na-Baroness ♡⋆˚ ༘

“Let me take care of you.” If it were any other night, your breath fanning his neck would have shattered him; goosebumps would have wrecked his body, he’d shiver, and everything in him would ease, and all of his stress would slip away into nothingness. He never had to be the strongest with you. You would render him down to nothing but a simple man with just a few words. “You don’t look too good, honey. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.” For a woman so strong in your own right, a woman of unyielding dignity and poise and unwavering determination to succeed, this is his favorite side of you. 

But not tonight. 

When his hand clasps your wrist, he feels your whole body freeze against his. Maybe you were surprised. Maybe you predicted this and were preparing yourself but-

The tongue-lashing dies in his throat when he opens his eyes. Just a peak to your face makes him falter. You were pouting. Worried. “I’m fine.” it’s harsher than you deserve but kinder than the thoughts swirling through his head a second ago. 

He’s agitated. Stuck in the same old system that continues to fuck him over—his students over. 

And yet, you just looked too beautiful. 

You pull away, finally taking the hint. Then, you stand, fully removing yourself from him and stepping away. Your body heat quickly disappears from where you once sat, and he quivers. The room was quiet once again. 

The room remained quiet even as you placed a hot bowl of ramen on the table beside him, a glass of water, and two pills. 

You slept alone that night. 

-

You remember when you first met Megumi. 

“Who the hell are you?” 

You never would have expected that to be the the words from a child you had just met. You raised a brow. “Well, aren’t you a fucking, brat?” 

You were different back then—colder, angrier. You were similar in that sense.

Oddly enough, maybe that’s what gravitated him to you.  

You’re not sure when it happened, but gradually, the harsh edges of you began to… change. Not entirely softened, as thorns remained, but you bloomed, red petals and all. You grew softer, kinder, more patient—and finally—your heart had made space for others. The fear of loss remained, but you had never cared for someone so fragile. No one had ever cried for you, reached for you with small chubby fingers, or depended on you as he once had. You never had someone in your life that needed to be nurtured, protected, and guided. 

He was just a boy. 

Over time, you realized that if you remained unchanged, perhaps he would never grow into the man he needed to be. You’re not sure why he picked you, why he looked up to you of all people, but he did. He found comfort in you and followed you like a little duckling with a little waddle and permanent scowl. 

There wasn't a rhyme or reason. He chose you, and you chose him. 

Soon enough, you were waking him up for school, running your hands through his messy, dark locks. You were making him bento boxes, running to parent-teacher conferences, and having hard but meaningful conversations with him in his room about his troubling behavior. 

Then you were hugging him as he cried, as he revealed the same dark thoughts you once had about yourself. 

You wished this world wasn’t so cruel, so dark. You hope that in a different life, he would have grown into a normal kid, with hopes and dreams and a list of things he wanted to do and go out and experience. You didn’t want him to be shackled to a world that’s left you so scarred.

You fought for any sense of normality you could give him. If that meant confronting the higher-ups, so be it. At times, you even confronted Satoru. 

He was just a boy. 

Fire never harmed you;  it never dared to scorch your skin. You commanded and held domination over nearly every flicker of heat. He was so small when you met him; you remember the first time you saw his small form shiver in the cold. It made you anxious. Despite buying him the heaviest winter coat you could find, you were beside yourself, always wondering—is he warm enough? 

But, long were the days of you bundling him up in his jacket, tying his shoes, and tugging beanies over his dark hair and red ears. Long were the days of you clasping his little hands in yours to bring them warmth when the air grew too bitter. He grew older, smarter, wiser, and stronger. The boy that used to cling to your skirt after a hard day at school now stood inches taller than you. 

You knew that one day he’d leave you, and you were okay with that. Seeing him so ready for the world made you happy. You worried—of course you still worried—but you were so proud. He was hesitant, unsure at times, and sometimes even looked back to you for assurance. 

You were always there, smiling, ushering him along. 

You can do it. I believe in you. 

You grew up together, you think. Sometimes, you wondered if he ever paid for your shortcomings, or if he remembered your failures as a caregiver, but just like you did him, he’d assure you with a soft nudge and a gentle smile. 

He knows you did the best you could with what you had.  

He was just a boy. 

Your boy. 

He wasn’t yours, but you loved him like he was. Only as he grew did you realize the lines you had crossed. 

He doesn’t remember his mother, but you’re sure he remembered her smile, perhaps her touch, or the sound of her laughter. You never meant to impose on her memory.

When it happened, he had just gotten into Tokyo Jujutsu High, and Satoru took him on his first official mission. You no longer had the means of pushing this off; you couldn’t beg Satoru or the higher-ups for another month, another week, another day. Megumi wasn’t a normal kid. He was a sorcerer and needed to start fulfilling his duties and mastering his technique.

“You can’t avoid the inevitable. You can’t protect him forever,” Satoru had once told you. 

You knew he was right. 

You stayed home that day, anxious and worried, but you knew Megumi would be alright. Satoru was with him. Even if the tall man was a bit harder on Megumi than you, you knew he’d keep him safe. 

However, your worst fears came to fruition. Megumi wasn’t the same after that mission. 

You remember. Satoru’s eyes were stern that night while Megumi's eyes never left the floor as he made his way to his room. 

You remember thinking—what could I do to make my boys happy again? 

After all, they were your everything, the reason you stood here now with a full heart. Things were newer for you and Satoru then, but he kissed you that night, warm, large hands gently holding your cheeks. He missed you a little bit extra that day. You were nervous, hesitant to fall into the sanctuary of his embrace, but it was only a matter of time until you were fully, devotedly his.

 “Are you okay?” You had asked, only for him to nod his head. 

“Yeah. Of course, I am, angel. Megumi is shaken up, but he’ll be alright too.” 

You made Megumi’s favorite dinner that night—the same beefsteak he’s raved about since he was only six. Well, he never raved, but you perfectly remember the first time you made it, which happened to be the first time he tried it. He could barely get his chin over the table to scope his food into his mouth. He wasn’t good with chopsticks yet, so he used a little fork, which he held in his tiny fist. His little eyebrows raised before dipping down, creasing at the inner corners as he concentrated on the flavor. He murmured it’s good, and you remember being so proud of yourself. That was one of the first times you felt that you were doing something right by him. You made the same dish on occasion, and time only helped you perfect the recipe. 

Megumi never came out of his room that night. The lights were off when you knocked. Even after hearing no response, you had cracked open the door, poking your head inside. 

“Gumiii,” you stepped into his room. He was on his bed, groaning as you flicked the light on. He turned his back to you. “I made your favoriteee.”  

You had sat on the edge of his bed, a hot plate of food in your hands. “C’mon, it’s the beefsteak you like. Nice and warm.”

“‘m not hungry,” he had grumbled. 

You sighed. “The mission must have been unpleasant.” He remained still. “I’m sorry, Gumi. Satoru said you did well! I’m proud of you—” he flinched from your touch, snapping his arm away from your reach. You froze, having felt the coldness of his rejection. “If you don’t want to talk about the mission, how was your first day at your new school?” You asked. “Do you have any classmates you like?”

“Just quit it already…” he had murmured. “I’m not in the mood.”

Your shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re okay. My first mission was tough too, and you already know I wasn’t great at making friends either–” you winced, biting your tongue.  This was coming out all wrong. “… are you okay, Megumi?” 

“I’m fine!” He clipped, pushing himself upright in bed. “Just leave me alone and stop acting like you’re my mom already!”  

You remembered—and just the memory of that night shambled your heart. You could never forget the hurt those words caused and how you couldn’t show it. 

You had smiled wearily. Then, you placed his dinner on his desk. “…you’re right,” you echoed. “I’m not her, never could be. I’m sorry if I imposed. I never meant to.”

You never spoke of the incident, but you remembered that things were tense between Satoru and Megumi for a short while after that. You told Satoru to drop it, but you had a feeling the poor boy received a tongue-lashing from Satoru. You were never sure, though, and you could never prove it. 

You just remembered feeling cracks in the foundation of the home you never knew you had so carefully crafted, brick by brick. Some of the warmth was gone—a warmth you never knew was quite there until it wasn’t. 

Little by little, you pulled back. Megumi moved into the student dorms shortly after, and he needed you less and less. You no longer made him bento boxes or his favorite beefsteak. You bit your tongue with the lectures: Megumi, that’s not nice, or Megumi, you need to have more faith in yourself. You can do it.  

Though the bitter bite of cold never entirely touched you, heated by an unquenchable fame, you pulled back your hand when you reached for him. He left you seared—burned. 

You still worried. You never knew if you were giving him too much or not enough. So, you left most of the mentoring to Satoru now.  It’s been a few months since the incident, and now you only ever speak to him if he approached you first. 

That's why you were happy when you spotted him in town. You offered him a small, shy wave. He unexpectedly approached you and asked how you were and what you’d been up to. However, the most unexpected part was when he asked if you were busy. You shook your head, and it was impossible to hide you beam when he offered to get you hot chocolate from the same coffee shop you used to take him to after school in the colder months.

However, it seemed you weren’t the only one confused by Satoru’s recent behavior. 

“Huh?”

“Gojo didn’t want me going on my mission,” Megumi reiterated. 

You blink a few times, tapping your fingers against the styrofoam cup in your hands. “Huh. He’s never done that before.”

“He doesn’t think I’m ready. He took the mission himself.”

“He said that? That he doesn’t think you’re ready?”

“Well… not exactly.” He scowls slightly, looking down at the cup of hot chocolate. “But he damn well implied it.”

“Gumi,” you frown at the boy. He doesn’t make eye contact with you; he looks forward now, gazing out the window and watching the fresh snow coat the ground. 

He was upset. 

“He could’ve at least taken me with him.”

For a moment, you see that same little boy you met over ten years ago and that same dejected look on his face after being let down one too many times. It breaks your heart. 

“If Satoru took the mission and went alone, I’m sure it’s for a good reason.”

He wants to say more but opts for something quick and sweet. “Yeah. Maybe.”

You have to do something. Quick. Anything to make him a bit happier. “I have a mission later in Osaka. I’ll be catching the 2 pm train. Wanna come? I could use the extra help.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking, you presume, but he nods. “Yeah, sure. I don’t have anything else to do.” 

“Great! And just so you know, we’ll probably be dealing with a grade one or two.” 

He pauses momentarily before calmly asking, “And you need help with that?”

“Uh, yeah. Any help is much appreciated. Plus, I haven’t seen you much recently.” You smile brightly, and he turns his head, eyes finding the ground, looking a little bashful. 

“About that…” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you wave him off. “You’ve been busy with school, and I know that.”

“But that’s not–”

“It’s okay, Megumi,” you smile again, resisting the urge to reach across the table and gently squeeze his hand. “I get it.”

He gives you a look, a small disgruntled scowl. He wanted to say more.

“Alrighty then.” You stand, stretching from sitting in the chair. “I’ll buy you another hot chocolate for the road. We should probably start getting ready to leave.”

-

The mission goes well. An abandoned warehouse in Osaka conjured up a nasty looking grade three, but Megumi held his own just fine—like you expected. He’s grown much stronger and more sure of himself. You’re proud. Seeing how far he’s come certainly puts a smile on your face. He’s not a little boy anymore, you realized. He’s growing into a fine young man. 

Urg. Stop getting emotional. 

However, after stopping for a later dinner, you both arrived home late, around nine or so. 

“You did good tonight, Megumi,” you tell him for the nth time. 

He rolls his eyes, tucking his hands deep into his pockets. “You’ve told me that already.”

“I know, I know. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m proud of you. You’re getting so much stronger.”

Instead of brushing you off like all the other times, he sighs before offering a forced “thanks.” 

“Alrighty then. Try and get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you and the others sometime tomorrow, yeah?”

“Sounds good. Get back home safe.”

You nod, smiling. You make sure to watch him as he goes, making sure he gets inside before turning around. He’s capable of taking care of himself, but some habits never grow old. Making sure he gets inside anywhere safely has always been something you’ve prioritized, whether he was going to a friend's house, school, or boarding the train. 

You loved him like your own, but you knew he wasn't. After all, it was only a few months ago now that he reminded you that he wasn't yours.

You’re not my mom. 

It hurt—it still does—but you never held it against him. You still loved him nevertheless. Your relationship might have shifted but it doesn’t negate the fact that you care for him and would gladly give your life if it meant keeping him safe. 

Then, there was Kugisaki and Itadori—two others slowly weaseling their way into your heart. They’ve helped Megumi so much; he might be too proud to admit it, but they’ve helped him come out of his shell; they were his friends, and you knew they had each other backs. 

You sigh, a translucent cloud of white floating up and above your head. Just like always, your thoughts shift to blue eyes. Satoru. You’ve missed him today. No calls or obnoxious spam texts. It’s not unusual per se, especially when he gets busy. Regardless, you missed him.

But, something is bothering you. He wasn't communicating with you and he usually tells you these things. Even if he didn't have the time to tell you something right away, he'd eventually find a moment to talk to you. This time around, he didn’t. He didn't tell you he was leaving or about the whole ordeal with Megumi.

He just got up and left. You woke to a cold bed and an empty house. No text message, no note with a silly doodle. When you called him in the morning, it went right to voicemail. Eventually, when you pull up your shared text messages to check for anything new, you only saw the message you sent him from the day before. At a loss, you type out a quick message. You didn't think it would make things better, but at least it was something.

I hope you have a good day today :) 

It was all you could really muster up after last night. He seemed so agitated, and so fed up. You blamed it on stress; he isn’t usually like that. Usually, his touch was careful, calculated as if you were fixed of glass. You missed his lame jokes and mischievous grins when he was up to no good. You weren't offered any of that last night. Or the night before. Even the night before that. 

You’re starting to worry. 

He always bounces back so quickly. The only thing that typically gets him this mad are the higher-ups. Which, in Megumi's case, makes sense. You can see why Gojo would intervene if they gave him a dangerous mission. 

But why didn’t he take Megumi with him, at least?

Hm.. maybe it was beyond Megumi's skill set. Would the elders be stupid enough to set him up? They did it to you long ago, but they wouldn’t be bold enough to do it to the boy with the ten shadows technique, would they?

Or maybe Satoru… just doesn’t want to be near you?

Urg. You roll your eyes at your own selfish thoughts. Satoru wouldn’t do something like that. He’s already overworked as it is. Maybe you should make him something. A nice dinner? Or maybe he needed a pick-me-up? Kikufuku? You’re sure you could find the recipe online. 

You're torn, so you decide to make both. Maybe you'll even put on a nice dress. 

You decide to call him, and after a few rings, he answers. “Hey, honey,” you say sweetly, happy he even bothered to answer your call. "I was wondering when you’d be home tonight. I want to make you a nice dinner.”

He’s quiet again—too quiet. “Dinner? Tonight?” 

“Yeah, you’ve been so busy lately. I figured you’d like that.” 

He hums into the phone, sounding a bit lighter. “Dinner does sound nice…” 

Your smile widens. You could hear the underlying stress in his tone; it was flatter than usual, but at least he was trying. “... I’ll even put on your favorite dress?” 

He chuckles a bit. “Tempting, but I’ll probably have to leave after dinner.”

“Oh,” you murmur, wincing slightly at the rejection. Maybe you’ve gotten too spoiled—too accustomed to him pushing off his responsibilities all for the sake of spending a few more moments with you. Were you being too greedy?  “Are you okay? They’re not stretching you too thin, are they?”

He sighs in a carefree tone. “I'm doing fine. Same old thing, just a different day,” is all he offers, but you can tell he’s withholding. 

“I can help, y’know,” you offer gently. “If you have too many missions, I can take a few off your plate.”

“Nah,” he tells you a bit arrogantly. “It’s better if I handle it.”

Now you’re really starting to feel the distance. He usually reserves the softer parts of him for you. You suppose he just didn’t have the patience to do so right now. “You, uh, got into it with the higher-ups I heard,” you mention, trying to keep the conversation going but approaching from a different angle. “Megumi was telling me you even took his mission. I think he was a bit upset you didn’t take him with you. How come you never told me?”

“How come you never told me you were going to Osaka? Or the fact that you took him with you?”

Your stomach twists, unease bubbling in your chest. You didn’t like where this was heading. “I– it’s never bothered you before,” you manage, though your voice falters, dying down into nothing but a whisper. “And it’s not like you’ve been… wanting to speak to me recently. I haven't had the time to tell you much of anything," your trail off, your voice slowly fading before you begin again. "Did I do something to make you mad?”

The silence that follows is unbearable—longer than you ever imagined it could be. “Satoru… Please just talk to me.”

“I gotta go,” his tone is cold, clipped, and final. 

There’s a click as he hangs up, and the silence becomes deafening and threateningly absolute.

-

You realize you miss the way he used to look at you. Not the way he'd gaze at you, but in the way he would gaze into you, as though you were ever the only thing that ever really mattered.

After your last conversation with him, you were unsteady. You hated how you stayed in bed for hours, analyzing everything he's said to you recently, dissecting his every action. You hated how needy you suddenly felt, even while laying there, in his bed, in his clothes. He paused just a second too long before answering you now, as if he had to must up the courage and energy to do so. His laugh no longer came out easily. Others might miss it, but you never could. It was still rambunctious, taking up a whole room, but to you, it felt forced, brittle even. You've known Satoru at his best, and you've also known him at his worst.

When he looks at you now, you wonder if he's really seeing you. Painfully, you realize you haven't seen him; not without his eyeband on at least. Last night you did, for the first time in a while, but he seemed agitated.

The worst part was that you didn't know how to bring yourself to confront him. You struggled, unsure which pretty words and cadence would unluck the distance between you two.

Did something happen on one of his missions? Was he stressed? Had the higher-ups pushed him too far, testing his patience?

Or was it you? Was this somehow your fault?

Did you scare him away? Have you said too much, cared too deeply, loved too loudly?

You weren't sure, but you had to try something.

You were grateful you were cooking him dinner tonight on your day off. It was the least you could do, and you adored taking care of him. You choose hot pot, something you and Satoru have tried at home before. It took over a few hours to prepare, but it was worth it. You made two broths, you sliced up shabu-shabu and wagyu beef and even went to the extent of watching a video to make a dipping sauce. Unfortunately, you forgot one of the ingredients for the kikufuku mochi and didn’t want to risk making something he didn’t entirely like. Luckily, you had spare time to run down to the kikufuku store right before it closed. Of course, you grabbed all his favorite, two boxfuls, in fact. He was a big guy, so you hoped you had more than enough food for him to indulge.

You and Satoru were together. Though he never outright asked you to be his, you knew. It was an unspoken thing, and you were content with that. For as goofy and eccentric as that man could be, it was rather surprising how he was never outright with what he was actually feeling. 

He was damn good at showing it, though. In more ways than one. 

You feel it in the way he’d always reach for you after a nightmare. Shaking, needy hands tightly clasping at your waste, fearful of you disappearing and slipping to a place where he could not reach you. Don’t ever go where I can’t follow. Please. His face would nuzzle into your neck, sharply inhaling your scent. You’d hold him, whispering endless promises. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Or it's okay. Breathe, my love. I’m with you. 

You feel it on the nights he’d pin you beneath him, his grunts and moans echoing in your ears as he fills you so completely. He’d beg, no demand you—tell me you’re mine. Only mine. 

And, of course, you’d eagerly nod, overwhelmed with the pleasure only he could strum out of you so perfectly. ‘m yours. All of me—yours. 

You feel it in his protective gaze, his eagerness to hold you in the life vest of his arms. You felt it late into the night, damp bodies pressed against one another; low lighting, quiet laughter, and secrets revealed. His dreams, his wishes, his what ifs—the parts of him that no one knew or considered. Or when he handed you a silver key with a handsome and cheshire grin. What do you say? He was lovely, every bit of him, especially his gentle and selfless heart that you would never take for granted like the rest of the world seemed to. 

You feel it when he comes home from overseas and how his strong arms hold onto you just a bit longer, a bit tighter. You feel it with how he smiles into your neck or that one time at the airport when he lifted you up and spun you around, uncaring who saw. 

You feel it in the way that it was unspoken. You feel it in his cursed energy and how it perfectly intertwined with yours, reaching for you, comforting you when his hands could not. You especially feel it in the necklace he gifted you—the one your fingers were playing with now: a silver chain with cerulean sapphires, the same breathtaking shade of his eyes. His cursed energy, carefully imbued into the stones, was like carrying a piece of him with you—always, wherever you may go, and it rests directly above your beating heart. 

He might not voice it, but you feel it. He loved you. And you certainly loved him. 

So when had it become so hard to reach him? Why does he seem so intangible all of a sudden? Something deep and unsettling blooms in your stomach. 

And now that you think about it…

When was the last time you two did any of that? When was the last time his careful hands caressed you?

Only Satoru could make you this worried or make you feel this displaced. A sense of panic strikes you, and you pull out your phone to text him when you realize he’s thirty minutes late. Usually, that wouldn’t bother you, but–

After only three rings, you're sent to voicemail. When you check his location, he’s at the high school. Should you check on him? Or would that make him… mad?

He toru! Dinners ready. When do you think you’ll be home? Miss you. 

You bite your lip. He quickly read your message, but those three little bubbles never show up. 

Nothing. Just nothing. 

Maybe he’s staying up late writing the report for his latest mission? 

“eek!” Your phone pings, and after a round of hot potato, you see he’s texted you back. 

Only to be met with more disappointment. 

Dealing with something urgent. Don’t wait up. 

You frown, knowing you should drop it, but you can’t. 

Satoru…

He’s typing faster now. What?

You pause, thumbs hovering over letters you hesitate to type. What’s going on? You’ve been off lately. 

I’m fine. Just busy. 

Do you want me to bring you dinner to the High School?

Those three bubbles appear and disappear more times than you can count. No. I said don’t wait up. 

You know I don't sleep well without you.

He responds in a heartbeat. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

Your patience is wearing thin for the first time since this ordeal started. Are you saying you won’t be coming home tonight? 

You’re offered no response. He doesn’t even open your message. For the second night, you lay in a cold bed. Except, Satoru doesn’t come home. 

Only he could fracture you so completely. 

-

During your next mission, you brought the whole trio along. According to the report you were handed, you were only dealing with a grade three, but there was also an Infestation in the area. You could use the backup.

You had initially asked Megumi, but once Yuji caught wind, he was adamant that he tagged along, and, according to Nobara she had nothing else better to do. 

“Are you guys sure? It’s your day off.”

Yuji shrugs, both arms up, hands up and behind his head. “Yeah, I’m game.”

“Me too,” Nobara voices with a small glint in her eyes. “I got something new I want to try out anyway. We didn’t get to go on a mission last week as it is.”

You paused. "Huh? Gojo didn’t take you on any?”

“Nah,” Yuji shakes his head. “I think he’s been busy or something.” He looks at Kugisaki. “Hasn’t Gojo-Sensei seemed a little… off?”

Nobara nods. “Uh yeah. He hasn’t been himself at all. We figured you’d know something,” Nobara says, curious eyes scanning you. 

“Huh… I’m not sure. We haven’t gotten around to talking lately.”

Megumi hums, though it sounds more suspicious than his usual passive tone. 

Though they weren’t necessarily your students, you figured there was no harm in taking them. You've done it before and having them around was always like a breath of fresh air—reminding you of why Satoru dedicates himself so fully to his cause and being a teacher. They give you a reason to get stronger and keep fighting. You loved these kids and all their bickering. 

Except, this mission doesn’t go anything like you had expected. The report was wrong—a grade two was ambling through the abandoned schoolhouse. That was fine; the four of you were more than enough to kill it. The infestation was a bit overwhelming, but you had their backs, and they were nothing but pesky small curses lower than a grade four. 

Everything went well when the ambush happens. You all saw it: right in front of your eyes, a grade one emerging from the shadows, born into something nasty. It's skin oozed a sickly black slime that clung to its misshapen body. Its face—or lack there of—was dark and amorphous, split by a jagged maw that stretched impossibly wide, revealing rows of sharp serrated teeth, ready to cut and slash through flesh like a meat grinder. Other that is daunting appearance, the only other notable thing about it was its speed.

