the afterlife.

FAM HAS RELOCATED! FIND ALL MY MUSES OVER @taiyou-torikomu.

@jinseiborn: escalating this quickly from 🌹

𑁍—"Well, yeah, I meant to say it out loud. You're gonna cram me in this little nook, perfectly kissing sized, not ten centimeters from my face and talk plant psychology at me, and what? I'm not supposed to put two an' two together? C'mon, Kurama. Maybe I'm not the best at gardening or math, but I'm really good at making an ass out of myself.

Or haven't you noticed?"

The edge of his grin beckoned to what he knew of Kurama's fascination with the dangerous, the unexpected, and the sincerity of a person; his expression was unabashed, his intentions were pure. More or less. Sure he was nervous. Sure the possibility of rejection lingered at the back of his mind. But historically, neither of those had ever presented as obstacles grand enough to stop his mouth before, so why get all hesitant now?

Yusuke's palm spread against the warm planks behind Kurama's head; for balance and to give fox-boy a little more of a caged-in kind of impression. Maybe if he helped him feel a little pissy about the situation, he could rile him up out of that tidy veneer of perfectly curated distance. It wasn't about the physicality of it; proximity-wise, Kurama wasn't averse to sharing space. And there was no way Yusuke was going to kid himself about catching up mentally to a thousand-plus year old yokai combat-botanist- strategist. This was about feelings and stuff. Not exactly a smooth and reachable terrain for either of them. That was why it was important to remind Kurama that being young absolutely sucked. You could never know quite enough. Saying the right words was embarrassing as hell even when you got it right. Everything was a learning experience, which meant there were a lot of screw-ups to be had. It sucked. And it was also the most exciting, worthwhile, amazing time to share with Kurama. He'd loved every moment of it, even the moments he'd hated - he'd loved, too. They were in this stupid, awkward, incredible time of their lives, and somehow, in spite of the many opportunities for distance and/or death, they were together for it.

That was why he thought a kiss was a good idea.

Yeah, his reasoning checked out. Now it just came down to execution. No sweat.

His gaze surveyed the contour of Kurama's jaw, tracing the path to his lips. Stupid soft kissable Kurama. His empty hand followed that course, gripping into the vibrant collar of Kurama's uniform. A possessive draw of his wrist encouraged his companion closer, but if the redhead obliged, Yusuke would reward the cooperative measure by stroking his thumb alongside the jawline he'd just studied.

He would credit his delinquent days and smoking habit for his kissing expertise - although that would probably piss off everyone he wanted to kiss. But even then, they wouldn't be able to deny the way that his mouth knew just how much pressure to use in meeting theirs; the gentle way his lips gripped up against another pair of lips, practiced finesse, practiced expectation of sharing the space between his upper and lower lip. An entwining of breath, vitality, and the heat of a living soul, touching along the boundaries of one another so closely that the taste of spirit and flesh alike permeated the tender collision.

𑁍—Thick, sable lashes were netted together tightly for his usual capricious smile, and that expression didn't falter even as the brazen and ambitious Shinomiya issued him a rare ...compliment? She offered it sideways and by-association, but he'd count it.

His piercing, scarlet gaze was hidden away, but he studied her with fixed curiosity just the same. Proud. Eager. Incredibly skillful. All of it went for both Reno Ichikawa and Kikoru Shinomiya. So that was some high praise coming from fellow perfectionists.

"That's what he says, eh? Well, that's great news! Turns out I might just be qualified for my rank, after all."

He gave a robust grin in jest, but he knew that Shinomiya didn't say many things off-handedly. And from what he'd seen of her, she didn't waste time with idle socializing when she could be honing her skills or driving her potential forward. If she'd sought him out, she'd have a reason for it. ...but, like her father, she wasn't always the most forthcoming with her genuine feelings or intentions.

She had the right idea for the most part, disregarding empty platitudes and focusing on a proactive approach. He respected that about her - along with her countless other exemplary traits. But he wasn't exactly made of grace - guessing as to what she was targeting him for was an uncertain game with unclear rules.

