The Writer's Room

March 2010 Tokyo Jujutsu High School

"And then there were two."

As she approached Gojo, Y/N could see the teasing glint in his eye even behind his opaque black glasses. The school’s front office was empty, save the two of them, and his words echoed off the dark walls. Perhaps it was the emptiness that made his words hit her stomach like food poisoning. She knew what he meant, who he was talking about. She still had to ask. 

"What?"

"Your Nanamin." Gojo clarified, a teasing lilt in his voice. 

"He cleaned out his room quickly. I knew he’d been growing tired of this place, but…"

"No, he’s gone gone. Off to work in the real world.” 

She paused. She and Nanami, the only two left in their year, graduated two days ago. She knew he wasn’t planning to teach, like her, but to not be a sorcerer at all… to not even tell her he was leaving… the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. 

Her hand itched to reach into her pocket for her phone, to check if he’d left a message, but something in her gut correctly assumed there wasn’t one. After a full thirty seconds, she responded in her best impression of a clear throat. “Well, there’s Shoko.”

“Shoko?’

“Three, not two.” “Well, that’s not the problem, is it?” 

Her face heated from some combination of embarrassment and anger, and she shoved him, her arms moving before her brain could decide to stop them. “Shut up, Satoru.” He was right, of course. Talking to him was like looking at a mirror that tells dumb jokes and often forgets you’re even there. Even without his jokes it was painful enough.

Gojo took the force of her anger in stride, managing to fall gracefully into a nearby armchair. He slouched against it, stretching his gangly legs out with his feet pressing up against the legs of the coffee table. He took up so much space in every room, even when he wasn’t lounging. The other students always said it was his ego. Right now, she was inclined to agree. 

“You mad?” he teased, tilting his head to the side, glasses slipping slightly down his nose. She stared at him in disbelief. He had an unlimited supply of audacity, and it seemed he didn’t care who was on the other side of it.  

“Yeah, I’m fucking mad at you, you’re being a dick.” She said with enough ire behind her voice that Gojo knew to shut up. After a few moments of silence where his smirk was the only thing filling the space in the room, she spoke again, “Where is Yaga? Don’t we have a mission? Or did you call me here just to be an asshole?”

“Yes! Mission!” Gojo sat up and clapped his hands together, excited to be reminded. “You’ve been recommended for promotion to first-grade sorcerer! So you’ll accompany me on my missions for a little while to be named semi-first grade.”

“I thought I’d shadow a first-grade sorcerer.”

“Normally, sure. But I requested you!” Gojo was giddy, even more than usual. She sighed. This was going to be a long trip. 

“Where are we headed?”

“We’re going to Sapporo.”

“Flying?”

“Driving.”  

Her eyes widened, her hand rubbing her jaw. “That’s like… sixteen hours. Can’t you just teleport us?”

“Sapporo is very far.” He said, as if that explained how his power worked, walking out of the room, expecting her to follow. It was a surprisingly sunny early spring day, a pleasant breeze going through his hair as he put on his sunglasses. Her inner child, who still looked up to the slightly older, and admittedly very powerful, sorcerer, led her to put hers on, too. 

“But can’t you?” She asked again, catching up with him, trying not to trip down the uneven stone stairs on the way to the parking lot. 

“Maybe. But I insidiously and with great malice aforethought have decided to road trip.” 

“You wanna hang out with me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

─── ･☆･ ─── February 2006 Somewhere in America

Y/N thought she had an astigmatism. When she was five, in the back seat of her mother’s car, she started thrashing in her car seat and screaming, her palms pressed into her eyes. It was too bright. Her mother calmed her down, saying she’d looked at the sun too long, or rubbed her eyes too hard, but since that day, every once in a while, her vision would flicker full of bright, colorful, thin lines. This pattern repeated. The “creatures” she saw occasionally were just the manifestations of a young, fearful mind, a “monster beneath her bed.” As she got older, she began to question if she had schizophrenia or some new, unstudied neurological phenomenon. Or if she was just fucking crazy.

If these facts made her uneasy, it diffused onto anyone around her. There was something off-putting about her, a sort of energy people didn’t like to be around. She’d assumed it was something to do with the way she looked or spoke. Adding that to the fact that sometimes her vision was flooded by a “laser spider web,” as she called it, she didn’t exactly make friends easily, even with her own family. When she was sixteen, she applied for an exchange student program through her high school and found herself in a senior high school right outside of Tokyo within the year. 

And, like everyone at Jujutsu High with no family to enroll them, there was an incident. Walking back to her host family’s apartment after school, cutting through an alley that wasn’t worth the saved time, she encountered a curse. Or rather, was scared shitless when a giant moth, seemingly made of some combination of teeth and tissue, burst out of a dumpster behind the apartment of the neighborhood divorcee. Even so, she’d found herself at the threshold of one of her few lucky moments in life: Masamichi Yaga was walking down the same alley moments later. What should have been her last moments became the first moment of a new, extremely different chapter of her life. 

Y/N didn’t have astigmatism or schizophrenia. And maybe she was crazy, but not for this. She wasn’t ugly, or even all that off-putting. She had cursed energy.

A lot of it. 

After explaining to her host family that she’d gotten an offer from a private religious school that she couldn’t refuse, she was officially transferred to Tokyo Jujutsu High School. Yaga, a teacher at the time, loved a trial by fire, and quickly set one of his cursed energy imbued “dolls” on her to try and observe her technique. After receiving a few punches to the jaw, the bright lines flickered into her vision again, like they had time and time again. As she crawled on her back into a corner, she noticed that one of these lines, almost like strings, connected the teacher and his creation. Her eyes flickered back up to the plushie, which was now pummeling toward her. At the last moment, in a last ditch effort not to get her shit rocked, she grabbed the thread between them, surprised it was even tactile, and yanked. 

Both Yaga and his newly crafted cursed corpse stumbled to the ground. Her eyes widened, and in a move that can only be explained by adrenaline, she grabbed the end of the thread closest to the doll and began pulling it harshly up and down, smashing the poor thing into the ceiling and floor repeatedly.

Yaga snapped, stripping the felt doll of its cursed energy, and it fell, soft on the ground. “Goddamn. That’s a new one.” 

“What?” She asked, incredulous, out of breath. 

“That... string you made.”

“I didn’t make it,” She said, touching another one, the connection between him and someone out of sight. From her perspective, the room was like a laser web of connections, which she assumed were between people on campus. “Do you not see the other ones? There’s hundreds.”

Yaga paused. “Shoko.”

“What?”

“I see, or sense, that string now. It leaves a trace of cursed energy that I can see, but it appears as though I can’t see the thread itself.”  Yaga thought aloud with a hand to his chin, looking off at the wall behind her. “And it feels… it makes me think of one of my students.”

She stared at the string in her hand, a soft rose gold color. Strangely, she could feel it too, an almost paternal student-teacher relationship at her fingertips. She’d never tried to touch these… threads, never even considered them tactile. Just streaks of light and color in her vision. It took a fair amount of focus to keep them in her vision for more than a few seconds, but she was never going to admit this to her new teacher. Not when he was so fascinated, almost impressed.  

“Let’s find the other end,” Yaga said.

And the thread did lead to Shoko. They then tried one of Shoko’s, which she said felt like Geto, and it led right to him as he was running in the training field. 

“Oh, Shoko, I was just thinking of you.” Geto waved. 

Y/N stared at the teenager in the field, amazed at her ability to feel his feelings, even slightly redirect them. The next few hours were spent with Yaga testing her repeatedly, following threads all over campus. As they walked back to his office, the teacher made his assessment. 

“It seems like you can see and manipulate the connections between souls using cursed energy.” The teacher said, making a mental note to use that exact phrasing in her onboarding paperwork. “You… the tracking potential… I’m sure the higher-ups will be interested in the possibilities. They’ll likely fund your staying here.” 

She nodded, holding back a smile, feeling as if a puzzle piece was fitting into place. An explanation for nearly everything she felt was wrong with her. Too young and eager to consider the financial implications. 

─── ･☆･ ─── March 2010 A motel somewhere outside of Oma, Japan

About ten hours into the drive from Tokyo to Sapporo, with his Britney Spears CD playing in the background, Gojo realized his mistake: Y/N couldn’t drive. At least not in Japan. His eyes flickered from the road to the blooming trees that sporadically lined them, eventually landing on her phone, watching her thumb hover over the “call” button on Nanami’s phone contact for the fifth time. He blinked slowly, looking back up through the windshield, hoping they’d come across a place to stop. 

He pulled into the admittedly dingy motel. “We’ll take the ferry in the morning.”

 “This seems like a place where I’d get kidnapped and sold into sex slavery”, she said, yawning as Gojo parked, choosing a space that didn’t have a broken bottle or pile of trash in the middle of it.

“Yeah, well, it's either this or you’re getting an impromptu driving lesson.” Gojo replied, before joining Britney for a particularly dramatic, “OOPS! I—”

She glared at him, annoyed that he was actually kinda good. “Pitchy.” 

Gojo just laughed, unbothered, getting out of the car and walking toward the motel’s front desk. Once they got their room—two beds, thank god—she started unpacking some pajamas and toiletries. The room was small and smelled damp, the dark carpet looking suspiciously stained. But the bed sheets smelled clean and the tiny bathroom had been bleached as apparent by the smell, so it would work for the night. Though Y/N didn’t want to think of why they needed to use so much bleach that she could still smell it now. Gojo sat with his legs crossed on his bed, looking at her excitedly under the dim yellow overhead light flickering in the middle of the room.

“So were you and Nanami, like…?”

“No.” She said quickly, defensively.

“You sure?”

“Yes. He didn’t even tell me he was leaving,” she admitted. 

Gojo grinned. It was almost rude. “Well, that’s not nice, is it?”