You told the kids to back down, but it was already too late. They were already involved, stuck in the heat of battle and fighting as a seamless unite. They were more than capable of standing on their own. 

But you needed them out of here. Your obligation was to protect them no matter how eager they were to help. However, before you could think of your next move, the curse made one last self-preserving attack. It opened in wide jaws, releasing several red beamed energy blast aimed directly at stone pillars. 

You had no time to think, only react. In an instant, you surged forward towards the trio, faster than their eyes could react. Grunting, you knocked them back, glass shattering as you kicked them through a window. You felt the impact ripple through your body, fully knowing you knocked the wind out of Megumi and Yuji. However, they recovered quickly, their instincts sharp enough to catch Nobara–

Right in time before the building collapsed. 

The building groaned like a wounded beast, its entire frame buckling from lack of support. Stone walls crumbled into clouds of dust and debris, windows shattered in explosive bursts, steel beams twisted and snaped with sickening shrieks. The ground trembled violently as the structure gave way, collapsing into a chaotic heap of concrete, rubble, and smoke, swallowing everything beneath. Including you.

You survived. Reinforcing your body with cursed energy made you strong enough to withstand the impact, and your heavenly restriction certainly helped. Nevertheless, you still took on quite a bit of damage from the tons of metal and concrete.

You woke up under the rubble with a startling gasp, choking on the dust. Were you out for a few seconds? Minutes? You were unsure, but the only thing pushing you to stand was the panic coated in Megumi’s voice. He was calling for you, and so were the others. You could hear the strain in their voices, the utter distraught. You healed your broken leg and the gash on the corner of your forehead, ceasing your gushing blood. You gathered yourself and your strength before pushing. They found you quickly after that, noticing a heap of rubble moving. They ran, rushing to help you push back concrete that threatened to suffocate you. You never did like tight spaces. 

Thankfully, you were alright. The kids were safe as well.

However, the curse had escaped. Megumi was visibly shaken, his fingernail cracked, bruised, and bleeding from digging urgently through the rubble to find you. 

Everyone was on edge. It wasn't their fault you didn't react quickly enough. You were more than capable; maybe that's why the failure stung so much.

You let yourself down. You let them down.

You were spiraling into a dark place quickly. The guilt threatened to swallow you whole. Gojo was still nowhere to be seen. You didn't have the strength to call him. You’re not sure what you could even say. You’ve fucked up before, but never to this extent. Not to where a whole building collapsed. 

“Good morning. A tragic incident occurred last night when an abandoned school collapsed around 7 pm. Authorities are currently investigating the cause, and preliminary reports suggest that the collapse could have been due to a structural weakness—one of the many reasons why the school was abandoned in the first place. We will continue to monitor the situation as more information becomes available–"

Megumi gently grabs your phone and locks your screen. Wordlessly, he shakes his head before pocketing your device. You’re too exhausted to ask for it back. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sensei?” Yuji's voice was soft, the first voice to break the ice. You look up from your hands, unsure how long you’ve been lost in thought. You force a small smile as you gaze at the three kids. You were sitting across from them in the waiting area outside the council room. 

“I’m alright. Are you guys?"

“We’re all fine,” Megumi cuts in quickly. “We’re– we’re more than okay.”

“That's good,” you trail off. “That's really good.”

Uncertainty hung dangerously in the air. What happened now? You were okay, but for how long? 

You knew you were in for a lashing with all the collateral damage you caused. It was supposed to be a simple mission. This wasn't supposed to happen. You four were fine, but did anyone else get hurt? 

You flinch at your own thought. You don't think you could live with yourself if innocent lives were lost.

“Sensei?” Yuji's soft, unsure voice cuts in once more. When your eyes make contact, he smiles brightly. You can tell it’s forced. “After this, wanna go get something to eat? There’s this great sandwich shop down the street!”

“Y–yeah!” Nobara sits up straight after being less than conspicuously nudged by Yuji. “It’s pretty good. We went the other day–”

The council room door creaked open. The higher-ups were waiting, shrouded in shadows and faces hidden. Even if you couldn't see them, the tension was palpable. Even without seeing them directly, you could sense their anger, smell it as it rolled off of them in a quiet, unspoken fury. You glance at the kids once more, this time with a gentle, reassuring smile curling at your lips. 

Everything would be okay.  

-

Everything was, in fact, not okay. 

The air was heavy as you entered your office. Your limbs ached, your head throbbed, and every breath felt like dragging glass through your lungs. You had thought the worst of it was over, and slowly, you felt your body begin to shut down, but only when there were no prying eyes to see how you compensated for your injuries. Even after using RCT, you had a limp—your bones were mended but not quite right. Your head was no longer bleeding—but still, you weren't quite right. 

You dismiss it as exhaustion; after all, you had just learned RCT not too long ago. Maybe you missed something. However, this wasn’t anything you couldn't handle on your own. You could see Shoko, but why bother her? You’ve endured far worse. Dealing with a sore body and a headache for the next few days wasn’t out of your jurisdiction. 

When you open the door, a flickering lamplight reveals a tall frame standing by your desk. Even before your eyes dance upon his sharp and still silhouette, the air shifts—your soul already knows he is there. Satoru.

But, his eyes never meet yours; you weren’t blessed enough to see them, a bright blue illuminating in the absence of light. His eyes were covered with a familiar dark cloth. However, you didn’t need to see them to know that the usual warmth they held as he gazed upon you was gone. In its place was a coldness that turned your stomach.

“Satoru–”

“I know,” he says, voice clipped as he turns to face you. “I read the reports.” Your heart sinks as he haphazardly tosses the report down to your desk. 

You’re exhausted, unsure of where to even begin. So many questions floated in your weary mind. Where were you? When did you get here? Please, don’t be mad at me. 

It’s funny how all your dignity, poise, and strength to endure are gone with him. You already took one berating from the elders, and you’re not sure you could handle another. 

Not from him. 

“But, I want to hear it from you.” He stepped closer, his height making him all the more domineering. “What happened out there? And how the hell are my students caught up in all of this?”

“The report was wrong. It was a grade two, not three, but we handled that just fine. We cleared out the area and completed the mission, but we were ambushed. A grade one appeared, destroyed the pillars, and–” You hesitate, unable to form the words. “Well, you know what happened.” He’s quiet, too quiet for your liking. “I–I did everything I could, Satoru. The students were fine, but the curse got away.”

“Everything you could?" His voice echoes. "I don’t need excuses. Certainly not from you. You endangered them—all of them. They’re not even your students!” He snapped, his voice rising in a way you’ve never heard before.

You bite back the lump forming in your throat. “I thought you, out of anyone, would understand the circumstances.”

“...Understand?” He utters back, a quiet fury rolling off him in waves. 

 “I made sure that–”

“You failed,” he snaps, voice laced with malice. “Enough. Just stop it. You were reckless and went behind my back, and you let a pathetic grade one get the best of you.”

Your chest tightened, crumbling at the weight of his tone. “Went behind your back? I did no such thing.”

“They could have been hurt because of you!” You visibly flinch, his words carrying more weight than the debris that had buried you—broken bones and all. 

“I’m recommending you be demoted to grade two.” 

What?

“You can’t do that. Satoru, you can’t–”

“I can,” he said coldly. “and I will. You failed, and not only did you fail, you went behind my back and involved my students. Your recklessness caused this,” disdain coats his voice, and he sucks his teeth. “I was gone for two fucking seconds, and you damn near ruined everything. People could have died. My students could have been injured. So stop being a nuisance and just do as you're told from here on out.”

No. 

No, no, no, no. 

You fought for years to get to grade one. A woman with a name of no renown—this society was never in favor of you; the system was set up for you only to fail time and time again. For years, you were held at grade three, then grade two, all because of your name’s sake—all because you were a woman. You didn’t have the luxury of being as good as other sorcerers; you had the burden to be better. 

Even now, at grade one, they continue to undermine you and undervalue you. You knew you didn’t have room to make mistakes, for they would tarnish every bit of good you have done. You thought Satoru understood that. You thought he viewed you as an equal, someone strong enough to stand by him. You thought he valued you, respected you. 

You never thought a mistake, a stupid mistake, would lead to this. 

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. 

“This has nothing to do with my rank. You don’t believe me. You don't trust me. After everything–”

Hearing his scornful laugh, your vision begins to blur. “Don’t make this personal. You fucked up, and now I have to clean up your mess.”

Your ears begin ringing. The pounding in your head becomes too much and threatens to crack your skull open once more.

“But it is, isn’t it?” You whisper. How could it not be personal with how he's been treating you for days? “You haven't been able to look at me in weeks. You speak to me as if I’ve become nothing but a burden to you—a nuisance. What did I do to deserve this?”

He remains silent, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he grits his teeth. Point proven.

Your heart painfully twists with each beat. “Do you even… care about me anymore?” You’re not sure why you say it, why the words slip past your lips, but they do.

He read the report and he hadn't even asked if you were okay. Maybe it was a selfish thought, but it makes your chest ache. You just wanted to go home, crawl in bed and hold him. However, you knew that wasn't in the cards right now.

“Don’t twist this into something it’s not.”

Your voice finally wavers before him, cracking as you press on, desperate for him to understand—desperate to have him by your side as he has been for so many years.

“You’re casting me aside like I’m... worthless."

It was cruelty, a quiet and deafening insult for him to demote you of your status—but more specifically, your place beside him. That hurt runs deep, to the point that feelings of betrayal start seeping into your veins, poisoning you, antagonizing you. Belittling you. It was a sharp dagger you never expected—searing with a hatred that threatened to cripple you. This wasn’t just about your position. He was a man of unchallenged stature, of the highest status and regard, lowering you, demeaning you with his every word, every action. 

When did things go so wrong?

Yet, even now, you question yourself. Were you being dramatic? Were you taking this too personally? Were you being selfish?

Because he was right. Every word he's said so far was right. You failed. You put them in danger.

You stand there, a hollow feeling growing in your chest. The sting of Satoru’s words cut deeper than any blade you’ve faced. His jaw tightened, his gaze hard as steel and cold as ice. “You gave me what I never asked for.”

“Don't you dare!” You snap, finger trembling as you point his way with an accusatory jab. “Don’t you dare pretend this is nothing.  You know me better than anyone. How could I not take this personally? I’ve done nothing but stand by you, love you, trust you–”

“Like I said, I never asked for any of that,” he utters sharply, his carefully composed exterior shattering. “Whatever we were was nothing more than fucking convenience.” 

Suddenly, he stops, freezing at the onslaught of his own lethal words. His next words seemed to die in his throat. The damage was done. 

Exhausted, defeated, numb. His words hit you like a death blow. “... Convenience?” Echoing the very word that came from his lips—a sound you hardly recognize comes from your mouth, a small slip of the anguish tormenting and swelling in your body escapes. 

The necklace around your neck, the very one he had given you, seemed to pulse against your skin, warm and alive. It carried a piece of him, a piece of you, a guiding hand in the absence of light: a thread, an anchor—a way home. 

Suddenly, you hated it. Hated the way it sat so close to your heart, hated the warmth, his energy; you hated that, even now, his words cutting so deep, unraveling the fabric of your being, it comforted you, reaching for you. 

You yanked it off, the chain snapping in two as you held it in your trembling hands. 

He falters, his whole being frozen. “What are you doing?” he asked, quiet and tense, blanketed in uncertainty. 

“I don’t want it,” you say, voice quivering, threatening to fail you at any moment. His energy—the only energy that blended so perfectly with yours—reached for you, and so did his trembling hands. Reflexively, you flinched away, retreating further into the room and further from him. “Don’t,” you shake your head. “Don’t touch me. Not with your hands, not with your energy. Don’t.”

Silent tears stream down your face. You are unable to look at him, and your breathing is shallow and unsteady. You open your hand, letting the necklace drop to the floor. The faint sound of metal hitting wood echoes in the suffocating silence of the room. 

There’s a soft knock on the door. It creaks, slightly opening. “... Y/n sensei?” came an unsure voice.

You stiffen, and suddenly, you can sense them, three nervous students standing outside your door. Too caught up with Satoru, you had entirely missed them. You clear your throat and dry your cheeks with the back of your hand before turning to the door. You walk over, opening the door wide enough to see them. 

“Sorry if we’re interrupting, but we just wanted to know if you still wanted to come out for dinner with us...” 

Fuck. How much did they hear?

You take a breath, and it’s shakier than you anticipated. “Yeah, sure. That sounds nice. Let me grab my jacket, okay.”

Yuji only offers an unsure smile. Norbora has a hard time even looking at you, while Megumis's eyes are solid and unyielding, glaring right past you. His hands were in his pockets, balled into tight fists.

You don’t know what to do other than quickly turning. Within a few ushered strides, you were at your desk, grabbing your coat off your desk chair; you’re careful to avoid Gojo, who manages to plaster on that big fucking grin. 

“Heard you guys were up to no good while I was away.”

“We were fine,” Megumi interjects before Yuji could open his mouth. “More than fine.” 

“Y–yeah, everything ended up being just fine. Y/n-sensei made sure of that,” Nobara awkwardly adds, shifting her weight on her feet. 

“Ah,” Gojo nods. “Well, make sure you get some rest tonight. We’ve got a long day tomorrow! You guys will be training with the second years!” 

You hated how he could act as if everything was alright while you were fighting back tears. It was another jab, a suckerpunch to the gut. 

You just needed to get out of there. 

-

After dinner with the kids, you headed out on your own the following day. You went home, stuffing some clothes in a bag before spending the night at a cheap motel. Before getting with Satoru, you always floated from place to place, never truly settling. Those days, all you carried on you was your backpack. You didn’t have a home or many possessions you could call your own. You just had yourself.  

I guess old habits die hard. 

Megumi was the first to text you: I went to Gojo's house today and didn’t see you. 

All good! I’ve been busy running errands.

Nobara text you sometime after.

Hey Sensei!! Let me know if you’re available today! Let’s go shopping!

You responded rather quickly. Sorry, I’m not around today. Maybe ask Maki? Or maybe Yuji and Megumi would like to tag along.

But guys suck :(

Then, there was Yuji: Hey, Sensei! Let me know if you want ramen! The gang and I got you since you covered for us the other night! I even got coupons! 

You weren’t sure what to say. You always covered for their meals (no exceptions), but you knew they were just trying to be kind. You double-tapped and hearted the message. 

You appreciated them more than anything, but frankly, it was a bit embarrassing. You never meant for them to overhear you and Satrou that night in your office, and you were never one for pity. If it were anyone else, you would have called them out and told them off. However, you wouldn’t dream of doing that to the kids. They were trying to support you in the only way they knew how, but it wasn’t their responsibility to worry about you. 

Surprisingly, Shoko was the next person to contact you. You never stopped by my office. I’m assuming you’re alright?  

Smiling gently, you responded. Yeah, no injuries to report. 

A building collapsed on you.

You scoff, imagining her deadpan expression. Heavenly restriction, remember?

That doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt. 

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. Yeesh. Just meet me at the bar you like downtown. 

That’s where you are now, Shoko’s favorite bar, tossing back your third shot. ”Take it easy. I don’t feel like dragging you home tonight.”

“Ah. I’m alright, Shoko.”

“You don’t look it.” 

“Neither do you with those bags under your eyes.”

She brings her drink to her lips, mumbling “touché” before taking a swig. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Vivid memories pressed to the front of your mind of the building collapsing. “Satoru is demoting me. After the elders ripped into me, I found him waiting for me in my office.”

“He– what? Jeez,” she took another sip of sake. “Out of everything, I didn’t expect that.” 

“I– we haven’t been doing too good. I’m not sure if there even is an us after last night.”

“Huh. He did seem a little out of it today.”

“Somehow, I kinda doubt that.” There’s a beat of silence, and you swirl the liquid in your cup. 

“If it means anything, he asked me about you. Asked if you were alright.” 

You smile a bit sardonically.  If Satoru really wanted to find you, you knew he could, as he had the means to do so. From here, you were only about five miles away from his estate. It’s not like you were too for his eyes to see.  Suddenly, that thought bothers you, and you find yourself almost subconsciously concealing your cursed energy.  

“Is that why you texted me?”

She gives you a weird look. “Partially. I had my own concerns.” 

“Like what?”

“If I’m being honest with you, you’re not great at RCT. I wanted to check and make sure everything was alright. It eventually catches up with you if you don’t do it correctly. I’ve seen it cause irreparable damage before.”  

“Ah. I guess that makes sense.”

“You should come to my office tomorrow so I can check–”

“I think I’m gonna quit.”

“…what?”

“I mean, that’s what they really want, right?”

“If you do that, they’ll find the easiest excuse to label you as a traitor. A cursed user.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Since day one, they’ve been trying to paint me as a villain.” 

“So don’t give them what they want,” Shoko bites back. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. “Listen, I can’t stop you. You are going to do what you want to do at the end of the day, but you don’t need to do this. You made a mistake.”

“I’m just tired,” you tell her truthfully. “For months, I’ve been pretending, going through the motions. I've been miserable. Megumi hasn’t wanted me around much. He’s older now, and he doesn’t need me anymore–”

“Of course he does,” Shoko cuts you off. “He’s still a kid.”

“And I’m not his mother,” you retort bitterly. “Then, there’s Satoru. He’s been so distant.  He used to always be in my corner and make everything better, but I don’t even have that now. Now, all of the jujutsu society thinks I’m a liability. He thinks I’m a liability. Maybe it’s why he’s grown to resent me so much.”

“Please. Just stop talking,” Shoko remarks, overwhelmed with how quickly you were talking. She wasn’t necessarily a fan of conversations like these, but at least she listened. “I’m here if you ever need anyone. And please, don’t let this fester. I would rather not lose another friend.” She takes a large gulp this time, finishing her drink before gesturing for a refill. “Tsk. Satoru is complicated—I get it—but he wouldn’t want you to leave. Neither would Megumi. That kid loves you. Maybe you and Gojo just need a break.”

A break? Ha. That was one way of putting it. However, it already felt much more like a breakup, and its permanence frightened you. Like many other things in your relationship, it was never voiced but certainly felt. 

“Yeah,” you say softly, body buzzing as you down your fourth shot. “Maybe you’re right.”

-

You start walking home after having drinks with Shoko. It was a long walk, and you took your time. You weren’t in a rush to head home to potential chaos. The thought of staying at a hotel crossed your mind, but you had nothing to change into. Frankly, it didn’t matter where you went either. It’s not like you’d be able to sleep any better. 

Though, it’s not like you were going back home to anything good. You were suspended without pay; you couldn’t go near the school grounds or exercise any curses—a stipulation you rolled your eyes at. If they thought just a few measly words would stop you from exercising a curse, they would be more idiotic than you thought. 

Still, maybe it’s good to take some time off. Maybe you should stay at the hotel. If you were lucky, they’d have a washer and dryer. 

Then, your phone starts to ring—a unique ringtone that a white-haired idiot assigned to his contact one day after you let him “borrow” your phone. He even changed his contact photo; years later, you never had the heart to change it. 

Your heart aches when you see the contact photo of him, his goofy smile and gorgeous eyes peeking over his black shades. You answered hesitantly after a few rings. 

“Hello?”

“Heyyy,” you hear, his voice light and cheery yet, lacking its usual spark. “Where are you? I know I missed dinner the other night so I picked up your favorite on my way home!” 

Back to normal? Just like that?

You take a breath, reeling in your emotions. It wasn’t normal, per se, but you could tell he was trying, stepping cautiously over the ice he knew could shatter at any moment. 

“I’m not home, right now.”

“Huuuh?” You can hear the slight whine in his voice, and you can imagine him pouting like a small child. You expect him to carry on with his theatrics, but he hesitates. “When do you think you’ll be home then?”

“Uh, I don’t really know,” you trail off, unable to keep up his faux mirth and bravado. 

 “Well, if you don’t want to sleep next to me tonight, I can just take the guest bedroom!” For a moment, he sounds hopeful.

Honestly, he’s just making your head spin. 

“Honestly, I think it’s best if I stay out of the house for a little while, Gojo.”

There’s a beat of silence before you hear his nervous laughter. “Gojo?” he remarks dejectedly. “Can’t remember the last time you called me that.”

You were unsure what to say; you hadn’t even realized you initially referred to him by his last name until he pointed it out. You want to tell him sorry—for everything, but your tongue tenses in your mouth, and your throat threatens to close up. You hated it when he got like this, and typically, you’d do anything to make him smile again. 

But you’re hurt, and he caused that hurt. 

“I wanted to talk to you about the other day,” he adds quickly, unable to withstand your silence. 

“What’s there to talk about?” You ask softly. “What done is done. I messed up.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You’re right. It can’t be undone now. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Your stomach drops your heart twists and aches. Was he going to officially end things with you? A bitter, more cruel half of you whispers—you weren’t even officially together to begin with. However, none of that even matters; he has too much of you, too many pieces of your frail heart in the palm of his hands. You were irrevocably his, but was he ever yours? 

Just a few weeks ago, you thought you would have an entirely different answer than the one you have now. You're too afraid to face him or the truth. You were guilt-ridden, your pride and dignity torn to shreds. Hearing that he no longer wishes to be with you would be too much. 

Honestly? 

You’re not sure how you’d react. If you’d sob, if you’d remain stoic, or if you’d flip a table and trash every one of your possessions. You’re at wit's end, and the level of fallout threatening to break free from you was immeasurable. 

So, you finalize what you had been contemplating just five minutes ago. “I think I’m going to stay at a hotel, Gojo. I need space. Time to think.” 

“I don’t want us to go to bed mad at each other,” he says lowly, his voice reverberating through the phone. You shiver. “It doesn’t feel right.”

You hated this. You fucking hated this. 

Your chest tightens, and your knees weaken. You wanted to give in. He always had that power over you. He ruled your heart so effortlessly. You yearned for him, your heart singing a million love songs, beckoning him back to you. 

But you couldn’t. You were too mad. You felt cast aside as if you were nothing but an afterthought—after all these years. Yet again, you feel the foundation of your home cracking, and your knees go weak yet again. You take a shuddering breath right before repeating the exact words he threw at you just a few nights prior—words that so effortlessly dismantled your spirit. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

-   

You’ve always had a habit of running. It was easier for you than most. You figured you’d go back to that cheap motel in Tokyo, but you were too restless. Too angry. Feelings of betrayal ran deep, and the guilt nipped away at you until there was only a void. 

Before you could leave, though, you call a number you knew by heart. Stepping onto the train and holding your phone to your ear, it rings. For a moment, you assume he’s asleep. It was getting late, but after the fifth ring, the line clicked. A groggy voice peaks through. 

“Sensei? What’s going on?”

“Megumi,” you breathe out. “Hi. Sorry to wake you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Nozomi 1, departing from Tokyo and heading to Kyoto, will depart shortly. Please be careful of your footing while boarding. Please refrain from using mobile phone inside the train–“

“You’re leaving?” The tiredness in his voice is replaced by something else you can’t quite place. 

“Only for a short while. It’s not like I’ll be working anytime soon,” you chuckled nervously. “But I just wanted to let you know. It didn’t feel right leaving without speaking to you first.” 

“Oh,” is all he can muster up at first. “I– when will you be back?”

“I’m not sure,” you answer him honestly. “A few days, maybe.” 

“Well… Can we visit you? I’d go alone, but I think Yuji and Nobara would kill me if I did.” 

Oh. You hadn’t expected that. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “Um, yeah. When I figure out where I’m staying, I’ll let you know.”

He sounds worried. “You don’t know where you’re staying yet?”

You snicker. “Ha, this is, uh, kinda an impromptu thing.” 

“… and you’re sure alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m alright. I just wanted to tell you.”