Fortunately, he found it worthwhile to run some risks. Not bothering to conceal his interest, he pressed for a little transparency,

"He could say the same for you, if we're bein' honest. Is there some reason why I should know what Ichikawa's sayin' about me?

Didja need to make use of his assessment? Or are ya interested in gettin' reviewed, yourself?"

taiyou-torikomu: CROSSOVER PROMPT EXCERPT: Nᴏᴛ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ Gᴇᴛᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ Gᴏᴊᴏ's ᴄᴀᴍᴘᴀɪɢɴ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ Tʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴᴛʜ Rᴇғʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴛᴏ ɪɴᴠᴇsᴛɪɢᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴɪɴɢ Vᴏɪᴅsᴇɴᴛ …ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟ ʙʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ Vᴏɪᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ Sᴏᴜʀᴄᴇ. Oʙsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ғɪʀsᴛ ʙʏ Cᴀɪᴛ Sɪᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛʟʏ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇᴀғᴛᴇʀ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ Cᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Rᴇᴅʙɪʟʟ Sᴋʏ Pɪʀᴀᴛᴇs, Lᴇᴏғᴀʀᴅ Mʏsᴛᴇ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ғᴀɪɴᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴘᴇʀᴄᴇᴘᴛɪʙʟᴇ ғʟᴜᴄᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪsᴇ ɪɴᴇʀᴛ ᴇɴᴇʀɢɪᴇs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Vᴏɪᴅ Aʀᴋ, ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴɪᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ sᴏᴜɴᴅ… "A ᴛᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ sᴏᴜɴᴅ," Lᴇᴏғᴀʀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇᴅ, "ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴛʜʀᴏᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴄᴋ ᴏʀ sᴜᴍᴍᴀᴛ." "…ᴏʀ ᴀ ɢᴜᴇsᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀ," sᴜᴘᴘʟɪᴇᴅ Cᴀɪᴛ Sɪᴛʜ, ɪɴsᴘɪʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴅ. Wɪᴛʜ ʀᴇᴘᴏʀᴛ ɪɴ ʜᴀɴᴅ, Gᴇᴛᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ Gᴏᴊᴏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ Aʏᴍᴇʀɪᴄ ᴅᴇ Bᴏʀᴇʟ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ ғᴏʀᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏғғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴠᴇsᴛɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ. Wʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅɪsᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ sɪʟᴇɴᴛ, ғʟᴏᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴍʙ ᴏғ Mʜᴀᴄʜ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ғɪssᴜʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴇɴᴇʀɢʏ - ᴏʀ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴀ sᴍᴀʟʟ ʙɪᴛ ᴏғ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄʟᴀᴡᴇᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴀᴛᴇɴ ᴀᴡᴀʏ. Wʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ Vᴏɪᴅ Aʀᴋ ᴡᴀs ʟᴏsᴛ, sᴏᴍᴇ ғɪғᴛᴇᴇɴ ʜᴜɴᴅʀᴇᴅ ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴀɢᴏ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ Vᴏɪᴅsᴇɴᴛ ᴅᴇsᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴇ Aʀᴋ ʙᴜᴛ ɪʟʟ-ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ Vᴏɪᴅ. Tʜᴇʏ ʜᴀᴅ sᴏᴜɢʜᴛ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙʏ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴍᴇᴀɴs ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴘᴏssᴇssᴇᴅ, ᴘʀɪᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴇɪʟ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛɪᴇs, ᴛᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴀ sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴏᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ Aʀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ sᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴅɪᴍᴇɴsɪᴏɴ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ Mᴀᴋᴀɪ - ᴛʜᴇ Dᴇᴍᴏɴ Rᴇᴀʟᴍ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍʏʀɪᴀᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜᴘᴇʀɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ʏᴏᴋᴀɪ ʀᴀᴄᴇ ʀᴇsɪᴅᴇᴅ. A ғᴇᴡ ʟᴏᴡ-ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ ʏᴏᴋᴀɪ ᴅᴇɴɪᴢᴇɴs ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴘʀʏɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇᴀʀ, ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄᴜʀɪᴏsɪᴛʏ. Tʜᴇ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴘᴀᴛɪᴀʟ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅᴀʀɪᴇs ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ Aʀᴋ. Tʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴀsɪʟʏ ᴅɪssᴜᴀᴅᴇᴅ ʙʏ Gᴇᴛᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ Gᴏᴊᴏ's ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴀʟ. (Tʜᴇʏ ʀᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴀᴡᴀʏ.) Jᴀɢᴀɴsʜɪ Hɪᴇɪ ᴡᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ Gᴇᴛᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ Gᴏᴊᴏ ᴀɴᴅ sᴛᴀʏ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ, ᴀs ʜᴇ ʟɪɴɢᴇʀᴇᴅ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏғᴛᴇɴ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ Mᴀᴋᴀɪ, ᴛʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ Dᴇᴍᴏɴ Wᴏʀʟᴅ Tᴏᴜʀɴᴀᴍᴇɴᴛ. Hᴇ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴀ ᴠɪɢɪʟ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʟᴏsᴛ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴs ᴡʜᴏ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇɴʟʏ ᴡᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟᴍ, ᴀɴᴅ sᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ʜᴏᴍᴇ; ᴛʏᴘɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɴᴏ ʀᴇᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs sᴀᴠᴀɢᴇ, ғᴏʀᴇɪɢɴ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ. Eᴠᴇɴ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʜᴇ'ᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪʀ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴀʏ, ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇɴ'ᴛ sᴏᴍᴇ sɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴜʀɪsᴛs: ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅʟʏ ᴏʙɴᴏxɪᴏᴜs ᴛᴏᴜʀɪsᴛs.