“I don’t take criticisms from motherfuckers who look like they’re at their first sleepover.”

Gojo uncrossed his legs and moved to sit at the edge of the bed. 

“It still wasn’t nice.”

“Yeah, I imagine you have some experience in that area.”

“Not being nice?”

“No, getting abandoned by a friend.” A low blow.

But if the blow landed, he didn’t react, his shit-eating grin barely faltering. “You’re a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, you’re an asshole.” 

“I meant it in a good way.”

She paused, looking up at him, exasperated. “What?”

“It’s pretty much just us left, you know,” He said, taking his glasses off, setting them on the small table between their two beds, actually looking at her, his tired eyes an electric blue she’d almost forgotten about. His way of going through the world covered that exhaustion too well. “And don’t say Shoko because she doesn’t leave her little hospital, or teach, or go on missions. And you… you’re the only person they’ll ever send on missions with me now. Because you have something I don’t.”

“What, the threads?”

“You track curses down, warm them up for me, and I fuck ‘em up…” Gojo jumped off the bed into a slight squat and started punching at the air, shadowboxing towards her, to which she groaned and rolled her eyes. At her disapproval, he stopped and stood like he usually did. Hand in his pockets, head tilted, almost leaning. Gojo stood in a way that flaunted his incredible power, but still left others feeling so intrigued that they underestimated him.

“An A-bomb and his glorified GPS?”

He nodded, and she locked eyes with him as he spoke again. “Why not be friends?” he suggested, flopping backwards on the bed with his arms behind his head. “I’m a great drinking buddy, and we both are shit out of options. We can still curse each other out every other sentence if you want.”

She smiled, taking her toiletries and heading for the bathroom, her brain struggling to accept the loss of her best friend and this simultaneous, strange emergence of a new one.

“Yeah, fuck you.” 

─── ･☆･ ───

April 2006 Tokyo Jujutsu High School

In their first month at Tokyo Jujutsu High School, Y/N quickly got sick of the food. She picked at each meal, pushing it around her plate, trying to find the bites with the most flavor that didn’t make her stomach feel like it was digesting rocks. It was already a hard enough transition to switch from an American diet to a Japanese one, but the lack of seasoning in the school kitchen was the worst part of it all. It was discouraging, to say the least. But after having sleep for dinner one night too many, she got desperate.

In a moment of weakness, she’d gone to Gojo’s dorm room and asked him and Geto what they usually ate when they got sick of the dining hall. They’d given her directions to their “favorite restaurant,” which turned out to be the line of vending machines on the other side of campus, and Shoko recommended a sushi spot she couldn’t afford that was at least 20 kilometers (how many miles is that?) away from campus. By that point, she started to lose hope. But that’s what you get for asking advice from a white haired idiot and a nicotine addict. 

She was too hungry to play it cool, especially after being so embarrassed by Gojo and Shoko. There was one person she mentally chided herself for not considering previously. While they hadn’t spoken much due to his reclusive nature, Nanami seemed like he had a good head on his shoulders. Like he would give a useful recommendation in her hour of need, which Y/N guessed it was.

When she finally tried Nanami’s room, he opened the door, and a cloud of steam burst from behind it. He stood frozen, eyes slightly widened, caught red-handed with his contraband.  

“Hey, Kento…” she said sheepishly, trying to peek behind the door at the source of the steam.

“Hello,” he replied shortly. She grinned, knowing damn well he was trying to keep her out.

“You cooking something in there?”

“No,” he replied defensively. Nanami was such a shit liar then. Walking in without asking, she breathed in the aroma of the best spicy miso udon she’d ever smelled in her life. It was a smart move to bring a hot plate and a rice cooker when he moved in. Y/N wondered why she didn’t think to do that.

He sighed, knowing there was no getting out of this. “The food here-”

“Fucking sucks,” she finished, looking into the small boiling pot. The golden broth bubbled around noodles and an array of vegetables. Steam, formulating in a swirl around the center, rose steadily towards the ceiling, bringing with it a tantalizing aroma. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“It’s nice when I’m done with coursework.” He watched her as her eyes briefly flickered up to the photos above his food-covered desk, all framed and lined up perfectly. A sunset. A street cat. A group of people she assumed were family. 

“Are we ever done with coursework?” She asked in response, looking at the recipe notebook open next to the small cutting board. They’d only known each other a few months, but she’d sat next to him in enough classes to know that wasn’t his handwriting. “Who wrote these...?”

“My mom wrote some family recipes for me before I left.” He scratched the back of his neck, bracing for her to make fun of him, his usually neat hair messy in his eyes. 

“That’s really sweet.” She surprised him with her honesty, her hands gently tracing under the Japanese characters as she read them, slowly. Her hand paused under a character she didn’t recognize. “What’s this one?” she held the notebook up to him for him to see. He leaned forward and squinted.

“Green onions, but I don’t have any right now.”

Her grin returned as she looked up at him. “I grow some in my window.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, green onions, basil, cilantro…” She trailed off as she saw his confused expression. “I add them to the dining hall food.” 

He laughed softly. “Smart.”

“I’ll share with you if you share with me?”

“Sure.” He nodded, a small smile on his lips that felt foreign. 

“Good, 'cause I was totally gonna snitch on you if you didn’t.” He knew she wasn’t joking. 

She guided him to her room and watched as he gently cut some onions from the plant, intently focused on the task. He took care not to harm it—she’d drawn a smiley face on its tan pot, like it was a pet. Walking into her room was like walking through a portal from black and white to overwhelming 3D color. She’d hung enough plants, paper chains, draping fabrics, and posters (at least three of which were of The Cranberries) that he wasn’t sure what color the walls were anymore. It wasn’t loud or overwhelming. It didn’t scream or explode. It was just warm, like it was singing her past out to her.

After less than three minutes in her room, Nanami had to ignore how his body ached when leaving. They passed Haibara on the way back to Nanami’s room, their arms full of herbs from her room and ingredients from the vending machines, and decided he was allowed to join. Running out of space on the desk, they moved the pot to the floor and sat in a circle around it, eating and talking like friends instead of classmates. 

“We should make this a thing… like, every Sunday, or something,” Y/N said, trying to get a hold of one of the thick noodles with her chopsticks. Nanami looked up, eyes wide. 

Haibara’s eyes lit up, interrupting Nanami as he was about to object. “Yeah! Steamy Sundays!”

“No,” Nanami interjected quickly in a tired yet stern voice. “We can’t call it that.” 

After a few moments of eating in silence, she started laughing again. “Steamy Sundays…”

Nanami had a barely visible smirk. Haibara’s brows furrowed. “Wait, wait, I don’t get it!”

She opened her mouth to explain, but Nanami changed the subject before they could ruin his dinner. “And if you’re going to be in my room every week, we have to set some rules.” 

“Fair enough,” she added, between sips of broth. 

“What are your terms?”

“Gojo can’t come.” 

Haibara and Y/N sat in silence for a moment. She blinked.

 “That’s it?” she asked, looking to Nanami for him to elaborate. 

Nanami remained passive. “Yes.”

“Great, I agree. None of the upperclassmen. They’re weird,” she said with a mouthful of noodles.

“I agree, they’re kind of mean,” Haibara interjected, ladling more from the hot pan into his bowl. Nanami watched, he was just as controlled and deliberate eating as he was in everything else in his life. Y/N was impressed, if not slightly envious. After a list of dish-washing rules that seemed a bit too long and specific to be improvised, the kids got back to casual conversation. 

An hour later, out in the hall, Gojo walked by with Geto, his brows furrowing when he heard raised voices and laughter behind Nanami’s door.

“Suguru, since when do the first years like each other?”

─── ･☆･ ───

March 2010 A motel somewhere outside of Oma, Japan

Shortly after 2:00 AM, Y/N snuck out of the motel room to smoke a cigarette. She’d stolen it out of Shoko’s purse that morning after finding out she’d been assigned on a mission with Gojo. After about 10 minutes of driving, she had regretted not swiping any of Shoko’s alcohol stash instead. Lord knows she had plenty. He, yelling in his sleep in the bed closest to the door, was shockingly easy to tiptoe past on her way out. Not one of his six eyes caught her. 

As she smoked, her eyes focused on the dreary parking lot in front of her, on a man sitting alone in his car. He just stared out his front windshield, his eyes unfocused and unfeeling. His loneliness gave her a rush of existential terror, chilling her much more than the night breeze. 

Who would Nanami talk to, in his absence? When he went on some angsty yet monotone rant of minor consequence, who would understand? The herbs at the grocery store would never be as fresh or fragrant as the ones on her bedroom window. 

She jumped as her phone buzzed in her pocket, quickly transferring the cig to her other hand and reaching for the device. Her eyes widened as read Nanami’s contact name. Her fingers fumbled for the “accept call” button, but the call dropped before she could achieve it.

“FUCK!” she yelled, throwing her cig to the ground. “Fuck, fuck fuck…” she started crying, her voice cracking as she stamped a foot into the concrete to get out her frustration.

 Looking up with a sigh, she made eye contact with the lonely man in his car, staring intently back at her. She blinked a few times, wiping her tears and stubbing out the cigarette beneath the heel of her boot and heading back into the motel room, making a beeline for the bathroom. After an agonizing minute of hyping herself up in the mirror over the dirty sink, she gained the will to call him back. The call dropped before the first ring. 

Gojo woke Y/N a few hours later by ripping the scratchy motel bed blanket off of her at four in the morning, having decided it was time to get back on the road. He spoke loudly for the entire six hours they had left in the car, not giving her a single moment to get more sleep. She blinked at him slowly through most of it, nodding lazily as he passionately explained his ranking of Britney’s songs. He had a lot to say, apparently, and a captive audience, so he was making the most of it. 

