#woefreed

he’d never seen the moon turn red.

his home was simple, fit for a boy in exile; a prince in his own right, with no subjects to rule over. his kingdom was built on expanses of rocky cliffs, snow covered forests, silent stretches of untouched land. what was once a place he’d survived in had become a place to escape to, one to share with a love he never thought he’d deserve, much less have ( said love was fast asleep ). it seems that tonight, the world wanted him to return to survival, despite the fact that he’d only stepped out for a walk.

he stood, bathed in the crimson light that had overtaken the open field, emanating from the sky.

“Don’t... move...”

a blood curdling dread froze down his spine as he realised his cursed command wasn’t being followed. something was wrong in a way he couldn’t even explain. for all of her terror and pain, Rika hadn’t even caused such a reaction in his soul. you couldn’t tell what you couldn’t SEE to not move.

it W A S moving.

“ APPEAR ! “

amethyst eyes widened to full spheres. inches in front of his face, a clawed hand reached for his face, a gaping maw of teeth contained within the scaly palm. he swerved, a blade sharp laceration pulling up through his lip; the colour of his hot blood made no impression on the snow — it was invisible under the red sky. as quick as it had shown itself, it shot off down the curve of the mountain, a peel of twisted flesh — 

straight for his family’s village. his heart stopped.

“ S T O P !!! “

‘ if we stick together, who knows what we’ll do. ’ (for Maki? 🙏)

a wry smile curls over maki’s lips. how very like yuuta, to color everything with a touch of optimism, a touch of naive joy. it really is invaluable to her, difficult though it is for her to express it often.

“make gojo’s life a nightmare, hopefully.” a wider grin overtakes her features as she bumps her shoulder against yuuta’s gently. “definitely kick some ass, that’s for sure.” maki adds, a bit too cheerful. 

@woefreed​ : ☽ = wandering alone at night . (for megumi!)

Nights like this one were always a pain. Megumi had them often enough, finding it difficult to fall and stay asleep for any one of the laundry list of reasons which kept growing he could blame for keeping him up, but getting some fresh air helped to settle his nerves- not a lot, but it was at least something. Tonight though it seems he wasn’t alone, Megumi spotting his upperclassman not too far from where he'd decided to take a seat at some stairs.

Maybe Okkotsu had all the same troubles sleeping that he did. It wouldn’t exactly be unreasonable for anyone in this line of work, but talking about feelings and fears and all that sure as hell wasn’t about to be the go-to topic of conversation here. Touchy-feely had never been Megumi’s style.

          “oi.”

          gojo-sensei had mentioned him, of course, and the second years had spoken about him plenty of times. given the sheer power that radiated from the boy in front of her, nobara easily pinned him as the okkotsu.

The postman asks for signature and tips his cap, before leaving Nanami with his surprise package. It is a wooden box, labelled as shipped from Nigeria. In it lie, neatly presented and protected, a few small bottles of artisanal palm wine, along with a card written in Japanese: "Sorry I couldn't give it to you in person. Hopefully next time! Happy birthday! - Okkotsu."

     WHEN NANAMI HAD GOTTEN up in the morning, he hadn’t expected to be given some surprise package from Nigeria of all places. Did he know anyone there? Was this given to him on accident? The postman had insisted that it was indeed his package, but even still… There was only one individual he knew that was currently in Africa at the moment. It was just that in his mind, it couldn’t be from them…could it? Nanami would have thought that if Yuuta wanted to send gifts, he would at least send a large box to everyone with a multitude of different items. Maybe even have a note inside saying who would get what. Instead, though, this entire box was for Nanami in particular… Shrugging his shoulders, he decided none of that was important at the moment, especially when curiosity was beginning to tug at him to see what was inside.

     Thus, without further thought, he pulled the box open and allowed his eyes to rove over the intriguing bottles of palm wine that sat within. Now this was not something he had ever tried before. It wasn’t something that one could just find in the store here in Japan, and so, he was already prepared to try a bottle the moment he closed the door. Before that, however, he had to read the note that was left for him as well. Just as he had thought, this all HAD come from Yuuta. How had he learned of Nanami’s birthday? Gojo? Their own digging? Maybe in the end it didn’t really matter the ‘how’ so much as that they had gone out of their way to think of him on this single day when other things could have occupied their thoughts. Nanami’s lips curled into a small smile. ❝These students…❞