You can tell he’s not exactly satisfied, but he isn’t one to stop you. “Well, text me where you’ll be staying in a few hours. You should probably hang up now, though, and figure it out.”

You smile softly to yourself. He always was a kind boy—kinder than he’d ever reveal. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Goodnight, Megumi.”

“Night.. I’ll call you later. Be safe.”

When you hang up, you feel a bit better. 

- 

The first night was hard—really hard. Sleeping away from Satoru was incredibly difficult, but so were his sharp words that relentlessly bounced around in your mind.  You found no peace by your window, watching the last of that day's sunlight slipping away behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the dead trees covered in snow.

You could almost feel his presence, like the cast of your shadow on a wall—following you, mirroring your every move. Your phone never rang with his ringtone, your phone never buzzed with a new text. Yet you stared at the shadows for a bit longer, a bit more intensely, waiting for two blue eyes to illuminate the space. They never did. 

Kyoto's stillness seemed to reflect your own, waiting for something to change, waiting for something dead and wilted to bloom once more. 

However, even all the way over in Kyoto, bad luck seems to follow you like the plague. You were walking to a small corner market to grab something to eat when you felt the disturbance in the air—tasted it on your tongue. You hoped that surge of cursed energy wasn’t what you thought it was. You would have loved to be proven wrong, but your instincts were keen like a hound trained to hunt. 

A curse womb opened right above a Kyoto High school. 

You were definitely getting fired after this. 

You knew a cursed object was most likely responsible for this. Considering it happened at a school, you were more than willing to bet a strong cursed object was placed there, most likely intended to ward off any other strong curses that might otherwise appear in the area. You assumed the seal broke, probably after hundreds of years of suppressing the power of the object. You’ve dealt with a case like that before.

You couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Three stupid students—ghost hunting of all things—removed the seal. The decorated white cloth tightly wrapped around a black skull was torn, and its viscous cursed energy soared, tinting the sky black. 

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you hissed under your breath when you slammed open the classroom door. “This way, c’mon!” You didn’t have to tell them twice. Book it, and you stay by their side for as long as you can. You had to put up your veil, but only after they were far enough. 

You got impatient, however, especially towards the kid who had been recording everything up until now, where you crushed his phone in your hand. 

“Wha– hey! You're gonna pay for that!”

“What the hell is more important? Recording or your fucking lives? Shut up and run!” 

The air suddenly cracks with a tension that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It’s here. You could feel it—the dark, oppressive presence creeping across the courtyard, lurking. You yourself could see it with your eyes, but you felt it. 

Your senses were better than most. It was partially why you and Yuji got along and trained together so well. You were just like him when you were younger. Granted, he wasn’t born with cursed energy like you were, but your heavenly restrictions were nearly identical. 

You stop running when you reach the edge of the courtyard, but those three kids carry on in a scram. Holding the cursed object in your hands, you raise the skull in the air. It takes a considerable amount of force, but you crush the skull, black dust coating your hand. There’s a hollow screech, and you hope that’s the end of it. 

Of course, your bad luck persists. 

Typically, destroying the cursed object that’s created a cursed womb kills it or at least nullifies it. The exception is when the curse is an S-grade; those wombs are damn near impenetrable. 

Destroying the object seemed only to irritate the curse as it began crawling out of a bloody sac. 

You hold up your fist, index, and pointer finger together, pointing to the sky along with your thumb. A crimson veil pours down, covering the entirety of the school. However, you sense three others within your veil just as you seal off the area. 

“Yo, Y/n sensei!! What the hell are you doing here, loca!” A deep laugh echoes across the courtyard. 

Christ. You knew that voice from anywhere. 

You glance over your shoulder and see a few unexpected faces. Utahime and two other students—Miwa and Todo who looks way happier than he should be, considering the circumstances. 

The newly born curse loomed menacingly overhead, its red eyes gleaming like coals in a dying fire. It was tall, with protruding joints that snapped into place. Its black and sleek hair extended beyond its long, contorted body. Its face was painted white and cracked as if crafted of aged porcelain. Its kimono was white, stained with splashes of red and black goo. You stood firmly in place, fire crackling at your fingertips, your breath steady but sharp in the cold night air. Todo and Miwa joined your side quickly, and Utahime offered you a firm nod from the sidelines. She was entrusting you with her students.  

Quickly, the courtyard became a battlefield, filled with the crackle of burning energy and the hum of raw power. 

The curse lunged, zipping through the air. You were faster, your body twisting and moving with fluid grace. You raised your hand to strike, a jet of flame bursting forward, crackling against the air. The curse shrieked as the fire seared its back, black smoke rising from its melted skin. 

It recovered too quickly for your liking. It rolled through the flames like water through a sieve, reforming and lunging again, its claws gleaming.

Your senses were on fire—every shift in the air, every sound, every movement was magnified. You could hear the heartbeat of the curse, the faintest tremor of its form as it coiled to strike. You could smell the thick, sour scent of decay that clung to it like an ancient smog. And you could feel it—the deep, heavy weight of power pressing down on you, making your muscles tighten and strain against the oncoming attack.

The curse moved to strike again, but you were already there, rolling beneath it, body twisting in a perfect arc, and feet hitting the ground in a spring-loaded motion that sent you leaping upward. Your fist, wreathed in fire, crashed into the creature’s chest.

The explosion of heat sent the curse reeling, but it was only a momentary distraction. It retaliated, slashing the air with a massive, clawed hand. Three energized strikes were headed your way. You reacted with seconds to spare, but Miwa stood directly in the line of fire. You knew her simple domain wouldn’t be summoned fast enough, but she didn’t. It would be a miscalculation that ended her life. 

The claws tore through your side, then whipped down in a sickening arc, ripping clean through your arm. The pain came in an instant—a blinding, searing agony that burned through your body. You didn't even have time to scream.

You staggered back, a cry escaping Miwa’s lips as she looked at the bloody stump where your arm used to be. Blood poured and squirted from the wound, but there was no time for that. 

"Get back!" you shouted to the blue-haired girl, voice raw. She wasn’t nearly ready for this; Utahime gravity overestimated her abilities or underestimated the cursed strength. Regardless, the girl was too distraught to do anything at this moment. 

There’s a rush, and you suddenly realize you are outside the heat of battle. Todo went in, guns blazing, but you could only waste so much time. Todo was strong, way above his current ranking, in your opinion, but it was only a matter of time before that curse cut him down, too. 

Without a second thought, you dropped to your knees. The pain was overwhelming, but you focused, drawing from the reserves settled deep within your core. Your energy surged, and tendrils of fire spiraled around the wound, filling the air with intense heat. 

“Sensei! Are you alri–" Miwa gasped, her feet coming to a haunt as she watched in awe and terror as your arm began to regenerate—pulsing with energy. The flesh knitted itself together, bone and sinew reforming in a frenzy. 

But the process wasn't easy and certainly didn’t come without a price to pay. Your body screamed, the regeneration draining your reserves. You were already weakened, and the battle had just begun. Tsk. 

Todo found his way back over to you two, panting heavily. “How are you doing over there, Sensei?”

"Clap," you say, voice strained. "Now." He looked at you, bug-eyed, but he nodded. He didn't hesitate. 

He brought his hands together in a sharp clap, and everything shifted. “Alright! Let’s dance!”

In an instant, you found yourself on the other side of the curse. You inhaled deeply, heart pounding, immediately launching yourself back into the fight.

The curse roared in confusion, disoriented, but it was too late. You were already in motion. Your feet hit the ground in a fluid motion, and with a vicious snap of your wrist, fire erupted once again. This time, it formed into a massive whip of flame that lashed through the air.

The curse hissed as the whip wrapped around its neck, and you pulled with your whole body. Never losing your grip, muscles straining, you move forward, wrapping the flames over your arm again and again, pulling tighter and tighter until you smelt the pungent odor of the burning flesh around its neck. You wrapped the whip around your arm one last time before turning your body and pulling the whip from over your shoulder, viscously yanking and slamming the curse to the ground and into submission. 

The curse struggled, its body writhing, but it was weakened. Miwa went for the opening, summoning her New Shadow Style: Simple domain. She’s gotten better since the tournament, and you acknowledge with a grave chuckle as she instantly draws her blade, slicing the curse directly across its chest cavity. She cost you an arm, but deep down, you knew she had the conviction to win and succeed. 

Todo doesn’t wait. Another clap. Another shift. You and Todo swapped places with the curse itself this time, and the curse had no time to react. He goes for a punch, cracking the curse with a quick jab, followed by a right hook. He claps again. The moment the curse materialized in front of you, disoriented, you surged forward, throwing everything you had left into one final strike.

It twisted in anguish, its body crumbling to the ground before its remains turned into ash.

Then, there was nothing.

The air grew still. The ground beneath you is scorched but calm. You sucked your teeth, silently berating yourself. 

You hated using your technique. Frankly, you opted not to unless you absolutely needed to, which was the main reason why people hardly knew about it. It wreaked havoc, leaving nothing but indomitable infernos that refused to be quenched like normal flames. They left nothing destruction in their wake—hungry to consume and spread. However, you’ve gotten better at controlling it—you’ll give yourself that. The only thing burned here today was the grass in the courtyard. 

You stood there for a moment, panting, your body trembling with exhaustion as you collapsed to the ground, panting heavily. “Y–you did it!” Miwa cheered. “I had no idea you knew RCT. Thank you for helping me back there.”

“What the– Miwa, we won! Show some conviction!” Todo cut in, flexing his biceps. 

“He’s right,” you managed a weak smile as you worked on catching your breath and easing your fast-beating heart. You collapse to the ground, still gaining your breath. "We did it."

You hear footsteps approaching from behind. Tilting your head, you see Utahime standing directly above you. 

“Oh. Hi ‘hime.” 

She smiles a bit, but her face remains hardened. You straighten up a bit, catching on to her attitude. Something wasn’t right. 

“You guys did a good job. However, another problem has arisen across the city.” 

“Huh? Another one?” Miwa asked, brows tugging inward. She shifts her weight from one hip to the other. “That's like the fifth one today...”

They continue on in their conversation as you drop your veil, sniff the air, and concentrate on your surroundings. A sense of foreboding strikes you under the dark ambiance of the sky. Even after killing that S-grade, things don’t feel right. 

“Thanks for joining us,” Utahime says, drawing back your attention. “I nearly had to call for backup.”

You scoff, glancing up at her from the ground. “Something doesn't feel right, Utahime.” She nods, agreeing with your observation. “When did the reports come flooding in?”

“About an hour ago now.”

“Hm,” you wonder, thinking back to when you first found the cursed womb. “That’s about the same time I first sensed the presence of the cursed womb. They’re most likely connected.”

“That's what I thought. The presence of the cursed womb must have irritated some of the curses in the city, most likely because they were drawn to the energy fluctuations the cursed womb caused. It's good you were here. We're stretched thin right now. If you don’t mind staying, we could use your help. The other students are out on missions across the city, and things just keep getting worse.” 

You smile up at her before pushing yourself back up on your two feet, brushing the dirt from your pants. “Sure, let’s get going–” but as you stand, it feels as if a bolt of lightning strikes you down or as if your chest has been cracked open by a sledgehammer. The agony was too great to even scream as you fell to your knees and crashed back into the ground. 

It was lights out. 

-

It was quiet. Dark—a vast, unending expanse of nothingness that swallowed you whole. An endless drift. It would have almost been peaceful if not for the faint pull at the edges of your awareness, like an anchor trying to tether to something you couldn’t see. 

But then came the first sound. 

You heard voices—muffled cries. Please wake up, said one voice. Please stay with me, came another. 

Pain began to throb somewhere in the background, dull and distant. Disembodied as if it belonged to someone else. 

Don’t you dare leave me. The voice was sharp, demanding, cracking under the weight of fear. You knew that voice and remembered all the sweet things it used to whisper to you. Your heart takes a painful lurch. You can hear its occasional beat in your ears. We need you. I need you. 

Oddly, you were cold.

You were drifting again, further and further. The anchor was slipping. You were sinking, your head hardly above water, when another muffled voice broke through—whimpering, sobbing. Your heart lurches painfully.

Mom, please don’t go.

The words pierce through the nothingness, shattering it all to bits and pieces. The words pull at you, a lifeline you hadn’t known you clung to and needed. Images begin to flash, and suddenly, the voices are no longer just voices. Your heart suddenly burns as though the memory of life itself is fighting its way back into you. 

Your eyelids were heavy, limbs weak, unresponsive—cold. You were so cold, but it wasn’t enough to stop you from crawling out of a black pit that threatened to swallow you whole. There’s a faint sensation of pressure, a hand tightly gripping yours. 

Light begins bleeding into the edges of your awareness. You sucked in a deep breath, lungs empty and greedy. 

Then, your eyes fluttered open.  

You blinked a few times, realizing how hard it was to breathe. Breathing was supposed to be an automatic response, but you had to force it, each breath dragging along the back of your throat like sandpaper. You’re weak and shivering as you use most of your energy to sit up. You were in an empty room, you realized—the sharp smell of sanitizer permeating your nose. 

You push yourself out of bed, knees buckling under your weight. You catch yourself, gathering whatever bits of strength you have left. Your teeth clattered. You were freezing. Shaking, you wrapped the white blanket over your shoulders, gripping it tight before you trudged towards the door.

The hall was mostly empty, all except for a sleeping boy slouched over in a chair beside your door. Your heart squeezes. 

“Megumi,” you whispered his name. You stare at him for a moment, unable to bite back the tears that nip at your dry eyes. 

You wrapped the blanket around him, tucking it gently around him. However, he flinches, jumping straight up in his chair. “S-Sorry,” you tell him quickly with a watery smile. “You looked cold.” 

“You…” the word was a raw and weak whisper. His eyes widened. It took a moment for recognition to settle in, but once it did, he spoke again. “You’re awake.” He stood up from his chair, and you stepped back, offering him space. “You’re awake,” he repeated again. 

Then, you start to wonder just how long you’ve been out of it. Days? Weeks? The thought of months terrifies you, but before you can even go down that loophole, he’s hugging you tightly. “You’re awake,” he says once more, his voice breaking. 

However long it was, he’s right. You’re awake. You’re here, living and breathing. You wrap your arms around his torso, patting and rubbing his back soothingly. “Yup… I’m here. I’m awake.” 

You let him be the one to pull away, letting him take however long he needs. You enjoyed it regardless. You couldn’t remember the last time you hugged him. 

When he pulls away, his eyes are red. He sniffs a bit, backing up and taking the blanket off his shoulders. This time, he’s the one wrapping the fabric around you. He’s frowning a bit as he does. “... you’re the one that’s cold,” he notes quietly. 

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” He asks softly, brows furrowing. 

You shook your head. No. Frankly, you didn’t remember much of anything right now. “I was on my way with Yuji and Nobara. We got on the train after you let me know where you were staying.” That’s right. You texted Megumi when you figured out where you’d be staying. You thought they’d come over sometime in the following days. You had no idea they were rushing to see you on the next available train. 

He places his hands awkwardly on your shoulder before gently guiding you to the chair he was sitting in moments ago. As you go to sit, your body seems to forget how to move for a moment, and you lose your balance. He catches you quickly, carefully helping you down into the chair. “When we got to Kyoto, we realized quickly how bad things were over there.   We started helping out at the Kyoto school, dealing with the curses that had been lingering in the area where the cursed womb opened up. Eventually, we ran into Todo and Miwa. They told us what happened.” He grunts, kneeling down so he’s at eye level with you. 

You’re silent for a moment. “How long was I out for?”

“Pushing four days now.” 

The memories strike you like a fright train. “Are you okay? Is everyone alright?” You hadn’t realized you had reached for his cheek. 

He grabs your wrist, thumb gently caressing the back of your hand before pulling your hand away, guiding it back to your lap. He moves the blanket until it's covering you again.  “We’re all fine. Everything’s been dealt with. Yuji and Nobara went down to the cafe to grab some lunch. They’ll be thrilled when they come back.”

You tilt your head. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

He smiles a bit. “I didn’t want to leave you unattended.”

You don’t know what to think. You’re just happy you’re back. Happy because he was happy. You always hated it when he worried about you. You never believed it was his job to do so. However, he stayed by your side and protected you when you couldn’t protect yourself. 

You wiggle your toes and roll your shoulders before standing again. “You shouldn’t be standing–”

“I’m alright, I promise,” you tell him, dismissing his concern. “I just want to walk around, okay?”

He stares at you intently, unsure, but he seems to have no energy to argue with you. “... alright,” he relents. 

He follows you closely as you drag your feet across the floor. You don’t know where you are walking, but you want to stretch your legs and regain a sense of your body. You are weak, but you need to move. 

You ask the question you were too hesitant to ask: “What about Gojo?”

He huffs. “He left a little while ago. Said he’d be back shortly,” he scoffs. “Bullshit if you ask me.”

“Megumi,” you sigh his name with a soft reprimand. 

“He should be here,” he responds disgruntledly. “He should be by your side, and he’s not."

You stay quiet. You’re not exactly sure what to say to him when you agree. Maybe Gojo was done. Whatever this was, whatever relationship you had—maybe he didn’t want you anymore. You look ahead, fighting your own body that threatened to collapse at any moment. You could feel Megumi’s eyes on you, but you didn’t have the heart to look at him right now.

You were afraid you would sob if you did. 

Though you had never walked these halls before, the hospital's layout was quite easy to catch on to. After taking a fourth right turn, you see your room in the distance. A stubborn part of you says to keep going and keep walking, but the exhaustion is catching up to you quickly. If Megumi hadn’t been by your side, cautious eyes scanning you, you might have kept going until you passed out. You realize that the strength you had was nearly depleted. Only trickles of your cursed energy remained, and it would be a long while before you gained it back. 

You hear footsteps behind you. Quick and ushered. Megumi turns before you, his whole frame tensing.  He sucks his teeth and clicks his tongue. “So he finally shows up.” He speaks in a sardonic tone, loud enough for anyone in the hallways to hear.

Satoru comes running from around the corner then, taking deep breaths. Your brows slightly pinch together in confusion. “S–Satoru,” you stutter, walking closer. “When did you get here?”  He looks disheveled. Alarmed. Was he just running? 

It was hard trying to figure out what he was feeling or experiencing when that black eyeband covered his eyes. However, you noticed the bouquet in his hands, a delicate combination of soft and tender hues: pale pink and roses, white peonies, deep pink lilies, and baby’s breath delicately wrapped along sprigs of greenery. 

You place a hand on Megumi’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go eat with the others?”

“But–”

“I’ll be alright,” you explain to him in a soft tone.

He hesitates, torn between staying and leaving.  He was unsure if he should leave you to handle this alone, but after a moment, he backed down, probably realizing he shouldn’t stand between the two of you and what needed to happen. With an irate glance shot at Gojo, he turns, pocketing his hands as he makes his way to the stairs. 

Only when the door shuts do you look at Satoru again. 

He stays unusually quiet, his face unreadable. Frankly, it was rather unsettling. You had no idea what was going through his mind. “I–I’m sorry!” you blurt out the first words that crash to the surface of your mind the moment you see him in his entirety. There was no hope of holding back. After days spent away from him, lost in his absence, and days dancing on the edge of death, the words tumble out of you before you can stop them—unbidden, unstoppable. “For everything. Y–You must have been stressed with work and other things. My fuck up only added to your plate. I get it, ya know? It's selfish of me, even now, to rely on you so much when there’s a whole world that needs you. They are not my students, and I put them in danger.” Quickly, the tears gather in your waterline again, but you blink them away. “I–I’ll be leaving soon. I’ll… I’ll go. I’ll get out of your way, and you won’t have to deal with me bothering you any longer–”

“Can I touch you?” The question comes suddenly, softly, and almost hesitantly. 

You blink a few times, puzzled, but then, you unravel, folding inward under the weight of his voice. Your breath hitches in your throat. Was he still holding onto what you had said that night? Was he haunted by the barriers broken and the others so carelessly assembled? 

He still wanted you? 

You didn’t want him to let you go. Not yet. Not ever.

Like a dam breaking, you surged forward, closing the space between you two. Seconds later, you feel his resolve crumble. He crushes you to his chest, flowers falling to the floor. His arms enveloped you with a force that robbed you of breath, your feet nearly coming off the ground as you both stumble backward. Trembling, he clung to you as if you were an anchor in a world that threatened to tear him apart. There were no words—the unspoken agony and grief were far too overwhelming to put into words—if there even were words for it. 

I’m sorry. I love you. I’m glad you’re okay.  You felt it all with him. You could feel the pounding of his heart against your chest, hear its frantic rhythm match your own.

His hands were shaking, one tangling in your hair, the other wrapping entirely around your frame and squeezing your hip. He buries his face into your neck, and his hot breath is ragged and uneven as he inhales your scent. “I thought–” he swallows, shaking his head. “I didn’t know where you were—for a second time.”

Your cursed energy was low, more depleted than it had ever been. It explains why you were so weak, so frail. When he saw your empty bed, he must’ve panicked. He ran to you, anxiously following the weak traces of your presence. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, and the familiar silk of his eyeband rubs against your skin. You gently tug at the fabric with the tips of your fingers. His breath hitches, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he stills as you slip the black band from his face. He lifts his head just enough to rest it against yours. They were that same stunning shade of azure—bright and impossibly vivid, glowing softly as if they carried the remnants of a forgotten star. Captivating, otherworldly, yet achingly human—something he’d often forget from time to time. 

“You promised,” he murmurs, voice broken. “You promised.”  

“What are you talking about?” you ask just as brokenly. 

Suddenly, one of his hands grasps your neck, and you choke on your words. He doesn’t squeeze tight, but the look on his face is enough to make you gasp. “I couldn’t feel you. I couldn’t feel you anymore,” he says achingly. 

Your chest tightens, nails slightly digging into his forearm. You open your mouth to speak, failing more times than succeeding. You wanted to speak, but the words lodged in your mouth. 

“I–I don’t understand.”

“You’re not wearing it anymore,” he murmurs, his nose brushing softly against your cheek. The necklace you always wore—his gift to you, the one that held a part of him, a part of the two of you—was gone. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, an absence that gnawed at him like hunger, an emptiness he could never satisfy. 

His voice wasn’t angry, far from it. It wasn’t even harsh, but something in it—a quiet desperation—made the air between the two of you quiver. 

“You promised you’d never go where I couldn’t follow,” he whispers again. “Remember?” 

You nod in his hold, tightly pursing your lips together when a few tears escape, dripping from your eyes.  He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours again, gazing deep and unwavering into your eyes. I remember. His grip on your neck loosens until he removes his hand from your throat completely, gentle fingers pushing down your shirt's fabric. His fingers trace your skin, the empty spot where your necklace once laid. 

Then, it suddenly hits you. “Oh.”  

He could feel you as much as you felt him. If you were ever too far from him—out of the range of his sight, out from where his hands could reach for you, that necklace was a beacon, a beckoning, a lighthouse in the storm that guided you home—guided him home. 

You squeeze him tighter. You missed him. You really missed him. 

“How did you find me?” 

He takes a moment to breathe, trying to settle the rapid beat of his heart. “Utahime.” He wheezes out a pained laugh. “She called me panicking once you collapsed. I got there as quickly as I could.”  

You copy his laugh, albeit coughing a bit from the pain blooming in your ribs. You hated to admit it, but the longer you stood, the more your body began to hurt. “I should just heal myself and get this over with.”

“Don’t,” his grip tightens on you again. “you’re using it wrong. There’s damage, lots of it,” he tells you, wiping at the blood that had stained your skin at the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “Any more and–” his eyebrows furrowed deeply, the weight of grief and guilt tugging his features. The corner of his lips tightened. “Shoko operated on you for hours. You nearly died.”

He sees what others cannot, his gaze piercing the surface to something deeper, something raw. He sees the world through an entirely different lens, and right now, the sight of you seems to pain him dearly. 

For a moment, you wonder just how much damage is hidden within you and how much it must weigh on him to see it. “Shoko might have gotten you out of the woods, but she told me you’d need a few more rounds to get you back to normal.”