As they approached Sapporo, she found herself annoyed with the brightness of the sun on snow, the repetitive pop songs on the radio, and, most importantly, the lack of connection on her phone. Finally giving up on receiving a text from Nanami or anyone who had information about Nanami or maybe an email notification alerting her of his sudden resignation, she put the phone in her purse, fishing around for her eyeshadow compact. She smudged a slightly sparkling brown pigment onto her eyelids with her pointer finger. 

Gojo side-eyed her and laughed. “You gonna scare the cursed spirits away with your raccoon cosplay?”

“I wish I had a gun.” She corrected her posture, turning slowly to him with an angry expression. 

“And what would you do out here in the cold with no driver?”

“Get some fucking peace and quiet.”

He hummed at that one, nodding with a slight smirk. He took a turn onto a side street, passing an ice-covered playground.

 “Aww, that’s so cute.” Y/N mused. It must’ve jogged Gojo’s memory.

 “Oh! That reminds me. Ten kindergarteners and their teacher were found mutilated a block away from school around 1:00 PM last week.”`

Her jaw dropped at his sudden mission briefing. 

“Sorry, what?” 

“Recess,” He explained. “They were walking to a nearby playground.”

“The location wasn’t really what struck me, dumbass.”

“You can’t still be shocked at the deaths of random people.” 

“I am when you mention it out of the blue like you’re reminding yourself to pick up dry cleaning,” She said, some chills going down her spine as they approached the site of the murders. She sighed, even a first-year would be able to detect these levels of cursed energy. She had a pit in her stomach since they’d crossed the town line. “Is it a special grade… or just multiple…”

“Well, that’s what we’re here to find out, hm?”

They got out of the car at the mostly empty school. Gojo snooped around the halls while she walked into a front office to speak to a traumatized front-desk worker, who had been the last to see the children and their teacher, all holding onto a rainbow rope and walking single file toward the park down the street to play in the snow. Y/N sat in front of the young woman, who loosened up when she found they were both 19, and they both wanted to be teachers. Y/N held one of the girl’s hands in her lap as she sat in the chair next to her, feeling a bit guilty. Her kindness had an ulterior motive. As the girl spoke, Y/N meddled with her threads at her side, her empty hand sorting through them. Her hand paused on a red one that was slowly fading into silver, getting a rush of deep love and grief, realizing this was the connection between the front desk worker and the teacher. She sighed, knowing the red end would eventually give way to silver, as all threads between living and dead do. The teacher wasn’t a person or a soul anymore, just an object, a mutilated corpse. 

“And it was… their blood was deep red in the snow, like whoever did this couldn’t care less about leaving a trace… and still they can’t find them…” The girl cried, feeling overwhelmed by the different rushes of an emotion she was getting each time Y/N touched one of the threads. She watched the threads out of the corner of her eye, not daring to look down at them, instead making soft eye contact with the girl as she described her suffering. Several gold family connections, a few pink friendships, some blue acquaintances, only one maroon thread of hatred (good for her). The girl held many people in her heart. 

Finally, she grasped the thread she was looking for, a deep, inky black, twisted and coiled unnaturally, the culmination of all of her fears at the present moment, connected unknowingly to the cursed spirit who’d killed her friend and her students. Y/N moved quickly onto the next threads, trying not to let the cursed connection harm her or the girl in front of her, and she was shocked to find two more threads, some thicker and more twisted, all of them cursed. She made a mental note of this, answering her previous question. They were going to have to exorcise multiple cursed spirits, and the residuals told her none of them were below grade 2. 

Wrapping one of the black cords around her finger, she said her goodbyes and condolences to the girl, going to find Gojo so they could follow the connection to their target. A chill went down her spine, a deep pain in her wrist from touching a curse’s thread, but she shook it off, focusing on balancing the energy and expelling it when it got too much. 

─── ･☆･ ───

October 2007 Niigata, Japan

Two years ago, if Y/N touched a cursed thread, she could barely last a few minutes. Some combination of malicious intent and composition made curse connections malignant to her, taking parts of her soul and turning them to rot. It often took hours for her to fully recover. 

When Geto killed his family and proclaimed to the modern jujutsu world and the KFC about his genocidal utopia, the higher-ups assigned their newly secured curse GPS to find him. She had just started calling him Suguru, after being sent on a few missions with him, when he left. Her thread with him had finally started to turn pink, but when she finally dared to look at it after his defection, she realized it had turned black. It seemed he knew his fellow student’s technique, its limitations, enough to elude it. After her third attempt at tracking the curse-user landed her in Shoko’s hospital for a week, the higher-ups proposed another method. 

She tried nearly everyone at the school’s connection with Geto before landing on Gojo despite knowing there was deep cruelty in using his. Unfortunately for both of them, Gojo’s thread with Geto was the only one that hadn’t turned to rot. The higher-ups suspected it was due to Gojo’s superior ability, but she wondered if the inability was more emotional than physical. Either way, they sent her and Gojo on a search mission later that evening. 

She held the thread between her fingers. It was flickering between red and maroon like light through water, waves of one color washing over the other. Over and over, somewhere between love and hate. She tried not to feel the weight of it, the connection between their souls, forcing herself to stare forward at the back of Ijichi’s head and not at the white haired boy beside her. She wondered how he carried something so heavy. He was the strongest, but she’d seen his hand shake as he buckled his seatbelt. Feeling Gojo’s emotion was like seeing your parents cry for the first time and realizing they were people too. And he was—wasn’t he? She’d never considered him that way.

“Left at this light,” She called softly to the front seat, her voice thick. Tears pricked her eyes like needles, filling her ducts like gushing blood that she struggled to blink away. She hated the threads in moments like these. The tactile empathy, the intrusion on others’ vulnerability. It was overwhelming to say the least, like each one was taut, trying to pull her ribs through her chest. Jesus, if it feels like this for me, then for Gojo, it must—

“I’ll do anything for you to make it stop.” The eighteen-year-old blurted. She was forced to look at him, immediately catching how his dark glasses still couldn’t cover the redness of his eyes, and his tears glistened in the light of a street lamp. Ijichi stopped for gas and was paying the attendant in the window behind him when Gojo moved his face back into her line of vision, repeating himself, more like an order. “Make it stop.” 

Y/N wished she could. She’d tried to cut a string once. Moving to Japan to study was exciting, but after a while, Y/N started feeling the stress of missing her friends from home. They weren’t incredibly close to begin with. Her strange disposition made it difficult to keep relationships of any kind for longer than a few months. After months and months of unanswered letters, emails, texts, and phone calls, Y/N accepted the fact that her last friend from home would be added to the ongoing list of failed connections when she started at Jujutsu High. There was no way to explain this change to someone who didn’t even care to send a half hearted reply. 

Her first week there, she knew the torture of watching her friend’s end of the string fade from a champagne to gray, while her end glowed like a neon pink bar sign until it all faded to gray so light, it was almost white. Watching it change had cut something so deep within her that she wondered how anything had reached that far back. Most have the luxury of mourning the death of a relationship, only seeing the end. She watched their feelings for her die in real time, wanting so badly to stop it, but didn’t know how. Grabbing scissors from under mounds of junk in the back of a drawer, she tried to cut through the cord, but no matter how fiercely she sawed, it remained unscathed. 

She was so used to thumbing through gray and maroon threads that pulled from her, that when Haibara Yu struck up a conversation with her the next morning, she was stunned to see a new string form. A powdery pink, like the walls of a baby’s room. 

There was only one other time since then that she’d wished she could pluck a string from herself and let it drift through the wind to the ground, like the string of a web. It felt like every other string she had dimmed after the incident.

Her vision unblurred, and she remembered where she was, frowning at the white-haired boy next to her in the backseat. She nodded to Gojo, blood hammering throughout her as she sniffed, realizing she was crying too and there was nothing she could do to take away the feeling. She got out of the car, ran toward the grass, and emptied her stomach, her body convulsing in a way that felt like an exorcism. A frazzled Ijiichi ran over to her, and through the ringing in her ears, she heard him on the phone with Yaga. The principal, being new at his job and struggling to disconnect from his students, told them to come home. They’d been searching for thirteen hours, and the thread never got thicker or more taut. Geto, it seemed, just kept on moving. 

Two days later, they were sent off looking for him again. It was the first time she’d ever seen Gojo wear a blindfold. 

─── ･☆･ ─── March 2010 Sapporo, Japan

Y/N could see her breath in the cold Sapporo air as she and Gojo followed the cursed threads, weaving in and out of alleys and side streets for a mile and a half. 

Gojo, as usual, broke the silence as they walked through a crosswalk, making sure his steps only landed on the thick strips of white paint on the pavement. “I can sense the residuals enough to get us the rest of the way… since I know that shit makes you pass out and throw up and cry and—”

“I’m not that weak anymore,” She grumbled, weaving the black thread between her fingers over and over. “It’s like a wave going up and down, as long as I keep the energy above and below a certain amplitude, it's more sustainable…”

Gojo interrupted her with a groan. “Are you seriously using wave mechanics to explain controlling cursed energy to me, Gojo Satoru, the strong—

“Motherfucker, you use imaginary numbers to explain your technique to children who can barely do long division. Please shut up,” She took a breath, reining in her annoyance before speaking again. “I just have to not grip it so hard, or touch it with the same finger for too long, and I can go for about two hours.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean that’s it?”

“I could go for hours…” he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Y/N glared and shoved him hard enough to make him stumble sideways.

“Can you even see the threads, fuckwad?” He didn’t respond. They just kept walking side by side. “Six eyes my ass…”

“I can sense them when you touch them like anyone else can…”

“Gojo Satoru… like anyone else… in the same sentence?” she said, grabbing the thread again to confirm they were on the right route, feeling a jolt of energy in her forearm that felt like she’d pulled a muscle. “Don’t get used to it.”

