangiku. I’m sorry.”

“Just do something, Gin. Please. Just do something. Stop saying you’re sorry–”

Gin met her words with his lips as he pressed ever so gently. It began with a graze, then a full press until he could feel it fully – supple and moist. It tasted of sake and a taste that was uniquely her. He met Rangiku’s tongue with his, the wet sensation sent jolts of heat through their system. Rangiku gripped the front of his coat and pulled him closer, and he gripped Rangiku’s hair from the back and pressed her face harder on his. His hand splayed on the small of her back and dug through her shihakusho.

The taste of each other, mixed with the salt of tears now falling from both their eyes, made Gin’s self-control fray at the edges. He began breathing more raggedly as he grabbed Rangiku and carried her towards a large oak tree, pinning her there. He grabbed her by the back more tightly and pressed her harder onto him. A moan escaped Rangiku, but he caught it with his mouth. Rangiku gripped at the front of his coat once more and pulled him closer, closer, afraid that if she opened her eyes and let go for just a fraction, he would disappear. Please, please don’t disappear on me. Please. Not again. Please.

“You’ve been drinking,” Gin rasped out as he went deeper into the kiss, his tongue tasting every crevice of Rangiku’s mouth. “I’ll make it better, Rangiku. I promise,” he whispered as he kissed her cheek, then down to her neck again. Rangiku moaned once more and shut her eyes. Her knuckles turned white from how tight she was holding onto Gin.

Tears continued to fall from Gin’s eyes as he moved and cupped Rangiku’s face. “I love you, Rangiku,” his voice was ragged and strained as his eyes, now fully open, peered into hers. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

Rangiku wrapped her arms tighter around him. “I love you, Gin.”

He whispered on her skin again, his words muffled, but Rangiku understood completely. “Tell me what you want me to do. If you want me to stay, or if you want me to go back–”

“Stay.”

Gin exhaled sharply, releasing the tension of the past fifteen minutes. “Okay, Rangiku. Okay.”

“What do you mean – okay?”

“I’ll stay.”

But then, on a random Tuesday, their great love had been cut off by the sudden realization of Naoya himself that he would never change for love, and that this would only lead to Mizuki hating him. To him, Mizuki was “too good” and “too right”, as if goodness and righteousness were flaws to one’s personhood.

But for the Zen’in, it was.

The Summer of 2018, June. 

Summer humidity persisted throughout the day, but now as the night gets deeper, the cold summer air gently hits Naoya as he sits by the engawa of his private quarters. He is currently going through the week’s mission logs for The Hei. As the head, he is in charge of which missions to prioritize and which ones to assign accordingly.

A servant calls to his door following his very specifications. Two soft knocks, followed by their agenda.

“Naoya Zen’in-sama, Mizuki Kamo-sama is here to see you.”

Naoya’s head snaps up as he drops the papers. Mizuki? His Mizuki? Oh wait, no, it’s no longer his Mizuki. That ended a long time ago – his doing, of course. He had been the one to end it with her, claiming he cannot give her the life she wanted, claiming that his toxicity would drain out the woman he claimed to have loved.

Was Mizuki not worth changing for? Perhaps that isn’t the right question to ask.

Was Naoya too full of himself to want to change for anyone? Now, we have the right question.

“Let her in,” he yells back. The shoji screen slides open, and Mizuki steps in.

And after months of not seeing each other, she now stands in the middle of his room. The years may have been harsh to her, as with any sorcerer who faces death on a daily basis, but she still looks as agonizingly beautiful as the day he left her. 

The moonlight seeping into Naoya’s room made Mizuki’s pale skin seem like it was glowing in the dark. Her jet black hair was let loose down to her hips, and she was wearing a traditional pink kimono. She always wears kimonos in Kyoto, as opposed to her functional black coat, boots, vest, and trousers combination in Tokyo.

“Well, if it isn’t the Princess of the Kamo house. It’s late, Mizuki. Have you finally succumbed to your baser instincts and decided you wanted to have a good late night fu–”

“I’m not here for any of your jokes, Naoya.”

He points to the cushion next to his on the engawa. “Sit, and try to smile. You’ll get wrinkles if you keep that severe expression on.”

Mizuki sits on the cushion. Naoya pours her some sake, but she waves her hand. “None for me. I won’t be here long. I just… I just wanted to tell you something.”

Naoya sits more comfortably, placing his elbow on his knee and places his head to rest on his hand. “And this couldn’t have been settled over a text? A call? A smoke signal?”

“No. Naoya, please be serious for just five minutes.”

He scoffs and drinks the sake intended for her glass. “I didn’t know being an instructor at Jujutsu High took away your humor. Then again, you always did have a peculiar sense of humor–”

“I’m engaged, Naoya.” 

Pure cold silence.

Mizuki begins to pick on the sides of her fingernails, a bad habit she had developed in childhood that persists into adulthood. She keeps at it as the silence grows more and more oppressive between them. The trees surrounding the garden felt taller, more suffocating instead of calming. The cicadas begin to seemingly screech into their eardrums.

“Naoya… please say something…”

Naoya stands and moves towards the edge of the engawa. He clenches his fists, holding his rage in. Even after breaking up, he still sees Mizuki as his. He carries this belief that they belong with each other, no matter who they end up dating. To Naoya, his heart is always Mizuki’s, and Mizuki is his without question, making marriage to another an impossible option.

“Who?”

Mizuki leans forward and furrows her brows. “What?”

“I’m asking who.”

“Naoya, you know I’ve been in a relationship for a while.”

Naoya snaps back at her. “Kusakabe?! That nobody clown playing sorcerer with a sword?”

“He’s a Grade 1 Sorcerer–”

“I don’t give a flying fuck if he’s the strongest Grade 1 Sorcerer alive!” Naoya’s voice begins to raise and becomes more frantic. “He’s a hick from an unknown family. He has no status, no money, nothing to offer you!”

“He is a man, and he’s very good to me.”

Naoya scoffs and points at Mizuki. “So that’s it? Are your standards so low that you would stoop down to his level just because he’s good?!”

“Well, I did fall for you…” Mizuki looks down and bites her lip.

Naoya lets out a strangled laugh. She has a point. To anyone else, she couldn’t go any lower after him. But to him, he is still the gold standard that he believes no other man can surpass. Anyone beneath the Big Three is an insult. And for Mizuki to choose Kusakabe – that was unforgivable.

“So that’s it? You’d throw yourself at any man who shows an ounce of decency towards you? You know what we call those women, Mizuki? We call them slu–”

“Stop it, Naoya! Why are you being this way?!”

“Like what?”

“This! I came here because I knew hearing it from someone else would upset you. I knew if you heard it from the staff, or from another sorcerer, you would never forgive me. I came here because I wanted to save what’s left of our friendship–”

“You’re full of shit, Mizuki! You’re full of shit! You think you’re so noble with your title and your students and your fucking code of conduct. You think coming here makes you a saint?!” He comes closer and points to her face. His manner of speaking was so intense to the point where spit sputters out. “You’re not a saint, Mizuki. You’re a b–”

He slams the pillar beside her head. “If you wanted my blessing, then tough luck, you fucking b–” he grits his teeth and falls to his knees. He wants to say it. Oh, he wants to say it so bad. Bitch. He wants to cuss her out, to hurt her as much as she is tearing him to pieces at this very moment.

But deep down, try as he might, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not to her.

“How could… how could you…” his gums begin to bleed as he grinds his teeth harder. “You’re so full of shit, Mizuki…”

Mizuki kneels down with him. She holds both his hands and gently rubs her thumbs in a circular motion against his hands to calm him down. “But you were the one who left me. I tried my best to live with your decision to break up with me…”

She gently runs her fingers through his bangs. A sigh breaks out before she speaks again. “There really was no easy way of breaking this news, wasn’t there?”

Naoya comes closer, resting his head on her chest. “No, there wasn’t…”

Mizuki pats the back of his head, trying her best to soothe him while still maintaining a fraction of the boundary she set. “I really loved you, Naoya. You have to know that, right? You were my first love. Everything I had… I gave it to you. My innocence, my entire youth, my entire early adult years… it’s all yours.”

Naoya looks up at her and shakes his head. He cups her cheek, and suddenly his expression visibly softens. It’s a look he rarely gives anyone, but with Mizuki he would freely give it a thousand times over.

“I love you, Mizuki.”

Naoya straightens up in his cushion and holds Mizuki’s hand. His finger runs through the engagement ring she wore. “I love you so much that I didn’t want you to rot with me.”

“But you could have changed.”

“No. I couldn’t,” he looks at their joint hands. “I couldn’t, because I didn’t want to.” He takes a deep breath and looks her in the eye. “This is who I am, Mizuki. And this is who you are. And someone loved you enough to fight for it… despite being a low-class hick.”

She smiles at him and holds his hand tighter. At least, just for tonight, the both of them could pretend the future didn’t exist. “For what it’s worth, I always thought it was going to be you.”

Naoya scoffs and looks at her. His smile this time is devoid of any arrogance, any pretense that he was unbothered. It was the purest smile he could have done for anyone. “Then you’re not as smart as they praise you to be.”

They look at the private garden and move closer to each other. Naoya wraps an arm around her shoulder. She looks up at him with those narrow almond gray eyes he always swore he got lost in. “Naoya, don’t…”

Suguru huffs and shakes his head. He was already used to Satoru’s arrogant antics at this point, but it still never fails to stir up either exasperation or resignation from his end. “Thanks, you arrogant prick,” he laughs and clinks his cup with Satoru’s. “This stuff is disgusting, by the way. You added too much sugar.”

A loud bark of laughter erupts from Satoru. “Ha! You say disgusting, I say… only for the refined palate,” he grins proudly, beaming his teeth as he goes for another big sip. “Besides, I even held back with this one. I should have added whipped cream–”

Suguru raises his palm and positions it in front of Satoru’s face. “No, Satoru. Just… no,” Suguru laughs. “Did you really want to give me diabetes on my birthday, of all days?”

From above, dead stars struggle to shine amidst the thick clouds. Here on the ground, however, Satoru’s eyes glistened as they rested on Suguru’s. Sapphire and amethyst, shining against the frigid February fog, looking at nothing else but each other.

Maybe that’s what it meant to truly look at someone – to be the most prominent thing piercing through the fog.