“That makes sense,” you murmur, allowing your entire body weight to ease into him. He accepts you with open arms. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Or twenty.”

“I missed it,” he utters, voice thick with regret. “If I had just looked a bit closer, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I fucked up. I could’ve prevented this.” His careful grip on you tightens as if you’d slip away from him once more.  “But,” his tone softens. “You did so well. You took care of that cursed womb before I could even get to the scene.” Even through his pain and wallowing, his heart swells. He was proud of you. 

He bends down, grabbing the flowers he dropped before moving towards you again. “Oh gosh,” you hide your face into his neck as he reaches down, one arm hooking under your legs as he lifts you. You don’t hesitate, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m definitely fired, aren’t I?” 

He carefully guides you back into your room. He manages to toss your flowers on the counter by the window. “Don’t worry about any of that. I’ll handle it. ‘Kay?” He places you down on your bed, but he hesitates, not wanting to fully pull away. 

Your eyes flicker, recalling the night of your augment. You knew this was the reason behind his haunted expression. You recognized the torment because you, too, had felt it. “You’re mad,” he observes relatively quickly.

You didn’t want to bring it up. You weren't necessarily mad, not anymore, but even near death couldn’t make you forget the pain he had caused with words he so carelessly struck you down with. 

“What you said… Hurt me, Gojo,” you look down at your hands, feeling selfish for even bringing this up after nearly dying. However, you knew this conversation was inevitable.  “Even if you were right I felt cast aside. Useless. Why didn't you tell me you felt that way before?”

“No… don’t say that. I was being stupid. I over reacted. I know you'd always protect those kids and that's exactly what you did. You’re not weak or a nuisance, or... convenient.” you flinch at the word. “You’re far from that. I need you to know that.”

“...Then what am I?”

“Everything,” he shudders. “You’re everything.” His lips brush over your forehead, your cheeks, and eyelids, each kiss tender and lingering. But then he pauses, his smooth lips hovering just above yours. He’s always been so confident, so self-assured. You’re unsure how to react.

You were sitting on your bed, feet dangling just above the floor. He is leaning over you, one large and warm hand on your thigh, the other cupping your face gently. He was close, but not close enough. Even bent at the waist, his height keeps him just out of your reach unless he leans back down just a bit more…

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you, giving him all the assurance you have to offer.

You were hurt, but you still wanted him.

You still loved him. 

His mouth was warm and soft—testing the waters and treading carefully. His grip on your thigh tightens until– 

He lets go. You feel the tension in his body dissipate, and finally, he allows himself to fully enjoy you—taste you. The kiss deepens, and you swear it brought life back into your frail body. He overwhelms you now in the most delicious way possible. Your toes curl, and your tight embrace eases. Your arms go weak, your hands moving to run down his chest, his taut muscles quivering in the wake of your touch.  Every moment was a promise, every brush of skin a new vow. No words were spoken, but you both heard everything that had been held back, everything that had been left unsaid. 

I’m sorry.

I love you. 

I love you.

I love you. 

He smiles against your lips, but you don’t stop or pull away, catching and nipping at his bottom lip. Then, you kiss him again, slotting his top lip between yours. “You really love me, huh? Hehe.”

Oh. You hadn’t realized you said it—whimpered murmurs against his lips. No wonder why he looked all dopey and smiley. 

“You’re not going to make me grovel for forgiveness?” He pecks your lips again. “This seems too easy. I know you’re still mad.”

You chase after his lips. “Of course, I’m still mad,” you mutter against him. “But I thought I would never see you again.” Even as he frowns, you pepper his lips with kisses. “Plus, it's not like you to grovel.”

“I would for. Only for you, of course.”

You giggle, nipping his lip a little harder. “Yeah,” you rolled your eyes. “I’d like to see that.”

Oh no. You’ve made a grave mistake. You knew you messed up again the second the words fell from your lips. There’s a glint in his eyes now. 

“Oh, my beautiful, angelic Queen! I know I have displeased you. Please accept my humble apologies!” You squeak at the suddenness of his actions. He sinks to his knees dramatically, and his palms meet the dirty floor, and so does his forehead. “I am at your mercy! I have failed you greatly, and I wish to make amends.”

You swat him on the back of his head, but it's not nearly enough to hurt him or deter him from whatever this is. “Gojo! Don’t bow like that! Get up!”

“But I can’t!” He whines. “You must forgive me! I will spend eternity on my knees if it means I can regain your favor, my perfect, beautiful, divine Queen. You alone rule this sinners heart!”  He inches forward on his knees, squeezing himself between your legs. His hands find homage on your waist as he nudges his face into your stomach.

Your eyes roll skyward. “Only you could apologize and insult me at the same time, Satoru,” you grumble, looking down at him before running your fingers through white stands. 

Suddenly, he looks up from this position, resting his chin right beneath your ribs, grinning ear to ear. “You called me Satoru~”

You feel your face flush, heat gushing to your cheeks and ears. “Shut up. You’re such an idiot. Can you get up now?”

“Nah,” he says lazily, burying his head into your stomach again. His voice comes out muffled. “I’m trying to make amends with my Queen. Let me, will ya?”

You ease, realizing you won't be able to stop him from doing what he wants. Even if it was a bit theatrical, he was doing his best—you know that because you know him. You let your nails gently graze his scalp as you continued to pat him. He hums, almost purrs, as your other hand finds his shoulder, squeezing him gently before running your fingers under his shirt, caressing his skull and the taut muscles in his back. A beat of silence passes, but you find yourself uncaring.

You had him back in your arms. That’s all that really mattered to you right now.

“Look, I know… I know I messed up,” he begins, voice so low, you nearly miss it. “I’m not great at this—saying the right things. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was stressed. I was fed up with the higher-ups and fed up with my missions, but that’s no excuse. If I could take it all back, I would in a heartbeat. You deserve better than what I was giving you. I’m gonna try to be better… for you. For us.”  His words hang in the air a bit awkwardly, but you can see the sincerity in his eyes and hear it in his voice. It couldn’t be missed. He shifts a bit, moving to kiss your belly. Then, his large hand wrap around yours, guiding your hand closer to his lips. He kisses the back of your knuckles tenderly as if the act of his apology could never be enough.

“You want me to stay?”

He squeezes you tighter. “Of course I do. What would I be without you?”

“Hm. You’d still be Gojo Satoru. Even without me.” 

“I don’t want to imagine a life without you,” he mutters. “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow. I've already told you that…”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper sweetly, patting his head. He nudges his head further into you. “The world will always need you.”

“I will always need you. So please… stop talking like this.” He pinches your side, making you squeak. Finally he looks up, an unimpressed expression gracing his features. “And don’t ever leave the city to get away from me. When you told me you were going to a hotel, I thought you meant in Tokyo.”

You chuckle nervously, looking elsewhere. “Yeah… Sorry about that.” 

“Next time, take a walk or something. I dunno, go touch some grass if you get tired of me.”

A small smile escaped you, followed by a quiet laugh that shook your shoulders. You pat his back three times before kneading him softly. “Okay, humble peasant. You've groveled for long enough. Now lay with me,” you demand him. “I want you to lay with me. I’m so tired.”

“Psh. I’d hardly fit on this bed.”

“Whatever,” you tell him, scooting over. “I’ll make room. Get in, string bean.”

He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

 It’s a bit awkward at first with his lanky form, but he makes it work. It was a tight fit, and his feet slightly dangled off the bed, but he made no objections. With your back to his chest, he held you against him securely.

“You’re cold,” he observes out loud when you start playing with his fingers. It’s a bitter realization, a deafening one on his part. You know it bothers him, especially as he wraps the blanket around you tighter.

He tries not to let it show. However, he quickly becomes restless and you know he isn’t sated. He begins to move. “Let me go get you another blanket.”

“Nooo. Stay here.”

“Huh? But you’re freezing! And you’re never cold!”

“I’m already warming up!” You intervene with a small giggle, tugging him by his jacket. “Just shut up and lay with me, already.” He hesitates before unbuttoning his black jacket. When he was determined, there wasn’t any stopping a man like him, and right now, he was determined to get you warm.

He lays his jacket over you, spreading the fabric out, smoothing away all the wrinkles, and making sure you're covered. It might as well be a blanket with how long it was over you. Bonus points because it still carried him warmth and smelled like his cologne. A blend of earth and wood with a hint of something darker—smokey and smooth. You always loved the scent. Whenever he walked by, it brushed past you like a gentle breeze over still water, warm and inviting, with subtle notes of leather, musk, and vanilla. 

He grunts a bit before easing into the bed again. “My little icicle- ow,” you shot your elbow back, getting him right in the ribs. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” He chuckles, before wrapping his arms over you one more. He brushes your hair from your neck, his breath fanning against your skin. He kisses you there once, twice, three times before saying something familiar. 

“I could sense when you left Tokyo. I didn’t know what to do. Even with my eyes, I couldn’t find you. You were just gone. Don’t ever go where I can’t follow." He kisses your neck. "Please.”

You turn around, searching for his lips. He melts into you once again, squeezing your side sweetly. “I promise,” you murmur. “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow,” you say, voicing back the same promise he made you. He smiles faintly against your lips.  

When you woke up the next morning, your necklace was there. It was back where it belonged, sapphires resting gently over your steady beating heart—carrying Satoru’s silent promise.

Wherever you go, that’s where I follow. 

-

a/n: I honestly don't know how I feel about this but if you made it to the end I hope the nearly 18k was worth reading. If you couldn't tell its based off the song Die With A Smile. Honestly, I think I might have been happier by making this a bit longer and flushing out some of the scenes more, but I was trying new things and I was excited to post my first jjk post :) however its getting late now but if there's any typos or errors I notice later I'll edit as needed.

anyways, if you'd like to see more gojo x sorcerer!reader let me know! also I really hoped you liked the bits I added with Megumi (he's just a smol bean).

bonus:

You slump in your saddle, chattering, shivering, bones aching, muscles taut, fingers numb. Even with the furs, even with hands and feet wrapped thrice over, you are frigid to your core. Bryce has both reins in hand as you have only the strength to straddle Roach. You cling to the pommel of the saddle as it's the only thing you can do.  

The tip of your nose is frozen despite the scarf shielding you from winter's breath, your own freezing in the weave of the fabric. The man with his beard fares better in his leather and furs, as if he isn't bother by the matting of flakes around his chin or in his brows. You are a summer's maid after all. You are not fashioned for these bitter lands. For as long as you've traveled, that's become clear as the absent sunlight.  

A croaky, strafing cough rises from you, rattling your chest. Each breath is like needles in your throat. Bryce draws Roach closer as if to shield you with his body.  

"There it is, on the horizon," he grits. "The heart of Winter. Stone Hull." 

You look ahead, snowflakes catching in your lashes. You shiver and let out another hoarse bark. You sink down and nod. You can only see a heap of snow. 

“We’re close. We will be there by nightfall. You will sleep warmly.” He yells through the wailing winds. “A mulled cider to warm your bones. Stew of elk. The meat is hearty and will put some back on you.” 

You nod and sway as he guides Roach. You are weak. You feel as if you’ve been asleep for days, though consciousness has been painfully clear. 

At times, when your mind is not bound by the ailments of your body,  it wanders beyond the snowy plains and craggy passes. You wonder how you've come so far. Why? Why should you be here in the Winter Kingdom? Why should the king favour you so that you much suffer the snow and the shame? That gloom only adds to the wither of your will.

You groan as Bryce touches your sleeve. Your eyes drag over to him, drooping as you fight away fatigue. He gives a hum.

"Poor thing. Once you have walls, you will not feel so ravaged," he avows.

You dip your head. Once you have walls, you are well and truly trapped. He keeps his grip on the reins as he clucks at the horses. They push their legs through the deepening blankets of powder. You watch the flakes gather in Roach's mane. You close your eyes and shudder.

You sink into the daze. The gales whistle as a tunnel forms around you. The breath of the horses, the grunts of your escort, and your own willowy whimpers dissipate into the furor. It is only the sudden horror that breaks through the desolate trance of your ague.

Bryce shouts again and fumbles for the horn across his chest. He blows as he stares up. You follow his gaze. Your eyes scale the impossibly high wall, the mortar white with snow. It is so tall it seems to touch the sky.

"Who goes?" A voice calls from a slit in the wall, made obvious only by the point of an arrow.

Bryce laughs before he answers. "It is I. The king's mule. Bryce."

"The king? I see only two and the creature beside you is much too small." The wind nearly drowns the guard out.

"He is back. With the people. I am sent ahead, as his dutiful servant. Lazeer, you know me. I cut the spearhead out of your shoulder before it could fester."

"Aye, and you kissed my sister," the guard snorts.

"So you do know me?" Bryce preens.

"Wait." The voice calls and there is a clatter, the arrow's tip disappears.

"Never fear, mouse. We're home."

You chatter and lump in the saddle. Any further and you think you would fall from it. You tremble and wait. When the door lurches inward, appearing from amid the snow-trimmed wall, you wince.

You jostle in the saddle as the man called Lazeer brings you within. Guards turn the cogs to close the doors as Bryce slips down and comes around to ease you to your feet. You cling to him and press your face into his damp cloak. You cannot stand.

"Please, sir... I am very weak."

"Hush, mouse. You will be well. Cuppa cider, like I said." He bends and scoops you up in his arms. "Laz, the king will be some weeks out. A fortnight at best."

"And he sent you ahead... for what precisely?" The other man challenges.

"We've a new queen. New brethren. We must prepare to welcome them."

"Mm, yes, the summer folk. Delicate things?"

"She is strong in her way," Bryce rebuffs. "Gather those counselors left here. We must convene on the morrow. I'll have some mead left in your chamber."

"Mead and mutton," the man insists.

"Aye, as you'll have it."

You close your eyes and shiver as Bryce turns sharply. The world is tilting this way and that in your vision. You hear Roach snorting angrily as the stablers try to lead her away.

The motion of Bryce's gait is both soothing and disorienting. You peek between your eyelids and see stone walls; a tapestry; a fur rug; a flickering torch. Each time you look, it is something new.

Hinges creak loudly and the air thickens with warmth. You smell a fire. You are laid on something soft. You open your eyes and stare at the heavy canopy draped from the high posts of the bed. Bryce puts a knee on the mattress and unclasps your cloak.

"I must get this off. It is frozen through."

You cough. He eases the cloak from beneath you and you notice how the tails are frozen solid. He hangs it close to the hearth. You stare at the amber flames and reach out weakly.

Bryce puts his large hand to your forehead then curls his fingers and feels your cheek. He sighs. He pets your neck as another rattling cough rises from you.

"Mouse, you will be well. Only rest. Yes. Rest and something warm."

Warm... warm! His hands are like fire on your skin. As he tries to pull away, you catch his wrist. "Please, sir..."

"Shh, lady, I promise, I will not leave you long. I only go to seek help. You must have something to sup on. It will hearten you against the weariness of the road," he coaxes and strokes your knuckles. "Not so long at all."

"Please, I..." your eyes are glassy and dull. You don't feel right. "I think I am dying."

"You... are not," he insists. "I only go to call a servant. I will not be far beyond that door."

"It is death. I sense it in my bones. I hear my mama calling to me." You snivel as your panic swells. Your head lolls as visions of the forest rise before you. Running, heaving, hiding. Your parents falling to the grass. You were sitting between them when sir Dustan's men took you away. "Mama, papa..."

"Shh, sweet maid," Bryce cooes. "You will be well again. I swear to you."

⚔️

A warmth spreads over your forehead. You flick your eyes open as the ghastly silhouette looms over you. The fog slowly dissipates enough to make out Bryce's steely hair and coarse features. With them comes all the he's dragged you through; the queen, the king, the long journey to Stone Hull. The summer kingdom fades into your memory, forgotten with all left behind there.

"Sir," you eke out as he presses the hot cloth to your face.

"Aye, there you are, mouse," he growls.

You stare at him. His eyes are shadowed with fatigue, his hair is askew, and he does not wear his mail. You sniff and it brings forth a haggard cough.

He hushes you as the rattling quiets. You suck in a scalding breath. You clumsily lift your hand and touch his sleeve.

"Let me go, sir. It would be better..." you murmur.

"Better? No. Do not bid such dire ends," he reproaches. "My heart would be shattered.

You groan and let your hand fall. "What day is it? How long..." your voice drifts off and your eyes close.

"A week, mouse..." his timbre follows you back into the void.

When you rouse again, Bryce remains. He sits in a chair with a high back and high arms. His head lolls as he snores, his limbs draped around the wooden frame. You hack out a cough and roll onto your side. It doesn't relent until you spit up a glob of thick phlegm. You spew it into the corner of the sheet. It's nasty but you cannot leave the bed.

You recede back into the depths and wake again as the room shifts. Bryce leans you back against the stacked pillows. You shake as you cough violently. He brings a bowl under your mouth. You spit into it.

"Good mouse," he drawls. "Be rid of the sickness."

Your head is not so heavy. It pounds but only dully. You lean back into the downy pile and look around the chamber. You stare at the fur rug before the fire. It was taken from a great beast.

You focus on the soldier. He is weary. He sits on the edge of the bed.

"Bryce. Sir," you say. He flinches.

"Oh, you're awake still."

"I am," you affirm. "Sir, this is your home?"

"Not my chambers, but a spare one," he answers as he wrings his thick hands. "It'll do. A nice fire, a cozy bed..."

"Sir," your voice scrapes dryly. "You need sleep."

"Eh, I've had it. Closed my eyes not long ago."

"Not long enough. I see it."

He scoffs and shakes his head. His shoulders droop as he clasps his hands loosely, leaning on his thighs.

"You worry for me? Foolish mouse. That is your fault. You care too much for all but yourself." He hangs his head and holds it in his hands. "And I, the fool, has delivered you as bid. Selfish, I am. Selfish I remain. So do not fear for me... I fear enough for myself and in doing so, I've greatly hurt you. I've... I've..." He folds over his lap. "Rest, mouse. Rest. Let this old soldier wallow in his sins."

Your eyes sting as you watch him. Sir Bryce is the strongest man you've known. Even stronger to you than the king.

You slip your hands out from beneath the layers of wool and you press them flat. You sit up shakily, using all your effort to do so. Your hand trembles as you reach for him. You touch his shoulder.

"I was angry, sir." You rub his arm as he winces. "Perhaps, I still am but... I know the truth." He stiffly turns his head, looking at you from and angle as he keeps his head low. "The king will have as he desires. Whether it is you... who gives it or..."

You flop back and clutch your chest. You spasm in a fit of coughs. Bryce moves to clasp one of your hands in his and tucks his other behind you. He draws you forward and slaps your back. A mouthful of phlegm flies out of your mouth and onto the blankets. You heave in a deep breath and he rubs your back softly.

You groan and lean into the soldier.

"Sir, I am not mad. I am afraid. And I will need a friend," you bring his hand to your stomach and squeeze it tight. "You are my friend, are you not?"

"Oh girl, I am your dog. I am entirely devoted to you," he curls his arm around you and rocks you.

⚔️

You lurch awake as the door slams. The force of it shakes the stones set into the walls. The canopy is drawn shut around you, hot stones tucked beneath the blankets to pen in the warmth. You gasp and press your palms to your neck as heavy footsteps stomp across the chamber.

"My king," Bryce's groggy voice scratches in the night. "You've arrived."

"So I have," King Geralt's grit scrapes your ears. "She is here."

"Your Highness, she sleeps. She is recovering."

"Recovering? She is unwell?"

"She does better now, but she requires sleep."

A sonorous breath puffs in the air. The fire crackles and its light flickers between the canopy's edges.

"How poorly?" The king asks.

"You know these winters. The summer kind, they are not made for it," Bryce explains gently. "How about your queen? How does she fare the winds?"

"My queen? Don't you utter her name." The king snarls. "Curses. She is my wife but she will wear no crown until I have an heir. That is what a queen can do for me."

"My king, forgive me. I only... the roads are not easy. I inquire as to your own health. To that of your people, old and new."

"My people. My..." The king growls. "Much has occurred. Very much indeed."

A shadow darkens the space between the canopy. The curtains are drawn back as Bryce grunts. The king's burly figure is limned in the firelight at his back.

He sits and the mattress jostles from his weight. You blink as he reaches for your hand. "My summer maid. You are awake. You sensed me, didn't you?" His tone is softer. Before, it was salt and steel. Now it is as velvet. He brings your knuckles to his lips. "How I missed you sorely. How I dreamt of you." He looks back, "A lamp, sir."

Bryce returns a dutiful "aye" and lights a lamp, moving it closer to shine upon you. You lower your lashes at the glow. The king cradles your chin and tilts your face up.

"Oh, my summer maid. My beloved," his thumb strokes your cheek. "You are... oh, my heart. To see you as this. So delicate, so frail."

You stifle as cough and touch his sleeve, "my king, I am better by the day."

"You..." his mouth falls open. "Oh, your voice..." He lets you go and takes your hand instead. He brings it to his cheek and leans into your touch. He has a beard. As thick and white as the hair on his head. "I hear how the winter has ravaged you but you are strong. You survive. For us." He kisses your hand again. He clings to it and turns to face the soldier. "You were to keep her safe."

"Eh? She's safe."

"She is... barely," the king accuses.

"No, no, you know better. You know how the ague carries on the winds. You will not say this is me--"

"My king," you croak and tug on his hand, though it is a pathetic attempt to move such a man. He flinches and looks at you. "Sir Bryce fended off the wolves and the foxes. He saw me here. He saw me to this place... he has kept me warm and he has healed me." You put your other hand on his. You haven't the strength to make him do as you will, so you can only use what you have. Your kindness. "He brought me home, didn't he?"

Later that evening, she stares at the start of her article, then at the eleven tabs she has open regarding the Wranglers. The funny thing is that the Tornado Wranglers have their own wiki for their fanbase –of which she’s certain is updated by the team themselves (based solely on Boone’s personality description as “a fun, adventurous guy”). Truthfully, she probably doesn’t need to read the Wranglers’ page either since they’re sitting outside the motel they’re all staying at, playing music and enjoying their evening.

With a hum, she closes her laptop and unplugs it, slipping out of her room with it tucked under her arm. Standing in front of the railing, she scans the parking lot: Kate is talking to Javi in the bed of their truck. Tyler is sitting on the top of his truck, seemingly reinforcing something on the roof of it. His team is gathered around a little grill, paying him no mind as they laugh and chat. 

“You gonna keep starin’ at us or you gonna come down here and chat?” Tyler suddenly calls up to her, leaning against his leg as he smirks up at her.

“I’m debating that very question,” she counters, but she’s walking down the stairs nonetheless with her laptop in hand so she supposes she’s made her decision.

Tyler jumps down into the bed of his truck then onto the ground, wiping his hands on his jeans. “How’s that article comin’, darlin’?”

“Oh, real good, cowboy,” she grins, holding her laptop up some as she takes a seat on the tailgate. “I’ve got most of the introduction written, but good writing takes time and I haven’t even seen you in action yet.”

As she settles into her seat, Lily offers her a plate with a burger and chips, and she takes it with a grateful smile. Dexter hands her a beer, looking at her computer like he’s debating stealing it from her. Tyler drops down beside her, taking it and opening it up. Then he waits for her to unlock it. 

“You’re welcome to review it,” she finally offers, unlocking the computer for him.

However, it’s Boone that takes the computer from Tyler, who gives him a pointed look. The videographer takes the computer carefully, making sure to hold it with both hands. She thinks, for a moment, that’s a nice thing for him to do –a bit surprising too, given how rough everyone always seems in the videos. She takes a bite of her burger, looking around at the group of people surrounding her. 

But then Boone starts reading out loud, and she turns her attention back to the Wranglers, feeling herself flush some. It doesn’t matter how many awards she’s gotten or how well she knows she writes –hearing her words read is always cringey.