𑁍—Nothing was ever static in the Demon Realm. Aberrant storms borne of the clashes of vitriolic energies crackled overhead. The restless denizens of Makai were ever-clamorous: gnashing, expanding, conquering. There was no penitent veneer of civility to be found in the Demon Realm. And that was why he preferred it. Most of the time.

It was a poor choice if one sought rest - there were better realms to court for that. But he wasn't looking to idle. There was power he needed to cultivate, and strength he needed to carve into his body, and there was no experience quite like training in Makai.

While there were waves of chaos characteristic to the plane, and nearly predictable in their wake, Hiei was still attentive to the emergence of energies that did not fit into the volatile tapestry behind him. Typically, those mild-mannered disturbances belonged to misplaced humans who encountered the absence of a barrier between the Human and Demon Realms - a fairly recent development - and mistakenly wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time, in the wrong life. His task therein was forthright: he would intercept them, scrub their mind's eye clear of the memories of Makai, and send them packing back to their own more hospitable realm.

Fortunately, such irritating interruptions were sparse, or else he'd come to feel far less chivalrous about the return label on those lost humans.

That new protocol notwithstanding, it wasn't exactly the manner of intrusion that his augmented perception trained in on.

A crowd of lowly yokai were fleeing from within a thick swatch of a dark forest called The Sinking Shroud. Not altogether a strange occurrence - instances of the weak as they fled from danger could be witnessed a thousand or more times a day. That forest held formidable threats, after all. But then the threats fled, too, and Hiei's curiosity was thus piqued. Ancient yokai of fair power still rushed to the outer edges of the wood - yokai who had claimed that territory for centuries, ceded their hunting grounds within moments. Hiei's speed wove through their numbers, and found that at the distant side of the forest, the great haunted oak that had granted the woods its name had burst open, like a gaping wound. It was a massive tree, hundreds of feet tall and several score in width. It had a nasty habit of grabbing passerby with its lithe, serpentine branches and pulling them down into the soil to nourish its roots; hence, the forest's Sinking appellation.

Whether it was a plant or a beast, none could aptly say - but at the moment, it was far more wounded than Hiei had ever seen, in spite of generations of yokai hacking and slashing at it, whether out of revenge or just some honest, healthy fear.