They came up on an open lot bordered by dead trees; the “for sale” sign at the front of the property had begun rotting around the edges, but still stood, albeit crookedly. The ruins of a barn sat in the back corner of the lot. There wasn't an air of cursed energy, or a cloud of purple and black flames that signified the presence of a curse like usual. 

“You think they’re in there?” Gojo asked.

“String leads that way. It’s worth a shot.” Y/N stepped through the snow, Gojo following in the holes her boots left behind (ever the gentleman), the string more taut with each step. It got thicker as well, until it was more like a guitar string or yarn, with multiple little threads twisting around the others so tightly, they looked like one. Even without the strings, the presence of cursed energy felt more imminent the closer she got. It seeped out from the rotting planks and broken boards of the shack. “It’s gotta be in here.” 

Gojo wanted to comment that a two-year-old could have told him that, but after seeing the look of determination on her face, like a hunting animal, he bit his tongue. Sure enough, as he took a few more chilling steps in over a foot of snow, the shed began to shake. 

She stumbled back a bit, steadying her feet as the ground started to shake too, and three cursed spirits, each the size of a compact car, emerged from the barn. Before she could even get a clear visual on them, the largest spirit’s hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her up into the air, throwing her so that she landed in a pile of fresh snow. She coughed a bit, quickly sitting up and looking for Gojo, who was laughing loudly, making no move to try and help her. 

“Motherfucker!”

Gojo sighed, a grin on his lips, stretching one of his arms across his chest. “They look like Togepi!”

She couldn’t respond, her focus shifting to the curses barreling toward her. Just a second before they reached her, she reached above her head for a thick red thread, presumably between dedicated spouses who were across town from one another, and pulled herself up into the air, dodging their attacks. Naturally preferring the high ground, she perched herself on the cross section of five or six threads like a spider on its web, looking down on her opponents from about thirty feet in the air. They did look like Togepi—big egg-shaped monsters with short, stubby legs holding up their oddly green bodies, as if they were made of skin just beginning to rot. Her eyes shifted to Gojo, who stood on the ground, walls of snow stopping a few inches in front of him as the Togepi kicked up the powder and chunks of ice with their thundering footsteps. She scoffed as she wrapped a few of the thicker, yarn-like connections around a few of her fingers.  “Are you going to help?”

As she watched his shoulders shrug, she understood that he was testing her. She groaned, quickly getting to work. Her soul connection thread-world had become an underutilized wealth of battle possibilities over time. Because her tracking ability was deemed more useful by the higher-ups, she often went on missions just to locate a curse or curse-user for another sorcerer before getting back in the car and going home, or on another mission. Still, she had to follow the first-grade nomination system like anybody else, so she was finally able to show off some of those useless techniques she and Yaga developed. 

For the first Togepi, she decided on a simple lasso technique, using one of the looser threads that was wrapped around her thumb to circle the bumbling curse. She pulled it tight, using all of her strength to throw it across the field, skewering it on a nearby pine. It promptly disappeared, exorcized, and she tilted her head, humming as if she’d read an interesting fun fact online. That was easy. 

The next two proved a bit more difficult. She tried to lasso them, just like their fallen friend, but they moved too quickly for it to work. Climbing back toward the ground, she used two of the threads she had wrapped around her fingers to trip both of them, buying herself some time as she tried to come up with a plan. Nothing useful came to mind, so she resorted to a plan that was stupid, and perhaps childish, but was better than no plan at all. She grabbed the thread between her and Gojo, watching him freeze as he felt the pulse of their connection and yelled, “Don’t move!”

She then ran in large circles around the Togepi that managed to get up and chased after her. It would’ve been great to have an idea of what to do rather than just run around and hope it stays between her and Gojo. She lucked out. Y/N began closing the loop, circling back towards Gojo, sliding under the thread, and popping back up to continue running. Yanking, the thread pulled taut and trapped the Togepi’s arms to its body. She looped around it a few more times, securing it as a band around its body, but not tight enough to cut. The curse groaned and wiggled, only able to move its meager head around in desperation. When she was satisfied, she imbued it with her cursed energy and pulled the string. It sliced through the curse’s body, leaving it in uneven strips on the ground. 

“Oooh.” Gojo mused from the side of the field, just as useless as when the fight began. After the less-than-efficient idea she’d scraped together, Y/N couldn't figure out what to do with the last curse. It had rolled a little, back and forth, before making its way onto its feet while she was tying up its friend. At this point, her body was exhausted, her mind more so, and the reflection of the sun, though not hot enough to melt the snow, reflected off the icy crystals, giving Y/N the beginnings of a headache. Each step of her feet required more and more effort, and doing all of it in the snow added a layer of difficulty she hadn't considered before showing up.

She dodged its attacks, its movements slowing as much as hers, but it certainly wouldn't be pleasurable to be caught by its swing. Its claws weren't sharp enough to kill her in one go, but she imagined a 16-hour car ride home with Gojo and an injury to be hellish. What could she do to finish this thing off? She didn't have anything sharp enough to pierce it, and grabbing the strings was just as draining emotionally as it was physically. It fucks with your head to feel every feeling you have for someone in the midst of a life or death situation. Especially with a grade one promotion on the line if she survived. 

Y/N had to get out of her head, even though it meant feeling every inch of her skin and the muscles straining underneath it. The Togepi swung at her, missing her stomach barely, and on its backswing, it flung up a cloud of powdery snow. It rained down over Y/N, now making her cold, damp, and still trying to take down one curse. 

“Are you done yet?” Gojo called from the side, kicking at piles of snow. 

She wished she had the mental capacity to think of a taunt biting enough to shut him up, but she was still trying to figure out how to exorcise the mass barreling towards her. “This would go faster if you helped!” She yelled back, grabbing at a grey string (she wasn't quite sure which of her things it was attached to) and tried to run at an angle away from the Togepi, making the string slice into its sides. She just couldn't get to the other side of it. 

Gojo groaned, like a child who had been asked to wash the dishes. He pushed his glasses up his nose when Y/N got the idea. If she didn't want to feel anything, she could just make Gojo do the emotional work for her. It wasn't very kind, but it would get the job done. They had 16 hours to fight about it on the way home. 

She ran as fast as she could straight towards Gojo, her thighs burning from having to pick her feet up so high to move through the mounds of ice and snow. The Togepi followed behind, wobbling slightly as its bare feet landed on the slick ice coating the grass. 

“Glasses!” She yelled and reached out towards Gojo’s face. Rather than let down his infinity, Gojo decided to make her life a little harder, as always. “Magic word…” he chided, grabbing them from his face by the bridge and holding them out over Y/N’s waiting palm. The Togepi would soon close the distance and she didn't have time for this bullshit. If it made its way over, she’d be thrown into the nearest tree, and Gojo would be fine. 

“Fuck you.” She said, grabbing at them rather than waiting for him to drop them. Then, she turned towards the charging curse and hurled them over its head. It paused, looking up to watch the arc of the glasses as it sailed through the sky. Before they landed, Y/N reached out and grabbed the string between Gojo and the glasses, cutting a hole right through the curse. 

It stopped, wailing desperately, unsure of how to proceed. If it moved to either side, the string would cut through its flesh, but moving backwards was almost impossible with the ice situation. So it charged forward. 

“That was cute, but I'm bored,” Gojo said and flicked his fingers, causing the Togepi to explode. Its purple remains that weren't quite flesh or blood splattered across the snow in every direction. That unfortunately included where Y/N stood panting next to Gojo, who didn't care to extend his infinity to her as well.

“Ugh…” she said, wiping her face and flicking what came off into the snow in front of her.

 “Alright, time to head home!” Gojo said, turning and walking back to the sidewalk to head to the car. Y/N followed, having to run slightly to match his pace. Curse his lanky ass legs. 

“Can you slow down? I'm exhausted.” She complained, still swiping blood and flesh off of her skin. 

“If I had helped, it wouldn't really be a test.” Gojo said, and unfortunately, he was right. It was a bit embarrassing that in the moment, Y/N couldn't finish the job and had to rely on Gojo to help. Even though they were new friends (if one could call them that at this point), it would take some getting used to. Being proud of his power rather than jealous. It's also not easy being friends with someone who reminds you of yourself, especially when they have the same flaws as you. 

It was as if Gojo read her mind, or perhaps had come to the same conclusion she had. They'd have to work at this “friends” thing. “They should let you fight more often. You're not bad.” 

─── ･☆･ ───

March 2010 JUJU STROLL!

Y/N followed behind Gojo as he sauntered into the gas station to pay. She passed through the aisles, picking up a few bags of chips, a bag of candy, and a bottle of water along the way. As she made her way up to the counter where Gojo was paying for gas, she placed her things in front of the cashier.

“You’ve got this too, right Satoru?” she asked, stepping aside before he could argue. In reality, even if she tried to pay, her card might decline. She was drowning in student loan debt to the higher-ups. Gojo smiled, not offended in the least, and continued his chat with the attendant. Before Y/N walked out to the car, she noticed a Lady Gaga CD for sale at the register.

“Oh my God.” she said. At that, Gojo looked up to see what she was so excited about. 

“Oh, is that Lady Gaga?” he asked, leaning his whole torso sideways to see what she was seeing.

She held it in her hands, turning it over to look at the song list on the back. “We’re getting it,” she decided, shoving it into his hands. 

“But I only know like 2 songs…” Gojo whined, handing it back to her. 

“I’ll pay for it, this is important.” she said and handed a few bills to the gas station attendant for the CD then started walking out. Gojo looked back at her and did a double take when he realized she was leaving. He quickly grabbed everything in his hands and jogged after her.

“Are you seriously going to make me listen to that whole album?” he complained, slouching over with his hands hanging in front of his body, swaying as he walked with his head lolling from side to side with each step. 

“It’ll be good for you.” Y/N said, pulling open her door and slipping into her seat. “It’s my American culture.” 

