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ᢉ𐭩 toph whose love language is banter and play fighting, but who can read the room and quickly understand when something’s wrong with you, stopping the second she doesn’t hear your usual giggly protest.

ᢉ𐭩 toph is stubborn and rebellious, but she’s a great listener. she’s very attuned to your body, so even your voice lowering down a notch piques her attention. she’s blind, but not to your minor changes.

ᢉ𐭩 toph who never brings it up “concretely”, but her gestures are more than enough to let you know she noticed. that day, she’d hold your hand more, cook you hot meals, do your hair, and even shower with you.

ᢉ𐭩 toph who does believe in tough love, but she doesn’t overdo it. she knows how depression can make even the most mundane tasks seem impossible, but with her gentle nudging, everything seemed so much more feasible. she’d carry you bridal style to the bathroom and tease you with her usual smug grin, “c’mon, lazy girl. shower with me, i need someone to rub my back.”

she obviously doesn’t need that, but she will pull excuses out of her ass to make her acts of service seem casual, because the last thing she wants you to feel like is some burden she took pity on.

even with your initial reluctance, you find that her light scolding does help you on the long run. because as tempting as rotting in bed and wallowing in your sadness sounds, you know you’re only digging the hole deeper. they say the only one who can save you is yourself — but in your case, the one who was saving you was toph.

ᢉ𐭩 toph who has a very clear understanding of your limits. she will only push when she can, but in the mornings where your limbs are too heavy around hers and your sighs are even a little bit shakier, she’ll simply pull you closer to her, your back against her chest as she presses soft kisses to your neck. it’s completely freakish how she can assess your state from your breathing alone; she knows your body better than you ever could.

ᢉ𐭩 toph who neatly braids your hair at night so you don’t have to deal with the tangles everyday, knowing how overwhelming hair can be for a depressed individual. once again, she shrugs off your questions with an offended scoff, “stop overthinking. i’m doin’ this because it relaxes me. now hush and stop moving, you’re ruining the braid.”

ᢉ𐭩 toph who’s woken up by the slight tremors of your back against her when you quietly cry in the middle of the night. her heart breaks whenever that happens, but she settles on wrapping her warm arms tighter against your body for reassurance. your crying stops for a second, scared that you woke her up when you really wanted this to be secret.

“..toph?” you’d quietly call out, but the only answer you’d get were her sleepy snores. relief floods you at the sounds and you sigh softly, melting further into her grasp as tears resume falling down your pretty face into the pillows.

of course, she was just faking sleep. she just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or guilty. sometimes, a good private cry was needed.

the next morning, she’d act completely oblivious to spare you the awkwardness, but you’d wake up to a breakfast-in-bed and an oddly clingy toph. when doubts would start simmering, a lump forming in your throat at the possibility that she heard you last night, you’d nervously ask her what was with the sudden affection. at that, she’d just groan and roll her eyes, “what, i can’t just hold my girlfriend anymore?”

reassured, you’d give her a small smile and shake your head, “no, of course you can.”

deep down, on some level, you did kind of have the feeling that she did know. and you were eternally grateful that she never brought it up.

ᢉ𐭩 toph who’s always present but never prods. since she herself wouldn’t want someone to find her secretly crying and start prying, she doesn’t bring it up with you either. but she can pick up on your sadness the days you’re more sluggish and tense, your feelings heavier on your heart. she won’t ask you directly, but she will make you a warm cup of green tea and invite you to sit with her on the balcony under the starry night sky.

that specific routine was her way of telling you “if you want to speak, i’m all ears.” whatever was said on the balcony, remained on the balcony. some nights, your hands would tremble around your cup as you cried and told her everything that weighed you down, and she’d offer you the tightest hug and the wisest words, her hands soothingly raking through your hair.

some other nights, you wouldn’t speak, just wordlessly burying your face into her chest, your fingers curling shakily around her shirt. she’d set your two steaming cups aside to hold you gently, your sobs filling the quiet air. after a little while, when you’d finally lift your head off her with snotty sniffles, she’d push you back against her, her grip gentle but firm, “not yet. cry it all out, sweetheart.”

and with that, to your very own surprise, tears are already soaking through her shirt again, much against your will. her ability to gauge when you were truly done never failed to impress you. she really did know your body better than you did.