“No… no, I didn’t.” Satoru slowly moves his hand closer to where Suguru’s was resting in the middle of the bench, his bare hand touching Suguru’s winter glove. Through the thick wool, Satoru thought Suguru couldn’t feel it, so he lifted his pinky to go over Suguru’s, slightly hooking them together.

But Suguru does feel it. He feels the light weight of Satoru’s pinky finger go over his. He pretends not to look. He simply sips his hot chocolate, makes a disgusted face as a reaction to the drink, and looks up. “Too bad we couldn’t go out today. I was looking forward to going to that karaoke place with Shoko and the others.”

Satoru nods and looks up too – two teenagers looking up at stars that died long before they were even born. “I bet Nanami feels grateful for the fog locking us down here tonight. He would have hated it.”

“On the contrary, he told me he already had five songs in his mind to sing,” Suguru laughs softly, the image of his smile peering through the crevices of Satoru’s mind as the Six Eyes wielder looks at his best friend with utmost focus.

“Really? Well, how about that,” Satoru says, his voice lowering to a volume only they could hear. There was nobody else around. Both were speaking as though they only desired the other to hear, to see, to feel the warmth spread in between them.

“Hey, Satoru…” Suguru nearly whispers, shifting his view from the faint twinkling stars to Satoru’s eyes once more. “Do you ever get cold? I mean, since you have your Infinity…”

Satoru could have said something arrogant or jokingly. He could have said… of course I don’t. Gods never get cold.

But at this moment, Satoru was not a god. He was a boy of seventeen, celebrating his one and only best friend’s birthday by sharing a hot drink amidst the harsh fog.

Right now, his Infinity is completely down, allowing himself to feel this moment to the fullest with his best friend. Satoru then moves his hand, interlacing with Suguru’s gloved fingers completely, feeling the warmth of the wool crawl up to his hand. “No, Suguru. Not at all.”

────────────

Memory is only as fickle as the person remembering it, and for ten years, Satoru remains faithful to the memory of his youth. Suguru was not a variable that could be moved around in remembering; he was the fixed point at which everything moved in accordance with. Every shared dream, every stolen glance, every lingering touch – all led back to the only person Satoru could ever call his one and only.

Ten years. Has it really been that long?

If Satoru truly paid attention to every fragment shared with Suguru, then how could he have missed the signs that his one and only best friend was already dying in his own mind?

────────────

It is winter once again, and ten years have passed. Today is Suguru’s twenty-seventh birthday.

Satoru’s home office felt like a morgue. The cold winter breeze seeps through the open window, but it didn’t bother Satoru at all.

Gods don’t get cold.

Infinity, after all, is a symbol – and symbols are not tangible. This was Satoru’s greatest curse and blessing all at once. He could not feel the physical pain of battle, nor the harsh changes in temperatures as the seasons go.

What he actually feels is the growing void gnawing at his insides. What he actually feels are the pins and needles each memory holds, violently piercing through skin. Nobody is immune to pain, not even the strongest.

Satoru knew that for sure, but the world didn’t, and so every morning he gets up, overdoses on sugar, and greets the world with the brightest smile he could possibly muster up.

After all these years, Satoru knew where Suguru was hiding. Satoru could sense Suguru no matter how far he strayed. He could sense Suguru by any mark he left – by scent, by cursed energy, and by warmth. The fact of the matter is that Satoru could have easily tracked Suguru down. He could have easily had the Special Grade Curse User imprisoned, and the entirety of Jujutsu would have moved on like nothing ever happened, because what were the higher-ups good for if not covering up the consequences of their blunders?

But it wasn’t nothing, not to Satoru. How dare the world keep spinning when his entire youth stopped the moment Suguru left? 

Satoru takes a deep breath and leans in his home office chair, the cool leather rubbing against his high-collar teaching uniform. He is better off now, isn’t he? He’s the invincible Jujutsu god, sitting in his expansive Tokyo property, living his dream of guiding the current youth – Maki, Panda, and Inumaki. He is untouchable, he always has been.

The impermeable – Satoru Gojo.

The strongest – Satoru Gojo.

The one alone – Satoru Gojo.

────────────

2

The only sound in Satoru’s Tokyo house is the hum of his fridge. He knocks at Megumi’s room. “Yo,” he slowly slides the door and reaches into his pocket for a couple of hundred yen, “I’m headed out. Treat yourself to something nice if you get hungry.”

Megumi raises his head from his book. He gives a subtle nod and waves at Satoru. “Alright, see you.”

Winters in Tokyo are rarely harsh, but tonight particularly, the streets feel below zero. Satoru simply strode in his usual Jujutsu teaching uniform, taking in the view of the night. February nights meant frosty crisp air that Satoru did not feel, bare imposing trees devoid of any warmth, and the overbearing feeling of lonesomeness that especially creeps up during this particular time in February.

Today is Suguru Geto’s birthday.

The entire day, Satoru dodged any chance to form a single thought about it. He taught his students, he chatted (or annoyed, rather) colleagues, he gave Yaga yet again another headache to deal with, he prepared Megumi’s dinner – for all intents and purposes, it had been a normal day for Satoru.

It was all normal until he went into his study late in the night and felt the cold seemingly seep through his infinity. No, it can’t be. His technique is near perfect, if perfection exists. No outside force could have peered in.

The coldness came from within.

Satoru continues walking, his hands in his pockets. The world is asleep now, or at least for the residents in his neighborhood. He is alone as he walks – is there anything new to this picture? The strongest, the honored, the protector – destined to walk alone.

He suddenly stops in his tracks once he reaches the park. Satoru’s gaze remains downcast, but he knows exactly whose cursed energy now surrounds the area.

A faint smirk forms on his lips. “You always hated being alone on your birthdays,” he says as he feels the gradual build-up of tears behind his blindfold. His body’s reaction to Suguru remains instantaneous. 

Suguru moves closer, every step of his zori sandals feels like a dull thud on Satoru’s chest. He looks bigger than he did as a student, especially now as the monk’s robe covers him completely. “Some things never change,” he says with a casual tone. 

“Are you here to kill me?” Satoru finally moves his head to level with Suguru’s gaze. His voice remains stern, even though he could feel it cracking at the edges.  “Or are you just here to gloat?”

“Gloat about what, exactly?” Suguru then sits by the bench, stretching his arm by the backrest and spreading his legs comfortably. He was always a natural at taking up space.

Satoru sits next to him, leaving a small space between them. “About how I can’t bring myself to kill you.”

Suguru looks at Satoru, and suddenly they are in the exact same position as they were, ten years ago during Suguru’s birthday. “I told you before. You could kill me now. There would be a–”

“There would be a point to it, I know,” Satoru looks up. Just like how it was ten years ago, the stars looked down upon them against the harsh winter clouds. Were these the same dead stars as before? Did some things truly stay the same?

Satoru continues, “But we both know I can’t.”

I can’t.

Of all the things anyone expects Satoru Gojo to say – “I can’t” would be the least probable. And yet here he sits, next to the one person who truly knows him, saying he can’t bring it upon himself to harm him, even if Suguru has been continuously harming others.

Suguru looks at Satoru, his amethyst eyes no longer reaching Satoru’s sapphire ones that are now hidden behind his blindfold.

“Sentimentality won’t get you anywhere, Satoru.”

Satoru sighs and turns his gaze to Suguru. He lets out a small huff before speaking. “Look at me, Suguru. Look at the life I lead. If you take sentimentality away from me, then–”

“...then I’d have nothing.”

Silence fuses with the cold surrounding them, the night breeze whistling as it hits nearby branches. Satoru clasps his hands together. “You once asked me if I’m Satoru Gojo because I’m the strongest, or if I’m the strongest because I’m Satoru Gojo.”

He takes a deep breath before letting out a shaky exhale. “God damn it, Suguru, I’ve never felt so weak in my life when I realized you were breaking and I did nothing. I’m not so strong, after all.”

Suguru moves closer and looks at Satoru, his purple eyes softening at the sight of his former best friend. “I wasn’t breaking, Satoru. Don’t you get it? I was opening my eyes.”

“To what, Suguru? To a lifetime of violence?”

Suguru shakes his head and looks into the darkness of the park. “To a system that was never meant to care about us. A system that caters to mindless monkeys who have no clue about the sacrifices being made to keep them alive.”

Satoru clenches his fists and looks down. He grits his teeth, pushing down the sound of a sob. Suddenly he is transported back to ten years ago when he first heard about Suguru’s village massacre. He remembers the feel of an invisible fist burrowing a hole through his stomach, breaking every bone in his body, yet he remains completely intact from the outside. Hasn’t it always been this way? Hasn’t his facade always grew thicker and stronger with every heartbreak and disappointment?

Where is Suguru now? Where is his Suguru? Where are the kind eyes that humbles him when he is within its gaze? Where is the delicate voice that helps him get through the worst of his days? Where is the warmth he has embedded on his senses?

Letting him go, over and over again, always feels like a prayer for his return. 

Yet over and over again, his prayer remains unanswered.

“I don’t know you anymore,” Satoru says coldly.

Kyoraku unlocks a drawer from his desk and pulls out an old photo during his academy days. Next to him was a seemingly timid white-haired boy with the kindest eyes anyone has ever seen. Jūshirō Ukitake.

The photo, taken centuries ago, shows a unique spark in both their eyes. It was the kind of spark only innocence could bring. Kyoraku was not looking at the camera though, he was looking straight at Ukitake, who was smiling from ear to ear, eyes ahead at the camera. There was something about the white-haired shinigami that drew Kyoraku in, not in the common saying like a moth would be to a flame – for Ukitake did not represent danger to Kyoraku.

Kyoraku was drawn to Ukitake the way a child would be drawn to the comfort of a loving home.

Where is home now that the only place he had ever known to be safe is gone?

“Taicho?” Nanao knocks before sliding the shoji. “I have your schedule for the day. This morning you have a quick check-in with the captains, then later this afternoon–”

“I’m visiting a friend later this afternoon,” Kyoraku says, his voice low but with the hint of his usual playfulness. “Sorry to ask this of you, Nanao-chan, but could you cancel my afternoon appointments?”

Nanao looks at Kyoraku, a moment of silence before she blinks and tilts her head. “Cancel? But– but you’re meeting with Kuchiki-san this afternoon!”

Kyoraku stands and fixes his kimono in place. “Kuchiki-san will understand.” ──────────────────

The graveyard was the first to be rehabilitated in Seireitei due to the influx of fallen shinigamis after the war with Ywach. Kyoraku makes his way past the Soul Reapers area and goes directly to the captain’s station. Around him are lush, well-cut grass, and trees planted at precise distances.