“Fairview, OK

“Tornado chasers, often seen racing toward storms that others flee from, play a vital role in advancing meteorological science. By collecting real-time data on wind speeds, pressure changes, and storm formation, these scientists and enthusiasts help improve early warning systems and deepen our understanding of tornado behavior. Their high-risk pursuit contributes directly to saving lives and refining the models that predict severe weather, turning adrenaline-fueled missions into invaluable scientific contributions. 

“There are many teams of chasers whose ultimate goal is to determine how these storms form and use that data to help slow or weaken the storms. The research study will focus on one specific team: the Tornado Wranglers. 

“The Tornado Wranglers are a seasoned team of storm chasers known for their fearless, up-close approach to tracking tornadoes. Led by Tyler Owens, the team consists of rugged field scientists and veteran storm chasers who rely on custom-modified vehicles and years of hands-on experience to pursue some of the most dangerous storms in the country. Unlike more tech-heavy operations, the Tornado Wranglers specialize in close-range observation, often intercepting storms directly to capture real-time footage and collect critical atmospheric measurements from inside the tornado's path.

“Their work plays a vital role in improving early warning systems and deepening scientific understanding of tornado behavior. The high-risk data they collect often becomes some of the first and most valuable material available during severe weather events. Driven by passion and a commitment to public safety, the Tornado Wranglers transform their adrenaline-fueled missions into meaningful contributions to meteorological science.

“Despite their reputation as ‘reckless,’ the Tornado Wranglers share the same goal as any team of storm chasers: to uncover the hidden mechanisms that drive tornado formation and ultimately contribute knowledge that could mitigate future storm damage. Their combined efforts represent the critical intersection of passion, science, and public safety.”

There’s a low whistle from someone –she’s not sure who –but Tyler is giving her an appraising look. Like he’s pleasantly surprised by what she’s written; like maybe he expected something much more scathing than what she’s got on the page. She can’t look at him because there’s something about feeling his eyes on her that’s making her feel hotter than she should.

“You gonna send us a copy of that when you’re done?” He asks, lifting his beer to his lips. “I’m dyin’ to know how it’ll change.”

“If I have to subscribe to watch your videos, you have to subscribe to read my work,” she counters with a smirk.

“Y’know what –that’s fair enough.”

He takes her laptop from Boone, and as she’s about to take it from him, he shoos her hand away and types something onto her document. Then, he closes the laptop and hands it back to her with a grin. She’s tempted to open the computer and see what he did, but Kate and Javi are walking back over with motel keys and gas station bags full of snacks. 

“You ready to get some rest?” Kate asks, looking between her and Tyler for a second. There’s a knowing look in her friend’s eyes and the journalist tries to ignore it. “You’ve got a hell of a day ahead of you tomorrow and you’ll want to be rested.”

“Sapulpa,” he greets, finishing off his beer. “So you’re bring us a city girl and you can’t even let us get to know her?” He teases, and Kate rolls her eyes at him as he looks back down at the journalist. “You got any superpowers we should be listenin’ to? 

“Kate is the one with the tornado spidey-sense,” she teases, shaking her head. Then she holds up her computer again. “I just listen to what she says and write it down. And I’m not a city girl.”

“Oh yeah? I thought you were from New York?”

“Born and raised in the sunshine state,” she offers as if it’s something to be proud of. It’s really not, though.

“Well damn; out here makin’ assumptions when I should have been askin’ the real questions.”

She’s about to ask where he’s from when she hears Javi complaining about wanting to get a shower in before they steal the hot water. With an eye roll, she runs her tongue over her teeth. Kate rolls her eyes and tells her to hurry up, then heads off to get upstairs. 

She watches Kate for a moment, before she turns back to the group who have gone back to talking amongst each other. Tyler, however, is watching her with that same grin on his face. Like he knows something she doesn’t, but he’s not going to tell her. And while she’s very interested in trying to figure out just what’s going on behind those pretty green eyes, she knows she really does need to get some rest.

“Goodnight, Tyler,” she finally says, running a hand over her hair with a sigh. “It was nice chatting –and thanks for the burger.”

“You’re welcome to join us any time you want, darlin’,” he offers, and she can tell he means every word. “Chases, dinner, whatever you want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

And she will. Because she has to in order to finish her work. And not because Tyler Owens is far more charming than she expected him to be. Or because he’s really hot and keeps smiling at her. Nope. That’s definitely not why she’s going to bug them again tomorrow.

Once she’s back in her shared room with Kate, she opens up her laptop finally to see what Tyler put on her document. But the blush she feels in her cheeks and the smile she’s biting back is a dead giveaway for Kate to peer over her shoulder and elbow her.

He wrote his number, with a little note next to it: 

Send me the link to wherever you’re published –I want to read it all. 

The next morning, she wakes before Kate and Javi –the sun hasn’t even come up yet and she’s certain she’s going to regret being up before her alarm. But if she goes back to sleep now, she’s going to regret that even more, so she gets dressed and slips out the door with her backpack and hopes to find decent coffee.

The parking lot is full of storm chasers, and the sun is just peeking over the horizon as she takes the stairs two at a time. As she hits the ground floor, Tyler rounds the corner with a cup in hand and bed disheveled hair. He’s a little less put together right now –plain white t-shirt and definitely the jeans from yesterday from the dirt stains. And yet somehow, he still looks too hot for someone up at five in the morning. 

For a moment, she considers just sliding past him and letting him wake up more, but he has coffee and she really wants a cup.

“Where’d you find that?” She asks, and he looks up through tired eyes then smiles at her.

“Motel lobby –not great, but it’s better than what’s in the room,” he explains, then he turns around to join her. “You always up this early?”

“Oh, god no –I think my brain was too wired to sleep anymore though,” she laughs as he opens the lobby door for her. 

“That excited, huh?” He teases as he leans back against the wall, watching as she adds probably too much creamer and too much sugar to the coffee. 

“I am, honestly,” she admits as she takes a sip. She makes a face at the coffee, but she’s a little too desperate to put it down. He’s right; it’s not great. “I think I saw a diner down the street –definitely walking distance. Probably has food and better coffee –you in?”

Tyler studies her for a second, then nods with a grin on his face. She shoots Kate a text, telling her what she’s up to and asking if she wants anything. It’ll be a little while before they’re up –their alarms were set for seven, but Kate warned that Javi won’t be up until at least eight. 

When they arrive at the diner, there’s a handful of truckers inside but plenty of little booths by the window. The only waitress working tells them to sit wherever and she’d be over in a second, so they slide into a table without question. As she lifts up the menu, she holds back a sigh, realizing that she’s starving –and hashbrowns and runny eggs sound so good right now. The waitress wastes no time getting them coffee and their orders in.

“So what’s the plan, Owens?” She asks, brow raised after she orders half the menu it feels like. 

Tyler laughs, shaking his head as the waitress pours them their coffee. “A woman after my own heart –orders half the menu and doesn’t bat an eye.”

He thanks her with a smile, then hands the journalist a handful of creamer and sugar packets. She’s surprised that he noticed how sweet she likes her coffee, especially after only seeing her drink it once. But neither of them say anything; they simply smile at one another and enjoy the momentary silence as they sip the coffee that’s so much better than the motel’s. 

She thinks Tyler is more than he lets on. Not that she thought too low of him in the first place; on the surface, he’s polite and a little rowdy. But he’s sweet, and he’s funny. Clearly, he’s smart and observant as well. But there’s more to him than he’s telling anyone else, and she thinks she wants to know more about him outside of storm chasing.

Until her article is done, though, she can’t cross that line.

Momentarily, she’s distracted by the smell of bacon, eggs and grease –smells like a Sunday morning after a night out. “Goddamn, this looks good.”

He chuckles, and she looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Didn’t take you as a greasy diner kinda girl.”

“Diner food will always be the best breakfast at the crack ass of dawn,” she argues, using her fork to point at him accusingly. “You can’t argue with that.”

“I’m not arguin’,” he says, putting his hands up. The smile hasn’t left his face as she cuts up her eggs and mixes the yolk into her hashbrowns. Then he looks offended. “That I am arguin’ against –what the hell are you doin’ to those potatoes? Drownin’ them?”

“I’m making them delicious,” she defends, reaching for the salt now. As if the meal needed any more of it. “C’mon, you’re telling me you don’t mix your eggs and hashbrowns?”

“Not like that I don’t,” he points out, motioning to her plate. “You cook’em like that –it’s called piggybackin’. What you’re doin’ is called a goddamn mess.”

“Well, it’s a delicious mess,” she settles on saying, taking a bite of her meal and sighing in content. There really is something about greasy diner food that makes the heart happy. Probably all the cholesterol. “Back to the question though, cowboy –what’s the plan for today? Are you actually going to take me into a storm?”

“Is that what you really wanna do?” He counters, leaning his elbows on the table and looking her over now. Like he’s trying to get a feel for what she actually wants –or doesn’t want, maybe. “It’s okay if you’d rather hang back with Dexter and Dani in the RV –no shame in that.”

Taking another bite of her meal, she weighs the two options. Staying back gives her a better chance to document what’s going on around her. She can see the wide angle, and everything that goes into a famous Tyler Owens storm chase. On the other hand, though, doing the chase herself, in his truck, gives her first hand experience as to what he does. But also on that hand, he’s an absolute maniac who drives headfirst into tornadoes –so there’s an inherent danger there.

Something tells her that Tyler wouldn’t let her get hurt though –not if he has any say in it, at least. Especially if he’s giving her an out to sit back today.

“I’ll ride with you, Boone and Kate, if that’s alright,” she finally decides, setting her fork down. 

“You got different shoes?” Tyler asks, kicking her feet with his boots. 

She glances down at her beat up red Toms, shaking her head. “Oh, no –I don’t.”

“We’ll need to get you some boots then –something a little more sturdy. Just in case.”

“Excuse you,” she grins, bumping his shin with the toe of her shoe. “My Toms are peak performance.”

“Maybe for writin’ from afar,” he counters, pointing at the horizon with the hand that’s not holding his coffee cup like it’s going to disappear. Storm clouds are gathering, and she knows that he’s probably right. “But not for what we’re gonna be doin’.”

“You act like I’ve never been in a tornado before,” she teases, pointing her fork at him again with a small grin.

“Oh yeah? What’s the worst you’ve been through?”

“Tornado-wise? Probably an EF2. But it’s not the tornadoes you have to worry about.” She stirs her eggs and hashbrowns some more, a way to distract herself from the memories that are settling in her stomach. “Remember Hurricane Ian?”

“Took out a good chunk of the Florida Southwest in 2022, right?”

“Yessir,” she nods, pulling her backpack into her lap and rifling through it. She pulls out a beat up journal and flips to the first few pages. Then she holds it up, where there’s numbers and diagrams drawn. “My dad lived over the Sanibel Causeway –the one that collapsed. We were trapped on the island for two weeks before anyone could come get us or send help. For about two days, we had to hunker down and hope the eye passed so we could see the damage, then we had to wait for it to entirely pass.”

She points at a diagram of the bridge, showing where the surge did the most damage. “Tornadoes are terrifying –but they’ll be gone sooner rather than later. Hurricanes –those can last days. And when the bridges are out, and the waters are too rough to navigate –that’s when the damage gets the worst. Have you ever sat through a hurricane?”

“Not like that,” he admits, taking her journal and reading over her notes like they’re the most important thing he’s ever been given. “Your dad okay?”

Watching him for a second –watching his eyes scan over the notes and the drawings –she thinks he genuinely is interested in what she writes. Not that she didn’t think he would be –she sent him links to the journals she’s published in, like he’d asked –but the way his eyes are glued to her chicken scratch handwriting makes her heart twist in her chest.

When he looks up, and catches her staring, she shakes her head some. “No,” she admits, reaching over and turning the page a few times before she lands on a little calendar she made. “After the storm passed, we had enough supplies to last maybe seven days. We had no service though, and couldn’t get in touch with anyone. FEMA didn’t show until almost the end of the week, and even then there wasn’t a lot they could do. 

“The house was totaled; all the windows shattered, and the roof wasn’t meant to withstand a direct hit,” she explains with a sigh. “Lost pretty much everything. But if you’ve ever met old people in Florida, they don’t listen until it’s too late.”

Tyler is silent, leaning on his elbows as he watches her with an intensity she’s never seen before. Not from anyone, let alone a handsome cowboy who might as well be a celebrity. 

“I was only down there to try to convince my dad to evacuate. He’s on a million types of medications that he didn’t have enough of because he…just never got them filled on time. By the time he realized we needed to, it was too late. By the time rescue had gotten to us, he’d gone four days without beta-blockers –the stress from the storm was too much.”

She leaves out the part where she had to sit with her father’s body for two extra days, waiting for rescue to bring in body bags. Leaves out that she refused to let him be alone, sitting in a makeshift medical tent that’s overrun and out of power. And how she still hasn’t quite recovered from the longest two weeks of her life; both physically and emotionally. 

No, she leaves out the worst details, because Tyler doesn’t need to look at her any differently than he probably already is. 

Silence lingers for a few minutes. Neither of them touch their food or coffee, and she wonders for a moment if trauma dumping at six in the morning is really what she should be doing. Especially as she wipes the stray tear that’s running down her cheek. It’s not the first time she’s told this story, and she’s sure it won’t be the last but it never gets easier. Watching her father waste away after losing everything else will always be something that she has to live with.

But as she considers how to lessen the tension, Tyler reaches over and puts his hand over hers.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says. There’s no pity in his voice. No over the top sympathy or anything like that. Just…genuine empathy behind green eyes and a furrowed brow.

She flips her palm up and squeezes his hand in thanks, giving him a sad but grateful smile. “I want to say it’s okay, but it’s not –but it will be one day. Thank you for…listening to me, though.”

“Any time.” 

And he means it. Somehow, she knows he does.

When they return to the motel, Kate and Javi are already setting up with Boone and Lily, and the four of them give the two of them curious looks. But neither Tyler nor her seem to notice as they walk up, enjoying whatever comfortable silence they’ve found themselves in. Kate pries her away from him though, giving her a small grin as Tyler joins Dexter in the RV. 

“Where have you two been?” Kate asks, nudging her shoulder as they return to Javi, who is looking over his tablet now. 

“We just got breakfast,” she explains with a shrug, though she knows that Kate isn’t going to stop until she gets a better answer. “Seriously, I woke up early, needed coffee. We just ended up at the diner down the street.”

“That why he keeps looking at you?” Javi interjects, smirking at her as he glances towards where Tyler is standing with Boone and Dexter. 

Following Javi’s gaze, she immediately catches Tyler’s eye and he grins at her with a nod as he slips his cowboy hat on. Looking away, she feels a blush creeping up her neck and she gives Javi a dirty look.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he argues but he’s got a shit eating grin on his face. “He’s coming over now, if you need to clean yourself up.”

“Kate, I’m gonna kill your friend –,”

Tyler interrupts her as he approaches, holding up a pair of boots. “Dani’s gonna let you borrow these today; she’s the closest to your size.”

Taking them, she looks over at Dani, holding the boots up with a smile. The other woman shoots her a thumbs up and a grin. 

After lacing up the boots and making sure she has all her materials for the day, Tyler opens the passenger door for her with a grin and his hand held out. Boone and Kate climb into the backseat as she takes Tyler’s hand and gets in. Then he tugs on the harness behind her, pointing out that it’s there for her safety and when he says to put it on, she’s going to need to listen.

Then he’s pulling the harness over her shoulders, the straps lying close against her chest as he fits them carefully into place. He talks her through each step –how it fastens, where it should rest, how she’ll need to do it herself next time –but his voice is softer now, slower. His fingers brush over her collarbone, just beneath her jaw as he adjusts the final strap, and she swallows hard. 

His hands pause just briefly, not enough to be obvious, but long enough that she knows he felt the shift too. When their eyes meet, she’s certain that he can feel her heart beating in her chest, threatening to break through her ribcage the longer they stare at each other.

Just as quickly as the moment starts, it’s over and he clears his throat, finishes the adjustment, then tells her she can take it off until he tells her. Then he’s shutting the door and getting into the truck himself. Kate is sitting behind her, and she kicks the front seat to get the journalist’s attention. 

The look she’s being given says that none of that moment was private.

Luckily, either Boone is completely unaware of what just happened or genuinely doesn’t care. Because he’s flipping the camera on and pushing himself between her and Tyler.

“You don’t mind bein’ on camera right?” He asks, patting her shoulder as he points the camera directly in her face. “‘Cause, y’know, that’s our whole thing.”

She pushes the camera a little further away with a laugh and a nod, promising she doesn’t mind as he turns it to Tyler. The cowboy persona is dialed up –not a lot, she notes, as she takes out her notebook. Whoever Tyler Owens is in front of the camera seems to be the same as whoever he is in behind the camera. Maybe a little extra, but not by much. 

“Alright, guys,” he says, pointing at the camera with an bright smile. “We’ve got a special guest –why don’t you introduce yourself?” 

Boone turns the camera to her, and she awkwardly waves and laughs, introducing herself –though Tyler insists she explains who she really is. 

“I’m a freelance journalist,” she explains, holding up her notebook. “My job today is to determine just how much of an impact your favorite chasers have on the study of these storms.”

“And it’s her first time runnin’ headfirst into a storm,” Tyler adds on, turning the camera back to himself. “We’ve got a real good one for all of y'all today –it’s lookin’ like there might be an EF2 formin’ about ten miles west of Fairview. Nothin’ we can’t handle, but good for a girl’s first time.”

“Miss Sunshine State here is gonna lose her mind,” Boone adds from behind the camera, clearly delighted.

She scoffs but doesn’t look away from the window. “If I throw up, you’re cleaning it.”

Boone just cackles.

Tyler shifts gears, eyes cutting to the horizon where the clouds are folding in on themselves –dark, heavy, beautiful in a terrifying way. “That EF2’s droppin’ in the next five. We’ll get in ahead of it. Put that harness on.”

There’s a tone shift in his voice –not performative, not cowboy-charming. Just serious. The same shift she hears in scientists who know exactly what they’re doing and are already twenty steps ahead. And she follows his orders without question. Kate’s got the radar pulled up in the backseat, and Boone has the camera, already live-streaming something to the Wranglers’ fanbase. She can hear him narrating between seatbelt clicks and the rattle of gear in the back.

The truck jerks as the anchors deploy, hydraulics hissing beneath their feet like a dragon exhaling under pressure. She doesn’t need to ask what it means. She’s watched this part in their videos before –Tyler Owens and his unstoppable truck bracing against the worst nature can throw. It’s one thing to observe it through a screen, from the safety of her apartment though. It’s another entirely to be inside it.

The storm hits before her breath can catch.

Then it’s like…the world unzips.

Wind tears across the field with a violence that feels personal, slamming into the truck with enough force to make the reinforced frame creak and shudder. The air thickens with dirt, stray pieces of brush, debris –things too twisted and fast to identify. The roar outside is so loud, so impossibly deep, it sinks into her teeth. Into her bones. It’s soaking into her very being as she grips the handle above her head until her knuckles turn white.

She’s pinned in place –not by her seatbelt, but by the sheer weight of the moment. Her fingers curl tight around the edge of the seat, then tighter still when something –a trash can? a road sign? –ricochets off the side of the truck with a metal-on-metal shriek. Kate mutters something in the backseat, low and steady, reading off numbers, but the wind steals most of it away.

And then she sees it.

The tornado is there. Just outside the glass. Towering and lean, the color of bruised earth and ash. It moves like it’s alive, like it’s hunting –shifting its weight back and forth across the open field, brushing so close that she swears she can see individual stalks of wheat being pulled up and swallowed into its center.

A sharp, involuntary breath leaves her lips. Her entire body goes still. Not frozen in fear –but braced. Braced against memory.

It’s not the tornado itself that steals the reality out of her.

It’s the sound of it. The pressure. The way the light dims like the sun’s been torn out of the sky. All of it wraps around her; a storm surge climbing higher and higher, until she’s no longer in the truck. She’s back on Sanibel Island, hands pressed against broken glass, waiting for the water to reach the ceiling. Waiting for the surge to swallow the house whole as she scrambles to get to dry land and pull her father with her. 

Her jaw tightens. She doesn’t cry, not here. Not now. But her chest clenches like it’s caught in a vice.

And then –quietly, without a word –Tyler takes her hand.

It’s sudden, and unannounced. His eyes are still forward, still trained on the storm, but his fingers slide into hers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

The grip is steady. Calloused palm warm against hers. No tension. No squeeze. Just…there.

She holds on like it’s the only real thing in the truck.

The storm wails around them, furious and unrelenting. The truck groans again as the funnel shifts direction –spiraling just close enough that she can see its rotation brush across the top of a fence line, tearing through wooden posts like matchsticks. Boone yells something behind them –he might be filming, or laughing, or both –but none of it breaks through.

Because all she feels is his hand.

All she hears is the sound of the storm, and the echo of another one.

But she stays grounded.

Anchored –not just by the steel driven into the earth beneath the truck, but by this strange, steady feeling between her and the cowboy beside her. This storm-chasing cowboy with green eyes and dirt under his fingernails who doesn’t look at her, doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t try to fix it. 

Just offers her silent reassurance as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do.

Eventually, the wind begins to fall away. Not all at once, but like an exhale. The roar softens. The sky begins to lighten at the edges. The funnel moves on, lifting into the sky in that eerie, effortless way storms do –leaving behind wreckage, silence, and awe.

For a long moment, no one says anything.

Only when the last gust passes does Tyler finally shift his gaze. His hand is still wrapped around hers when he turns to her.

“You still with me?”

She nods, voice caught somewhere in her throat. Her heart is pounding, her skin is flushed, and her fingers are trembling just slightly against his.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “I’m here.”

His smile isn’t big. It isn’t charming. It’s quiet –like he doesn’t want to spook the stillness between them. Like he knows that there’s something going on behind her eyes that he can’t fix, but wants to soothe. 

“Good,” he says softly, finally letting go.

She’s about to say something –thank him, apologize, something –but Boone is yelling in her ear as he jumps out of the truck. With a wince, she looks over at the videographer before undoing her harness and freeing herself. Tyler is slipping out of the truck, looking over the aftermath of the field. When she gets out of the truck, her knees wobble a little –like it’s the first time she’s stood on solid land in days –and Kate quickly catches her with furrowed brows.

“Hey, you good?” She asks, looking over the journalist with concern. 

But she just nods, feeling Tyler’s eyes on her as she stands up straight. “I’m good. I think the adrenaline is wearing off, that’s all.”

Kate gives her a once over, then when she determines that her friend is okay, joins Tyler as they stand and look over the skies. While one storm has passed, the radar is calling for more, Boone explains, showing her the tablet. But she’s watching Kate and Tyler, with whatever superpowers they seem to possess, as they scan the skies. Boone comes to stand at her side, camera still rolling, as he speaks.

“What y’all are seeing here is a genuine connection to nature,” he explains, voice filled with awe and excitement. “I don’t know what it is these two got in their blood, but goddamn is it impressive. Right, Sunshine State?”

He points the camera to her next, and she nods some in agreement, smiling at the camera. “Yeah…yeah, it really is.”

The next motel they check into is much smaller than the last, and has less rooms available. Dani and Dexter choose to sleep in the RV. Javi and Boone room up and take a room without too much argument. But Lily and Kate are sharing a look that suggests that they’re up to something –then immediately part to the room they’re sharing suddenly.

There’s one room left, and the journalist and Tyler are the only two without a roommate. 

She makes a mental note to kick Kate’s ass later on.

“Feel like they’re settin’ us up,” he jokes, grabbing her backpack from the passenger side of the truck. When she tries to take it from him, he shakes his head. “I got it, don’t you worry, sunshine.”

“It’s because they definitely are,” she confirms, rolling her eyes at the nickname as she follows him up the stairs to the room. “Did you see their faces? They did it on purpose.”

“Gotta love’em for tryin’.”