Gojo all but threw Y/N's snacks at her as she popped the CD into the stereo. She immediately started skipping through songs, looking for one in particular. “I thought we were listening to the whole thing.” Gojo said, starting the car and pulling back onto the road.

“You’re listening to Summerboy first. And you’re gonna fucking like it.”

Y/N must’ve been the first person to enter that day, the lights unlit save for the candle flickering in its blood red glass holder at the front of the room by the tabernacle. Red light washing over the sides of the golden box, supposed to signify Christ’s presence in the chapel. She wasn’t so sure. Shadows stretched from the pillars lining the aisle over the pews, giving the dark wood a sinister shine where the light just barely reached the grain.

She dipped her two fingers into the font, the holy water oddly freezing as she pressed it to her forehead, sternum, and shoulders. It felt ridiculous to follow the customs after years outside of the church, but it would feel worse, disrespectful, if she had ignored it entirely.

Her mother would’ve been disappointed.

At the front of the church, Y/N stared up at the crucifix. The darkness cast a shadow across the Lord’s face, leaving him an expressionless body, hunched in agony. As a child, Y/N remembered glancing at his face, finding it odd, how at peace he looked. She wondered how he’d put so much faith in something that most couldn’t see. That he’d die for it, trusting to find salvation past the grave.

Y/N almost scoffed. Surely if there were something after death, she wouldn’t have felt like her mother was standing over her shoulder at every turn. Watching as she continued to live the life she’d been scorned for. It haunted her more than the grief itself. For the past month, she’d been living with an observer.

Ironically, she never felt more alone as she stood in the church. Y/N took it as a sign that she was finally doing what her mother had wanted. She glanced around the space, ensuring no one was watching before genuflecting and entering a pew. The kneeler fell against the stone floor with a sharp crack.

Slowly, she dropped to her knees, wiping her hands against her pants to rid them of sweat before pressing them together, her wrists resting against the back of the pew in front of her. The air she breathed was sharp in her lungs and the kneeler felt like rock, adding to the discomfort of returning to such a vulnerable time in her life.

But she sat for longer than she’d ever wanted, unsure how to start her prayer. How was she supposed to speak to someone she didn’t believe in? And if she prayed to her mother, she wasn’t sure she’d listen. It wasn’t like she’d get a response either way.

“Are you alright?”

A voice echoed through the cavernous arches, so much so that Y/N wasn’t sure where it came from. She turned to glance behind her, letting her hands fall from her own grasp, settling them on her knees as she sat back.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

A man stood behind her, dressed in black dress pants and dark jacket, his hands shoved into the pockets. Y/N was annoyed that someone had interrupted her wandering thoughts, meaning it’d take longer for her to mutter out her apology of a prayer. She’d avoided it until she couldn’t, and as soon as she actually committed, she was interrupted. It must’ve been a sign.

“It’s fine,” she said, a little too shortly to say to a stranger. The man approached, his shoes clicking against the stone. He pulled his long shaggy hair back, revealing a stack of silver earrings along each ear. She didn’t miss the way his veins bulged slightly from the backs of his hands. He tied his hair back into two spiky buns and sat in the pew across the aisle. 

He sat for a bit, staring forward, ignoring the fact that she hadn’t returned her hands to their praying position, still resting back against her heels.

“May I ask what brought you here so late?” the man asked, still looking forward, as if uninterested.

“Probably the same thing that brought you,” she said, giving up on her prayer and sitting back, lifting the kneeler with the toe of her shoe until it clicked into place. The man chuckled.

“I don’t mean to pry. I can tell when I’m not wanted. But may I at least ask your name?”

She wasn’t sure why, but she told him. His relaxed look and nonchalance sated her discomfort. The man looked over at her and nodded, his eyes half lidded, like he was bored, or high. “Choso,” he said.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well.”    

She considered leaving. Giving the space to Choso so he could do what he wanted. It wasn’t like she could after 10 minutes of trying to get a word out in her own mind. She tapped her fingers against her knees, debating the best way to get out without disturbing him. She stood.

“Well, I’ll leave you to–”

“Please, stay. You’re not bothering me.” His voice was too kind to turn down. 

Y/N sat back down, the wood creaking underneath her. 

“Am I bothering you?” he asked. 

She shook her head, frustration growing. “You’re certainly not interrupting.”

Choso quirked an eyebrow and chuckled softly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m not really doing anything here so I might as well just get out of your way and quit trying to be something I’m not.”

“I don’t mean to rush you out.”

“Jesus, man, I just want to be alone.” She regretted spitting it out. In a church no less. Y/N groaned and pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” 

Y/N removed her hands and watched as Choso stood and sat next to her. There was a tingling inside of her, but she couldn’t tell if she was nervous because she didn’t know him or because she wanted him to change that.

“I just…” she said, staring down at her feet, wishing tears would finally fall after weeks of being unable to. “I feel a little lost is all.”

Choso didn’t press. He just nodded and looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap.

“Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head. “Not unless you can get God to answer.”

To her surprise, he laughed, his head thrown back and his shoulders shaking. It was a smooth sound, finding the sudden urge to hear it again. Y/N couldn’t help but stare at his neck. And the square of white that peaked out from under his jacket.

“Oh, fuck me,” she said, groaning.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the priest.”

Choso nodded. “I’m not sure about the priest, but yes. I am a priest. Is that a problem?”

“No, I’m just sitting here talking to myself in the dark and the one person who finds me is the one who knows exactly how to do what I’ve been trying to do.”

His brow quirked, his hands still clasped in his lap. “And what have you been trying to do?”

Y/N smiled for the first time since she walked in. “I’m not really sure.”

─── ･☆･ ───

By the time Saturday came, Y/N had convinced herself to return to the church. As soon as she stepped out of the building, the lingering feeling of guilt returned, hovering over her head even when she thought about attending mass. If it was her mother, it seemed she wasn’t satisfied. Maybe because it was Choso who had convinced her to go.

So she walked through the large doors, propped open to welcome in parishioners for the evening service. Part of her dreaded it, the same part that spent nights staring into the ceiling asking God why he’d let bad things happen to her, only to be told it was part of his plan. That she had deserved it in some way.

Now, she lay awake wondering why her guilt had returned only after her mother’s funeral when she’d been able to tuck it away before. And the way she remembered her conversation with Choso didn’t help. She’d never understood the “father what-a-waste” jokes until she watched him look at her and she felt like he was reading her soul. Not to fault her for her disbelief, but curious about it. Like something he could hold in his hands, raise over his head, and murmur a prayer to.

She should have stayed home or come back when no one else was there, but instead, she blessed herself again with holy water and sat in a pew towards the middle of the church. Her mother shunned those who sat in the front for being righteous and those in the back for being lazy, ignoring the fact that the family that sat in the front all had hearing aids and those in the back had small children, having to make multiple trips to the bathroom and family room.

The mass began with its procession, the organ at the back of the church blaring out notes that made her bones shake. Y/N opened the hymnal to the right page, but didn’t bother trying to sing along, instead watching the back of Choso’s head as he processed down the aisle. She sat and stood and knelt and stood and muttered out the prayers, coming back to her like her old favorite song. She thought about the million other things she’d rather do that day: get groceries, return her books to the library, start that new show she’d been eyeing for a while.

Instead, she was spending an hour of her life in the pew of a church that she’d separated herself from, all because she felt she owed it to her mother. Maybe the presence she felt wasn’t guilt at all, or her mother, but her conscience, finally making itself known years later, telling her that she’d been wrong. That her mother was right. That faith would fix everything. As much as she wanted to believe that, she remained a skeptic.

Nothing caught her attention in particular, until the cadence of Choso’s speech faltered. Just for a second. Y/N focused, seeing him looking directly at her from where he stood in the aisle, having wandered down the path as he gave his homily. He continued speaking, but his eyes remained on hers for a moment too long, the corners of his lips pulled into a smile.

The attention made her stomach warm, and she couldn’t help but grin back. She let herself zone out again, only making herself pay attention as the couple in front of her stood and lined up to receive communion. Shuffling her feet forward, Y/N followed as the line sluggishly continued forward, her eyes at the shoulders of the man in front of her. 

She debated whether she still deserved to take communion or if she should cross her arms over her chest, receive her blessing, and leave. As a baby she’d been baptised, spending every weekend being told her outfit was too casual, that she should sit up straighter, that she sang too loud. Every week her mother found something different to critique about her, arguing that her nitpicking would only help Y/N get closer to God. The thousands of comments cycled through her mind, bringing up each memory from years of churchgoing until she stopped at the feet of Choso.

Y/N was suddenly nervous, as if it were her first communion all over again. But she wasn’t a child in a scratchy white dress with shoes too small and a veil that kept blowing into her face. She’d done this hundreds of times and had no lines to rehearse. Yet it felt like something new.

“The body of Christ,” Choso said, holding the small host up between them, his eyes locked on the small circle.

“Amen.” She lifted her hands to receive the host. Opening her mouth, she watched as Choso’s gaze followed the small wafer when she placed it on her tongue and closed her lips. His eyes remained on her mouth until she quickly turned and walked away.

After mass, she grabbed her things and followed the crowd exiting after the priest. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow through the trees lining the front of the church. She tried to leave without being seen, embarrassed about wanting to see him, to still be looking for something she was sure she didn’t believe in.

“There you are,” Choso’s voice was clear as she turned around, already on the second step down towards the parking lot. She turned around to see him, still in his long green vestments, looking at her the same way he had when they met, like she could do no wrong. Or had done no wrong.

“Hello Father,” she said, walking back up the steps. Parishioners passed by, thanking Choso or ignoring him completely as they left, too busy to notice the way Y/N shifted on her feet. “Nice service… powerful…homily.”