The wind rattled resentfully through its branches, and as Hiei neared the site, he could see that something had ...pried it open. He moved a little closer, and caught view of two unfamiliar entities who were also surveying the site. Beyond the tree's grievous injury, the space behind them looked... different. A distortion of some kind - or a portal. Hiei bristled. It was too soon to deal with portals and barriers again, damn it.

The smell of human just didn't waft from them like it ought to have. Small wonder, as he examined them: the dark-haired traveler sported a pair of ears that he was accustomed to sighting on Yoko Kurama. A kitsune yokai? From some other, similar realm? A cursory glance at the ash-haired man didn't offer as much in the way of an explanation of his nature, but his presence carried a burdensome weight and an endlessness at once. Hiei's jaw was tense; their strength was writ in plain sight, he didn't even need to invoke the Jagan. His instincts bid him to drive an attack, but instead he wrenched his jaw loose enough to speak,

"If you're here for the Tournament, you're either too late or too early. Go home. Try again in two and a half years or so."

Were they the ones who had split open the Sinking Tree? Where did they come from, what was that disturbance about? And why had they come? He wasn't the Spirit Detective - who by all rights, was the one who was supposed to be pursuing the answers to questions like that. Maybe they'd pick a fight; that he preferred to deal with.

𑁍—It was late in the afternoon. The cicadas were trilling lazily, and the shadows were sprawling in length along the structure of the dormitory building.

Megumi had known that Nobara was on the approach as he lingered just outside, breathing in the onset of cooler evening air. He knew the sound of her footsteps. He'd long since memorized the cadence of her gait - assured, attentive, enterprising. She was the opposite of himself, in some regards. He enshrouded, obfuscated, retained. Nobara was electric, illuminating, clarifying.

And maybe that's what made it so easy for him to pick her out of a crowd, or glean her presence in a space. But it was very important not to let her know that she occupied such a swath of his mind. She wasn't a reticent girl, and she didn't shirk from capitalizing on what she could influence. What she'd do with that knowledge....he didn't want to even think about it.

She'd probably try to run him down to his last ragged nerve. And it would probably end up taking less energy to oblige her than to argue, which was a dangerous predicament. He'd seen the tower of bags and boxes that Itadori ended up carting for her. He sure as hell wasn't going to end up at the bottom of one of those stacks. Or dragged into debates on restaurants, or regaled about seasonal fashion. (It was beyond his notice at the moment, that he'd apparently paid plenty of attention to Nobara's pet topics even when he wasn't directly involved in the event.)

She was like Gojo in that: too charismatic for her own good. Maybe Itadori was content to get drawn in to Gojo-sensei's and Kugisaki's pace, but he wasn't going to be so easy. It was up to him to keep the line strong against the liberties they'd take.

She moved in, and spoke. And he delayed his response until he had to catch the paper projectile. It sank into his palm as he turned on heel, wearing an irked expression.

It was more or less performative. He wasn't actually opposed to her company. But again. The line. He had to hold it.

“If it's not about a mission, I don't really have time to stand around.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tsumiki's voice chided him for being cold towards someone who had just voiced their concern for his well-being.

All right, all right. It wasn't capitulating if he was just acknowledging her consideration.

“...I'm fine. Thanks for asking.”

Out of reflex, he'd made mention of declining Nobara's intentions to talk with him over something, but he hadn't made any progress in actually leaving or avoiding hearing her speak. The way she'd phrased it, like he'd missed out on a big development, or a profound quantity of information - it piqued his interest, but there was always the risk that it could be something unabashedly ridiculous. In spite of his best efforts to stay in his own lane, he'd been caught up in pranks and nonsense by the other pair and their mentor too many times to just blithely invest his attention.

Maybe he'd prod just a little - see if he couldn't get her to divulge just enough of her intentions to tell him whether he was better off washing his hands of the situation in play, or whether it actually needed to involve him in earnest.

“If it is important, we'll talk inside. I don't want to hear complaints about mosquito bites for days on end.”