ᢉ𐭩 toph who makes it a strict rule for you to never apologize or feel bad about crying in front of her. if a “sorry” ever slipped out of your lips after you were done venting to her, she’d huff and lightly flick your forehead, though not enough to hurt, “i told you to stop doing that, dummy.” then she’d get up, like nothing happened, picking up the now cold cups, “wait here, i’ll reheat our tea.”

ᢉ𐭩 toph who made it so easy to be vulnerable around her because she never used it against you or treated you any differently for it.

ᢉ𐭩 toph whose brows never once furrowed in pity in front of you, who didn’t treat you like some fragile thing for your feelings because she knew how condescending that felt.

whatever happened on the balcony, remained on the balcony.

ᢉ𐭩 toph who always ditched whatever she was doing the second you got up to make green tea, your mutual cue to go to the balcony and have a nice long talk. or just a nice long cry.

Headaches and stomachaches, period cramps, and the latter were all lies that kept you visiting Shoko’s office. As keen as she was, Shoko caught on quickly.

The infatuation you had for Shoko was clear as day, and with each fake injury of yours, her own feelings grew. Of course, she couldn’t tell you that. Being much younger than her, the relationship just wouldn’t be right.

Shoko couldn’t hide her feelings forever, though. That was made clear the a few months ago when she had to kneel in front of you to clean a scrape on your thigh.

Your body was so close to hers, radiating heat. The scent you were wearing, what was it? Vanilla with a fruity undertone? It smelled delicious.

Then Shoko looked up and saw your pretty eyes staring down at her, and her stomach fluttered.

Neither of you could explain how it happened, really. Your lips met and the kiss got heavy, and next thing you knew you had came on the fingers of your college nurse.

All your visits started to end with an orgasm that would have you seeing stars.

“I cut my finger,” you pouted, holding out your pointer. Shoko held back a snort– “cut”, her ass. It was barely even the size of a paper cut. How you noticed an injury so small was beyond her.

“I’m convinced you hurt yourself just so you can come here,” Shoko chuckled, walking over to her desk. She opened the drawer and grabbed an alcohol pad. “Shut the door and sit down. I’ll help you.”

Once you had shut the office door, you ran over and hopped onto her desk, crossing one leg over the other.

Shoko took your hurt hand in her left, while her right hand gently took care of your little paper cut.

“You look nice today,” you complimented. Shoko always looked beautiful in the white nurse dress that hugged her curves just right, and her long brown hair that framed her face perfectly.

“Thank you. You look even better.” Shoko let go of your hand, tossing the alcohol pad into the nearby trashcan.

“Can I stay in here a bit longer?”

Shoko stared down at you, piercing gaze making you squirm. “You’re always in here. Go to class, otherwise you’d be wasting your money.”

You frowned. “I’m an adult. You can’t make me go back.”

Sighing, Shoko brought her face down to yours, lips dangerously close. “What do you plan to do if you stay in here?”

“You decide, Shoko,” you whispered, first name leaving your lips in a way that made Shoko’s stomach do somersaults.

Bringing her hands up, she cupped your face, grip burning tight against your skin.

“You love teasing me, don’t you sweetheart?” Closing the gap between you two, she brought your lips together, melting into you.

The taste of Shoko’s strawberry chapstick filled your mouth immediately, making the already sweet kiss even sweeter. Moaning into her mouth, you attempted to deepen the kiss, but she pulled away before you could.

“Come back to me later tonight, darling.” Shoko pulled you off of her desk, pushing you towards the office door. You looked back at her, frowning.

“Don’t frown at me; we’ll have more time if you wait. Now go, and I promise I’ll make tonight worth it.”

Nodding, you left, shutting the door softly behind you. Shoko was a woman of her word, so there was no need to worry. You knew you’d be unable to walk later that night.

Angels aren't stuck in limbo, watching as all their loved ones get slaughtered simply for the gifts they were given upon being born.

Angels don't have to watch their friends' bodies be paraded around as puppets, just to have to clean up the aftermath.