“I’m surprised you remember it,” he said, a teasing lilt to his tone, like the one her high school friends used with her. She looked confused.

“What do you mean?”

“It just seemed like there was something else on your mind is all,” Choso said. It wasn’t accusatory or shaming. He seemed amused while Y/N was humiliated that he had noticed her throughout the mass. Before she could come up with some pathetic excuse, he spoke again.

“If there’s something on your mind you can always talk to me about it.”

“What if I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, sheepishly.

He smiled and grabbed Y/N’s hands, holding them in his like she was water. “You can still talk to me.”

─── ･☆･ ───

Y/N returned to the church every weekend. She sat in the same pew when it was available, took communion, and found a way to stall and be the last person to leave, only to inevitably be caught by Father Kamo. They had polite conversation, standing outside of the church for close to an hour every time.

Sometimes he’d leave to undress, returning in his clerical shirt and roman collar. Y/N would be lying if she said he didn’t look good as he rolled up his sleeves, his attention rapt as she spoke. Sometimes he’d invite her to sit inside the church and talk, taking his time to walk her to her car after. It went on for about 2 months until Y/N felt comfortable enough to show up during the week like Choso had been asking her to do for weeks.

They’d become genuine friends, or at least as close to friends they could be with Y/N watching each movement of his hands as he let his hair down. But he’d sat with her for countless hours, keeping the ghost on her shoulder at bay, at least until she left the church. When she couldn’t sleep, spending most nights mindlessly scrolling through her phone unable to drift back into her unnerving dreams, she’d drop by the church. Every time she knocked on the rectory door, Choso would answer with a lopsided smile, his eyes still half lidded with sleep. But he always answered.

At first, Y/N felt bad interrupting his nights, but he didn’t seem to mind. He’d open the door, usher her in, taking her bag and grabbing whatever he had in his fridge before dropping to the couch. It was strange to see him so casually. In his low slung sweatpants and worn t-shirts he wore to bed, like he knew just how badly Y/N wanted what she couldn’t have.

“What’d you bring tonight?” he asked, his fingers laced behind his head as he slumped into the cushions. Y/N sat next to him digging through her bag at her feet. “Half a bag of doritos, the last 3 cookies I made the other day, and…” she shuffled things around inside, “a fresh handle of tequila.”

Choso chuckled and grabbed the bottle from her hands. “Ohhhhh, nice. You should come over more often.”

Y/N face burned. She knew he didn’t mean it in a flirty way, but with his low tone and the way he looked at her when he said it, she couldn’t help but take it that way. Fiddling with the hem of her shirt, she cleared her throat and waited on the couch for Choso to return with glasses of ice and two cans of sprite.

“I hope this is okay, I haven’t been shopping in a while.” He said it as he dropped back down and began pouring tequila, offering Y/N her glass first. She accepted and took a sip, letting the burn of the shitty alcohol warm her throat. Liquid courage to hold out another night without jumping the man beside her as he manspread and threw his glass back, showing off his long neck. Or maybe it would be a catalyst, encouraging just that kind of behavior.

“So…” he said, setting his drink down on the side table and looking to her. “What brings you here tonight?”

Y/N chuckled. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“You say that every time.”

“And it’s true every time.”

Choso smirked, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “But it’s not the whole truth.”

“You know I’m never going to tell you that,” she said, smirking. Her body turned to him, one leg bent so her knee stuck out. The tequila would surely make her sleepy, so she leaned to the side and rested her head on the back of the couch. Choso’s gaze never left her.

“What if I told you something first?”

Y/N furrowed her brows, grinning wildly. “What do you have to tell me, Father?”

He leaned closer, whispering like he was telling a secret as he lowered his face to hers and stared at her intently. There was a second where Y/N couldn’t hear over the sound of her own heart pounding. “I guess you’ll just have to find out.”

God help her.

Y/N’s stomach burned and she was sure it wasn’t from the tequila, but she stood her ground, keeping her face close to Choso’s. In that moment she wondered why exactly she’d taken the path she did in life. Why didn’t she leave for the church earlier to pray? Why did she continue to return? What was it about Choso that made Y/N feel so comfortable around him? Was it his quiet friendliness and unobtrusive gentleness that invited her in, allowing her to open part of herself up that she closed when she watched her mother die.

He seemed like someone who understood. Deeply and truly. Y/N’s friends were good natured and tried to cheer her up, but nothing they said felt quite like the way Choso’s words made her feel. Like the conflict inside of her was natural, or that he didn’t judge her for holding onto as much hatred as she did, despite the empathy she had for her betrayers.

Maybe he was just a priest. Or maybe there was some being in the universe that handcrafted him for her. For this moment.

Choso’s eyes, a honey brown, didn’t falter as they looked into Y/N’s, his flitting side to side to look in each of hers individually. His breath was light, but Y/N felt it warm the air between them. She leaned back and grabbed her glass, snapping them both out of the tension that held them locked together. After taking a long sip, she set the glass back down and leaned back against the couch’s arm, ignoring the way the fabric scratched at her back.

“Fine. Tell me something.”

Choso turned and leaned back as well, playfully mimicking Y/N’s position. “What would you like to know?”

Y/N thought for a second, squinting her eyes and glancing off to the sides of the room. She hummed. “Why did you become a priest?”

It was his turn to turn and glance off as he thought.

“The way I was living wasn’t…sustainable.” With his words, the atmosphere shifted. Suddenly the air was heavier, the shadows more prominent and noteworthy than the lights cast around by various lamps. “I wasn’t really happy, but I kept trying to cover up my pain with vices. Parties, drugs, alcohol, sex. All of it just made me feel more and more like I was wasting away.”

Across the couch, Y/N remained quiet, her expression solemn as she listened.

“I got kicked out of the house. Didn’t get to pack or say goodbye to my brother. Just tossed out, and with nowhere to go, I ended up…” he motioned around him, “here.”

She was touched by his story, feeling tears warm her eyes. The same ones that wouldn’t fall when she looked her mother in the eyes once last time before she passed. But there was something that upset her. If someone could find comfort in religion, why couldn’t she? Everyone else, it seemed, found God to be a comforting presence, but no matter how hard she tried, it felt like she was speaking to nothing. It didn’t feel fair that in her worst, she didn’t have a God to go to for help.

Lost in thought, Y/N forgot to keep her facial expression sympathetic. 

Choso chuckled. “You look confused.”

Y/N snapped her head up. “I’m really glad you found a way out of that situation. I just…” she stared into the couch. “I just don’t understand why you believe in a god that lets such bad things happen to you in the first place.”

Rather than getting upset or judgemental, Choso nodded as if she’d made a good point. “I believe that he truly is a father. Parents bring their children into this world knowing bad things will happen to their child and knowing they can’t do anything about it. Yet they still sacrifice their…” he gestured with his hands like he couldn’t find the word. “Emotional comfort, we’ll say. Just to see their child go through the world. They choose to experience the anxiety that comes with that love.”

Y/N was enraptured by his speech. The way he spoke like a professor, not a prophet. Offering theory based in empathy rather than fact.

“I think God gave us free will, the ability to experience bad, to experience good, all of it, because that’s what every parent wants for their child.”

“So you think God gets anxiety?”

Choso chuckled and took a sip from his new drink, swiping at the bead that remained on his lips once the glass was pulled from his mouth. He sucked it gently off his thumb.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. We are made in his image.”

“Maybe he drinks Sprite and tequila too.”

He smirked. “Maybe.”

For a beat, they sat in silence, Y/N too focused on returning the lazy grin Choso shot her to change the subject.

“Your turn,” he said, lacing his hands once again behind his head, the shadow of his muscles exaggerated by the dim lighting. Y/N rolled her eyes. 

“Do I have to?”

Choso shook his head gently. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I feel vulnerable just thinking about it,” she said and threw her drink back. After draining the glass, she held it out to Choso. She smiled sheepishly.

“Is it a sin if I ask you to make me another, Father?”

Leaning forward, he chuckled, already grabbing the half empty sprite and the bottle of tequila. “That’s not a sin, but you calling me that should be.”

─── ･☆･ ───

For a month, every time Y/N ran into Choso, they resumed their regular conversation, with him not once pushing for her to confess what she’d agreed to admit that night. She came by at night a few times, bringing homemade goods and alcohol, even convincing him to hook up his old Wii U to the TV and play until way too late into the morning.

Until Y/N woke from a nightmare, sweating and panting, tears blurring the vision that came to her slowly with her transition from dreams to reality. His hands were on her again, gripping her in places she’d tried to keep covered from that day on. Her breathing was stifled, her tears hot on her cheeks as she cried, trying to keep silent, trying to fake pleasure. But the feeling of violation coated her skin.

She scrambled out of bed, pulling her shorts lower down her legs and crossing her arms over her chest to cover her shoulders as she ran to the bathroom. The fizzing sounds of the shower calmed her breaths, only really feeling relief once she was under the warm spray of water. It ran over her face, through her hair, soaking her clothes, blocking out any sound that wasn’t the roar of water in her ears.

For minutes she stood, hands tapping at her shoulders, face stretched up like the water was sunlight. It washed the panic from her system, giving her the control to steer her mind out of the memory and into the present.

She opened her eyes and looked down at herself. Another long night. 

Y/N stripped herself and took her time in lathering her body scrubs over her skin, relishing in the tingling of her palms as she rubbed, using her favorite body wash as an excuse to run her hands over her skin and take in the sensation.

As she finished up, she turned off the water, shaking off excess water and wrapped her towel around her snugly. She changed into a new set of pajamas: a large shirt and wide leg sweatpants. Sleep was out of the question, so Y/N looked through her pantry, grabbed a half eaten tray of oreos and snatched her keys from the counter as she left her apartment.