The motel room door creaks like it’s been waiting all year to be opened. She steps inside first, and it’s everything she expected from the outside and maybe just a little worse –aged wallpaper with water stains bleeding through the corners, a single bed covered in a quilt that looks like it hasn’t been replaced in at least a decade, and one lamp that casts more shadow than light. 

The mattress sinks low in the middle. A small table stands in the corner, supporting a microwave she wouldn’t trust with popcorn. The A/C unit beneath the window hums like a dying bee, sputtering cool air in erratic bursts. There’s one chair. No couch. And most notably, no second bed.

She lets out a breath and tries not to make a face. Behind her, Tyler steps in and immediately drops her bag gently by the door, his presence filling the too small space in a way that makes it feel even more narrow. She crosses the room and presses a hand to the mattress. The dip in the middle is dramatic, but manageable if they stick to their respective sides. She glances at the thin barrier of decorative pillows and thinks, not for the first time, that she’s absolutely in over her head with this entire week.

Tyler moves behind her, quiet, until she hears the rustle of fabric and turns –only to realize he’s already shed his shirt, tossing it casually onto his duffel. Her mouth goes dry. She pretends to look anywhere else.

His chest is exactly what she’d imagined it would be, and she hates that she’s imagined it at all. Strong, sun-worn, peppered with a few old scars. One on his shoulder, one along his side. Every inch of him says field work and recklessness and heat.

She grabs her sleep shirt from her bag and turns sharply for the bathroom. “I’ll change in here.”

“Take your time,” he says, and it sounds like he’s trying not to sound smug, but fails.

Behind the flimsy bathroom door, she splashes cool water on her face and stares at herself in the mirror.

She can handle this, she tells her reflection. It’s just one night. He’s just a guy.

A ridiculously attractive guy with bright green eyes who held her hand through a tornado without her asking him to. But a guy nonetheless.

She changes quickly, pulling on a worn t-shirt and sleep shorts, then returns to the room with her arms folded tight. Tyler’s already pulled the quilt back and settled on the right side of the bed –bare chested, legs tangled under the covers, one arm folded behind his head as he scrolls through something on his phone.

He looks up as she walks in, and then –to his credit –sits up straighter.

“I can take the floor,” he offers. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“No, don’t,” she says quickly, waving a hand. “It’s fine. We’re both adults. Just stay on your side.”

He raises both hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of cross crossin’ enemy lines.”

She huffs out a breath that’s half a laugh and half nerves, then slides under the covers as delicately as possible –like the mattress might register her heartbeat if she lets it. It dips toward him immediately, and she has to brace her elbow against the edge to keep from rolling into the middle.

They lie there in silence for a few beats, the hum of the window unit filling the space where her thoughts are trying not to go. She should be thinking about her notes. About the article. About how getting too close –too personal –might color the objectivity she’s spent the last five years building like armor.

But all she can think about is the weight of his hand over hers in the truck. The way his eyes stayed steady on the storm, but his fingers never flinched.

Tyler clears his throat beside her, voice softer than earlier. “You sure you’re alright?”

She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. “From earlier?”

“Yeah.”

She exhales, then shakes her head a bit. She shifts to her side, looking up at him as he sets his phone aside. “It felt like drowning. For a second. The sound, the pressure. It brought everything back.”

“The hurricane.”

She nods, eyes closing for a second. “I could smell the salt in the air again. The mildew. I could feel the tile under my knees.” Her throat tightens, but she pushes through, opening her eyes again to look at him. “And then your hand was just...there.”

Tyler doesn’t say anything right away. But when he does, it’s low. Honest. “Didn’t think about it. Just reached for you.”

“I’m glad you did,” she says before she can stop herself.

Silence again. But it’s changed shape now. Not awkward. Not afraid. She glances over –he’s lying on his back, one arm still behind his head, the other resting on his stomach, fingers tapping out some unconscious rhythm.

“I thought about letting go,” she admits quietly. “In the truck.”

He turns to look at her, eyes searching. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I can’t. Not…not if I’m going to keep doing my job well. Not if I want to continue being respected in the field.”

His smile is sad and soft, just visible in the lamp’s glow as he lays on his side to face her. “Being respected doesn’t mean you can’t let go, y’know. And I think you’re doin’ a damn good job, if it’s any consolation. Not many people can say they drove headfirst into a tornado willingly –especially not for an article that didn’t really need that done. You can, though.”

The honesty in his voice knocks something loose in her chest. A strange heat creeps up her spine, but not in the way she expected. It’s not lust. It’s…safety. 

Slowly, carefully, she reaches across the gap between them –not very far, now that the mattress has conspired to tilt them together –and lets her fingers brush his hand.

Tyler doesn’t hesitate. He threads their fingers together like it’s instinct. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She shifts slightly to face him more fully, their hands resting in the middle of the bed now, the space between them warm in the way only honest proximity can be.

For a while, neither of them say anything.

The silence is thick, but not heavy. More like a pause in the world. The kind that only happens late at night, when the air feels slower and your thoughts feel louder –but somehow safer to say out loud. She traces a thumb over his knuckle, surprised by the calluses there. Not rough, exactly, but lived-in. Real.

There’s a stillness that follows –not hesitation; not quite. More like a breath the world is holding, waiting to see what she’ll do.

She lifts her eyes to meet his. They’re closer now. She hadn’t noticed the shift, but maybe the bed did most of the work for them. Maybe it was inevitable. His gaze drops to her mouth for a second –just a flicker –and then back to her eyes. But he doesn’t lean in, not yet. 

So she doesn’t overthink it.

She leans forward slowly, her hand tightening around his. Her nose brushes his, soft and deliberate, and then she kisses him. Their lips meet softly –no rush, no need to prove anything. Just the quiet kind of kiss that asks, Are you here with me? And answers, Yes. I am.

It’s gentle. Careful. Like something neither of them wants to break. His free hand rises to her cheek, steadying her like he did in the truck –fingertips warm, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. There’s no urgency in the way he touches her. Just presence. Assurance. The kind of touch that says, I’ve got you, even if neither of them is ready to say the words out loud.

Her hand curls against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. It grounds her more than anything else has in days. He tastes faintly like spearmint and motel coffee, and something simpler, something warm –like how a summer day smells right after rain.

The kiss deepens slightly, still quiet, still tentative. Like a secret shared between a storm and the silence that follows it. There’s no desperation in it, only the slow unfolding of something that’s been building for days. Something fragile, but real. 

He tilts his head just a bit, pulling her closer without closing the space completely –like he’s inviting her in, but only if she wants to be there. She does. And for a few seconds, the world falls away. There’s no motel room. No creaky bed. No article. No storm. Just this: the soft press of lips, the warmth of skin, the low exhale between them that sounds like relief.

When they finally pull back, foreheads resting together, she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Her eyes flutter open, and his are already there –watching her like she’s something worth holding on to.

“I didn’t expect you,” she says quietly, and she’s not even sure what she means until it’s out.

Tyler tilts his head slightly, watching her in the dim lamplight. “Didn’t expect me to what?”

“To be like this,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I assumed you’d just be…all YouTube persona and fake. Cowboy hat and charm. But then…,”

She trails off, but he’s already smiling –not the wide grin he gives the camera, not the cocky smirk he throws at Boone. This smile is small. Private. For her, and not an audience.

“Then?”

She meets his gaze. “Then you proved me wrong, and you kissed me just now like you meant it.” She pauses a moment, then takes his hand. “I’m glad I was wrong. I like who you are –on and off camera, but especially off camera.”

He shifts some, then she’s being pulled against his chest. Tyler’s arm wraps around her shoulders, and presses his lips to her hair. 

“I did mean it,” he says. Promises. Like he needs her to know that.

She swallows. Her voice catches a little, but she nods into his chest. “I know.”

And she does. God, she does. She felt it in the truck. In the way he didn’t look at her when he reached for her, like it wasn’t about watching her fall apart –just about being there in case she did.

Her arm settles around his waist, cheek pressed against where his heart is beating in his chest. 

“My article just became biased,” she sighs, but it’s one of contentment.

“I think it’s been biased the entire time,” he counters with a chuckle, fingers trailing down her spine softly. 

She studies him for a long moment –the soft edges of him in the glow of the bedside lamp, the relaxed way he lies beside her like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be, the quiet strength in how he’s holding her. Not possessive. Not careful.

Just steady.

“Yeah,” she admits with a nod. “I think you’re right.”

The quiet stretches again, but this time it’s full of everything unsaid –everything neither of them needs to rush. She’s not sure how long they lie there like that, but it’s not unwelcome by any means. Tyler is warm, and soft in all the right places, even if he’s built for hard work and reckless chases. 

And when sleep finally comes, it comes easy –like maybe, just maybe, for the first time in a long time, she’s safe.

Sometime after three in the morning, she’s forced awake by alarms blaring outside the window and banging on the motel door. For a moment, she doesn’t realize what’s going on –all she knows is Tyler’s got her wrapped up against his chest and she doesn’t want to move from this spot. He’s warm, and solid, and the feel of him under her fingertips is nothing short of tempting.

But then Kate is yelling her name, and it finally registers what’s happening. Then she’s yanking herself out of his arms, shaking him awake in a panic. She throws on her jeans and boots once he’s awake. 

As soon as he hears the alarms and the banging though, he’s alert and up, yanking on his shirt. Then they’re grabbing their backpacks and scrambling out the door, the wind already howling like a warning down the motel corridor. The sky is pitch black, but not in the way night should be –it’s bruised and pulsing, every flash of lightning revealing the twisted silhouette of a storm that’s already far too close.

Kate’s voice cuts through it like a blade. “There’s a basement under the front office –back corner! Move!”

Tyler doesn’t wait. He grabs her hand and takes off, tugging her alongside him as the wind rips at their clothes and sends gravel skittering across the lot like shrapnel. She can’t hear much beyond the rising shriek of the sirens and the slap of her boots on wet concrete, but she sees it when Kate and Javi split off –pounding on doors, shouting for the other motel guests to get up, get out, get moving. Dani’s already banging on windows. 

They’re not leaving anyone behind.

And yet –Tyler hasn’t let go of her hand once.

“This way,” he says, sharp but steady, steering her toward the cracked wooden door tucked behind the front office. It looks like it hasn’t been used in years. “We’ll get it open.”

“I’ve never been in a basement,” she says, which sounds like the dumbest thing she’s ever said out loud. 

Tyler shoots her a look –equal parts disbelief and concern –before yanking the door open with a grunt and guiding her down the steps. “Well, welcome to your first. Congrats.”

The air that hits her is damp and old, full of mildew and dust. The stairs are narrow, steep, and pitch black. She stumbles once, barely catching herself –but Tyler’s hand is at her back, keeping her steady.

“Stay down here,” he says, voice low, commanding. “I’ll be right back.”

She grabs his arm. “You can’t go out there again –,”

He just looks at her, and something in that look is so calm, so him, it shuts her right up.

“I’m not leavin’ anyone up there. Not while we’ve got time.”

Then he’s gone –back up the stairs and into the night.

She stands frozen at the bottom of the steps, back pressed against the cool wall, heart hammering in her chest. She’s never been underground like this. Never trusted her safety to four concrete walls and blind faith. It feels claustrophobic and wrong and far too quiet without him in it.

Footsteps slam overhead. The door groans open again and the flood begins.

Javi stumbles in first, waving people down –an older couple from one of the back rooms, a woman carrying a crying toddler, a man holding a dog leash with no dog attached yet. Then Dani comes down with two teenagers. Dexter and Boone come down next, arms full of emergency kits, while Kate and Lily are ushering a handful of kids and parents down the stairs. 

And then –Tyler.

He’s soaked to the bone, dirt smudged across his face, hair plastered to his forehead. And when he sees her still standing there in the dark, eyes wide, he’s focused on her and her alone. Straight to her. Steady hands on her shoulders.

“You okay?”

She nods, swallowing hard. “I just…I’ve never sheltered like this before. Usually it's a closet, or a bathroom without windows. It’s…weird being underground.”

He manages a small, breathless laugh. “Kinda the whole point, sunshine.”

There’s a groaning sound from above –pipes creaking then metal scraping against metal. She flinches at the noises, trying to ignore the kids crying and the parents trying to console them. Tries to tune out the wind that’s threatening to rip the basement door off its hinges just fifteen feet away. 

Tyler turns his head, listening. Then –like he does with storms, with people, with her –he reads the moment for what it is and doesn’t try to fix it. Just squeezes her shoulder once. “C’mon. Sit with me.”

They hunker down in a far corner, backs against the cement. The wind above sounds like it’s trying to tear the motel off the foundation. The lights flicker once –then die entirely. She presses her hands to her ears as the roar builds. Not just wind now –but the storm. The tornado. It’s right on top of them.

Tyler’s hand finds hers.

Again.

“Breathe,” he says, soft but firm. “I’m right here with you.”

The pressure shifts. Her ears pop. The baby cries louder. Then something hits the building above with enough force to make the pipes overhead shudder. Dust rains down. Someone near the stairs curses. She presses her forehead to her knees. Tries to breathe through it.

The sound is unbearable. It’s like she’s back on Sanibel again; back sitting in her father’s house, listening to the roof peel off the foundation. Watching the windows shatter, and the house flooding. The only difference is that there is no flood, no glass –not underground, at least.

Tyler’s arm wraps around her shoulders, and he tucks her close to his side. She doesn’t care how it looks, or if this makes her pathetic –she clings to him, fingers tangled in his shirt as she closes her eyes. His voice is soft in her ear, promising her that she’s safe; he’s got her. There’s not enough in her to confirm that she hears him, but she thinks her fist tightening against his stomach tells him anyway.

Then slowly –inch by inch –the worst of the wind passes. The shaking stops. The roar fades to a howl. Then to a whistle. Then to nothing but the heavy, stunned silence of survivors in the dark.

Kate’s voice breaks it, relief dripping through her tone. “That’s it. It’s moved on.”

Slowly, everyone files out of the basement. The kids are still crying, but it’s quieter, more subdued. The adults are breathing sighs of relief as they get out into the night air again. Boone says something to Tyler, but her ears are ringing and she doesn’t catch it –but she sees the team following the others out. 

Tyler squeezes her shoulder gently, and he loosens his hold but he doesn’t push her away. When she finally looks up, his eyes are already on her. Checking. Steady. Slowly, she lets go of his shirt and takes a deep breath. It’s shaky, and trembling, but she manages to inhale and exhale fully once –twice. 

“You alright?” He asks, his voice soft as he pushes a stray hair out of her face. 

“I…didn’t need to be so scared,” she admits, feeling ridiculous as she finally pulls away entirely. She stands, rubbing the heel of her palm into her eye. “I’m sorry –I don’t know –,”

“Hey, hey, no,” Tyler interrupts, pushing himself off the ground and reaching out to her. One hand pulls her wrist away from her face and the other is taking her hand. “You’re allowed to be scared. There’s no shame in that, you understand me?” 

“How do you do this every day?” She asks, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. She hates that she’s crying; hates that the fear and the anxiety have finally bubbled up enough inside her that crying is the only way to get it out. “I’ve watched your videos, Tyler. I’ve seen the crazy shit you do, but I guess I never…I never realized how genuinely insane you guys are for doing this kind of stuff.”

That earns a huffed out laugh, and he let’s go of her as she pulls back and wipes her eyes. “‘Insane’ is the nicest thing I think I’ve been called,” he admits. Then he reaches up –hesitating just a moment but it's like he decides he’s allowed to touch her again –and wipes a stray tear from her cheek. “I was eight when I saw my first storm. Drivin’ with my aunt, sirens are goin’ off all around us. All of a sudden, this…vortex just lowers right down in front of us. Center of the road. I was just…mesmerized. Then I looked at my aunt and she just…she’s got this look on her face. And I realized at that moment, I was supposed to be scared.”

Her brow furrows as she looks up at him, blinking away her tears. “Were you?”

He nods, and he smiles down at her softly as he wipes another tear away. “Yeah. I was. But you know that quote ‘the only thing to fear is fear itself?’” She nods and so does he. “Fear is the reason we do it. If you don’t face your fears, then you let’em win. And you can’t let the fear win.”

She exhales a laugh –sharp, watery, not quite steady –and shakes her head like she’s trying to knock the vulnerability loose. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not,” he says, voice lower now, less certain and more real. “It’s never simple. You think I don’t get scared still? Every time I go out, I wonder if this’ll be the one that wins.”

She looks up at him again, and something in her gaze has steadied –still glassy at the edges, still fragile, but clearer now. Like maybe the storm shook something loose in her too, but left behind something stronger.

“And if it is?” she asks quietly.

Tyler’s mouth twitches into something like a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Then I hope someone like you is around to write it down. So it’s not just wreckage and memory.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. So she doesn’t say anything.

Instead, she steps forward –slow, deliberate –and he’s already there to meet her.

Tyler doesn’t wait this time.

He reaches for her with the kind of certainty that comes from knowing exactly what he wants. One hand finds her waist, the other lifts to the side of her neck, fingers brushing her jaw with a certainty that she wishes she had had last night; but it doesn’t matter now. His touch is sure, steady –not rushed, not hesitant –just right.

And then he kisses her.

Like it’s been decided.

Like the storm is over and this – like she –is what he’s holding onto in the quiet after.

She exhales against his mouth, not from surprise, but from relief. From recognition. Her hands find his chest, then slide up around his neck, anchoring herself there like she’s done it a hundred times. The kiss deepens –full of something that’s been building between them since the moment she stepped into his orbit.

When they part, it’s only because they have to breathe.

Tyler doesn’t step back. Doesn’t smile or crack a joke to break the moment. He just stays close, eyes on hers, thumb still brushing the edge of her cheek.

“You okay?” he asks, quiet but direct.

She nods. “Yeah. You?”

His gaze doesn’t waver, and now he’s giving her a smile that could light up a room. “Never been better.”

They stay like that for a long moment. Just breathing.

When she finally pulls back, there’s a small smile on her face. Tired, but genuine.

“I’m still terrified,” she admits.

“Good,” he says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Means you know it’s real. Means you’re smart. Means you’re still here.”

She doesn’t argue with him. Doesn’t deflect. Just nods.

He glances toward the stairs. “C’mon. Let’s get you some air.”

By the end of the week, her article is finished but she hasn’t finalized publication yet. The journal that wants the article is waiting, but she keeps rereading it over and over again, trying to decide how biased it sounds now. She wants to think it’s not all that biased; everything she’s written is true. Especially in the aftermath of the storm earlier that week, when she experiences what the Wrangler’s don’t show in their videos.

That’s what the article is really about, she decides. Not the research, no matter how important it might be. But the real impact.

“While the Tornado Wranglers are perhaps best known for their close-proximity intercepts and high-risk data collection methods, a less publicized yet equally significant aspect of their work emerges in the aftermath of the storm. Following each severe weather event, the team transitions from storm chasers to first responders, providing on-the-ground assistance to affected populations in rural and suburban areas where access to formal aid is often delayed.

“This transition is neither incidental nor performative. Rather, it reflects a broader ethos among field operatives who recognize the intersection between research, public service, and human impact. In the hours following a tornado, members of the Wranglers can frequently be observed conducting door-to-door welfare checks, distributing bottled water, food, and hygiene supplies, and offering communication support via satellite phones and portable charging stations. In several instances, the team has also aided in locating missing persons, clearing debris from public access roads, and assisting local emergency management personnel with situational awareness in otherwise inaccessible zones.”

“You coming down or what?” Javi asks suddenly, poking his head into the motel room with his brow raised. “Owens is waiting for you –think he wants to take you to the airport.”

“Tell him my flight got cancelled,” she says, shutting her laptop and standing up. Javi gives her a smirk and disappears back downstairs, no doubt telling Tyler the news. 

Kate steps out of the bathroom, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “Wait, did it?”

But the journalist just gives her a friend a knowing grin, shrugging noncommittally. Kate immediately picks up on it and practically jumps on her in a hug, squealing in excitement. “You’re staying! I knew you’d want to!”

“I will not be driving into anymore storms,” she laughs, hugging her friend back. “But I think there’s more to the story than what you guys show the public.”

Kate scoffs, pulling back. “And you’re in love.”

“I am not in love –I’ve known him two weeks,” she counters, rolling her eyes.

“Two weeks and several tornadoes will definitely make you fall in love,” Kate argues as Tyler knocks on their open door.

He looks like he’s trying to hide excitement, but his eyes and smile give him away. “Hope I’m not interruptin’ anything.”

“Nope,” Kate says, grabbing her bag and slipping out the door with a playful wink. The journalist rolls her eyes as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Javi said your flight got cancelled,”  Tyler says, and there’s a hopeful undertone as he steps towards her.

“Yeah,” she nods, biting back her smile as she looks up at him. “I guess it was smart to get the refundable ticket.”

For a moment, he looks down at her with furrowed brows and confusion. But then it clicks, and the smile that breaks out over his face makes her knees weak.

“How long you stickin’ around?” But he’s reaching for her, hands settling on her hips as he pulls her closer to him. 

She gives another noncommittal shrug as she wraps her arms around his neck. “I guess however long you want me around.”

“Darlin’,” he replies, leaning down just enough for her to feel his breath against her lips. “You’re gonna be here for a long time if that’s the case.”

He doesn’t give her time to say anything else.

His mouth finds hers in a kiss that’s all heat and gravity, like everything that had been building between them –every look, every touch, every word unsaid –crashes into this one moment. Her fingers tighten in his hair, anchoring herself as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head just enough to taste the curve of her smile.

She presses herself against him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms, and for a second it’s like the world narrows to nothing but this: the scratch of his stubble against her skin, the way his hands slide up her back like he’s memorizing the shape of her, the low sound he makes when she kisses him harder.

It’s not hurried. It’s not hesitant. It’s the kind of kiss that says finally and don’t you dare go anywhere in the same breath.

And when they finally pull apart, barely, he rests his forehead against hers, grinning like he’s found something he’s been looking for his entire life.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” she whispers, breathless.

ii. routine 

"can i ask you guys a question?" 

a cool breeze tickles your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, and you suppress a shiver. the smell of the air tells you winter is fast approaching. 

"you just did," satoru hums, his snowy hair splayed out against stems of green grass. suguru's chuckle reverberates deep in his chest, and you have to push back an exasperated smile. 

"another one then," you press, leaning over satoru's face to force yourself into his view. his blue eyes pierce through yours over the dark-rimmed frames of his glasses, and even after seeing them so many times, they still feel as dominating as the first. he hums again, and you take that as your cue. 

"what did you first think of me when we met all those months ago?" 

satoru sits up quickly, and you can already feel your shoulders dropping when you catch a glimpse of the teasing smirk on his lips. he shifts so that he's directly facing you, leaning close so that the two of you are barely a palm's distance from one another. 

"thought you were an annoying little rookie~" he sings and you immediately shove at his shoulder.

"'m not a rookie anymore," you huff, and satoru laughs joyously. suguru only grins, his eyes darting between the two of you happily. satoru moves himself into a proper sitting position, digging his long fingers into your bag of chips and popping one into his mouth. you swat at his hand, even though you don't mean it, because though you complain about gojo satoru all the time, you would give him the whole world if you could. 

you and satoru take turns reaching into the bag. you wonder if the sound of crunching disturbs suguru. he's not asleep—he's just doing that thing where he keeps his eyes closed and escapes to his own land of tranquility. you'd like to give him as much peace as you can, so you stay quiet. satoru does too, but you think that's just because you aren't talking to him. 

the quiet is nice when you're with them. sometimes silence makes you feel alone—paranoid. it feels like there is some impending doom hovering over your shoulder, and all you can do is wait for it to come. but with them it is different. you know that any danger in the quiet will be caught by the two of them. maybe that's why it's so easy to let your guard down around them. you trust that they won't let you die.  

"i thought you were weak," satoru pipes up after a few minutes of silence. "you didn't seem like you were confident in your abilities, and that's a sign of weakness." 

after spending so much time with satoru and suguru, the word weak has permeated almost every one of your conversations. later you learned how much more significant it was for them to label someone as strong. you chase after the word—crave it.