No, Shoko's always been human. Devastatingly so. She was never one for the spotlight. She never had grand plans to save humanity or change the world. Growing up with friends like Gojo and Geto means getting comfortable hanging back and waiting to be noticed. Never on the front lines, never the first turned to in a crisis; shoko is silently valuable, a tacit boon to jujutsu society.

And as much as she's pushed her cursed technique to its full potential, she's never been able to heal a broken mind. After Geto broke, she spent hours spent pouring over text after text, mapping brain circuitry and studying neural pathways. Despite all her efforts, she was never allowed to touch the mind.

It's probably for the best. Why should she be trusted to determine what makes a "right" mind and a "wrong" mind? How does one parse out the broken from the misunderstood? Besides, Shoko can't judge other people for their inclinations. She's a healer, but she was given a morbid curiosity instead of the natural warmth most people in her profession exude.

The wooden coffee stirrer resting between her fingers muddles the carefully poured steamed milk into the brown of her latte. She came to the cafe for a change of scenery. She thought that maybe if she spent less time in the morgue or surrounded by wounded bodies, the clouds fogging up her mind would let up. Instead, they're swirling around her and bringing everything she wants to forget about up to the surface of her mind.

Gojo would have loved to try the sickeningly sweet frozen coffee abomination the cafe's advertising on the chalkboard out front.

Geto would have shared a matcha with her.

Even Nanami would have liked this place, clean and efficient as it is.

Shoko could've called Utahime before coming here, but…she's always busy. Shoko can't tell if she gives the same canned answer simply because she's actually swamped with work or because Shoko represents the unprocessed agony of the past few months.

She knew she would be signing up for a life of losing her friends, but she never expected to be alone before she hit 30. That has to be a record, even for the jujutsu world.

By the time the first sip of her coffee is taken, it's already tepid. It matches the weather outside of the window she's looking through: somewhere between sunny and gray, like the sky itself can't decide whether it should be gloomy or bright. The cafe is busy, but the bustle is lost on Shoko. It smells like ground coffee beans, steeping tea, and…strawberries…?

The sudden sweet smell makes Shoko come back to herself, and she notices a tray intruding on her peripheral vision. There's a strawberry cupcake and some kind of latte sitting on the plastic, but Shoko's more focused on the hands holding the tray. Phalanges attached to the metacarpals…she follows your radius and ulna up to your humerus. Her eyes linger on the small bit of exposed clavicle the collar of your shirt affords before she finally looks at your face.

You're laughing.

"What's funny?" she asks, a bit annoyed at your perceived judgment.

"Nothing," you smile. "You just seem surprised. I've been watching you for a bit—since I came in, really—and you haven't looked at a single person since. I just wanted to know what would happen if I approached you."

"I'm glad I piqued your curiosity." Shoko's chin finds its way back to her palm, and her gaze fixes on the latte she knows she won't finish. "But I'm not—"

"Hey, do you mind if I sit here?" Not only do you interrupt Shoko, but you're sitting down across from her before she could give the emphatic yes, I do mind that was on the tip of her tongue. "It's just so packed, and I'd rather not sit with a man. You get it."

"…right."

"Sooo," you start. Your speech lulls for a second while your fingers fiddle with the paper lining of your cupcake. "Do you always come to cafes to sit around and sulk?"

"Do you always come to cafes to ask invasive questions to strangers?"

"Well, no. Just to the people who look like they need it."

Shoko mulls your answer around in her head as she watches you bite into your cupcake. Your lips are shiny. Do you use lipgloss? Lip balm? Chapstick? Her mind then begins to wonder if whatever's coating your lips is flavored. Would it match the sweet strawberry of your cupcake? Or would it taste like artificial cherries? Mint? Mango?

Why am I so fixated on this girl's mouth?

"You're staring. Ah, do I have something…?" you trail off and gesture at your mouth.

A quick shake of her head accompanies Shoko's response, "Uh, no. Nothing's there."

You find yourself smiling before you can stop it, and Shoko internally curses herself when she catches the mischievous look in your eyes. "So you were staring because?"

"I zoned out." The excuse is lame, even to Shoko's own ears.

"On my face."

"You have an interesting face."

"I'm taking that as a compliment, by the way."