When Choso opened the door to the rectory, he could tell something was different, not offering a sly comment about not being able to wait to see him. His easy grin dropped almost immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Y/N said, shouldering her way past him to get in. She’d come for comfort and attention, but as soon as she knew Choso wanted to help, she shut it away, looking for distraction from the pain rather than salvation.

Choso still stood at the door as she sat on the same side of the couch she usually did, not trying to hide her bad mood. “Of course not,” he said. He walked to the couch, standing in front of Y/N with crossed arms as he stared down at her.

“What?” she asked, handing him the packet of oreos. Choso’s eyes didn’t move as he grabbed the packet and tossed it aside, listening to it hit the ground.

“No. You don’t get to play coy with me right now. I’ve been patient but right now you clearly want attention and I’m giving it to you. So don’t act like a brat. What’s wrong?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, despite getting exactly what she wanted. She never really learned how to tell other she needed to talk about something. But Choso was the first to not let her get away with it.

“Would it be easier to do this if you couldn’t see me?” he asked, his tone gentler than before. Y/N nodded, expecting Choso to stand behind her or toss her a shirt and tell her to blindfold herself. Instead, he walked to the door, opening it and grabbing his keys.

“Where are we–”

“Come on,” he said, gesturing his head out the door. “Let’s go.”

Y/N didn’t ask questions. She just followed him into the night, holding onto the hand he held back to her as he led her with his phone flashlight up the church at the other end of the block. His hand was big and warm in hers, but his grip was restrained.

He unlocked the back entrance, pulling Y/N after him and leading her through the sacristy, past the altar, and into the aisles. Choso didn’t stop until he reached the back of the church, leading Y/N almost silently through the aisles towards the confessional booth. At the doors, he stopped, opening one of them and ushering Y/N in. Like he was her boyfriend opening her car door.

She shot him a defiant look, but conceded, stepping into the booth and taking a seat. He closed the door in front of her, leaving her in near darkness save for the moonlight streaming in through the stained glass into the church through the little holes in the door.

Y/N listened as the other door was opened and shut, Choso sighing as he sat down.

“Alright,” he said. “Talk.”

“Bless me father for I have sinned, it’s been–”

“No, not like that,” he said. “I’m not here to absolve you of anything. Just… talk.”

Y/N took a deep breath and paused, building courage. “I had…” she sighed frustrated, acting like an annoyed teenager being forced to admit what made her late to curfew. She debated telling a lie, but knew she shouldn’t. It shouldn’t have been so hard for her to spit it out. “I just had a nightmare.”

“What was it about?” Choso had never been so stern with her, but it made something in Y/N burn.

“I don’t really want to tell you.”

Choso huffed a fake laugh. “That’s too bad.”

His dominance made Y/N breathe faster, a mix of surprise and need making her head light. She knew he wasn’t being harsh, and this was exactly the push she needed, so she leaned into it, knowing the only way out was through.

“It was about my ex boyfriend.”

“What about your ex boyfriend?”

Her chest was heavy and her stomach churning with the memories that immediately flashed before her. It built the anger she was taking out on Choso. Choso, who was willing to accept it and throw it back to her to get her to finally spill.

“He disrespected me.”

“How?”

She was furious, her skin tingling with the urge to scream and throw shit until the room was demolished. “He never listened to me. Ever. He didn’t care what I wanted or what I didn’t or who I was.”

Y/N paused, catching her breath and her thoughts as thousands flitted by, trying to make sense of them flooding in all at once. Choso didn’t push.

“He made me feel like something to be used and discarded when I got too much. Too sad, too angry, too different from what he wanted me to be. Some fucking sex doll house wife that lives to serve him and desert my ambitions to feed his ego.”

She was ranting, her tears still unable to boil over as she yelled into the darkness.

“And when he–” she choked, her throat closed up, burning with the strain of speaking through it. “When he touched me I wanted to die. He’d just keep asking and asking and asking until I gave in. And I’d stare at the ceiling wondering why I felt like it was my fault.”

It felt horrible to say. To let it pour out of her as her throat tried to close itself off and keep it in. But it was a pain that felt good. Choso was silent on the other side of the divider, his shadow from the moonlight too faint to make out against the wooden screen. 

“I might as well confess to everything,” Y/N said. It would’ve sounded like she was joking if she weren’t so angry. “My mom shamed me for that relationship. Didn’t give me any sympathy when I finally made it out, so we fought, and I left the church. She fucking hated that I did that.”

Y/N chuckled, and Choso let out a sharp breath in response.

She continued. “She told me God would help me through it if I offered my pain up to him. But he wasn’t there when I was begging to die, so I thought, ‘why would I turn to him now?’”

A hot tear rolled down her cheek, forming at her jawline before cooling in the night air and falling into her lap. It felt like a miracle. 

“But now she’s dead and instead of relieved I just feel guilty. And jealous that other people have a god they can go to that makes them feel better. They don’t have to sit here and become this angry, broken, nomad that’s always leaving. Because they get someone who they believe loves and understands them no matter what. And I don’t.”

Her face was covered in tears, her voice hoarse and tired, cutting out occasionally as she spoke. But she sat, silently gasping for air, feeling raw with the wound she’d just cut open for Choso to peer into.

“Maybe you don’t need a god.” Choso’s voice was soft from the other side of the partition.

“What do you mean?”

There was a pause and Y/N could imagine it. The way he tilted his head down and slightly to the side to think, his eyes almost closed like it was taking too much effort to also keep them open.

“We long for connection. Some find it in God. Some think they find it in sex. But I think there’s something else you need.”

Y/N laughed, hoping to trick herself into feeling better. “And what might that be?”

“Maybe it’s in a person.”

“A person?”

“Mmhm,” Choso said, his voice even softer, like he was lulling her to sleep. Or luring her in. “Maybe you find God in someone rather than something.”

Y/N looked confused. If she could find God in someone, she would’ve done so by now. After years moving to different cities, meeting new people, making friends, losing them, making a living off of her ability to connect with others. She took the fact that she hadn’t found it yet to be proof that it didn’t exist.

She wiped the tears off of her face.

“In someone?”

“Yes,” Choso said. “Have you ever felt like you were talking to God?”

“Not when I pray.”

“I’m not talking about prayer.”

For some reason, a song came to mind. One Y/N hadn’t since she had been to mass as a teenager, wishing Lent would end so she could sing the Gloria instead. But the words returned to her in the moment.

Kyrie Eleison. Lord have mercy.

“What does talking to God feel like?”

Choso took a moment to respond, the only proof of his presence in his deep breaths that Y/N had to strain less and less to hear.

“It’s in the moments when you feel like there’s nothing wrong with you, nothing broken. When life is beautiful and good. Like you feel truly seen.”

Christe Eleison. Christ have mercy.

It clicked. 

Why she’d felt so drawn to this church, despite the countless hours she spent waiting to leave it as a child. It explained why she felt more alone with the ghost over her shoulder. And it certainly explained why opening herself up to Choso felt as easy as unlocking the front door for her lover on his way home.

Kyrie Eleison.

Y/N opened the confessional door, not particularly trying to be quiet as the door swung open and she stepped out. Her hand went to the handle of the other door, hovering over it for a second, considering. 

Like you feel truly seen.

She opened the door to see Choso, slumped in his chair, his legs spread, hands in his lap. He looked like a temptation crafted just for her, with his head back, showing off his long throat. Slowly, he lifted his head, as if weren’t surprised she was standing before him, eyes wide. His expression was indescribable, somewhere between awe and what Y/N was hoping was lust.

“Are you still keeping things from me?” he said with a low strained voice. Like he was holding something back. Perhaps, holding himself back. “Or do you have an answer?”

Pie Jesu. Merciful God.

“I feel that way when I talk to you.”

Choso’s eyes widened, and he let his head drop back again with a moan. “Fuck, you can’t say that to me.”

His moan went straight to her stomach, lighting a fire she hadn’t felt in years. 

“Why not, Father?” she asked, sinking to her knees at his feet. Her hands folded in her lap the way they had been hanging over the pew as she spoke out into the nothingness above. Choso leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his face closer to hers.

“I am not your salvation.”

“I don’t care.”

Y/N’s hands found Choso’s legs, digging her fingers into his calves, like she’d fall through the floor if she let go. She didn’t care. After years of feeling lost, with no one searching for her, so depressingly so that she didn’t bother looking either. And when someone stumbled upon her, they looked right through her. Choso saw so deeply into her, she had no choice but to chase him in. She felt more like herself than ever.

Her eyes never left Choso’s as her hands traveled up, fingers swirling over his knees. His breath caught, his hand suddenly at her chin, as if it would stop her.

“Y/N…” he said gently.

“Choso.”

She lifted from her seated position on the backs of her feet, pressing her face closer. 

“I can’t…” he said nervously. “I can’t do this with you.”

“Why not?”

His face still leaned closer, his golden eyes blown wide. He didn’t seem to have a response, his grip on her chin light as he shifted it the side of her face. Y/N nuzzled into his hand and slid her hands higher, trying to see how high up his legs she could get before he stopped her. Y/N was midway up his thigh when he put his hands over hers softly to stop her.

“Have you ever considered leaving the priesthood?”

He nodded.

“When?”

Choso sighed. He lifted her hands, cupped in his, and kissed them softly. “Why do you care to know?”

It seemed the dam had burst the moment his lips met her skin. He placed more kisses down to her wrists. “Because I want to know if I can be your damnation,” Y/N said, almost jokingly. But Choso gasped slightly, only audible because of his proximity. She leaned forward, as if going to kiss him, but instead tilted her head, kissing his cheek gently.

“What made you think about leaving?”

Choso let out a contented sigh with each brush of Y/Ns lips to his skin.

“You.”

It was a day full of energy and love, and Y/N adored every second of it. 

“Hi there,” she greeted gently as a small boy approached, his deep black hair sticking out everywhere. He merely glanced up at her and gave a hint of a smile and a small ‘hello, miss’ before continuing in.