He bows to one of the newer headstones – Retsu Unohana, before carrying on further. He feels his feet get heavier as he walks to his actual destination.

Jūshirō Ukitake.

He sits and crosses his legs by Ukitake’s headstone, pulls out a flask from his kimono, and raises it. “Yo,” his voice maintaining that low playful tone, “I took the afternoon off for you again. Kuchiki is probably going to have my head by now because I keep cancelling on him, but I don’t mind.”

Kyoraku takes a generous gulp, the harsh notes of whiskey clinging to his mouth. “If he had my head, then that means we can meet again, right?”

A soft rustle of wind passes through Kyoraku’s face, gently nudging his straw hat. Kyoraku lets out a low chuckle, fading into a longing smile. “I know, I know… it’s not my time yet.”

He pulls out their photograph from the academy from his other pocket. Kyoraku traces Ukitake’s face with his thumb, remembering how his real skin felt under his touch. Does it still feel that way even now that Ukitake is elsewhere?

──────────────────

A century ago. That is how long it has been since Kyoraku touched Ukitake’s face.

They were but mere boys at the academy. They had been sparring the entire day, the doting eyes of elders and instructors looming over them. When they finally find reprieve in the forests near campus, they sit on the grass.

“You really did a number on me today,” Ukitake says, coughing slightly.

Kyoraku reaches into his pocket and hands over a white handkerchief. “Well, I won’t go easy on you just because you’re sick. You’re still a formidable opponent.”

“High praise coming from you.” Ukitake waves his hand, “Your handkerchief is white. I’ll just get stains all over it.”

Kyoraku shrugs and moves closer. He places the handkerchief on Ukitake’s hand, the touch of his fingertips lingering for a moment longer than normal. “Something to remember you by, then.”

His large hands then brush stray bangs off from Ukitake’s face, revealing more of his porcelain skin to Kyoraku’s gaze. His fingertips begin to brush against the other man’s cheeks, memorizing the feel and texture of it.

They suddenly heard the distant voices of other academy students approaching. Kyoraku retracts his hand immediately and leans back on the grass, the blades curving at the weight of his palm. 

Smooth. Like the surface of freshly baked bread. That was the texture of Ukitake’s skin. That was the texture that haunted Kyoraku every day since then. 

“I never told you, didn’t I?” His smile fades into a straight line. “I couldn’t tell you then. To be honest, I don’t think I could even tell you now.”

Kyoraku closes his eyes and runs his fingertips through the headstone. “I know you’re not here,” he whispers, as if Ukitake was right there listening to him. “I know you’re somewhere in Hell, but for my sake, I will pretend parts of you are in the air I breathe and in the soil I touch.”

He takes another swig of his whiskey and places the now empty container on the ground.

How long has it been since Kyoraku last heard Ukitake’s voice? How long has it been since he’s seen the white-haired captain smile without burden? How long has it been since Kyoraku convinced himself that walking alone with the burden of captainhood was easier than facing the fact that the person he loved died without ever hearing the confession he deserved to hear?

Does it ever truly get better?

There was a momentary pause, and you felt as though your nervousness would seep through the sliding door.

“Come in,” she says, her voice carrying that sweet melodic tone that never fails to peer through your nerves.

You take a deep breath before opening the sliding door. As you enter, you see Unohana sitting on a small zabuton by the engawa, the moonlight touching her skin in all the right places that make it seem as though she were glowing. Her long jet black hair was let loose, and she wore a white night robe.

She motions to the empty zabuton next to her. “Sit with me, Y/N.”

You make your way and sit next to her, folding your knees and timidly placing your hands on your lap. Up to this moment you were sure of what you wanted to say, but now as you look at her up close, you wondered if her slightly parted plump lips would feel soft against yours, or if it would bleed if you bit the lower part. You wondered if her pale skin would feel smooth against your fingertips, or if the curve of her chest’s weight would submit to your grip.

“Y/N?”

You break out of your spiral and look at her, your cheeks slightly flushed. “Unohana-taicho,” you manage to say, “I was just… I… I wanted to see you before everything… goes bad.”

Unohana does a slightly amused giggle before moving her zabuton closer to yours. “You wanted to see me?” She places her hand near your knee, her middle finger touching the cloth of your shihaksho. “And why did you want to see me?”

A flicker of the old Unohana comes out momentarily. Not the warm but commanding captain the shinigamis were accustomed to now, but the one who saw prey when she knew it. The real Unohana. The first Kenpachi.

But another maternal smile swallows down the predatory monster hidden underneath her. “Don’t be shy, Y/N. Talk to me,” her voice becomes deeper now, but it still holds that sweet hypnotic tone. “Tell your taicho…” she moves her face closer, her slender fingers touching your soft cheeks, “...why you wanted to see her so bad tonight.”

Unohana moves her mouth closer to your ear, her breath hot and wet. “What’s wrong, little dove? Are you afraid of the war?”

You let out a choked moan and clench your fists. Unohana was moving towards you, she was touching you – the sheer knowledge alone makes you feel warm down your loins.

“It’s just…” your voice was shaking, “...I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, taicho.”

Unohana slowly wraps her arms around you. “You’ve always been the sweetest among my officers, Y/N.” She kisses your forehead and slowly caresses your back. “My sweet girl,” she murmurs, her lips still on your forehead. Unohana’s voice was dangerously close to her natural form – a form she hasn’t allowed herself to peek out in centuries. “What else is on your mind?”

She continues caressing your back and spraying kisses on your forehead as you speak, her mouth leaving damp trails. “I’m afraid you’ll get hurt. I want– I want to always be near you. All I ever wanted was to be near you.”

A soft hum escapes Unohana’s lips. “Is that so?” She pulls you closer until your hips touch hers. “My sweet girl just wanted her captain to see her?” She begins nipping at your earlobe, her breath warm and thick crawling up your head. “Then you should have just said so.”

She takes you in her room and closes the sliding door shut, shielding you both in from any outside forces. 

“Don’t make a sound,” Unohana says, as she gently lays you down on the futon. She goes over you, slowly parting your legs as she places her knee right in the middle where the built-up pressure is most felt. She moves her knees in a circular motion, hitting you right in your sweet spot.

“Mmh, Taicho–” you try to moan, but she covers your mouth with her hand, her delicate fingers digging through your cheek. She moves her other hand to tease the knot on your shihaksho, pulling it just enough to move a fraction, but not untying it fully.

“You’re so sensitive,” she whispers, as she leans down and kisses your forehead. She increases the pressure of her knee pressing onto your core, and you arch your back and whimper again. “Shh,” she says once, “shhh,” she moves her lips to your neck now. “I’m here. I’m here, little dove.”

“Mmh–” you cling to the sheets of her futon as she increases the pressure on your mouth and on your core. Slowly, she eases up on both areas. Unohana removes her hand from your mouth, only to replace it with her lips.

Your imagination proves to be true. Her lips are supple and soft. You kiss back with a hungrier force, your tongue sliding out to make contact with hers. She forces her head down harder so that it overpowers any more efforts from you. The feel of her tongue on yours sent electric sensations down to your abdomen. She presses that area with her palm, and you let out a strangled moan which she immediately devours in the kiss.

“You’re so sweet,” she whispers when she breaks the kiss. She places two fingers on your bottom lips, “and soft,” she then bites your lower lip and licks it. “Like mochi.”

Unohana slowly moves up just to look at the entirety of you splayed beneath her, your legs open. “I wonder what else is soft,” she says, now untying the knot of your shinigami uniform. She opens it slowly, as though unraveling a gift. The cold air in the room meets your breasts, your abdomen, and the heat of your core in between your thighs. 

“Taicho…”

“Come on, Choso! You need to stay sharp!” Yuji begins to move towards Choso. The two brothers are sparring at the open training grounds of Kyoto Jujutsu High in the middle of a hot and humid summer day. On top of feeling dizzy from the fact that his clothes had too many layers for summer, Choso has been repeatedly taking hits from his younger brother since sunrise, all because Yuji said he wanted to train today.

Just then, a blonde figure strides by the shaded area towards them. The summer sun may have been harsh on Choso, but to Yuki, it appeared to move with her. Yuki’s confidence was magnetic and alluring all at once, especially in the eyes of the former Death Painting.

Yuji then makes a full lunge towards Choso, knocking him over.

“Don’t get distracted, brother!” Yuji says teasingly. Yuki finally reaches them and helps Yuji up, leaving Choso to the ground. “Alright, Yuji, stop giving Choso a hard time. Have you two even had breakfast?”

Yuji stands straight and responds with much eagerness. “Nope! I told him I wanted to train as soon as we woke up!”

A sigh escapes Yuki as she slumps her shoulders down. “Go eat something, Yuji,” she then looks at Choso. “And you, stop being a pushover to your brother. Come on, get up, I’m treating you to breakfast.”

Yuji pouts and stomps on the ground. “But what about me?”

A click of the tongue, then a flick to Yuji’s forehead. “Go find someone else to bother,” says Yuki firmly.

Problem number two: Hunger was still a foreign concept to Choso.

Choso and Yuki make the short hike from the campus grounds of Kyoto Jujutsu High to the hole-in-the-wall soba house. Yuki orders two bowls of ice cold zaru soba, partnered with crispy shrimp tempura and chicken karaage.

They sit adjacent on a high stool by the bar area of the restaurant. They can directly see the kitchen from where they sit. Choso observes the cooks carefully chop, boil, and fry; he could smell the scent of food that aggravated his feeling of hunger.

His stomach growls and he holds it. Choso could feel his cheeks get warmer too. “What’s this… sensation?” He asks, looking at Yuki.

Yuki simply laughs heartily and pats Choso on the back. “That, my friend, is hunger. You haven’t experienced it in your first days as a human because I always made sure you ate on time. Yuji really did a number on you this morning, huh?”

Their food arrives and Choso simply nods. He copies how Yuki eats her noodles, dipping it in tsuyu before consuming it. “Sorry if I’m taking too long to adjust. It must be hard for you.” 

Yuki simply shrugs it off and gives him a casual smile. “Don’t worry too much about it. Besides, don’t you think we’ve been through enough for me to feel hassled by you?”

Thump!

Choso felt as though something was trying to escape his chest. He held his hand by the area where he could feel something hammering.