❝  hm?  how  did  what  happen,  okkotsu–senpai?  ❞  bemusement  is  short–lived,  question  met  with  an  answer  before  full  verbalisation  occurs.  ❝  oh,  this?  ❞

a  hand  lifts  to  countenance,  and  the  newfound  scar  that  wreathes  across  the  dermis  is  felt  beneath  calloused  pads  of  fingertips  –  it’s  nasty,  it’s  fresh,  and  it’s  unavoidable.  it’s  also  a  wonder  how  he  even  remembers  the  exact  culprit,  considering  the  multitude  of  violence  that  had  encapsulated  him  in  its  grasp  should  have  left  the  lines  blurred,  but  it  hasn’t;  he  couldn’t  forget  any  part  of  it,  even  if  he  tried.  it’s  burned  into  the  memory.

this  particular  cicatrix  was  different,  though,  for  it  came  from  the  hands  of  a  curse  that  had  to  leave  a  reminder  of  what  was  already  scorned;  as  if  everything  ripped  so  violently  from  him  wasn’t  enough,  he  was  now  left  with  the  physical  embodiment  of  the  ordeal.  even  if  one  day  they  manage  to  heal,  the  marks  will  not  –  the  same  way  the  gone  will  not  return.

❝  i  got  it  in  shibuya  from  a  really  horrible  curse  with  a  patchwork  face.  ❞  even  without  speaking  the  name,  the  feeling  of  nausea  lines  the  stomach,  and  he  swallows  the  snarl  he  hadn’t  realised  was  curling  at  his  brims.  ❝  but  it’s  okay.  he  won’t  be  hurting  anybody  else  anymore.  ❞

he  wished  so  desperately  for  that  to  be  enough.  maybe  one  day  it  will  be.  it’ll  have  to  do  for  now.

instead,  he  blinks  himself  from  reverie,  and  forces  a  half–hearted  laugh  once  he  realised.  ❝  ah,  sorry!  it  doesn’t  really  hurt,  though.  does  it  look  that  bad?  ❞

“Yuuta — can you hear me?”

“I can hear you, Toge — you sound so beautiful.”

their bedrooms were asymmetrical, yet contained equal parts of both of their presences. tonight, they had chosen Toge’s, filled with moonlight and empty of any noise, save for their heartbeats. one thudding under the small birdcage of ribs, one trained to beat steadily. delicate hands rested, trembling on soft thighs, pale under the cool light of the moon. more worn fingers found their way into ashen hair, coloured like raw cotton and scented like peach.

“Okkotsu Yuuta — “ the full name came out like a whispered prayer, the first time uttered from lips with a smile slowly spreading across. “You can hear me!” laughter came up like water from a spring, hands reaching for a hold on each of the taller boy’s shoulders, thumbing at the pale skin beneath. “I want to tell you everything, Yuuta, how much I love you, how beautiful you are, how proud of you I am — “ Toge tightened his grip softly, allowing for a rough cough to pass from his lungs. his voice was faint, and it was rough at the edges, silt turned into river rocks.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Toge, we have all the time in the world.” the warmth in Yuuta’s voice fed the smile on his pink lips, taken up in a kiss he wanted to speak psalms into, sing hymns of a religion he’d created just to house his love.

Toge’s lilac eyes opened slowly, taking in the sight of the only being he ever wanted to adore. how many other souls with the speech curse had been able to build a love like this, given the chance to prove they were just as capable of that connection, of that promise? through all the pain he’d endured, through all the moments he had felt worthless and alone, all of those painful seconds were carefully boxed and put away, all by those hands that carded through his hair.

“I want to tell you stories, and tell you all the words I could never say.” the boy whispered, unbothered by the tears welling up in his eyes that he was able to blink away. “I... I love you, Yuuta. I want to be with you forever, and... and...” his breathing heaved gently, hands letting go of his love’s shoulders, all in the effort to embrace him, to settle into his lap —

Yuuta had always reminded him of water. gentle, cleansing, healing, all with the innate power to destroy at a moment’s notice.

but when fabric and warm skin flowed through his fingers, disappeared into the blankets below, Toge couldn’t help but hate how unpredictable water was. slowly, a portion of his consciousness seeped in, whispering the truth to him; it’s a dream, that’s all.

Inumaki sat up straight in his bed, the moon replaced with a dull sun, his bed empty, voice still cursed, Yuuta still thousands of miles away. a brief and sorrowed glance toward the clock yielded little results, eyes too welled up to read the time. did it matter? the boy slowly laid back down on the bed, clutching a pillow to his chest, hoping that it would be enough to hold all the tears he was bound to cry.

“Yuuta...” he croaked. “Come back...” he mouthed. “Please.” he prayed.