𑁍—Panda held up his paws in a conciliatory gesture, giving the tempestuous Maki a few moments to remember how adorable he, as a panda, truly was; preferably before she decided to follow her verbal complaint up with a physical emphasis.

Not that he was worried! He was just trying to help! And good intentions had never led anyone down any kind of a troublesome path.

“Don't shout, Maki! I'm the good guy here!

I'm just saying, if you wanted a little kissing practice for when Yuta gets back, I can help you out. For free! It's a good idea if you think about it for a minute. You don't have a good track record for this kind of thing, right? But you're gonna want to make a good impression when he shows up!”

Sleek, ink black lips drew forward as he leaned in towards her a bit, affectionate, jocular, and brazen. (Close, but not too close, he needed a little room open just in case she opted for a fresh up roundhouse or something).

His reasoning was so sound. One: because he was a panda, it wasn't technically like he was getting in between the two! Because he didn't think about humans like that. But two: because he was Panda he was close enough to both of them to have some motivation for making sure everything worked out right.

It was a pretty inspired plan! Maki was just being stuffy.

Wait... did she think he couldn't kiss?? Pandas were inherently irresistible and kissable - and he had even more charm than the regular guys!

“EHHHH? Don't tell me! You don't think I can do it? Is it because I'm a panda!? Ouch! That's discrimination, you know? I'll have you know that kissing is 100% hardwired in along with arm-wrestling and sleep-talking!

Put up your best pout, Maki, or admit that you're scared of losing to panda's smooch!”

Oh, and the third reason. Because it was funny.

He would do his best not to get turned into a rug, but right up to that point, it would probably be worth the rest just for the chance to tease Maki a little.

Sometimes she packed too much upon her shoulders, and she forgot that she was entitled to the nonsense and the heckling of adolescence, too! Fortunately, he was here to make sure she didn't miss a moment of it. Maki, like Yuta, and Toge, and the rest of his hardworking friends at Jujutsu High - all deserved more of the best parts world than he could fit in his own two clawed paws. It would be ridiculous to apologize for that out loud - and they weren't the types to accept it, anyway. He knew what Masamichi had desired in giving him siblings. Having someone there in the dark with you. Sometimes it was enough to save a life.

Well, he wouldn't claim that he was trying to save Maki's life, or anything substantial like that. It was just a kissing game. And it kept Yuta in their conversations. But it was also a reminder that her world was so much bigger than just the weight of the Zen'in Clan. Who could worry about sneering old sorcerers when there was a giant, dashing panda beckoning at your attention~? If it worked, he'd have to pass his superior technique onto Yuta, after. It could be that playing human games like this was one of his better ideas.

𑁍—His hands froze in place, strong fingers cradling a thick stack of papers left suspended in an upright position. The satisfying "thap!" of aligning the bottom of the stack against the surface of his desk didn't follow at all like he'd intended. A thin veil of dark lashes parted as he glanced with incredulity towards his captain.

What kind of question was that? No, it probably wasn't that strange of a question. What was strange were the answers that clamored along the sides of his tongue, each more emotionally obscene than the last.

Looking her way suddenly felt dangerous. His lashes knitted together again and he glanced back to his hands, and resumed aligning the pages together.

She hated paperwork. He loved her earnest, unpolished penmanship, though. And sometimes he ensured that she'd have to do a little more of the elective reports because he loved to read the way that things appeared to her. They had seen so many of the same events, but he needed to know how it had all unfolded in her eyes - to her mind. Sincere. Enduring. Unrelentingly heartfelt.

How was he supposed to answer that?

Outdated. Undesirable. Antiquated. Inferior. Insufficient. Impractical. Unqualified. His reputation had hung around his neck like a noose. His name had weighed on his back like a headstone. His grip upon the tsuka of the katana he loved was so tight that he didn't even care that the weight was slowly dragging him towards the edge of somewhere desperate. Somewhere final. Untalented. Obsessed. Disgraced. Overlooked. Unacceptable. Outmatched. Weak.

Then she had stepped into his path, and it was as though she brought him to some higher realm altogether. The world as it turned in her eyes, from her view, the clarity from the heights she had visited - he was gifted it all, for a simple promise.