All Shoko can do is shake her head at your audacity. "Go ahead."

You're odd. That's all Shoko can pin down about you. Even then, you haven't displayed any overtly odd mannerisms. You're just being friendly. Maybe a bit more playful than you should be with a stranger, but you're also carrying a bright pink purse decorated with trinkets and fluffy keychains, something completely at odds with your work attire.

Once again, Shoko finds herself in a loop of meaningless questions. Are you odd or just different? Is there something wrong in your mind, or are you simply more outgoing than she is? Is there even a point in trying to differentiate the ends of a spectrum that no one will ever quite reach?

"Are you feeling well?" you ask casually.

Shoko blinks at you and then glances away. "I guess so."

"You guess so? That's not really much of an answer. You look a little…I don't know…"

"I was…trying to get a change of scenery today," Shoko mumbles. Her hands tremble when she tries to grab the handle of her mug. "But I don't think it worked out very well."

"Ah, I see." The weight of your gaze is tangible. Shoko can feel the way you're trying to dissect her, treating her the same way she treats the cursed bodies resting in her morgue. She looks at you again, and she's glad you don't know what she does. "Well, it's good that you tried, anyway. Things don't get better unless you try to make them better. That's what I've learned, anyway."

"Oh? Through school or…?"

"No," you laugh, "through living. It doesn't do you any good to see everything as a punishment, y'know? Sometimes you have to take things as a lesson, learn from them, and go on."

"Right." Shoko chases the word with a sip of her cold coffee and sets her mug down again. Her fingers are trembling harder now, and the mug clanks down against the saucer louder than she intended. Her mind's all over the place now, too.

I need a cigarette.

"Hey, do you smoke?"

"Do I smoke?" You pause for a moment and set your empty mug down on your tray. God, how long has it been that you've finished your food already? "No, I don't. I'll get out of your hair, though. I have to get back to work soon. My lunch hour's almost up."

You stand up and shrug your jacket on, and all Shoko can do is watch on, even as a wounded feeling blooms in her chest. Watching you walk away has her stomach clenching. Still, she doesn't reach out in time. Her hand is still dangling uselessly at her side as the cafe's door swings shut behind you.

That's another thing about Shoko Ieiri.

She's always late, always waiting just long enough to have the things she wants most slip away from her.

 Though, perhaps she's developed a new intensity if she's wanting you so badly after just having met you, feeling an intense urge to rush out after you.

She stands up after finally abandoning her coffee and puts on her jacket. The pack of cigarettes she has in her pocket weighs heavy against her hip. Her fingers are itching to light up, but something stops her as she goes to leave.

Your purse is sitting on the table.

She glances around. No one's looking. The zipper is smooth as she tugs it open, and, sitting inside, is your wallet. She finds your ID nestled inside, your address printed on it plainly.

Maybe it's time for her to take action after all.

Shoko shifts outside your door nervously. The purse in her hands weighs heavily, the leather soft and worn against her fingers. Your apartment building is nice, but perfectly average. It's warm in a way that's unfamiliar to someone accustomed to spending her nights sleeping on cramped cots in an infirmary.

She lifts her hand to knock, but doubts suddenly plague her mind.

What if you think she's a freak?

What if you call the police?

What if it goes well and you invite her in?

…as if.

With a heavy sigh, Shoko finally bites the bullet and knocks on your front door. A few moments pass, then you offer up an "I'm coming!"

Your door finally swings open, and Shoko's immediately hit with a flood of gentle lighting and the smell of cooking food. Then, her eyes register you standing in the doorway, and her knees go a little weak.

You're stood in front of her looking like something plucked out of her dreams. Your hair and makeup are done, but they're much less professional than this morning. Instead of the beige repression of the corporate world, your makeup is vivid, and your hair is wild in a way that makes her heart flutter.

And your outfit…gone are your stuffy work clothes. They've been replaced with a decidedly alternative outfit, but Shoko's eyes are stuck on the distressed Tomie t-shirt you're wearing. As she glances from your face back to the shirt, she can't help but be struck by the irony.