Thump, thump!

Yuki sees his distress and places her chopsticks down by her bowl. She places her hand on Choso’s back. “Choso? What’s the matter?”

THUMP! THUMP!

At the contact of Yuki’s hand on his back, Choso felt like he was having a heart attack. He knew, of course, what the function of the heart was. He had at least been oriented at the beginning of his human journey that the heart’s primary role is the central pump of a body’s circulatory system.

Problem number three: Choso did not know that the heart and the mind are indisputably connected.

Choso nearly fell on his stool, but Yuki caught him, her biceps flexing in the process. Upon catching a glimpse, Choso could feel yet another strange sensation.

Heat.

Heat built up in his chest, then crept up his cheeks. What on earth was this? What was going on? Was he turning back into a Death Painting? Was he dying? Choso braves a glimpse at Yuki.

He’s seen her countless times. In Tengen’s sanctuary, in hiding spots, in battlegrounds… So what was this new sensation all about?

All he could remember was nearly dying at the hand of Kenjaku, then being saved by Yuki in the process. He remembers waking up and feeling weaker than he did, but somehow he was able to feel things more intensely.

He always liked being around Yuki. Back when it was just the two of them guarding Tengen, her presence felt like the warm embrace of the sun, not the scorching heat summer brings, but the kind of warmth one might yearn for after overcoming a harsh winter season.

“Sorry…” was all Choso was able to say. “I’ll just eat. I’m sorry.”

Yuki places her hand on his forehead. “Don’t be sorry! You’re burning up! I knew something was wrong. You have a fever,” she clicks her tongue. “You really overdid it with Yuji this morning. Choso, you’re still strong, but you have to remember that you’re human now.”

Problem number four: Choso didn’t understand how an immune system worked

Back at his quarters in Kyoto Jujutsu High, he changes into a plain shirt and joggers before letting Yuki in his room. He lays down as Yuki places a basin down by his bedside. She gets a small towelette in his drawer and dips it in the cold water and gently places it on Choso’s forehead.

“Try to get some rest this afternoon, okay?” Yuki fixes his stray bangs, her voice much gentler this time around. “And stop indulging Yuji too much. Please. For your sake.”

“Yuki…” Choso sits up, grabbing her wrist and placing her hand by his chest, right where his heart was still beating as though it wanted to escape his body altogether.

“I don’t understand. Since I became human, it has been… doing this. Every time you are near.”

Yuki flattened her palm on his chest. She understood, of course. She’s had her fair share of men in her life, especially when she traveled, but none of them ever had the earnestness Choso was now expressing.

“Before I became human, when we were guarding Tengen, I always felt this lightness around you. That is why I could easily tell you anything. I like the way you look at me when I tell you things.”

“And how do I look at you?”

Choso cups her cheek, his thumb rubbing in small smooth circles. “I can’t describe it.”

“Try for me. Please?”

He takes a deep breath, as if courage could be gathered through thin air. “The way you look at me… I see your eyes get softer. And then you smile…” and right on cue, Yuki smiles at him, that tender version she doesn’t really give anyone else but him. “When you smile at me, even then, I forgot we were ever in danger. It’s like a promise that everything is going to be okay.”

“And everything did turn out okay, didn’t it?”

Choso let out a long exhale. “It did.”

Yuki leans closer. “So… what do you want to do now?”

Choso’s gaze turns to her lips, before climbing back up on her pupils shining like rose quartz. He inches closer to her, and she does the same. Soon their foreheads are touching. Yuki could see tears build up in Choso’s eyes.

“Why are you crying?” she cups his cheek again, their forehead still touching.

“I just feel… so much… for you.”

Without waiting for another word, Yuki closes the final gap, her supple lips softly touching Choso’s. 

KYOTO JUJUTSU HIGH OPEN GARDENS, 3:00PM

It had been a week since the bloody Shinjuku battle against Sukuna. Their side had won through blood, sweat, and grit. There was no time for tears, not even when comrades had fallen. Even now in recovery, the act of mourning was buried as deep as cadavers in the grave.

The team took refuge in Kyoto Jujutsu High, its walls unmarred by battle. Shion sat by the campus open garden as she attempted to ground herself. The soft blades of grass were a welcome sensation to her palms as she closed her eyes. 

Every deep breath was an act of expelling the sensory nightmare brought about by the battle – the scent of decaying bodies, the feel of rough concrete marring her skin, and the devastating sight of Hiromi nearly slashed to death.

Hiromi. How was Hiromi? The thought crept in slowly in her mind. Up to this point, she had been overwhelmed by her own trauma (and understandably so) that she almost forgot to think about Hiromi.

Almost.

She thought to herself the countless times they had been lumped together even before their cursed techniques came to light. Hiromi, who had stayed up with her all night at the office while working on a case. Hiromi, who would buy her coffee and bagels the next morning so she wouldn’t have to exert more effort. Hiromi, who would place his jacket over her whenever she fell asleep on her desk. Hiromi, who she would call at two in the morning if she ever got a nightmare from a particularly nerve-wracking autopsy.

Even before all this, Hiromi and Shion had been partners in battle. Except then, instead of Sukuna’s wrath, they had been up against the overbearing oppression of society’s rot.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

KYOTO JUJUTSU HIGH INFIRMARY, 5:00PM

The setting sun’s rays peered through the window and casted a warm glow within the infirmary’s cold interior. Ieiri had just finished checking Hiromi’s vitals for the day. Itadori and Kusakabe also dropped by earlier to check his progress. The two had become his constant guests over the past week, especially Itadori.

Hiromi looked around the room. The coffee table was askew due to Kusakabe’s constant pacing, and the armchair was dented from Itadori’s restless shifts in position. His newfound “friends” definitely made sure he was healing properly, but there was a missing presence so quietly jarring that he couldn’t help but feel uneasy over it.

Shion. 

Where was Shion?

Why hasn’t she come to see me?

Is she okay?

He slowly sat up more and straightened his posture. He winced as he did, feeling a jolt of pain shoot up from his lower back. He adjusted his casted arm and tried to perform RCT on himself to help speed up the healing process, but he remained careful not to strain himself too much. The danger was over. He could finally take his time properly and not rush for survival.

Just then, he heard the sound of familiar footsteps approach the door. He didn’t need to look to know exactly who it was.

The sound of the door sliding open made Hiromi’s heart beat harder than usual (for reasons he could not then explain at that moment). He looked at the window with a feigned detached expression. “So you came after all.”

Shion took a seat by the chair next to his bedside. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Hiromi finally got the courage to look at her. Without the looming pressure of a legal case or the dread of a bloody battle, Shion’s dusky gray-blue eyes appeared softer than usual. He half-expected they would have been hardened through the horrors they went through, but seated next to him against the dimming warm glow of the room, Shion looked gentler than ever.

“Perhaps you didn’t want to be reminded of the carnage.” He reached his free hand out closer to the edge of the bed, not to invite her to hold it, but to simply extend his presence closer to hers.

Shion looked at his other hand wrapped in a cast, her expression hardening for a fraction. “Does it hurt?”

Higuruma let out a faint smirk. “This? Ah, it’s nothing–” he tried to huff it out in a faint laugh, but the shooting pain from his lower back came up again. He winced and shut his eyes. Shion moved from the armchair to the edge of the bed to help fix the pillows behind him. 

“You’re still so stubborn, Hiromi.” She moved her hands from the pillows back to her lap. She was so close to him that she felt she was hovering, and a faint warm blush came up her cheeks.

Hiromi noticed the change in expression immediately. Years of working closely together allowed him to see Shion in different states – distraught from an autopsy’s manner of death, forced calmness when she wanted to break down, and the occasional lingering looks she gave him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

What Shion didn’t realize was that Hiromi would often look at her in the same way too, especially when she was preoccupied with something else.

“Force of habit.” Hiromi took a deep breath and leaned closer to Shion. He tried his best not to accidentally hurt himself again. “Shion…”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you… for coming.”

Shion looked down at his hand, still stretched out near her. She smiled subtly, extending her hand too so that their pinky fingers faintly touched. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Hiromi.”

Hiromi moved his finger above hers, and for the first time since they met, he finally felt just how soft her skin was. “I know.” Nobody made an effort to pull away.

There they sat in the quiet of the room, pinkies adjoined. The sun had finally set, and the warm lighting had become a quiet blanket of hazy blue. Only the ceiling lights at the end of the room were turned on.

He looked at the way Shion’s ash brown hair framed her face at this very moment, and how the room’s lighting matched her eyes. 

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. The world could wait. Restoring Jujutsu could wait. Justice could wait.

KYOTO JUJUTSU HIGH OPEN GARDENS, 3:00PM

It had been a week since the bloody Shinjuku battle against Sukuna. Their side had won through blood, sweat, and grit. There was no time for tears, not even when comrades had fallen. Even now in recovery, the act of mourning was buried as deep as cadavers in the grave.

The team took refuge in Kyoto Jujutsu High, its walls unmarred by battle. Shion sat by the campus open garden as she attempted to ground herself. The soft blades of grass were a welcome sensation to her palms as she closed her eyes. 

Every deep breath was an act of expelling the sensory nightmare brought about by the battle – the scent of decaying bodies, the feel of rough concrete marring her skin, and the devastating sight of Hiromi nearly slashed to death.

Hiromi. How was Hiromi? The thought crept in slowly in her mind. Up to this point, she had been overwhelmed by her own trauma (and understandably so) that she almost forgot to think about Hiromi.

Almost.

She thought to herself the countless times they had been lumped together even before their cursed techniques came to light. Hiromi, who had stayed up with her all night at the office while working on a case. Hiromi, who would buy her coffee and bagels the next morning so she wouldn’t have to exert more effort. Hiromi, who would place his jacket over her whenever she fell asleep on her desk. Hiromi, who she would call at two in the morning if she ever got a nightmare from a particularly nerve-wracking autopsy.

Even before all this, Hiromi and Shion had been partners in battle. Except then, instead of Sukuna’s wrath, they had been up against the overbearing oppression of society’s rot.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

KYOTO JUJUTSU HIGH INFIRMARY, 5:00PM

The setting sun’s rays peered through the window and casted a warm glow within the infirmary’s cold interior. Ieiri had just finished checking Hiromi’s vitals for the day. Itadori and Kusakabe also dropped by earlier to check his progress. The two had become his constant guests over the past week, especially Itadori.