"and turns out that wasn't true." suguru adds with a smile, his head leaning back against the trunk of the tree. his eyes are still closed serenely and you wonder if he can feel the way you're gazing at him. 

"yeah and now you act like some big hotshot," satoru grumbles, as though he doesn't want to admit to his old mistake, but you can hear his smile. it annoys you, the way his once degrading little nickname has now somewhat turned into a term of endearment. you would rather die than admit that you like hearing him say it. 

"well, I'm glad that i was able to prove you both wrong."

the conversation ends there. 

shoko returns a few minutes later, tossing you a can of soda and suguru a pack of cigarettes. as soon as she sits down in her spot under the tree you're forcing your head into her lap and kicking your feet onto satoru's legs. you ignore his complaints, because you know that in just a little bit he'll quiet down and his hand will rest over your ankle, fingers soft but firm. they'll occasionally drum some rhythmic tune, or draw nonsensical patterns against your skin.

shoko's fingers thread through your hair, just like they always do, and you know that in a few minutes you'll doze off in her lap, just like you always do. it's clockwork, this thing that you have with them. they make the days keep going—time doesn't stop for you. 

a part of you wishes you could freeze time at that moment. 

but you can't. 

iii. halcyon

"hey suguru?"

"hm?"

"how come you always do your hair the same way?"

suguru glances up from his book. he's seated at your desk, and for a minute, the breeze pushes your curtains so that they block your view of him. satoru groans lightly from your left, turning on his side to snuggle deeper into your pillow, and slumber overtakes him once more. him and shoko remain quiet, faces free of worry as they dream in a land that is so unlike the real world you live in.

"what do you mean?" suguru asks in response to your question. he has an amused smile on his face as he places his book on your desk, though his thumb and pointer finger keep his page.

"well…" you suddenly feel stupid for asking, but he's looking at you so intently now. "you have such nice hair. you could style it in so many different ways."

"are you saying you don't like my hair the way it is?" he frowns.

"no no!" you scramble, shaking your head emphatically. quite the opposite actually you think he's so so attractive—how on earth did you screw this up so badly? "that's not it i just—"

he laughs, tilting his head fondly. "i'm just messing with you, hotshot."

you blanch, before crossing your arms with a huff. "asshole…"

he chuckles, before lifting a calloused hand up to finger the tie that holds his hair in a bun. he glances back at you, before a michevious smile settles on his face. he gives the tie one sharp tug, and the bun falls away. black hair drops, resting on his shoulders, and you stare at him—oddly parched. wind brushes through the open window, tickling your curtains, tickling his now open hair. you had seen his hair down before, of course. in the few seconds after a sparring session when the bun had gotten loose, or when too many strands escaped the tie and fell in front of his face (he always pushed them away with an agitated huff). but now he looks different—good, you realize. he looks good.

"how should i style it then, hotshot?"

his question shakes you out of your daze. you hum in contemplation. "i don't know."

he laughs quietly, as to not wake the other two. "didn't you just say there were so many ways to style it? enlighten me then," he teases, reaching over to grab a small scrap of paper from your desk. he slots it where his fingers are holding place, and then closes the book. he swivels in the chair to face you completely, rolling over so that he's right in front of you.

"well…" you start, biting your lip in thought. "a ponytail maybe?"

suguru bunches his hair into his fist, holding it up against his head. "and? how do i look?"

you grin, eyeing the new style with a stifled laugh. "fantastic."

he laughs again, louder this time, before dropping his hand.

"it looked good though!" you laugh and he rolls his eyes fondly.

"yeah yeah," he dismisses with a wave of his hand. he looks back at you, eyes tracing over your hair before he grins wide.

"i like yours."

you blink. "mine?"

"the way you did your hair today," he points to the half up-half down style you've thrown together. a dark blue ribbon holds the hair in place—satoru had said it matched nicely with your uniform. suguru's eyes gleam as he appraises it. "it's nice. it looks really pretty on you."

something in your chest feels like it fell off a cliff.

"oh—" you stumble, before smiling at him because that's all you can do when he makes you feel like this. "thanks suguru."

"do mine like that," he says quickly.

once again, you blink owlishly and all you can manage is a stupid "huh?"

"do my hair like that," he repeats, getting up from the chair to sit at your feet, back towards you. he crosses his legs and puts his hands in his lap, patiently waiting.

"you can't do it yourself?" you tease, scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

"i can," he replies and you can hear the easy smile in his voice. "but i want you to do it for me."

"okay then!" you laugh before gently parting sections of his hair out. and then you work in silence, putting more effort into his hair than you've ever done with your own.

iv. fragility

"lady riko does not have any relations. when she was young, her family was involved in an accident…since then, i've been her caretaker. so please let her at least spend time with her fr—" 

"—so that makes you her family then." 

suguru's words seem to stun kuroi, the weight of riko's situation finally making itself clear as her face crumbles. 

"…yes." 

you listen to the way her voice wobbles, and try to suppress the poisonous lump forming in your throat. 

"then we do everything we can to make her happy," you say solemnly, leaving no room for argument. suguru seems to agree and says nothing—some deeper part of you feels something more than thankful towards him. 

"you're awfully sensitive for a jujustu sorcerer, you know that?" satoru comments offhandedly. you turn to look at him, meeting his piercing gaze over dark rims. 

"maybe," you concur. "is that considered weak?" 

satoru seems to ponder his answer, before shrugging, a light smile on his face. "to some people, maybe." 

you manage to smile back, and he takes in the expression with an odd look on his face. "say what you want, satoru. but you agree with me, don't you?" 

he looks away, eyes gazing out to the distance where you know riko is currently in class with her friends, trying to live the life she wants, and something in them softens considerably. 

"we'll do things the way she wants us to." 

it's one sentence, said without a smile or laugh, but hearing it fall from satoru's lips makes you beam at him. 

that's just your kindness, isn't it, satoru?

your heart leaps when you notice the tips of his ears tinge with rouge. 

v. longing

riko's hand is warm against the coolness of your fingers. your body feels hyperaware of your surroundings, toes deep in hot sand and salty air sticking to your skin. for some odd reason, you can't seem to relax. unconsciously, you tighten your grip around the young girl's palm. she glances up at you, but when you look down at her, she's wearing the biggest smile you've ever seen. 

satoru's presence makes itself known behind you—his shadow looms over yours in the sand. "it'll be fine," he says.

you can't see his face, nor can you see suguru who stands at his side, but your shoulders drop slightly, and you find yourself smiling back at riko. 

"i'm getting in the water!" she squeals eagerly, before dragging a helpless kuroi with her. satoru laughs—a clear, pristine sound—and follows after her. you watch the three of them with a fond smile, something akin to content settling deep within you.  

"and what are you planning on doing?" suguru asks. you turn to look at him, watching the way his heavy eyes stay focused on you. 

"hmm," you quirk a brow mischievously. "build sandcastles with me?" 

suguru blinks owlishly before he breaks out into a good-natured laugh. 

"deal." he walks closer to the water's edge, where the sand is damper, and crouches down. he turns to look at you over his shoulder. "don't make me do all the work, hotshot." 

you stand there, taking him in—really taking him in. he's just as clear as the sky behind him, and the sun shining on his face makes his smile glow. you want him to continue smiling at you like that well into the future. the waves crash onto the shore, as though the ocean is chasing his radiance, and an overwhelming feeling of unfiltered affection swells in your chest. 

your feet carry you forward, and you think that they might always lead you back to him. 

the sun rises as time passes, and occasionally you spare a glance at satoru and riko, who are screaming as they splash water at one another. and then you catch a glimpse of kuroi, who stands with her feet in the water, a soft smile on her face. 

and in that moment, nothing can be ruined. 

"what's wrong?" suguru's voice calls out, and you tear your gaze away from the others to look back at him. he stands behind you with two strawberry ice cream cones in his hands. 

"nothing," you hum, a serene smile on your face. "everything's perfect."

his eyes trace your face, stopping to linger on your smile, and they soften. "it is, isn't it?" 

he turns to the ocean, watching satoru and riko, and his eyes sparkle. "i hope it stays like this always." 

"me too." 

he bends down to take his place at your side before he hands you a cone. you take it from him. suguru's eyes drift away from you to look down at his castle. 

"i think it looks great," he expresses, before taking a lick of his ice cream. 

you roll your eyes with a huff. "yeah, because you made it look so nice. you're unnecessarily good at this, suguru." 

he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. "no no, we did it together! and yours is nice too!" 

"maybe," you grin, looking at his castle. "but yours is extra pretty." 

he smiles back, before pointing at a small hole in his sand tower. "see this room? it's yours." 

"mine?" you chuckle.

"yeah, all yours," he hums softly. "this is my castle and you get your own room." 

"oh? and why's that?" 

suguru's gaze lingers on you, and his dark eyes soften considerably. "because you'll always have a place in my home." 

you stare at him, speechless—something hammers away at the inner crevices of your chest. 

"and this one—" he points to another hole a few inches away from the first. "—is my room." 

"well in that case, that room is mine too!" you declare.

"what?" he barks out a laugh. "how does that work?" 

"well…" you grin at him, the sun burning into your cheeks. "because my home is wherever you are!" 

suguru's cheeky smile fades and his eyes widen. he looks at you, mouth agape, and you're about to say something else before sticky coolness trickles down your wrist. 

"ack!" you hurry to wipe away the strawberry ice cream dripping down your skin and you completely miss the red that creeps up his neck and seeps into his ears. 

vi. ice bath

shoko's fingers are unbelievably soft. you're grateful that you were unconscious through most of her procedures on your battered body—you don't think you would've handled the pain too well. she's quiet as she works over the large wound that now covers almost half of your torso. the man with the scar on his lip had done quite the number on you, and you don't think you'll ever forget the searing ache of his blade slicing through your flesh. he had left you in a bloodied pile, isolated, and you hadn't seen what had happened to suguru after the man shot riko. you could only lay there, vision swimming as a bitter taste filled your mouth—a reminder of the life you failed to protect.

the pain had been the only thing you could focus on, until satoru was on his knees at your side and tightly gripping your shoulders. your hazy focus was drawn to his lips as he spewed curses and insults at you. 

"why didn't you run away, you little shit," he had shouted, a feral look in his eyes. there was something different about him—a change in his very being that you could see even in the throes of death. "shoko's coming, do you hear me? for fuck's sake, keep your eyes open, hotshot!" 

you swore you saw his eyes shine behind that look of uncontrolled anger. he had been talking a mile a minute and your focus had waned until you could only see his lips move, no sound reaching your ears.

you've never thought satoru looked more godly than he did at that moment.

suguru eventually found his way into your field of vision—knelt at satoru's side. his large hand had squeezed your limp fingers in a death grip. he was sweating, and his eyes were darting back and forth between your pale face and bloodied torso, something akin to guilt swimming in them. you wished that you had the strength in you to squeeze his hand in return. the last thing you remember seeing is his dark hair falling in front of his face as he turned to shout at whoever was approaching.

now you're awake. disoriented and bleary, but awake, and all you can look at is the way shoko's bangs fall over her furrowed brows. she's taken care of the bleeding, and now all that's left is a dull throbbing, reminding you of how close you had toed the line with death. you don't know this yet, but the scar will remain for the rest of your life, and that dull throbbing will be a permanent reminder of your narrow escape. 

shoko hasn't said a word since she noticed your eyelids flutter open. you want to ask her so many things. important things that cannot wait: 

where's satoru? how about suguru? i saw them both. satoru's alive, right? and suguru, too? the man—with the scar. where did he go? he said that satoru—riko….where is riko? and—and kuroi…i—i..couldn't save riko. when did you get here, shoko? and why am i the only one who's being taken care of by you? 

you want to ask her. but she's making a very odd expression as her hands ghost over your body. you've never seen it before, this odd quirking of her lips. her teeth sink into the bottom one, and she chews and bites and nibbles like it's some kind of nervous tell. 

"shoko?" 

it's all you can manage to say—all you dare. your voice is dry, shaky, and sounds almost foreign to your ears. you're going to ask more, at least one of those thousand questions you had asked in your head earlier, but you don't get to because she speaks before you. 

"shut up," she spits, and the wobble in her voice has you pinching your lips shut and feeling closer to death than you did before. 

vii. acid rain

the sound of clapping is deafening. you don't think you've ever heard a sound so horrid in your life before, and you feel as though your ears are bleeding heavily. you can faintly make out the conversation between satoru and suguru, your ears struggling to pick out the tones of their voices. 

"no…" you hear suguru say quietly. "it doesn't matter if I'm fine…"

you can feel satoru's eyes roam over your motionless body, watching the way you gaze out into the crowd impassively. 

"let's get out of here, guys."

your feet carry you numbly, and you aren't aware of anything except the way riko's arm is swinging in front of you lifelessly. there are no mirrors around—no way of catching the track of tears cutting over your cheeks. the places where the salt touches burn like acid. you say nothing. 

satoru's gaze feels intrusive. he doesn't need to ask you anything—he just knows. it's like your body is radiating the emotions tumbling around in your gut. 

you're awfully sensitive for a jujutsu sorcerer, you know that?

"do you want to…kill them all?" 

the question stuns you, and for the first time, you can shake yourself out of your daze to look at satoru directly. blood is smeared over the left side of his face, cerulean eyes dimmed, as though something had pulled the shine out of them. red seeps into the fine hairs of his restless eyebrows. 

"right now, i probably wouldn't even feel anything," he continues, staring at you listlessly.

you think satoru might be feeling just as numb as you are. you don't know what happened to him yet. the last you had heard, gojo satoru had been killed by the man with the scar. he had boasted about it to you before he attempted to kill you too. but then satoru was at your side again, completely alive as he ran your battered body to shoko like a crazed man. 

you'll find out later who the man with the scar on his lip was, and what kind of legacy he had left behind. but for right now, all you see is a teenager with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you know your answer.

satoru could help the pain go away; he'd be able to make the clapping stop—maybe then your ears wouldn't bleed anymore. but you couldn't ask that of him. 

"forget it. it's pointless," suguru mutters, and you're glad he's on the same page as you. not because any of these people deserve pity, but because satoru deserves a break—one less burden for him to carry. 

you hear suguru say more, but you can't focus. you continue to listen to the sound of the clapping, and once again lose yourself as you stare at riko's bloodied fingertips. 

"pointless, huh?" satoru mumbles in response to suguru's answer. "does there need to be a reason?" 

"of course. it's important," suguru's voice doesn't carry the same pleasant tone it always does. instead, it sounds strained, and tired beyond belief. unsure. "especially as jujutsu sorcerers." 

satoru doesn't respond, but you know that he's measuring the weight of his friend's words. that's how it was with the two of them. they both balance each other out—their moral compasses influenced by one another. but then you feel satoru look up from riko's body and turn to you. suguru follows suit, and before you can wonder why, it hits you: satoru had asked you both. 

you suck a deep breath in, feeling unusually breathless. the flesh of your stomach tingles with a painful reminder of what might've been, and you make up your mind. 

"killing them won't change anything," you say, breaking your silence. the tears on your cheeks have dried, but they leave a rigid trail in their wake—a trail that still stings. "let's just leave it at that." 

viii. fever dreams

satoru lies next to you. 

a few nights have passed since riko's death, and you've chosen to stay holed up in your room. you're not sure why—death has always played a big role in your life. you don't understand why it's different this time. 

tonight is different as well. while you've maintained a distance from everyone since that day, save for classes and passing by people on school grounds, today you've decided to let someone in. satoru's the lucky one, mostly because he would've pestered you until you opened your door for him anyway. 

it's strange though. he had knocked over and over, and when you finally opened up with a snappy jab at his annoying personality, he had brushed straight past you and laid across your bed. he hadn't said a word since then, and you've found yourself lying next to him in silence for quite a while. 

his hand stretches out in the darkness and you can feel his fingertips brush over the skin of your arm. it's delicate, like he's testing his limits, but you understand. it's just to ground himself—to know that you're still here, with him. to be sure that you're still alive.

you think the scar that goes down your body bothers him a lot more than it bothers you. 

"'m here," you mumble sleepily. your fingers reach up to bump against his knuckles, and you hear him inhale deeply. his voice is throaty when he replies. 

"i know." 

ix. doubt

satoru learns that you've never been kissed before and he teases you for it.

not in a mean way, but in a way that has your cheeks heating and your eyes avoiding his. suddenly it feels like the gap between ages 16 and 17 is huge. he's barely even a year older than you and you're in the same year, but it feels as though he knows so much more about the world than you do. you want to ask suguru if it's bad that you've never had a kiss, but you don't. suguru rarely talks these days. sometimes he'll have conversations with you but won't look in your eyes when he speaks. 

"hey listen, hotshot. if you don't get a kiss by…" satoru hums, an eager smile on his face as he swings an arm around your shoulders and contemplates his words. "…let's say 27, then i'll give one to you!" 

there's an odd note of glee in his voice. 

"shut up, toru," you groan, heat flooding your cheeks. "quit joking around." 

he laughs loudly, pulling your cheek teasingly. "aw, i'm just playing. it's not a bad thing i promise!" 

your shoulders relax slightly as the snowy-haired sorcerer continues to speak. 

"i just thought that you would've kissed someone by now," he shrugs. "wasn't there that one guy you went on a few dates with? the one you met when we went to yokohama?" 

there's an almost sour expression on his face as he speaks, but you're too frustrated to care. "just because i went on a couple of dates with him doesn't mean i kissed him!"

a broad teasing smile appears on satoru's face. "is that so?" 

"ugh, i'm only 16!" you hiss, shoving him away from you. "besides i'm saving it for someone special!"

"good," you hear suguru speak up, and you turn to look at him. his fingers are interlocked, elbows resting on his knees, and he's staring down at his hands like they hold the answers to some deep questions he has. "it is something irreplaceable after all." 

x. shadow

satoru's grin is proud as he stands before the three of you, his loose shirt billowing in the summer breeze.

you stare at him, heart thumping as shoko lets out a confused gasp. "huh? what the hell was that?"

"did it automatically choose the target for your technique?" suguru asks.

"yep!" satoru stresses the word, spinning the pencil suguru had thrown as he explains. "though i am the target. i've pretty much automated what i used to have to do manually."

your head is spinning.

"now i can tell an object's danger levels based the strength of its cursed energy, its speed, mass, velocity, shape—whatever. i want to be able to discern poisons too but that's pretty hard right now." satoru's voice is even when he explains, though you can make out the hints of pride that permeate his tones. you think his voice has gotten a little deeper too. "basically this is gonna allow me to keep my limitless technique active all the time!"

"that's gonna fry your brain!" shoko interjects, shaking her hair out of her eyes.

"yeah but i can do it while i continuously generate energy on my own. that way my brain stays fresh."

you can't help but let out an amused scoff. "what brain?"

satoru chucks the eraser at you, and you laugh as it bounces off your shoulder harmlessly.

"i've been working on shortening my hand signals so i can activate red and blue simultaneously." he continues, lips twitching upward as he gives you an exaggerated glare. "after this the only things i need to work on are domain expansion and long-distance teleportation. which i should be able to do if we set up some training courses here at school."

you think if someone examined you closely, they would see the stars in your eyes when you look at satoru.

"shoko~" he calls out, grinning eagerly. "think you could get me some lab rats?"

shoko groans as satoru bounds over to pester her more emphatically. you watch him, thinking you've never seen a person quite so magnificent.

god personified into a 17-year-old body. and yet it is a body that stays so close to you—well within your reach. maybe there's nothing so godly about that at all.

"don't you get tired of getting stronger and stronger, jeez?" you complain, crossing your arms as you raise a brow at him. satoru wets his lips as he throws you a smug smile.

"don't worry hotshot, you'll catch up to me someday!" he gives you an exaggerated wink over the frames of his glasses, and you shake your head somewhat fondly.

"no way! i never want to be at your level," you huff. "i'm very comfortable living in your shadow, thank you very much!"

a strange look passes over his face, almost puzzled, but the dip in his brows melts away as he approaches you. "well—" he slings an arm over your shoulder. "if my shadow makes you happy then you're more than welcome to stay there."

you don't have time to reply. pale lashes flutter at you—a backdrop of cerulean. you think white and blue may be the prettiest combination of colors in the world.

"suguru?" satoru's voice is casual, yet the amusement has dropped from it. his arm is heavy around your shoulders. "have you lost weight? are you okay?"

you look up, seeing tired eyes behind dark stands of hair. suguru's cheekbones are prominent, and you have the sudden urge to reach out and trace your fingers over them.

his lips twitch upward weakly. "it's just the summer heat…"

his lavender eyes drift to your face as he says it, and he tilts his head as he scrutinizes your worried expression. "…i'll be fine."

xi. hellfire

you hear suguru before you see him.

his breaths come loud as he pushes the door to the morgue open, the metal clanging heavily. his eyes bore into your back, taking in your clenched fists and raised shoulders that seem to tremble.

you wonder who told suguru you'd be here. maybe nanami, who was here not long ago, and had sent you a text that merely said: the mission went badly.

or maybe it was satoru, who had been chatting with you near the entrance of campus when he saw the myriad of emotions pass over your face as you read the text. he had probably called suguru as soon as you left.

it doesn't matter—you can't bring yourself to care.

you can only think about the way haibara had smiled at you before he left that morning.

now that smile is covered by a dirty white sheet, and you can't tear your eyes away from it. the taste of blood and vomit is heavy on your tongue.

suguru says your name quietly. you can't even look at him—you're scared that you'll cry if you do.

you don't ever want to cry in front of him. or satoru—so weak in front of those who are so strong.

"he asked if i wanted to go with them and i said no because i was lazy," you hiss, teeth clenched as you spit out the words with venom. "if i had just stopped thinking about myself for a second—"

your fingers dig into the flesh of your palms—deep, deep, deeper.

you hear suguru click his tongue, and his hands wrap around yours. he yanks your fingers apart fiercely, thumbs smoothing over the bloodied indents you've made in your own skin. you tear your eyes away from the body to finally look at him.

"don't—" his breath catches as his thumbs still over your flesh, eyes going hard as he takes in the blood.

he blurs in and out of focus. his head whips up when he hears you sniffle, and his lips slant ruefully. "you—"

"i'm fine," you interrupt, blinking pointedly and taking a deep breath. "it's fine—i mean it's not fine—but i c—"

"stop." suguru grabs your shoulders, giving you an even stare. you don't know how you didn't notice it before, but he looks thinner, older. there are dark circles under his eyes—poison seeping into his skin. "you need to rest."

you stare back at him silently, but you don't feel like you agree. something about this is making you feel restless, like there is so much you need to make up for. his grip tightens, before he's wordlessly leading you to take a seat—he finds his place next to you.

"satoru took over the mission." he stares at the lifeless body on the table as he speaks. you lower your gaze.

"and nanami?" your throat feels like it's closing. suguru inhales deeply.

"he went back to the dorms."

"okay."

you try to figure out if there is any meaning in having this conversation. despite everything, weren't you expected to wake up tomorrow morning and head out on a mission once more? and when you return, you're sure that there'll be another faceless body taking haibara's place.

the cycle continues—clockwork. it scares you, just how replaceable you are.

haibara, nanami, you, another, nameless—interchangeable.

not like satoru. not like suguru. not like the strong.

you lean your head against suguru's shoulder, fingering the hem of your uniform skirt. the fabric is cool to the touch—it seems darker, heavier. heat radiates from the body next to you, and there's something about him that's making your stomach churn with nerves. "suguru?"

his voice sounds far away. "hm?"

"are you okay?"

he stiffens and you suddenly fear you've said too much—nosy, intruding, out of place. you stumble. "it's just, we haven't talked much lately."

"i'm fine," he answers, and you can hear a smile in his voice—whether it's real or fake you can't tell. "just a little tired."

you know there is truth to this. but it scares you, how this tiredness of his has lingered for months. you don't know how to tell him that.