What brought her here, after all? If she's honest with herself, it was more than just the desire to pay you a kindness. After all, she could've just turned your purse in at the cafe. Surely, you would've realized you left it eventually. No, Shoko got lured here, by your face, by your spirit, by a sick and desperate desire to cling onto the one person who'd paid her any mind since she lost her last friend—whatever it was, it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter because you're smiling. At her.

"Wow, hi! Is that my purse? Did you bring it here for me?" you beam. Shoko's almost in disbelief. Your lack of suspicion is astounding. As someone who's grown to be wary of almost every person she comes into contact with, you might be Shoko's exact opposite.

"You seem happy."

"I am happy. You came all the way out here for me?" Your fingers brush against Shoko's as you take your purse from her hands. Your eyes meet, and your next words coupled with the sheer sincerity in your voice makes Shoko flustered in an unfamiliar way. "That was really sweet of you. I appreciate it."

"Oh, no, don't even…don't even worry about it," Shoko flaps a hand in the air to brush you off, though the flush on her cheeks gives her away. "It was nothing, really. I didn't have anything going on. I never really have anything going on."

She could curse herself for her awkwardness. How could she admit that to you? "I never really have anything going on" way to go, making yourself sound like a fucking loser. She supposes that she is, after all. She doesn't really have anything going for her. A stable job, maybe? But what does stability mean as a jujutsu sorcerer?

"I'll be going now. Sorry to have…yeah, sorry." Shoko shakes her head and turns to leave, but your hand catches her wrist and tugs her back.

"Hey…you don't have to apologize," you say softly. "And you don't have to leave. You can come in, have a drink. I'm making dinner right now, and I'd be more than happy to share if you're hungry. Let me do something for you, too."

Maybe it's the earnestness in your voice, or maybe it's the gentle way your thumb strokes her wrist, but Shoko soon finds herself seated on your living room couch with your overly-friendly cat curled up in her lap.

"So, yeah, anyway, I told her that she shouldn't take the offer because, honestly, leaving behind a job where you're bound to get a promotion to make less money with no upward mobility just because you like the manager is a little iffy. I mean, I guess it depends on how bad the environment is at her current place, but yeah…" you glance over your shoulder—your living room is directly connected to your kitchenette—and make eye contact with Shoko. "What do you think?"

Shoko has intimate knowledge about the human body, anatomy, and cursed techniques. Shoko has absolutely no knowledge about corporate politics.

"Hmm…" She runs her palm over your cat's sleek fur and shrugs. "I think you're right."

"Thank you! I knew I liked you." The little victorious smile and the wink you throw her way has Shoko's stomach flipping. Seriously, what is up with her? Yeah, you're pretty. And you smell good. And you can cook. And you're sweet. And you're actually so fucking pretty that it's kind of making Shoko go dumb.

If she let herself indulge, she could imagine night after night like this. Coming home to see you cooking, walking up behind you, holding you from behind while she asks what you're making and how your day's been…

Get a fucking grip.

One day. Not even a whole day. It's been seven hours since she met you, and this crush has turned into something catastrophic. Shoko's not sure why she's tripping over herself, but there's just something off-beat about your bubbliness that makes her want you. She wants to get closer to you, to get to know you, to pick apart your brain and figure out what makes you tick.

In a non-serial killer way. Obviously.

"Do you want some tea…" you trail off with a confused furrow to your brow. "Sorry, I just realized I never got your name."

"Shoko. Shoko Ieiri, and, yeah. I'd like some tea. Thanks."

"Alriiiight," you walk over carrying a tray of food and a pot of tea. "I know it's not elaborate or anything, but I hope you enjoy it."

Shoko almost scoffs. Who needs an elaborate meal when someone's offering you the first homecooked food you've had in months?

"I'm sure it's great. I'm used to takeout and microwave meals, so," Shoko shrugs and takes the bowl you brought for her off the tray. "It looks great, anyway."

She lifts a bite up to her mouth, and you're acutely aware of the way her lips close around the ends of her chopsticks. Shoko notices you watching her, waiting with baited breath for her reaction before you let yourself start eating. She offers you a satisfied nod, and that's when you start digging into your own food.

The meal is shared in amicable silence, Shoko quietly offering up a few "this is good"s or "thank you"s every now and again. Once you've both finished eating and the dishes have been cleaned, Shoko thinks it's time for her to go.