Hiromi looked around the room. The coffee table was askew due to Kusakabe’s constant pacing, and the armchair was dented from Itadori’s restless shifts in position. His newfound “friends” definitely made sure he was healing properly, but there was a missing presence so quietly jarring that he couldn’t help but feel uneasy over it.

Shion. 

Where was Shion?

Why hasn’t she come to see me?

Is she okay?

He slowly sat up more and straightened his posture. He winced as he did, feeling a jolt of pain shoot up from his lower back. He adjusted his casted arm and tried to perform RCT on himself to help speed up the healing process, but he remained careful not to strain himself too much. The danger was over. He could finally take his time properly and not rush for survival.

Just then, he heard the sound of familiar footsteps approach the door. He didn’t need to look to know exactly who it was.

The sound of the door sliding open made Hiromi’s heart beat harder than usual (for reasons he could not then explain at that moment). He looked at the window with a feigned detached expression. “So you came after all.”

Shion took a seat by the chair next to his bedside. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Hiromi finally got the courage to look at her. Without the looming pressure of a legal case or the dread of a bloody battle, Shion’s dusky gray-blue eyes appeared softer than usual. He half-expected they would have been hardened through the horrors they went through, but seated next to him against the dimming warm glow of the room, Shion looked gentler than ever.

“Perhaps you didn’t want to be reminded of the carnage.” He reached his free hand out closer to the edge of the bed, not to invite her to hold it, but to simply extend his presence closer to hers.

Shion looked at his other hand wrapped in a cast, her expression hardening for a fraction. “Does it hurt?”

Higuruma let out a faint smirk. “This? Ah, it’s nothing–” he tried to huff it out in a faint laugh, but the shooting pain from his lower back came up again. He winced and shut his eyes. Shion moved from the armchair to the edge of the bed to help fix the pillows behind him. 

“You’re still so stubborn, Hiromi.” She moved her hands from the pillows back to her lap. She was so close to him that she felt she was hovering, and a faint warm blush came up her cheeks.

Hiromi noticed the change in expression immediately. Years of working closely together allowed him to see Shion in different states – distraught from an autopsy’s manner of death, forced calmness when she wanted to break down, and the occasional lingering looks she gave him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

What Shion didn’t realize was that Hiromi would often look at her in the same way too, especially when she was preoccupied with something else.

“Force of habit.” Hiromi took a deep breath and leaned closer to Shion. He tried his best not to accidentally hurt himself again. “Shion…”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you… for coming.”

Shion looked down at his hand, still stretched out near her. She smiled subtly, extending her hand too so that their pinky fingers faintly touched. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Hiromi.”

Hiromi moved his finger above hers, and for the first time since they met, he finally felt just how soft her skin was. “I know.” Nobody made an effort to pull away.

There they sat in the quiet of the room, pinkies adjoined. The sun had finally set, and the warm lighting had become a quiet blanket of hazy blue. Only the ceiling lights at the end of the room were turned on.

He looked at the way Shion’s ash brown hair framed her face at this very moment, and how the room’s lighting matched her eyes. 

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. The world could wait. Restoring Jujutsu could wait. Justice could wait.

Part One - The Meeting, Fifteen Years Before Present Date

The Gojo Estate boasts of grandiose fences of stone, rammed earth, and wood. It is enough to make anyone feel small, even the ones belonging to the big Jujutsu clans. A grove of tall bamboo trees surround each private wing, building an air of inviolability among those who reside within it. 

Since the birth of Gojo Satoru, wielder of the Limitless and Six Eyes  (a combination the clan has not seen in over centuries), the clan has reclaimed its glory among the Big Four.

There they now stand in the estate’s ohiroma. Satoru stands behind the reigning Gojo clan head, and Seina stands behind her father. Both are thirteen years old at this point, too young to understand the weight of the union that was to be imposed upon them, and perhaps too naive to form their own thoughts regarding the matter.

They already knew each other, of course. There had been several inter-clan gatherings where they enjoyed their stolen moments to talk. However, all that seemed alien to them as this new form of a bond was being introduced. 

Marriage.

“It makes perfect sense,” Seina’s father says with much bravado. “My daughter is hailed as the strongest of our clan, the strongest among the Big Four heirs, with the sole exception of young Satoru here, of course.”

The Gojo Clan Head nods and bows in acknowledgment of Satoru’s skill and power. “I’m honored to hear you say that, Shigeoka-dono. Truly, our heirs would be an alliance not even the Zen’in nor Kamo could deny or even surpass.”

The Shigeoka clan head let out a soft, inward laugh that held both pride and mirth. “Can you imagine the look on Naobito-dono’s face when he hears of this union?” Seina freezes at her father’s bold mention of another clan head’s name, her purple pupils dilating for a fraction.

The Gojo clan head simply smirks and tilts his head ever so slightly. “My, my. To suggest anything ill of another clan head can be considered treason among the Big Four, Shigeoka-dono.”

The Shigeoka clan head lets out a raw bark of laughter, ignoring all decorum they have so carefully curated. 

“Well, we don’t have to worry about that now, won’t we?  This union will put the Kamo and Zen’in into obsoletion.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

Part Two - Graduation Day, Seven Years Later

Nothing much has changed in Tokyo Jujutsu High. Its hallowed halls have faced tragedies beyond human imagination over the years. Yet its walls remain intact, the gardens remain polished, and the youth continue to carry the burden of a system meant to bend them.

Seina stares at the trees by the campus open fields, letting herself be enveloped by the foliage, her vibrant red hair standing out among the sea of greenery. It had rained in the morning during their ceremony, and now she is surrounded by the calming scent of petrichor. It reminded her of rainy July nights years ago in her dorm room as she ate late night snacks with Gojo while they crammed for projects or tests.

Now, as the sun gradually peers through the clouds for its final moments, Seina feels a sense of warmth blanket over her as the rays hit her face. The sun was setting, and so was her chapter as a Jujutsu student. There was solace in ending her chapter as a schoolgirl, but then there was a looming sense of dread as she felt the weight of her responsibilities creep in on her.

“It really feels like the calm before the storm, huh?” A familiar voice emerges from behind her. She could hear his footsteps get closer.

Seina takes a deep breath before speaking, scared Satoru would notice her struggle to keep her voice steady. “What do you mean?”

Satoru finally reaches her side. He places both hands on his hips and takes in the same view she was looking at through his round shades. “I mean… after this. We’ll have to deal with wedding stuff.”

Seina steps back as the slow heat builds up from her chest up to her cheeks. “Oh. We don’t… we don’t have to do all that. We can just go with whatever the elders give us.”

A loud bark of laughter emerges from Satoru. To anyone else it would have been obnoxious and simply loud, but to Seina she felt a small sense of relief. “Seina-chan, did you hit your head during the ceremony, or are you possessed? Let the elders handle it? Do you realize how utterly boring that would be?”

Seina’s body stiffens, not knowing what to say next without sounding desperate or pathetic. “I don’t want to be a burden to you any further.”

Satoru turns back his gaze towards her, his piercing blue eyes widening just a bit. “Burden? What do you mean?” He then takes Seina’s hand and leads her to face him. “Seina, talk to me. We’ve been fine, right? What’s with the sudden change?”

Seina slowly retracts her hand and looks down, her bangs hiding the pained expression in her eyes. She knew Satoru hated following tradition, and she also knew he was too nice to let his disdain show because they had already become good friends over the years. “Nothing. Just… it’s not a big deal, okay?”

Satoru scoffs repeatedly. “Not a big deal? Not–” he stands in front of Seina now, blocking her view completely. “Are you serious? Seina-chan, this is our wedding! Of course it’s a big deal!”

“No, it’s not, because I know you hate it! I know you’re being forced into this–”

He steps forward and places both his hands in the air. “Woah, woah, woah! Wait a minute. Force? You think anyone can force me to do anything?”

Satoru slowly reaches out for Seina’s hand, interlacing their fingers together. He slowly lifts it up and kisses her knuckles, never breaking eye contact even through his sunglasses. Looking into Satoru’s eyes felt a lot like looking into the space where the sky meets the ocean. Seina knew the calm was a farce, and that underneath that was something she could never truly see. 

That was both the charm and curse of loving someone like Satoru – on the surface, Seina feels the sense of calm knowing she has the protection of the strongest (even if it was arranged), and yet there is also the thrill of never knowing what he would do next or what he really thought of.

He continues, slowly rubbing his thumb at the back of her hand. “Seina-chan, have I not made it clear all these years?” Satoru lets go of her hand, only to gently hold her cheek. She feels her heart hammer faster and faster, her vision getting blurry as he continues talking. “I want to do this. I’m all in on this. Aren’t you?”

“Satoru, I… I didn’t know…”

He laughs softly and taps her forehead. “You didn’t know?”

Seina blushes and swats his hand away, only for him to grab her wrist gently and kiss her hand again. Slowly, he kneels in front of her and pulls out a small box from his pocket.

“Satoru… what… what are you…”

“You deserve to have this done properly, Seina-chan,” he smiles as he looks up at her. His expression was the softest it has ever been in years. “You deserve something not even our clans can take away from you.”

“Satoru, you can’t be serious–!”

“I know you think that this entire marriage plan was simply orchestrated by our families to secure our positions. That’s what I thought of this entire thing all those years ago too.” He takes off his sunglasses and places them on the ground. He looks at Seina with an intense earnestness he only ever gave the ones closest to him in the past. 

“What are you trying to say, Satoru?” Seina felt her hands shaking, and so Satoru used his free hand to hold both of hers together.

“I’m saying that all these years, I realized one very important thing…” he now holds the box with both hands, “that I’m not mad about this arrangement at all. In fact, as we got closer… every time you yelled at me, comforted me, threw crumpled paper at me just to test if my Infinity was on, slept in my dorm room and snored like a sailor…”

He opens the box, the diamond ring’s brilliance shimmering against the setting sun. “I realized that I was already falling in love with you.”

Megumi runs towards Yua, holding her arm. “Yua, please, I’m sorry! It’s just… you know how I feel about all this, right? Getting chocolates on both days… It's just propaganda by Japanese confectionery stores to get people to buy their stuff! Japan didn’t even have a White Day until 1978–”

“That’s really not the point, Megumi, and I’m really not in the mood to be lectured,” Yua shakes his hold off of her and walks out. That’s the moment Megumi realizes he has to act fast to fix this.