"okay…" your voice is barely a whisper, heavy with unspoken words that you don't know how to formulate. somehow you find that silence has always been your only option.

but like usual, silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable.

haibara's smile burns behind your eyelids.

"it should be a relatively simple mission. if you're not doing anything today senpai, would you like to come with us?"

his voice tickles your ears.

"that's alright! i'll get going then! oh right, today's mission is a little farther than usual, so we'll probably be back late! what would you like me to bring back for you?" 

hypoxia crushes your lungs, your blood burns. selfish selfish selfish. you've only ever cared about yourself.

suguru's arm curls around your shoulder before you even realize you're crying. his palm is warm as it smooths over your hair, and all you can worry about tainting him with your ridiculous tears.

you don't ever want to burden him—just want to quietly live in his shadow.

"i don't—" you internally cringe at the throaty rasp of your voice, swiping a hand at your nose. "i shouldn't be so sensitive about—"

"it's not your fault." he quietly hushes you, grip tightening imperceptibly. through your tears you can see him adam's apple bob, and for some reason that makes you feel worse. you're too scared to look at his expression, even though his voice is resolute. "none of this is our fault."

something has changed in the way he speaks now. something has settled, a confirmation of some idea that has been brewing for a long time now.

you don't say another word, but somehow he manages to sear himself into your very being. he's warm, and fuzzy, and he smells like sandalwood and incense. 

you don't know how long suguru let's you pathetically sob into his shoulder.

but you think you're embarrassed that he has taken pity on a wounded animal's cries.

xii. split

he looks different, but also the same. you've seen him wear that sweater before. it's plain black, no patterns, and you know that there's a loose string on the inside of the left sleeve that he was always too lazy to cut. you've always liked that sweater—always liked the way he looked in it. 

you liked it so much that you've even stolen it a few times yourself. 

but now it looks different. older and dirtier—as though soiled by some unknown curse. 

that's what everything came down to, right? curses. 

suguru stands in front of you, almost no trace of emotion on his handsome face, and his expression makes you want to turn and run. you miss the calm serenity that normally graced his features, wishing that you had some kind of cursed technique that could turn back time. but you aren't blessed like that—you wonder what sin you might've committed in a past life that made you so unlucky in this one. 

"you look confused," he comments. you reel at how casually he speaks to you, like it's just another afternoon sitting under that stupid tree. like he's leaning his head back against the trunk and watching you and satoru bicker with that fond look in his eye. 

"suguru," you speak, an odd strain in your voice. you struggle to comprehend this odd turn of events. you've had time to understand that he's now a different person than the one you once knew. you know that he's responsible for killing 112 innocents, including his own parents. you know that he's now an enemy to jujutsu society and you know that you should kill him right at this moment.

but he looks so much like suguru, like your suguru, that you can only manage to stand there, frozen in place. his eyes drift over your body, taking in your pajamas, the bath towel in your hands, and the small drops that trickle from your hair, and you can see the familiarity settle in his expression. 

"why are you here?" you choke out. you feel an overwhelming sense of danger in your gut, knowing that your family is just a few rooms over from where he stands now. 

"at your family home, you mean?" he asks casually. a small, almost amused smirk appears on his face. "you said i was always welcome." 

you did say that. sometime last year or the year before, when you had invited satoru, suguru, and shoko over to visit during one of your quick holidays. suguru had sat across from you at your dinner table. he complimented the food and your father smiled one of his rare smiles. you had chewed quietly to hide your grin.

you don't know what to say to him now. 

"everything they said about you," you whisper, taking a step toward him. he remains rooted in place, but his eyes follow your movements. they shift when he catches your fingers gripping your towel tighter. "is it true?" 

"do you think it is?" he asks, and you gulp. it feels like he's baiting you into some kind of trap. 

"i don't want to believe that it is," you answer, voice shaking. "that you would ever do something so…"

the sentence hangs in the air, and he tilts his head imperceptibly. something in his eyes changes as he focuses on the drops falling over your shoulders. 

"well i'm sorry to squash your hope," he raises his arms in a shrug. "but everything you heard is completely true." 

your head aches, but you're not surprised by his confirmation. "why would you…?"

suguru hums, a dark look falling over his face. "do you remember the conversation we had after haibara's funeral? do you remember what i told you when he died?" 

anger flares in your gut at the mention of haibara, and the bath towel crumples in your hold. "don't say his name," you hiss through gritted teeth. "don't act like he's the reason—just…don't bring him into this. please." 

suguru licks his lips, eyes going soft before he tries again. 

"everything used to make sense back then," he sighs. "back when the strong existed to protect the weak. but it's not true." 

"suguru—" 

"the reason why we suffer is because of them," he interjects evenly, though frustration is clearly evident in the curve of his brows and the volume of his voice. "we clean up their messes. they create problems and we die for it." 

you're stunned into silence, at the way he's raising his voice at you, at the way he's speaking so firmly about this horrible topic, at everything. he seems to realize the effect of his speech, and he quells his anger to speak quieter. "that's why i'm doing this. i'm going to create a world without non-sorcerers, so that sorcerers like you and i can live peacefully." 

a lump forms in your throat because god, he's right. he's so right. your life would be a thousand times better without curses. non-sorcerers were the reason curses existed. but the way he's going about this…

"suguru," your voice shakes, but you press on. "i get it. i really do—" 

"i know you do," he interrupts. "you always have. even back then…" 

he takes a step closer to you, reaching out to finger the towel in your hands. "but you don't agree with the way i'm doing it, right?" 

you bite your lip, and he smiles at the sadness in your expression. "you're so easy to read, hotshot." 

you ignore the way the nickname stings. "i just—how could you kill innocent people like that? your own parents, suguru."

he looks away from you, steely resolve in his eyes. "if i made exceptions for my parents, that would kinda make me a hypocrite, wouldn't it?"  

you don't know what to say to that. he doesn't seem to have anything else to add either. 

he looks around your old bedroom, eyes sparkling as they catch a picture of the four of you from your first year. satoru's arm is slung around shoko. the dark-haired female has her elbow resting on your shoulder, her tongue sticking out playfully. you're clinging to suguru's arm, and satoru's free hand is squishing your cheeks together. the four of you are laughing. 

nobody has laughed in a while now. 

you tear your gaze away from the picture frame to look at him. he's so unbelievably close, and he's gazing down at you with this foreign look in his eyes, the picture forgotten behind him. 

he slips his fingers into your hair. his palm is large enough that it can brush the side of your face, and you wonder why your body doesn't flinch away from those bloodstained hands.

"it's okay," he mumbles, a faraway look in his eyes. they remain trained on your hair, but it feels like he's looking straight through you. like you're nothing more than a ghost he wants to erase. he's so close—you can count his dark lashes as they brush against his cheeks. "it's difficult. i don't expect you to understand." 

his words incite a sudden flare of anger in your gut. it burns something fierce, and in that moment you hate him. 

"no, i don't," you reply indignantly. he pauses, now really looking at you, and his brows quirk upward in what seems to be surprise, because—well, he's never seen you make such an expression at him before. "you never tried to help me understand. you just left." 

a strained silence follows. his fingers twitch against your cheek.

"this doesn't concern you," he says finally. "i don't need you to understand my actions." 

you recoil, as though he's physically hurt you, and your expression falls so hard that it almost makes him regret saying it. almost. 

"if it doesn't concern me, then why are you here?" you ask again, and you see suguru's shoulders drop. "you know that i have orders to kill you. i might not be able to because you've always been stronger than me. but you know that i'll…" 

go down fighting you, is what you want to say, but the words leave a nasty taste in your mouth. but suguru seems to know what you're implying because a wry smile appears on his lips. his fingers twirl a strand of your wet hair. 

"i'm here to say goodbye," he says finally. another tense silence fills the space between you both, and suguru can see the way your fingers shake between the folds of your towel. 

"you're a little bit late for that, aren't you?" you choke out, a strange tilt to your voice as you break eye contact with him. "you left school weeks ago, and you didn't say a word to me then." 

"better late than never, right?" 

the softness in his tone makes you turn to look at him again, and you desperately want to ingrain the features of his face into your head. the gentle slope of his eyes and sweetness of his smile. he almost looks like the suguru you once knew, and you suddenly have the urge to mourn his death. 

his face becomes blurry, the edges becoming less pronounced, and you can see the way his expression falls. 

"i didn't come all the way here to make you cry." his hand drops from your face and he takes a step back. your fingers hurry to wipe at your waterline, and you shake your head. 

"'m not crying." 

suguru smiles ruefully, and his eyes suddenly look devoid of life. he takes another step back—your heart plummets.

he says your name once, quietly, and it hangs in the air as you wait for him to say more. 

he doesn't. 

"you know that I'm not supposed to let you leave alive, right?" you mumble, fingers toying with the towel in your hand. "but i can't—i mean—"

"hm," he chuckles. "still as sensitive as ever, huh? s'okay…" 

he moves toward you again and his hand gently cups the back of your neck. "i think it's your best quality. makes you better than most people in our world."

he presses his lips to your forehead tenderly, and you feel your eyes widen behind your tears. 

you probably could've stopped him, because you're aware that he's now suddenly behind you, and that he's raising his hand. you can stop him, but a part of you thinks that if it's death at suguru's hands, maybe it's not such a bad way to go. 

you accept your fate then and there. 

you'll find out later that suguru never had the intention to kill you then. perhaps he was waiting for a more opportune time, waiting for there to be a meaning behind it. you're not sure. but when you wake up tucked in your bed cozily, you'll feel the remnants of him lingering around you.

he was warm, and fuzzy, and he smelled like sandalwood and incense.

xiii. sanctify

satoru's at your door again. 

you've memorized his knock patterns. he always knocks three times, then leaves a pause, then twice more. for someone so erratic, he can be quite predictable. 

"what's up, satoru?" you call out, not looking up from your busy hands. there are a couple of empty cardboard boxes open on your bed, and you've been placing things into them all morning. things that should've been put away a long time ago. you pause on one of your old test papers, and in suguru's dark, blocky handwriting you read: 

YOU GOTTA STUDY MORE DUMBASS.

underneath it, satoru had scrawled: 

hotshot failing class now huh? :P

and shoko had added: 

both of you stfu you're failing too 

you had drawn a heart next to her name. 

"whatcha doin'?" a familiar voice chirps. "spring cleaning?"

satoru stands directly behind you, peering over your shoulder. you can practically feel his aura shift when he notices the items you're putting away. 

"cleaning of some sort," you sigh, before turning to look over your shoulder. "i've been…putting it off." 

he doesn't move—just continues to stare down at the paper in your hands. you think maybe you shouldn't have let him in. sometimes you forget that satoru might have his own sensitivities—you've always viewed him as the strongest.

a few strands of his hair tickle your cheek, and you scrunch your nose in response. he then turns to you, eyes blinding as he studies you over the frames of his shades. 

"want help?" 

"please." you don't intend to sound so needy, but the way you whisper the word has him immediately grabbing your wrist and sitting you down next to him on the bed. 

"how are we sorting this stuff?" he asks, his voice oddly calm. he hasn't let go of your arm yet, and some quiet part of you is grateful. 

"i was putting our old school stuff in that box. books, papers…" you answer softly, and satoru nods in understanding. "and in the other box…" 

you inhale deeply through your nose. satoru waits, strangely patient. you're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think he squeezes your wrist. 

"…are all of suguru's things." 

there's a moment of silence—a quick mourning for what is no longer there. 

"it's stupid stuff that he left behind, you know?" you chuckle, even though nothing is funny. "some old shirts from when you two would sleep over, his old textbooks, a few pictures from our holidays—shit like that." 

satoru hums. he's not looking at you—instead he's staring at the box, a frown on his face. 

"i guess he didn't really need those things for where he was going. or for wherever he is now," you mumble. 

"guess not." 

you're not sure what's going through his head. satoru's reaction to suguru leaving had been chaotic at best. it was so hard to tell how he felt about it. you knew he was angry, confused, betrayed. but he never showed things like that. you think it might have to do with being the strongest. you're not sure though—you never were strong like him.

you wish there was a way to tell him that he could share his feelings with you, but you can't think of a way that won't be awkward. 

a ticklish sensation crawls up your wrist and you look down to watch satoru's first two fingers tap against the inside of your palm. his thumb brushes against yours as he lets out a heavy exhale. 

"let's get started then, hotshot." 

he looks down at you as he says the words, and you think you might cry. but you want to be strong, like him, so you offer him a smile. he gives you one in return. you realize there isn't that much warmth in it, not like it used to have—you're sure that yours isn't that warm either. 

but it's enough for the two of you. 

"you look tired, toru," you chuckle wryly, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from his face. his eyes flutter at the touch, and you honestly think this might be the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. 

"so do you." 

"i am," you admit honestly. 

"'s okay," he mumbles. his fingers tap against your palm once more. "'m here." 

"i know," you answer. you always are.

nothing more is said as satoru stands up. he makes his way over to your desk and pulls one of suguru's old sweaters from your chair. you watch him fold it neatly, smoothing out the creases with care, before placing it into the box—you smile once more. 

you think the scent of sandalwood tickles your nose, but it's gone in an instant.  

both of you work in relative silence, sorting through the things in your room quickly. you're surprised at how bare it looks as you're nearing the end, as though there's nothing more to your life than old high school recollections. 

you finish putting the last few polaroids into the box when satoru speaks up. 

"hey." 

you look up and find him staring at you, so you turn to face him completely, giving him your full attention. 

"zenin toji—" the name sends a painful tingle up your body. "—left something behind." 

you frown. "what are you talking about?" 

"a kid. he's got a kid. and i was gonna go meet him today," satoru shrugs. you try to read his emotions, but as usual, he's giving you nothing. "the old man said something about the zenin clan buying up his kid before i killed him. i was gonna go see if there's something i could do about that." 

you sigh before raising a brow, an amused lilt to your voice. "and why have you kept this a secret?" 

satoru's trademark smirk appears, and he walks over to sling an arm around your shoulders. "who knows?" he quips nonchalantly. "guess i was waiting until we were bored. we need something to do now, don't we?" 

you glance at the packed boxes on your bed, and then look around your empty room. everything is always changing, but satoru is constant. 

"i guess so," you grin. his eyes shine, and for a second you see a familiar teenager at the beach, and then a familiar teenager under an old tree. you think you hear waves, and the crinkling of a bag of chips. 

"good," he chirps, walking you to the door, the arm around your shoulder secure. "his name's megumi, and we're gonna make sure he gets strong."

xiv. idyll

it takes you a little over four months to get used to megumi's eyes. they aren't unsettling or invading, like a certain snowy haired sorcerer, but they do give you chills when you first notice them. chills and a fleeting feeling of metal slicing up and down through your flesh. you just have to steady your breathing and remind yourself that the son is not the father.

tsumiki is an angel. you didn't think that kids that age could be so emotionally competent, but she's a pleasant surprise. she had been awfully protective over megumi, fidgeting with a firm hand on his shoulder as you and satoru invaded their space and upturned their lives. even after they had settled into the humble apartment satoru had purchased, tsumiki was still so overly cautious. it was obvious she still didn't trust either of you, but you thought it was admirable of her, and you relay this thought to satoru one day.

"think they hate us?" he asks, squishing his cheeks between his lithe fingers as he eyes the different milk cartons over the rims of his glasses.

"i'm pretty sure they just don't trust us that much," you reply, placing a few packs of instant ramen into the cart. "can you blame them? we're just random strangers who came up and basically kidnapped them."

"i'd like to say adopted!" he points out with a grin, before he sighs. "but we've already proved we're just doing this to help them. but they still barely talk at all."

"they're just being careful. megumi's still a little young and he looks like he doesn't give a shit about most stuff anyway," you chuckle as you remember the expression on the first grader's face as he spoke to your cocky friend. "and tsumiki's being cautious for both of them."

"she doesn't need to be cautious of us!" satoru dramatically whines, pulling out a carton of whole milk and placing it into the cart. you shiver as the cold air hits your skin, eyeing the sorcerer with an exasperated smile. he shuts the door with a huff. "i've been such a good dad!"

you roll your eyes, shoving his arm as he starts pushing the cart down the aisle. "she definitely should be cautious of you, you creep."

satoru looks down over his shoulder, appalled, though his eyes sparkle with mirth. "and why do you say that?"

"have you seen yourself? crazy 19 year old man that kidnaps kids," you mutter somewhat sarcastically, falling into step with him like it's normal. satoru grins at that—amused.

"i think it's pretty cool of her to be that responsible though," you continue, voice going softer as you think about them, and satoru hums in what you think might be agreement. you suddenly grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks and he turns to look at you.

"you think we should get another carton of milk?" you question, tilting your head at him. "megumi's been drinking it every day after he comes back from school and tsumiki said she wanted to try making milkshakes."

satoru blinks at you, eyes widening before an amused chuckle escapes his lips. you're about to ask what is so funny but he gestures back down the aisle. "go get some."

he waits for you as you go grab another carton, leaning against the cart easily. when you make it back and place the extra milk in the cart, satoru slings an arm around your shoulders. you raise a brow, but he just continues to push the cart with his free hand and says nothing.

so you don't say anything either.

the two of you continue shopping, trying to remember the things you've noticed the kids enjoying because you know they'll be too uncomfortable to outrightly request them. for every sweet snack satoru puts into the cart, you add something that can pass as somewhat healthy, and he hides a teasing grin behind his fist each time.

when you're almost done, satoru motions to the shelves of snacks, raising a brow at you. "what do you need, hotshot?"

you look up from where you're analyzing the contents of the cart. "hm? oh i don't wanna buy anything for myself. i'm good with the stuff i have back at the dorm."

"great," he shrugs with a subtle shake of his head. "except you're not buying anything this time, i am. so pick something."

"what?" you frown, walking over to him. "we're supposed to split groceries for the kids."

"we can split next time." satoru rolls his eyes at you, as though annoyed by your insistence. "i just got paid yesterday and i wanna waste money. pick something."

you groan. "but there really isn't anything i want. if you're gonna pay yourself then let's just go. i think this is good enough."

satoru looks unamused, his eyes boring into yours—bright, dominating, mesmerizing. "oh really? nothing you want?"

you stare at him in confusion as he walks over to the frozen section and opens the door. after a few seconds of rummaging, he pulls out a box. "not even this?"

your shoulders drop. he's holding a tub of strawberry ice cream.

he casually places it into the cart, eyes trained on your expression as he bends down. "it's your favorite, isn't it?"

your voice comes out throaty, and you wet your lips nervously—his eyes follow the movement at lightning speed. "how'd you know?"

satoru scoffs out a haughty chuckle, reaching up to knock a knuckle at your forehead—it's cold. "i know everything about you, hotshot."

he moves to grip at the cart's handle, standing close enough that you can feel the energy radiating off of him. the side of his hand touches yours, still cold. "now we can go."

he sticks by your side, pushing the cart towards the counters as he casually looks around the store. you briefly realize that his shadow doesn't cover you when you're at his side like this. the thought both scares you and pleases you in a way you didn't think was possible.

"thanks toru," you mumble before you can stop yourself. his gives you a sidelong glance—assessing.

his lips twitch. "it's just ice cream."

"no, it's a lot more than that." you're not really sure why you say it so tragically, and satoru inhales sharply. you notice that his knuckles have turned white as he grips the cart's handles. once again, his eyes dart rapidly over your face—between your eyes and then further down.

then he lets out a hushed laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. "as long as you share with me, hotshot."

everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.

you can't help but smile. "always."

you two don't say much as you head to the counter, taking turns placing all the items on the belt. you quietly watch satoru dig into his wallet, feeling oddly content doing so. you think the stars in your eyes will never disappear.

the clerk eyes you both, and suppresses a fond grin. with your close proximity, shared cart, and satoru's easy going smile, you realize that she's probably misunderstanding, but you don't really know how to correct her. satoru says nothing—he just continues smiling, oddly pleased.

he smiles all the way to the car. you catch yourself doing the same in the rear view mirror.

xv. retribution

the first thing you notice when you kneel in front of suguru is that he's bleeding all over the place. you have the strongest urge to scramble and grip his fingers tightly, just as he had done for you so many years ago—but you don't dare. you're too scared that touching him will ruin you completely.

he says your name quietly, and yet it's the loudest thing in the universe to you—crashing over your ears until you've lost all sense of self.

and then he leans forward, his gaze heavy, and his hand comes up to tangle in your hair. his palm rests on the side of your face just like it did when he visited you at your family home. the last time you saw your geto suguru.

except this time he moves further—crosses a line. presses his lips to yours.

he tastes like blood. you don't pull away.

the feeling of his lips shocks you though, and you stay permanently frozen in place as you feel your eyes glaze over with something you can't put into words.

suguru kisses you slowly, deeply, like he's been waiting but wants to savor it. maybe you've been waiting too. you're not sure. you're so confused.

you don't even process the way his tongue slips past your lips, tasting almost eagerly like your mouth is some kind of conquest he's trying to claim.

it's intrusive, but not unwelcome. slow, but not gentle.

you whimper quietly, feeling acid sting down your cheek as he pulls away and his eyes flutter open. he takes in your expression, and a million emotions pass over his face.

a quiet chuckle. "that bad, huh?"

you shake yourself out of it and try to push away the flush creeping up your neck. "w-what?"

"you're crying," he announces, his furrowed eyebrows paired with a sweet smile that makes him look so unbelievably tragic. "the kiss was that bad?"

your face burns, and you raise a shaking hand up to your cheek—it's wet.

"it wasn't—i didn't—" you struggle. "i mean—"

he smiles ruefully. "i'm sorry. you were saving it for someone special, right?"

there's a charged silence that follows as you scour your brain for the conversation he's referencing. when you find it, your heart sinks.

"you've always been special to me, suguru." your voice comes out quiet, but he hears it all the same. his eyes widen fractionally and you can see a light pink dust his cheeks before he laughs. it's soft, hushed, and looks like it's painful, but he lets it run its course.

it reminds you of a laugh from so long ago, at a beach, with childish screams echoing against the sound of waves. you think you can feel strawberry ice cream dripping down your wrist.

his laughs die down and he's left smiling softly at you. his lavender eyes sparkle with mirth as he tilts his head. "i'm glad. that you were the one i gave a room to."

you can hear waves in your ears, crashing crashing drowning. sand is in your hands, in between your toes, in your eyes.

he coughs, and his palm shakes against your cheek. you wonder why he doesn't just let go already dammit suguru.

you inhale sharply, trying so hard to breathe because what is that stupid thing that's clogging your throat and preventing you from speaking? there's so much you have to say to him. so many questions. so many things left unsaid. your words are failing you.

but silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable, right?

you raise a shaky hand to press against his where it lays against your neck. "do you regret it?"

he licks his lips, smiling faintly, as though he's enjoying the new taste of you on them. "no."

"why not?" you whisper. your body unconsciously shuffles closer to him, chasing his warmth because gods is he warm. he's always been so warm, even now, in the throes of death.

"my feelings are still the same. i still hate the monkeys for everything they've done, all the crap they cause." he shuts his eyes, smiling that serene smile. you wish he was leaning against a tree trunk. "i still have no resentment to those at jujutsu tech. and you, i still…"

he doesn't continue. you don't think you want him to. there's a flush crawling up his neck, the faint pink a stark contrast to the red of blood. it makes you nauseous.

another deep inhale, and his thumb slides over your jawbone, before brushing under your bottom lip. he stares at the flesh heavily, letting his finger press into it. his tongue swipes over his own lips, eyes darkening further.

and then something shifts in his face, and he smiles mirthlessly. his hand drops from your face—broken contact.

he doesn't tear his gaze away from you, committing your face to memory. it's almost like he wants to say something, but decides against it at the last minute as he slumps further into the wall behind him and shuts his eyes.

when he speaks again, you know that it is all over.

"you're late, satoru."