What he had been looking for... somewhere he could use his blades. Someplace where he could be himself, and strive as he pleased. She had given him those things. He could just as easy say, "Sure." And it would never taste like a lie.

But she had also given him hope. She'd given his name back, his dreams, the will to endure right beside her. The exhilaration of finding out who he was meant to be - what he could achieve. She'd given him strength, and friendship, and a place that couldn't have been called anything but home.

Ashiro Mina. She had won him over a thousand and ten times. She'd given him the world, and a life worth living in it.

Was he ever going to come clean? Sure as hell not. Words like that were better left in someone else's mouth. Like Hibino.

Hoshina smiled surreptitiously, and shrugged a shoulder, “Can't say that I've got any regrets 'bout it. Nothin's lackin' that I know of.

Are ya tryna' figure out how to bargain your way outta these field reports? Sorry, Taichou, I ain't that easy. This half is still yours~.”

Because. He really liked her handwriting.

𑁍—A languid, dark caramel gaze slipped from Itadori Yuji's back, and ventured instead, towards the fair-haired sorcerer nearby. While his self-elected vigil over his younger brother was of paramount importance, so too was it necessary to oblige the interests of those who turned in orbit around the center of his world.

Maybe that was true. And maybe that was something he told himself to obscure the otherwise potent memory of having come up against a seemingly impossible inquiry, himself, not too long ago. Would his answer serve the young woman who asked? Or himself?

A low, contemplative sound reverberated along Chousou's throat as he gave her statement its due gravitas. Then, softly, he offered,

“You've seen things in your lifetime that I couldn't yet think to envision. You've already heard thousands more voices up to this point, than I have in over a century. If I were to tell you to discard your hesitation, or your caution, I would be doing your own wisdom and experience a disservice.”

He crossed his arms over a broad chest, still in the process of deliberating a stance of assistance he could provide. The cooperation between himself the other sorcerers was a surprising development; it wouldn't do to assume he knew the intricacies of her thoughts. He was far more the outsider, here. Yet, he was also the one to whom her words had carried.

Many had gathered beneath the roof of Jujutsu High in a gamble to preserve what was important enough to the whole, and to each individual present, against that which threatened all. It was vital that they lend what they could to one another, when the opposition knew full well, how to target the fragility of human hearts.

“But I will say this: when asking feels impossible, it often stems from two possibilities... either the answer already exists somewhere inside of you, or you know that regardless as to what you'll hear, you already have a course in mind that you intend to take. No matter what.

Naturally, embarking down that road with you is a task that falls to your allies.”

What he knew of his fellows was a little sparse in the way of details. But he did know of Melody. She was held in warm regard by Getou Suguru, who was a close ally to Gojo Satoru, who was his little brother's mentor. So following that vein of reason, he should get to know her better as well, shouldn't he?

What he did know about the young sorcerer was that she had the strength of heart to stand in a space that once spoke only of division, as conflict and differences were set aside in favor of protecting that which mattered most - the individuals and ideals that stood at the center of the struggles ahead. Because she stood with them, he also stood with her. And for that reason, he couldn't allow her to feel as though anything lie beyond her reach. That was simply the courtesy that a companion should provide for their own.

The edge of his generally reserved mouth rose into the faintest trace of a smile, “I get the feeling that very little is actually impossible for you.”

@ofluminance continued from here.

𑁍—The lengthening space between the last breath he’d spent on his admission and the first syllable of Kugisaki’s response sent his stomach running up and down his ribcage. His senses were tightly attuned to her reaction - the subtle shadows cast by her eyelashes, the proud arch of her brow as she contemplated his words. She could lift his world or snap it open with barely a thought.

‘Scary stuff.’ 

Itadori observed and waited, as silence gripped hard at the center of his throat. 

Was she pissed off? Had he seriously overstepped himself?

Even so, it wasn’t as though he could just play it off. 

He’d said it purposefully; it had felt imperative. Like the words would have spelled themselves out from his chest, anyway, as he’d stood in the corridor alone with her. 