Yua always carries a sunny demeanor. She never really shows this side of herself unless she’s really upset, and with the way she looked at Megumi, he could have sworn spring would back out and give way to winter once again. The last time she acted this way was when Gojo accidentally tripped over the childhood dollhouse she brought with her as a keepsake when he was looking for his sunglasses in her dorm room.

3:00 PM, TOKYO JUJUTSU HIGH DORMITORIES, YUA GOJO’S DORM ROOM.

“Yuji! You’re writing it all wrong! Give me that,” Megumi pushes Yuji aside and gets the calligraphy brush.

Megumi carefully writes “I’M SORRY” on the large washi. He sighs and looks around Yua’s dorm room, now adorned with purple origami lilies (because Megumi knew she loved the color purple, and lilies were the easiest origami to do for the rest of their friend group who Megumi dragged in to help).

Maki finishes the last fold and places it by Yua’s desk. “Seriously, Megumi, with the way you’re apologizing, it’s like you’ve threatened her and her entire clan or something. Isn’t this a bit too much?”

But he remembers the way that Yua frowned with an obviously betrayed expression over his oversight. He might as well have cursed the entire Gojo clan.

“You don’t understand. The way she looked… I have to make this right.”

5:00 PM, TOKYO JUJUTSU HIGH DORMITORIES, YUA GOJO’S DORM ROOM.

Yua took a walk around campus to clear her head, but as beautiful as the spring blossoms are, she begins sneezing incessantly from the pollen. She then makes her way back to her dorm room.

“She’s going to be here any minute! Can you guys keep it down?!”

Upon hearing Megumi’s voice from the hallway, she slows down her pace, nervous of what was waiting for her in her dorm room. Was it an intervention? Why was the entire group there? Was Megumi going to break up with her, hence the need for the back-up?

She shook her head as she walked. No. Megumi wouldn’t. To break up with someone on White Day is just cruel… right?

As soon as she unlocked her door, Megumi was standing in the middle, holding a heart-shaped box, looking embarrassed but sorry at the same time. Behind him, Maki, Nobara, Inumaki, Panda, and Yuji hold up the “I’M SORRY” washi banner. Around the room, there were also origamies of purple lilies.

“Megumi…”

“I’m sorry, Yua. I’m still new to this whole relationship thing. I don’t even watch or read romance, so I can really be bad…” Megumi scratches the back of his neck and looks down, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I spent the entire afternoon thinking how to make it up to you. I’m really sorry.”

At the back, their friends hold in their smiles, but they already know that they were going to tease the two about this in the months to come.

Megumi extends his hand, waiting for Yua to come closer. She reluctantly approaches, though her defenses were already coming down bit by bit. For the first time in a long time, Yua’s voice was softer. “I was really hurt, you know…”

Megumi gives her a faint smile and slowly opens the box of chocolates. “Maybe this will change your mind?”

Yua felt her cheeks get warmer, mimicking the shade the cherry blossoms have. “Fine. I guess.”

Megumi pulls her in a hug and smiles at her. “So we’re okay?” 

“I guess…”

“Good. Now eat your chocolate,” he kisses her cheek.

“...and I’m telling you, I swear I saw Yuji bawl his eyes out the moment his seniors received their diplomas!” Satoru bursts out laughing, some of the cream in his ichigo sando clinging to the side of his mouth.

The morning sun’s rays softly peer through Kyoto Jujutsu High’s cafeteria. Time stood still in this place, as the campus remains unaffected by the agony its students and staff went through about two years ago.

It has been two years since the relentless succession of events. The Night Parade, the Shibuya Incident, the Culling Game, and the Shinjuku Showdown. Neither Satoru nor Chitsai ever thought they would eventually be here, in the quiet morning of Kyoto, sharing an uninterrupted breakfast. 

Chitsai grabs a napkin beside her and wipes the cream off Satoru’s mouth. “I swear, sometimes I can’t believe you’re thirty.”

A loud, boisterous noise resembling laughter comes out of Satoru, making Chitsai retract her hand immediately. “Oh! Oh, what a way to remind me I’m getting old! Can you believe it? Not only am I not the strongest anymore, but I’m also withering.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Satoru. You could never wither.”

He takes another big bite of his sando before placing it down and wiping his mouth clean. Satoru then opens his can of carbonated strawberry milk, gulping it down like a parched athlete.

Chitsai watches in half-awe and half-bewilderment (mostly disbelief on how Satoru doesn’t have diabetes yet at this point). She always knew Satoru was eccentric in his food choices, among other things, but this was on an entirely new level.

But all things considered, she was glad Satoru was still his usual playful self.

“So where will Maki and the rest live now? Will they stay here in Jujutsu High or find an apartment nearby?”

Satoru shrugs and puts his canned drink on the table. “Beats me. I do hope they’ll stay for a bit though. I’ll miss hearing random sushi rice ingredients out of nowhere.”

Chitsai smiles and takes a bite of her own sando. Her breakfast choice was less concerning than the sorcerer in front of her. She opted for an egg and katsu sando with the side of miso soup and barley tea. “You really are attached to them, aren’t you?”

He smiles at her, playing with the can – a habit he does when he is trying to conceal his vulnerability. His expression softens before he speaks. “I could say the same for you.”

Satoru’s eyes, historically utilized for precision in battle since he was a child, now looks at her with the kind of softness one would have when gazing at the sea – calm, unburdened, and quietly tender.

Chitsai feels her cheeks warm up at the sudden change in Satoru’s demeanor. She is used to his boisterous nature, perhaps too used to it, and rarely did he ever offer moments where he almost seemed… soft.

Has his voice always been this deep?

She almost knocks over her tea as she tries to get a hold of herself. Satoru immediately grabs his handkerchief and wipes the area in Chitsai’s hand where her tea spilled. “Are you okay?” Gojo asks as he looks at her, the soft light hitting his eyes at just the right angle.

Has his eyes always been this shade of blue?

Almost immediately, Chitsai retracts her hand and blushes even more. “Thanks…” she says, looking away. “I’m fine, really. It’s… I must still be sleepy,” she clears her throat. “Anyway, we still have Itadori, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki. The three of them are already a handful.” Chitsai tries to pull out a strained laugh.

Satoru looks at her, the way her eyes try to avoid his gaze. She isn’t the most expressive, that he knows for sure, but he has been around her long enough to notice the subtle mood changes.

“So…” he clears his throat. “I’ll be uh, in a meeting with Yaga later for the possible re-location of our second campus.” His gaze then wanders off, anywhere but Chitsai’s eyes that were looking at him with a brand new expression, one his Six Eyes has never seen before.

“Oh,” she takes a sip of her remaining tea, “I thought we were focusing on this sole branch first?”

Satoru leans back on his chair and takes a deep sigh. “Well, I suppose the world keeps spinning. It’s been two years, anyway. About time, don’t you think?”

Another oppressive silence blankets them, making Chitsai hyperaware of every move she makes. She could feel Satoru’s piercing blue eyes scan her, as if trying to figure out her current thoughts.

“You know what’s funny?” Satou adds, “I haven’t been the strongest in two years. After that fight with Sukuna, I thought I was done for. But then everyone rallied behind me, and it was beautiful, but at the back of my head I just kept thinking… What now? What now becomes of me?”

He looks down and plays with the wrapper of his sando. “It’s been my curse and my pride. That title, The Strongest, consumed me until I thought I was going to give out. But…”

His gaze meets Chitsai’s eyes, and for a moment the both of them feel as though some invisible force was building a tether to bind the both of them together. They met in their adult years at Jujutsu High, and initially Chitsai thought she despised everything Satoru stood for. It wasn’t until one mission when Chitsai realized he cares about the students just as much as she does, perhaps even more so.

 “But somehow… I don’t feel empty at all,” Satoru continues, “...not when I’m with you.”

Chitsai grips her tea cup as though it were a lifeline. She and Satoru have always shared a special connection over the years. They've shared it ever since she realized that underneath the loud exterior was a man struggling to make peace with his past and do right in the present.

“What do you mean?” She asks, her throat drying from seemingly unknown reasons to her (she knew exactly why she felt nervous).

Satoru lets out a low huff of laughter before giving Chitsai a soft smile. “I mean… When I’m with you, I don’t feel like I have to be alone anymore. Actually, ever since I met you, I don’t think I ever was anymore.”

He slowly places his hand above hers, interlacing their fingers. His infinity was off, and so were his emotional walls that he usually had so high up.

“Chitsai… I like you. I like being with you. I like how I feel about myself when I’m with you.”

Chitsai’s hand twitches, not out of disgust or fear, but because she could feel all these emotions she has been setting aside for years build up and come out at this very moment. “Like” was too weak of a word for what she felt, for what Satoru truly felt, but for now, as they rebuild the world of Jujutsu, perhaps it was enough.

Satoru realizes he might have said too much. He tightens his grip by just a fraction and leans forward. “You don’t have to say it back. Honestly, up until this morning, I didn’t think I had it in me. We were always just so busy, you know? But now… I don’t know. Sorry, did I scare you?”

And with a deep breath, she gathers her own courage to say it back. If Satoru could do it, then so could she. He deserved to know, even if the label felt too limiting for now.

But then again, they had their entire future to let it grow.

Several cliches have been spoken of about love. But perhaps the one that rings most true is this – that you will encounter many loves in your life, but never the same love twice. 

For Mizuki Kamo, she had learned that one’s great love and one’s right love are never really the same person.

In spite of Naoya, Mizuki loved that boy for several years. She spent her entire teens waiting for him to get his act together, and she spent her early adult years believing that her love was enough to cure the rot inside him.

But then, on a random Tuesday, their great love had been cut off by the sudden realization of Naoya himself that he would never change for love, and that this would only lead to Mizuki hating him. To him, Mizuki was “too good” and “too right”, as if goodness and righteousness were flaws to one’s personhood.

But for the Zen’in, it was.

────────

The Summer of 2018, June. 

Summer humidity persisted throughout the day, but now as the night gets deeper, the cold summer air gently hits Naoya as he sits by the engawa of his private quarters. He is currently going through the week’s mission logs for The Hei. As the head, he is in charge of which missions to prioritize and which ones to assign accordingly.

A servant calls to his door following his very specifications. Two soft knocks, followed by their agenda.

“Naoya Zen’in-sama, Mizuki Kamo-sama is here to see you.”