"Hey," she says, looking over at you from where she's leaned against your fridge. You're still drying off one of the bowls you used for prep.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for the food and all, but…I think it's time for me to head out."

"Oh, yeah." Disappointment flits across your face, but it disappears as you start chewing on your bottom lip. "But, y'know, I was thinking—well, it's just that I'm going to this party tonight, and I usually don't mind going alone, but…" you glance over at her through your eyelashes, "I think I'd have more fun if you came. Only if you want to."

Call her weak, but how could she possibly say no when you're looking at her like that?

The city changes when the sun goes down. The packs of professionally dressed salaryworkers are replaced by droves of people looking for something, whether it's fun, lust, or trouble. Street light and neon signs blur in the corner of Shoko's eyes, but all she can focus on is you. As you walk next to her, her hand firmly grasped in your own, Shoko's sure you're looking for fun.

She's just trying to feel alive again.

It helps, having you by her side, your shoulder bumping into hers at every crosswalk stop. It's been so long since she's felt someone as real as you. While most sorcerers have an intense air about them, it feels less solid than that of a regular human. She supposes it makes sense that those who can manipulate cursed energy have restless auras. But it's nice to exist next to someone without feeling their energy brushing against her like an irregular tide.

Usually, when she speaks with others, it's laced with an underlying aggravation and a desire to rush through every interaction that's quietly plastered over with practiced nonchalance and tired sarcasm. Her conversations with you, however, distinctly lack any nagging annoyance, and it leaves Shoko flustered, fumbling, and completely distracted. So distracted, in fact, that she doesn't notice that you've stopped walking, and she runs right into your back.

Thankfully, you're sturdier than you look in the platforms you're wearing, and you don't go toppling to the ground. Still, Shoko grabs onto your waist. Just in case.

"Sorry about that," she murmurs. The warmth of your body bleeds through your t-shirt, slowly warming her cold palms. She'd be happy to spend the rest of her life slowly stealing away your body heat.

"It's okay." You look over your shoulder, and the scent of your hair catching on the cool breeze makes Shoko's heart flutter. "We're here."

Her hands linger on your waist for a moment and only slide away from you when you take a step forward. Shoko follows after you. It's just occurred to her that you're leading her up the stairs of an apartment building in a part of the city she's rarely visited, all to go to a party.

"Do you know who's throwing the party or something?"

"Oh, yeah, it's my friend's party. I promise you, I'm not dragging you to some random person's place!" The airy laugh that follows your reassurance does nothing to actually assuage the nerves fluttering in Shoko's chest.

"Right."

The closer you draw to your friend's apartment, the louder the steady thudding of the bass feels under your feet. To you, it feels lively. Shoko might as well be hearing a death knell.

She stays a few paces back as you approach and knock on the door. It swings open easily, and a man, whom she assumes is your friend, pulls you into a hug upon seeing you. Shoko pays him no mind, only focused on his hands that rest on your waist, right where her own used to lie. Something jerks in her chest, and she has to fight to keep a frown off her face. You're smiling up in your friend's face as you chatter in his ear, and he listens on with a smile.

The sudden realization that she could've read everything wrong sinks so deeply into her skin that she feels itchy and tingly all over.

What if that man is your boyfriend? What if you're straight, and you were just being friendly? If that's the case, when did Shoko's observational skills dim so much?

She's once again broken out of her spiraling thoughts by you, though you're not as subtle this time. Your arm is around her waist, hand settled on her hip as you yank her toward the doorframe. There's a split second where your nose brushes the strands of her hair, and she could swear she hears you sniff her.

What a confusing woman you are.

"Shoko, this is Nikko. He and his boyfriend are some of my best friends." You're whispering in her ear, and it's all Shoko can do to pay attention. "Anyway, he's happy to see a new face."

"Happy to be here," she mutters, nodding at Nikko. That's all it takes to have him moving out of the doorway to let you in. You immediately beeline to the kitchen, tugging Shoko behind you as you snatch up a few drinks, mostly fruity flavored or bubbly. Shoko accepts the Buzzball you press into her hand, but she can't help but wish it was a tumbler of whiskey instead.