It was such a small peace. It was such a small space. Their heartbeats were such small sounds in all the clamor of the school, of the world of sorcerers, of the ageless war between Curses and Humanity. It was just the two of them; a pair of willful souls cradled inside the tenuous space between struggle and survival. 

When a moment like this could unfurl - he had to speak up while they had it.

Everything turned into chaos so quickly these days.  …well, ‘these days’ for him, at least. 

She’d always lived in a world like this, hadn’t she? 

Kugisaki’s amber gaze pried at his attention, and his expression collapsed under the weight of all her unspoken, accurate guesses. He gave a messy, conciliatory grin: half-hope and half-reassurance, 

“I’m not stupid enough to think I can guess what you’re feeling, Kugisaki. Plus, you’d be mad as hell if I started assuming this and that about you, right?”

The pressure of her fingertip against his chest was - at once, both strong and delicate. Heat bloomed like wildflowers at the diminutive span, and the flush followed the path of her touch, pooling in his neck until he thought he would slip out of the waking world altogether. His pulse thundered in his ears and he barely had the presence of mind to issue a weak scoff at the notion of kissing Fushiguro. 

That was. Kind of a different thing. Maybe. Sort of. Was it? 

A chuckle drowned in affection and possibly some terror ventured an escape as he conceded wholly to her claim that they were hopeless without her, “... no comment.”

  She knew what she knew.  

He saw the kiss coming. Felt the grip at his collar. The realization that it was his first kiss with a girl washed over his thoughts, soothing and staggering at once. He swallowed hard against a sense of inadequacy, closed his eyes, and added his gentle favor to the connection between them. 

Itadori expected embarrassment. He thought he’d panic and mess something up. 

He didn’t anticipate the relief. The gratitude. It could have overwhelmed him, if he hadn’t been so cognizant of the sensation. She was warm, close, and her mouth was impossibly soft. Nobara’s breath slipped against his mouth like hot silk, and he raised a hand to her jaw, aligning his fingertips along the curvature of her neck. He was the type to experience the world by what he touched, after all. 

His thumb sought the subtle slope beneath Nobara’s bottom lip and her girlish chin.

He could feel her pulse, beating tenaciously beneath his fingertips. Her taste, the scent of her hair, the heat of her skin - her vitality was coursing against him like a little storm and he was so damned relieved that she was alive in spite of his weakness. In spite of the Curse that -

—

His eyes snapped open. The Curse. A crimson gaze brimming with insatiable malice leered at him somewhere from within a darkness that Itadori felt he’d forged with his own ignorance.   

He should have tasted like death. 

He couldn’t let Kugisaki anywhere near it. 

Because he was a dead man. What was the point of asking her to hear him say something like that when he was a walking execution sentence? Cruel. He was being totally cruel.

God. 

If he’d never swallowed the damn thing, then maybe he and Nobara could have -

…no. …that wasn’t right.

Without having done that - he never would have even known about sorcerers. He never would have met Kugisaki. Or Fushiguro. He never would have known any of them. 

Was he grateful to that bastard?  Not a chance in hell.  Nothing was worth the suffering, the death, and the anguish he brought. 

So wasn’t it kind of messed up that he was glad to kiss Nobara right now? All of it. It was only possible because—

Itadori nuzzled his forehead to Nobara’s brow and pulled away, turning his back to her for a moment in a gentle departure from her view.  

If he got stronger. If he could keep Sukuna and his evil crammed up, if he could help exorcise Sukuna. If he could keep up with Nobara, and never let Fushiguro have to shoulder his weight, again: then maybe… Maybe he wouldn’t feel so gross for asking for their love.  

Itadori lifted his shoulders, and joked nonchalantly, “Jeeze. If you say that’s your first kiss, I’m gonna feel talentless. But if you say it isn’t, then I’m gonna get jealous. What’s a guy supposed to do, here?”

He couldn't quite face her, yet. His eyes were troubled. The back of his neck was beet red. And he gripped her hand tightly in his without saying another word.