Naoya’s head snaps up as he drops the papers. Mizuki? His Mizuki? Oh wait, no, it’s no longer his Mizuki. That ended a long time ago – his doing, of course. He had been the one to end it with her, claiming he cannot give her the life she wanted, claiming that his toxicity would drain out the woman he claimed to have loved.

Was Mizuki not worth changing for? Perhaps that isn’t the right question to ask.

Was Naoya too full of himself to want to change for anyone? Now, we have the right question.

“Let her in,” he yells back. The shoji screen slides open, and Mizuki steps in.

And after months of not seeing each other, she now stands in the middle of his room. The years may have been harsh to her, as with any sorcerer who faces death on a daily basis, but she still looks as agonizingly beautiful as the day he left her. 

The moonlight seeping into Naoya’s room made Mizuki’s pale skin seem like it was glowing in the dark. Her jet black hair was let loose down to her hips, and she was wearing a traditional pink kimono. She always wears kimonos in Kyoto, as opposed to her functional black coat, boots, vest, and trousers combination in Tokyo.

“Well, if it isn’t the Princess of the Kamo house. It’s late, Mizuki. Have you finally succumbed to your baser instincts and decided you wanted to have a good late night fu–”

“I’m not here for any of your jokes, Naoya.”

He points to the cushion next to his on the engawa. “Sit, and try to smile. You’ll get wrinkles if you keep that severe expression on.”

Mizuki sits on the cushion. Naoya pours her some sake, but she waves her hand. “None for me. I won’t be here long. I just… I just wanted to tell you something.”

Naoya sits more comfortably, placing his elbow on his knee and places his head to rest on his hand. “And this couldn’t have been settled over a text? A call? A smoke signal?”

“No. Naoya, please be serious for just five minutes.”

He scoffs and drinks the sake intended for her glass. “I didn’t know being an instructor at Jujutsu High took away your humor. Then again, you always did have a peculiar sense of humor–”

“I’m engaged, Naoya.” 

Pure cold silence.

Mizuki begins to pick on the sides of her fingernails, a bad habit she had developed in childhood that persists into adulthood. She keeps at it as the silence grows more and more oppressive between them. The trees surrounding the garden felt taller, more suffocating instead of calming. The cicadas begin to seemingly screech into their eardrums.

“Naoya… please say something…”

Naoya stands and moves towards the edge of the engawa. He clenches his fists, holding his rage in. Even after breaking up, he still sees Mizuki as his. He carries this belief that they belong with each other, no matter who they end up dating. To Naoya, his heart is always Mizuki’s, and Mizuki is his without question, making marriage to another an impossible option.

“Who?”

Mizuki leans forward and furrows her brows. “What?”

“I’m asking who.”

“Naoya, you know I’ve been in a relationship for a while.”

Naoya snaps back at her. “Kusakabe?! That nobody clown playing sorcerer with a sword?”

“He’s a Grade 1 Sorcerer–”

“I don’t give a flying fuck if he’s the strongest Grade 1 Sorcerer alive!” Naoya’s voice begins to raise and becomes more frantic. “He’s a hick from an unknown family. He has no status, no money, nothing to offer you!”

“He is a man, and he’s very good to me.”

Naoya scoffs and points at Mizuki. “So that’s it? Are your standards so low that you would stoop down to his level just because he’s good?!”

“Well, I did fall for you…” Mizuki looks down and bites her lip.

Naoya lets out a strangled laugh. She has a point. To anyone else, she couldn’t go any lower after him. But to him, he is still the gold standard that he believes no other man can surpass. Anyone beneath the Big Three is an insult. And for Mizuki to choose Kusakabe – that was unforgivable.

“So that’s it? You’d throw yourself at any man who shows an ounce of decency towards you? You know what we call those women, Mizuki? We call them slu–”

“Stop it, Naoya! Why are you being this way?!”

“Like what?”

“This! I came here because I knew hearing it from someone else would upset you. I knew if you heard it from the staff, or from another sorcerer, you would never forgive me. I came here because I wanted to save what’s left of our friendship–”

“You’re full of shit, Mizuki! You’re full of shit! You think you’re so noble with your title and your students and your fucking code of conduct. You think coming here makes you a saint?!” He comes closer and points to her face. His manner of speaking was so intense to the point where spit sputters out. “You’re not a saint, Mizuki. You’re a b–”

He slams the pillar beside her head. “If you wanted my blessing, then tough luck, you fucking b–” he grits his teeth and falls to his knees. He wants to say it. Oh, he wants to say it so bad. Bitch. He wants to cuss her out, to hurt her as much as she is tearing him to pieces at this very moment.

But deep down, try as he might, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not to her.

“How could… how could you…” his gums begin to bleed as he grinds his teeth harder. “You’re so full of shit, Mizuki…”

Mizuki kneels down with him. She holds both his hands and gently rubs her thumbs in a circular motion against his hands to calm him down. “But you were the one who left me. I tried my best to live with your decision to break up with me…”

She gently runs her fingers through his bangs. A sigh breaks out before she speaks again. “There really was no easy way of breaking this news, wasn’t there?”

Naoya comes closer, resting his head on her chest. “No, there wasn’t…”

Mizuki pats the back of his head, trying her best to soothe him while still maintaining a fraction of the boundary she set. “I really loved you, Naoya. You have to know that, right? You were my first love. Everything I had… I gave it to you. My innocence, my entire youth, my entire early adult years… it’s all yours.”

Naoya looks up at her and shakes his head. He cups her cheek, and suddenly his expression visibly softens. It’s a look he rarely gives anyone, but with Mizuki he would freely give it a thousand times over.

“I love you, Mizuki.”

Naoya straightens up in his cushion and holds Mizuki’s hand. His finger runs through the engagement ring she wore. “I love you so much that I didn’t want you to rot with me.”

“But you could have changed.”

“No. I couldn’t,” he looks at their joint hands. “I couldn’t, because I don’t want to.”

“This is who I am, Mizuki. And this is who you are. And someone loved you enough to fight for it… despite being a low-class hick.”

She smiles at him and holds his hand tighter. At least, just for tonight, the both of them could pretend the future didn’t exist. “For what it’s worth, I always thought it was going to be you.”

Naoya scoffs and looks at her. His smile this time is devoid of any arrogance, any pretense that he was unbothered. It was the purest smile he could have done for anyone. “Then you’re not as smart as they praise you to be.”

They look at the private garden and move closer to each other. Naoya wraps an arm around her shoulder. “Naoya, don’t…”

Shinon Kamo sits by the engawa of the Kamo estate’s main hall. The Kamo clan has just come into burgeoning power during this era, so everything in the estate is new. A blank slate to shelter what will be several clandestine meetings, secrets, and betrayals in centuries to come.

Love is sin, Shinon writes in her booklet. She dabs her small brush by the inkpot and takes a deep breath. Shinon is the eldest daughter of the Kamo clan’s main line, and yet remains unmarried at thirty-two years old. This is the ultimate source of her father’s headaches, the reigning clan head. 

She has, of course, met various suitors who would come at their doorstep. Aristocrats, relatives of royalty, if royalty themselves, would ask for her hand in marriage. But every time she gets engaged, every time a wedding date gets close, she runs away until the ceremony date is over and the groom’s family is too upset to ever resolve it.

Love is sin, that was her mantra. Because her past suitors were not rejected simply on a whim. Shinon knew at an early age that boys or men did not make her feel anything at all but irritation. And she now carries this well into adulthood.

The female servants in their house, however, hold a different story. It stayed this way up to her early twenties when she would then have female staff in her room during late hours. Shinon did all these in the dark, and yet in daylight she would pray the longest in the estate’s temple, kneeling until her knees were scraped and sore, refusing to look at the Buddha statue in front of her until she felt absolutely absolved of her sins.

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I am a fool with a death-wish, she thinks to herself. For the entire week since her joint mission with the Fujiwara’s Sun, Moon, and Stars Squad, Shinon has become restless around the Kamo estate. She slips on tatami mats, disassociates during important clan meetings, pours too much tea on her father’s cup during tea time and, without fail, spends every single minute of her morning prayer time kneeling until the floor gives blisters to her knees. 

This week is more intense than usual, because for the first time since her silent vow of celibacy from the same sex, she has written a letter to the captain of the Fujiwara clan’s Sun, Moon, and Stars Squad for a clandestine meeting to be held a week from then.

After the seventh sun sets from now, meet me by the outskirts where the riverside begins. Come after the sun sets. 

Simple, direct, and too forward for a lady of her stature.

She didn’t have to say where exactly, because to her, it is imperative that the Sun, Moon, and Stars captain of the Fujiwara would find her. Takako Uro is the sky itself, and Shinon has decided that if the attraction is mutual, then Uro would find her. 

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Later, as night begins to wrap Kyoto’s skies, Uro roams the horizon. 

Love is weakness, that is her philosophy. Uro, at this time, is still the nameless captain of the Sun, Moon, and Stars Squad of the Fujiwara.

She wanders the skies by the outskirts of Kyoto, using the space around her to conceal her full form. This is the first time they would ever have a conversation outside of battle since their joint mission. Kamo and Fujiwara. Except Uro isn’t exactly a Fujiwara, not in the pure sense. Uro is a weapon. She is the captain of their elite squad, and yet she feels like a glorified sword, simply because she is one. Love, emotions, softness: all are alien concepts to her until Shinon gave her that fateful note saying she wanted to meet by the outskirts of Kyoto. 

Love is weakness. Love is nothing but weakness. Uro knows this by heart. She knows it in her very soul.

And then Uro sees Shinon.

“There she is,” Uro mutters to herself, seeing Shinon sit by the large oak tree. Uro descends and walks towards Shinon, the moonlight accentuating Uro’s sturdy form.

Shinon stands up nervously, stumbling on a root. “C–Captain!” Shinon straightens her kimono–a dark crimson with floral patterns. “You came. Thank you. I… I didn’t know you would come.”

Shinon looks up at the sky. The sun had already set minutes ago. “You’re a bit late, aren’t you?”

“You said after the sun sets. The sun had just set. You’re the early one,” says Uro. She reaches into the pocket of her loose kimono, handing over a piece of quartz to Shinon before sitting next to the Kamo lady.

“A prize from the Fujiwara after a successful mission yesterday. I have no use for it." She places the quartz on Shinon’s hand. “But I know every lady with a noble ranking loves jewels and crystals. Perhaps you could have it carved.”