You spend a few minutes milling about, saying hello to everyone, and Shoko watches on in a disconcerted kind of awe at the ease with which you navigate this world. By most standards, you're both young, but she has a bone-deep weariness ingrained into her that you seem to lack. You only get brighter the more you talk to your friends. Shoko follows after you like a moth to a flame. She just hopes that, y'know, you won't burn her alive.

Though, if the warmth of you is as gentle as it was earlier, maybe she'd enjoy being slow-cooked by you.

She finds her way over to a loveseat in the corner, and you gravitate to her a few minutes after. You plop down next to her, bouncing a bit and ending up pressed against her side. You've clearly been tearing through your drinks faster than she has.

"Shokoooo, are you having fun?" you smile sweetly.

"Yeah, it's…nice. Could use a cigarette, though."

Your eyes widen with a gentle kind of concern, and you're pulling her toward your friend's balcony soon after. "C'mon, they don't like people smoking inside, but they let everyone use their balcony."

The door slides open, and cool air rushes into the apartment. Pounding bass and electronic rhythms are traded in for the sounds of people chatting on the streets below and the irregular honking of cars as people try to make their way home. Shoko's quick to pull a cigarette out of her pack and lights it with the clean, stainless steel lighter she keeps in her pocket. Your eyes stick to it as the city lights bounce off the surface.

"How long have you been a smoker?"

Shoko glances at you then shrugs. "I used to smoke in high school. I went to college and gave it up for a bit, but…I picked the habit back up recently."

"Stress?"

"Something like that." Shoko mutters the words around a cloud of smoke. "You said you don't smoke? Have you ever tried?"

"Here and there. I never really made it a habit."

Of course you didn't.

Shoko takes a step closer to you and holds the lipstick-stained end up toward your mouth. It's a silent offer, one she doesn't expect you to take, but a pleasant tingle shoots down her spine when your lips settle over her lipstick marks. She watches quietly as you inhale and doesn't laugh when you start coughing. She just tugs you a bit closer and rubs your back.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to smoking," you grumble. Shoko hums and takes another drag, and she swears she can taste the lingering flavor of the Buzzball you were drinking.

"I think I can help with that."

"Yeah? Do you have a trick or something?" you tease.

"Something." Shoko takes another drag and leans in closer. Her approach is slow, giving you ample time to move away, until her lips are on yours and she's exhaling the smoke into your mouth. You're too shocked to sputter and cough, and Shoko decides that she likes the surprised, helpless look in your eyes. "Don't hold it, exhale."

And, when you do as she says and release the smoke from your lungs: "Good girl." If your knees go weak after, Shoko's happy to keep that little secret for you.

You stay tucked into her side while Shoko finishes her cigarette. Even after she's done, it's all too easy to linger on the balcony with each other. You're not sure when, but your fingers started combing through the ends of Shoko's soft hair. She hasn't stopped you.

"We should go inside," you murmur finally. "I'm getting cold."

And, as much as Shoko wants to say that she could be the one to keep you warm if you just asked…she doesn't. Instead, she quietly follows you inside and settles down on the loveseat again.

"Don't you want to dance?" you yell over the music.

"Not really my thing," Shoko drawls.

"Well, it's my thing, so you can join me if you change your mind."

With that, you're off, wandering into the small crowd in the middle of your friends' living room. Shoko watches on, cracking open a wine cooler you gave her as her eyes trail up and down your body.

People seem to instinctively know to give up the space you readily take , and it's mesmerizing. It's been apparent to Shoko since she met you that you don't particularly care for what other people think of you or your decisions, that you march to the beat of your very distinct drum.

And she likes it. Usually, she finds people like you a bit grating and unpredictable, but you're so warm that it lights her blood on fire. She thinks about what you said before you left to dance. 'It's my thing, so you can join me if you change your mind.' No pressure, no expectation, just the certainty of what you enjoy and an invitation to join in.

She watches you again, and she hopes the weight of her gaze settles over your shoulders like a blanket: steady and comforting. Your hips sway with a fluid grace that has multiple people, not just her, watching you. One man in particular seems to be intent on making a move.

Jealousy is an emotion that never suited Shoko. For years, people pestered her about how awful it must be to be friends with the two strongest sorcerers while not having a fighting technique at all. People have always insisted that she should be jealous, that she should want the praise and the struggle. But she's the kind of person who turns away and finds her own place. Sure, she wasn't a fighter, but the jujutsu world still needed her. She was praised in a different way and had different strengths. She carved her own niche, and she was happy to stay there.

Now, she finds that she's battling the overwhelming desire to carve herself into your life. Shoko's on her feet before she can really think about it. Lazily discarding her half-finished wine cooler, she cuts through the room and spins you into her arms just as the unidentified man was about to tap your shoulder.

Finally, she's right on time.

"Hey," you giggle.

"Hey," Shoko smiles, her hands settling on your hips.

"Changed your mind?"

She leans in closer and bumps her nose against yours. "Maybe."

"Well…" you place your hands on her shoulders, and she immediately leans into the warmth you exude. "Let's dance."

"Okay, but I'll warn you," Shoko leans in and whispers like she's confessing a crime, "I'm not a very good dancer."

"Don't worry, just do what feels right." You guide her to start swaying, and Shoko falls into an easy rhythm with you. God, when was the last time she let herself feel like this? "That's it, just move your hips in time with mine. Don't worry about anyone else."

"Honey, I don't think I could think about anyone other than you if I wanted to."

And that, for the first time since she met you earlier today—it's only been a day?—has you blushing and hiding your face against her shoulder. Your cheeks feel hot, your heart is fluttering, and all you want to do is keep this woman as close to you as possible.

Once again, how could Shoko deny you anything?

Two hours later, the party's died, and you've long since been kicked out of Nikko's apartment. Shoko finds herself in your passenger seat, the city lights blurring outside the window as rain patters on your windows erratically. Despite the unevenness, the experience is shockingly soothing and accompanied by soft music floating from your speakers.

The alcohol's worn out of your system, but Shoko's head is still blissfully fuzzy. She squints and tilts her head at just the right time to catch light dancing across your side profile. A content sigh parts her lips, and she reaches out toward your face. You smile, catch her hand, and kiss her fingertips.

Shoko does something that she hasn't done in years.

She giggles.

It's not a laugh or a chuckle or one of the mocking scoffs that Gojo always managed to pull out of her. It's a giddy little giggle that makes her turn her face into the seat.

"You're cute," you murmur.

"You're cute."

"Not as cute as you are."

"Sure." Shoko leans her seat back and lets out a slow sigh. Your fingers keep brushing over the center console. Shoko's heart is beating fast in her chest. She can feel her blood pulsing under her skin. This is the most alive she's felt in years, and all it took was one night spent with you.

"Y'know, I don't know where you live. I'm kind of driving around aimlessly here."

Going home, or rather, going back to Jujutsu Tech hadn't even crossed her mind. How humiliating would it be, having you drop her off drunk at a high school just so she can go curl up on one of her cots in the infirmary?

When Shoko finally speaks again, her voice is small and fragile. "I don't want to go home. I don't really have one."

"You're homeless?"

"Not what I said." Shoko sits up and drags a hand down her face. "I just don't want to be alone tonight." Or any night ever again for that matter.

"Then you don't have to be alone." The words came easily to you. You don't feel pity for Shoko. That's not the right sentiment for it, exactly. The innate desire to care for others has always lived inside you and seeing someone as downtrodden as Shoko activates that desire tenfold.

A few turns, and you're on your way back to your own apartment. Twenty minutes later, and you and Shoko are collapsing onto your mattress. She curls up next to you instinctively as if some small gravity exists that has you coming back to one another.

Truthfully, she'd be fine being dragged back into your arms for the rest of her life. Her breathing slows against your collarbone, and her muscles go lax as you start rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades.

Her wandering mind has finally found a new target in the strange, magnetic woman holding her so closely.

Healing.

Helping.

Saving.

Stitching.

She's spent her life fixing others and satiating her own morbid curiosities. She's never once thought of herself as the angel others have seen in her.

But, when she looks up, and she sees you smiling at her so sweetly…she could almost believe that she's angelic after all.