Shinon wraps her fingers around the quartz. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She bites her lip before continuing what she had to say. “You really didn’t have to. I’m the one who asked for you here, so I’m the one who’s supposed to give you something. But… I didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Uro takes her seat by the oak tree, Shinon following suit. “Why did you write that note?” Uro asks, looking at Shinon. Despite how harmless the noble woman seems, Uro is trained to be distrustful, and so she continues to look for any sign of deception from the Kamo woman.

But Shinon’s face is the picture of innocence and purity. “Is it so wrong for a lady to wish to make acquaintances with someone so fascinating?” 

“Fascinating?” Uro scoffs. “You must not know many people if you find me fascinating.”

Shinon laughs softly. “Well, you’re right about that.” She looks up at the horizon and sighs. “It’s not like I have many opportunities to meet actual companions, let alone acquaintances. All I meet are clan heads and sons of clan heads. All of which give me a desire to claw my eyes out in a rather violent fashion.”

Uro chuckles softly. She moved closer to Shinon’s space. Every movement, no matter how deliberate, still feels akin to walking on a tightrope. “So you would rather send strange notes to women from opposing clans?”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

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It did work.

For several weeks, Shinon and Uro would meet right by the large oak tree. They initially began talking about mundane things such as missions, insufferable clan members (mostly men), curse manifestations, the looming threat of Sukuna at that time. At least for the first few weeks, what the two women shared could have been interpreted as mere friendship.

Which it was.

So why is Shinon, once again, at the Kamo estate’s private worship hall at nighttime, on an empty stomach since breakfast, begging for absolution?

“There is a feeling so intense building inside of me,” she whispers, hoping only the halls of the temple would hear. “She has no name. She is a tool of the Fujiwara. She is nothing more but a glorified sword to people of my stature…”

Shinon bangs her head on the floor and pulls herself harder to the ground. “And yet… for weeks on end, I feel I…”

Her hands clench harder. “She is a woman. This has been my most fatal curse since I had been born. And to feel this for a woman so far beneath me–”

Shinon grits her teeth. “Only she is not so beneath me in my eyes. In my heart. When I look at her, I see the moon itself. The only light in this dark and dismal cage I reside in. Her hair is the same shade as Spring. And when I touch her…” sweat falls from Shinon’s forehead, but she keeps her head down. “When I touch her, I never want to stop. I want to feel her everywhere. I want to know every scar, every vein, every mark. I want to feel her on my fingers, on my palm, on my tongue…”

She slams her fists on the ground and runs off. She runs past the Kamo estate’s hallways, past the guards, past the servants, past her cousins and her own father. She slides the door to her room and slams it shut.

“Love is sin,” she writes again on her booklet, this time more aggressively. Ink blots scatter all over the pages, seeping through and staining the desk, her hands, her clothes. She writes it over and over again, until the heat would hopefully disappear from her body. 

But it only grew. With each stroke, each time she finished writing “sin”, the heat intensified tenfold.

Love is sin.

Love is sin.

Love is sin.

She slams her entire table upside down and curls up on the tatami mat. 

Love is sin, and I want to taste her. 

Love is sin, and I want to grip her hair.

Love is sin, and I want to feel her from the inside.

For the next few days, Shinon does her best to purify herself. The Sun, Moon, and Stars Squad is assigned a special mission on the other end of Kyoto, and so Shinon does her best to preoccupy herself with scripture studies and hours of reflection in their temple. 

From the outside, she is the exact model of what a diligent and devout Kamo daughter ought to be, to which her father approves. 

Nobody knows about her secret, or the intense storms she is currently holding within her, and so to everyone else Shinon was simply the image of a perfect docile young woman in Heian nobility.

But despite doing everything to cleanse herself, Shinon could not resist when Uro finally completed her mission days after. 

When it comes to Uro, succumbing to temptation is the only commandment. 

On the set day of the week that they were supposed to meet, she arrives with haste at their usual spot by the oak tree. Shinon sits down, flattening her kimono and making sure there are no visible wrinkles. She tasked the servants to scent her kimono overnight, then once again this morning, to ensure that by the time she would wear it by sunset, it would have the perfect natural scent.

Shinon stares up at the sky, looking for any disruptions, any sign that Uro was moving towards her.

“Stop fretting, you look radiant,” says Uro, suddenly appearing behind Shinon.

Shinon jumps and stumbles on her feet, but Uro catches her just in time. “You smell of plum blossoms.” Uro pulls Shinon closer. “And your cheeks are more red than usual. Have you changed the mixture in your cosmetics?”

“No!” Shinon looks away, but her body remains fixed in Uro’s hold. “I just… it’s almost summer, and it’s hot!”

“Right. The temperature is to blame,” Uro loosens her grip on Shinon, her thumb slowly tracing small circular patterns on Shinon’s shoulders. “You’ve gone thinner.”

“The food at the estate has been bland and uninspired,” says Shinon, still avoiding eye contact. “You should really let go of me. It’s improper to hold a lady this way.”

Uro slowly lets her go. They both sit at their usual spot by the oak tree. “Your face has also gotten hollow. Is there something in your head, Shinon?”

Shinon’s hands are clasped together. She stares at the grassy spot next to Uro, avoiding eye contact, afraid that her eyes would give everything away. “Captain… we’ve been… talking like this… for nearly a full moon.”

“I am aware of the frequency, Shinon.”

“Do you ever do this… with other people?” Shinon then gathers up the courage to look Uro in the eye, the pink flecks highlighted by the soft sun rays. “I mean, do you also meet with other people in secret? And just… talk?”

Uro holds their eye contact, her gaze turning into something more intense and sincere. “Why do you ask, Shinon?”

“I ask because…” she clears her throat. “Nothing. Forget I asked anything.”

“Why did you ask, Shinon?”

“Forget it!” Shinon stands and moves forward. She looks at the setting sun and clenches her fists. “You should not sit nor stand so close to me. Friends–” she grits her teeth, “even friends still maintain a certain distance.”

Uro walks towards Shinon, just a breadth away from Shinon’s back. “Friends,” she says, the word appearing to have a bitter taste in her mouth. “You speak of our meetings as if they are simple afternoon tea sessions with your cousins or fellow aristocrats.” Uro flips Shinon to face her this time, leaving no room to hide any micro-expression, any hint of admission. “You speak as if the things you have shared with me are things you also share with your peers in that lonely cage of yours.”

“Stop it–”

“To answer your question, no, I do not treat anyone else the way I treat you. Who would I do that with, Shinon? I am the Captain of the Fujiwara’s Sun, Moon, and Stars Squad. We all have no names, we have no story, no soul. For the longest time, for as long as I have lived, I have been a tool. I have been a sword and a shield to a clan that won’t acknowledge that I have a soul that needs the light, that I have love to give–”

Love. Upon speaking the word, Uro drops her hold on Shinon and steps back for a fraction. “These things… I hadn’t realized, until you gave me that note. It was a simple message, I know, saying you wanted to meet… but for the first time, Shinon, I felt someone had finally seen me. Was I wrong?”

Shinon takes a deep sigh and looks down. “You… you weren’t.” She looks up at Uro, Shinon’s gray eyes warming at the sight of the captain of the most prominent clan guard squad so vulnerable. “But this feeling has nowhere to go. One day, I will be wed to some aristocrat’s son, and this would be nothing more than a transgression. A sin.”

“Does this feel like a sin to you?” Uro comes closer and holds Shinon’s chest, right where her heart was beating violently. “Does it feel like perversion?”

“It does.” Shinon takes a deep breath, her chest heaving from the tension. “It does, because a sin is meant to feel good.” She clenches her fists until her nails sink deeper into her skin, thin strips of blood spilling out. “Perversion is nectar to a person who has only ever lived in an orthodox manner.”

For a long time, silence freezes them both in place, none making an effort to move. Uro’s hand remains on Shinon’s chest, and Shinon keeps still. “You’re bleeding, Shinon.” Uro moves both her hands to the small of Shinon’s back and presses her closer. “The Blood Manipulation sorcerer bleeds for the glorified sword. History books would put that front and center.”

“The history books would erase us,” says Shinon. Tears build up from her eyes as she looked at Uro’s lilac eyes. “The Kamo and Fujiwara would rather deny we ever existed in this world than admit that two women, one noble and one weapon, had ever felt so much for each other.”

“Is that why you bleed? Why you starve? Why you punish yourself? Because you feel for me?” Uro begins stroking Shinon’s hair, gently tucking them behind her ear. Uro kisses Shinon’s forehead. “Should we stop this? Should I stay away from you, so that you won’t hurt anymore?”

“No!” Shinon yells, gripping onto Uro’s kimono, pulling her closer if that were even possible. “I would rather commit flogging after every moment we share, than to live without you. With you I receive punishment for feeling alive, but should I be without you, then it would be as though I were dying every day once my eyes open at dawn.”

Uro doesn’t respond with words. Instead, she leans forward and closes the final gap between them. The moment Uro’s lips meet Shinon’s, Uro could feel her world get more and more narrow, until Shinon is the only one she can see and feel. Uro has never kissed anyone before. All she knows is roughness, yet as she holds Shinon, all Uro could feel is the softness of her body.

Shinon opens her mouth, allowing access for Uro’s tongue to go deeper into her. Small moans escape Shinon, only to be swallowed by Uro with great intensity. In this moment, the sounds coming out from Shinon’s mouth are far greater than any ceremony bell or ancient chant.

When the kiss breaks, Uro rests her forehead on Shinon’s. “Shinon…”

“It’s unfair,” Shinon says breathlessly, smiling softly at Uro. “I have a name you can speak. But I have to keep calling you Captain, and I’m not even on your squad,” a small pout forms on Shinon’s lips.

“Then perhaps you should name me.”

Shinon gently cups Uro’s cheek. “Would you really let a Kamo woman give you a name?”

Uro leans her face more into Shinon’s touch. “No. I would let my friend give me a name.”

Shinon laughs softly. “Captain, I don’t think we can call each other friends after what we just did…” she looks around, thinking of what name to call Uro.

“Takako,” Shinon says. “You keep telling me I am dutiful and noble, as if you are not those things yourself.” She then takes a deep breath. “And Uro, perhaps, considering the long void that you were nameless, and I had to fill it in,” Shinon grins.

“Takako Uro,” Uro repeats. This is the very first time she would speak her own name. “Takako Uro. It… it will do.”

“Can you kiss me again, Takako?”

Uro smiles. “I thought it was perverse to do so?”