“Sorry about him,” a tall man with starkly contrasting white hair said, limbering in, his sunglasses over his eyes. 

Then, a small girl with cut brown hair ran through, the pink clips in her hair shining as she passed, yelling, “Megumi, wait!”

She watched as the two sat at their desks, not too far from each other, but they only glanced nervously around. The boy—Megumi, apparently—seemed quite shy, ignoring the other kids around him as they tried to talk to him. The girl, who sat down at the desk with the Nobara name tag, had the opposite problem, being quite blunt and frankly a little scary to her peers who glanced her way. When they approached, she loudly asked what they were looking at. 

 Y/N cringed. She’d have to move them closer if they couldn’t make other friends. That was a parent-teacher conference she didn’t want to schedule.

It was quickly shaping up to be a busy year. Y/N smiled and chatted with parents as they arrived and departed, her heart melting every time the kids accepted a kiss to their forehead or cheek and pouted as their parents walked away. She’d already had to reassure a few parents as they left with tears in their eyes, mentioning to her how their baby was all grown up as they walked out.

As a few more parents left, she turned to count her students, seeing one empty chair with a few minutes until the school day began.

“Yuji, slow down!” she heard a voice call from outside her door. Suddenly, a small boy with soft pink hair slipped as he skidded around the corner, falling to his hands right at the entrance to the classroom.

“Oh my,” she said, rushing over to help him stand. “Are you alright?” 

He popped right back off, wiping his hands off before Y/N could help.

“I’m okay!”

A man arrived at the doorway, crouching to beckon Yuji back to him, a small Star Wars backpack slung over his shoulder. He was quite tall and dressed in a well-pressed suit, though the color combination he’d chosen was a bit ridiculous— tan too grey to be khaki and a dark blue that wasn’t close enough to navy. His hair, well styled and pushed back, was disturbed by his hand as he combed it through the golden locks.

“Say hello to your teacher, then go find your desk,” he instructed, pulling down the front of Yuji’s shirt from where it had ridden up in his fall and handing him the backpack. Yuji held it tightly to his front as he blurted out a “hello!” then ran over to the last empty desk, tripping over the hanging straps of his bag. The man stood and let out a breath dangerously close to a sigh.

“You must be Yuji’s father…” Y/N smiled, trying and failing to keep the amusement from her face. 

“I am. I apologize in advance.”

“He seems to be quite the ball of energy.”

“He definitely is,” he said, chuckling. While Y/N recognized it was inappropriate to think, she thought it was a nice sound. And even with the ridiculous suit, he was quite attractive…

 “If he ends up being trouble, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me.”

Y/N chuckled and glanced over at her class, where Yuji was quickly making friends with Nobara, a feat she’d briefly thought impossible, as he leaned casually on Megumi’s desk next to him. She chuckled as the dark-haired boy stared at Yuji’s back quite intensely before continuing his drawing. It seemed he would be slow to warm up to anybody. 

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t expect him to be a problem,” Y/N said, smiling widely. 

Yuji’s father glanced over at his son, giving a sad yet proud smile. He checked his (expensive, she noted) watch and signed as he realized the time. Y/N looked at the clock as well.

“I’m going to say goodbye to him and be out of your way,” he said, like he wasn’t entirely convinced he should do it. He headed over to where Yuji was pointing amazedly at his new friend’s drawing, and Y/N watched from the doorway, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Nanami squatted down to Yuji’s height, saying something to him, then hugging him tightly, rocking back and forth slightly. His eyes were closed tight, like if he kept them shut time would eventually stop. Y/N couldn’t help but feel her heart melt as he ruffled Yuji’s hair and kissed his forehead.

She would’ve been disappointed with herself for being so intrigued by the man if she weren’t so flustered watching him. He was a parent, and she was his son’s kindergarten teacher. But there wasn’t anything wrong with having a little crush. She was human after all.

“I’ll be back at 3:15,” he said, suddenly in front of Y/N, snapping her out of her thoughts. 

“See you then Mr…” she said, as if his name would magically appear in her mind.

“Nanami. Kento,” he said, holding his hand out for Y/N to shake.

“I’lll see you at 3:15, Mr. Nanami.”

─── ･☆･ ───

Y/N only saw Yuji’s father for more than 30 seconds once in the following month, when the man came in, soaked by a flash thunderstorm, to deliver Yuji’s lunch, which he’d forgotten. She’d smiled as she took the neon pink Hello Kitty lunchbox from the flustered salaryman, trying not to let her eyes linger on his wet dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, as it clung to his torso. But she caught enough glimpses to know there was definitely something worth looking at. Since then, she tried her best not to blush as she handed Yuji off at pick up. 

However, she saw plenty of the man every day—from flashes of him grabbing Yuji's hand at pick up and kissing his forehead at drop off to the terrible renderings of him in nearly all of Yuji’s drawings—and selfishly hoped she’d get a chance to see more. 

Luckily for her, parent-teacher conferences were scheduled just a month into the school year. She was honestly happy to have a reason to be excited amidst the usually stressful night. 

As she walked into her classroom, she prayed she wouldn’t get any comments from her coworkers. She didn’t want to admit the extra time she spent on her appearance that weekend, or that she was wearing her favorite teaching outfit. It was just because she was seeing parents all night, certainly not because of any particular one. 

The day went slowly, but she was happy to note that she had few negative comments for any of the parents this year. The class got along pretty well, and any problems they suffered barely lasted a day. In her first year of teaching, she taught two students who hated each other so strongly that they had to sit at desks on opposite sides of the room. She remembered wondering how five-year-olds could even fit that much rage in their bodies. 

This year, not only was everyone getting along, but it seemed they were all friends. While it must have been the combination of a thousand things, she gave half the credit to Yuji, who had somehow managed to befriend the entire class by lunch time on the first day, and even came back from recess with a friend in the fourth grade named Todo. Even Nobara and Megumi, whom she worried might struggle to make friends, got along with him and had even seemed to form a sort of trio. One of her favorite parts of being a teacher was watching these relationships grow in real time, and Yuji seemed to have charmed everyone. 

And he always had energy. 

“Teacher!”

Y/N looked up from the worksheets she was grading to see Yuji in front of her desk, shifting between his feet and turning his hips slightly as he waited.

“Hi, Yuji. What’s up?”

He was still fidgeting, looking around the board behind her rather than at her. When she finished speaking, he looked in her eyes, his hand moving from below the desk to show the mermaid Barbie in his fist, her purple hair tangled in his fingers. “Can I bring this Barbie home? Batman doesn’t want a boyfriend.”

She stared at him for a moment, trying to find the connection between Batman and having a boyfriend. “Your action figure?”

The boy somehow managed to nod with his entire body. 

She hesitated, wondering how to approach this conversation. Too many of her recess toys had disappeared, so taking the Barbie home was a non-starter. However, she was confused by the comment about boyfriends. Yuji, who befriended literally anyone and carried a pink sparkly Hello Kitty lunchbox into school every morning, didn’t seem like the type of kid whose parents were bigoted about gender. And, if Mr. Nanami turned out to be homophobic, it would ruin her crush. Either way, it really wasn’t a conversation she was going to have with a five-year-old student. Blinking a few times, she realized she had to come up with an answer. “Hmmm…Barbie has to stay here tonight. Why does Batman not want a boyfriend?”

Yuji looked at the Barbie, setting her face down on Y/N’s desk so he could braid her long hair. “Batman can’t be with a boy.”

She sighed. “Well, I think—”

“If you don’t drop that right now, I’m going to—”

Across the room, Nobara was standing with her hands on her hips, yelling at one of the other students who was holding something that looked suspiciously like Megumi’s notebook. Behind her, Megumi sat silently with a furious blush on his face, his eyes wet like he was about to cry.

“Yuji, we’ll talk about this later,” Y/N said, rushing across the room to hold Nobara back before she could start a fight.

She thanked God for parent-teacher conferences that night.

─── ･☆･ ───

The sun was just beginning to set as Y/N finished her meeting with Mr. Gojo, who spent most of the parent-teacher conference referring to his son as “emo” and asking her if she knew a good coffee spot near the school. She watched him walk confidently down the hall before turning back into her classroom and taking a deep breath. Her next appointment, set to start in five minutes, was with Yuji’s father. She couldn’t help but check her makeup in the mirror she kept in her desk drawer, touching up her lip stain before hiding it away. As she pulled out her folder on Yuji, she heard a soft knock on her doorframe. 

When she looked up, she found Nanami standing in her doorway, a slightly awkward look on his face as he spoke, his voice low and gentle. “Sorry, I’m a few minutes early…”

She shook her head as she shot up from her desk, rushing to the door and ushering him into the classroom. “No, I appreciate it. Thank you so much for coming in tonight, Mr. Nanami.”

“Of course, it was no problem.”

She led him over to her desk and motioned for him to sit across from her in a chair she’d stolen from the upper grades—definitely bigger than the ones the kids sat in, but not big enough for the 6’1” man with double her salary in front of her. It was amusing to watch him settle in the seat, clearly uncomfortable with his long legs forced a little too close to himself.

Y/N sat forward and rolled her shoulders, like she was preparing to give a presentation. 

“Again, thank you for coming in,” she started, shuffling the papers on her desk around until she found her notes on Yuji. “Your son is absolutely wonderful. His scores look good, and his reading scores have gone up since the beginning of the year…”

She moved through her usual list, reassuring Nanami that his child was sharing and playing well with the other students. He nodded as she spoke, calm and receptive, his attention never drifting as she laid out the papers between them—old homework assignments, early writing practice, careful coloring, art projects still smudged with glue.

Each time she glanced up, she found his focus already on her, steady and intent in a way she wasn’t used to. Not impatient, not distracted—just present. Most fathers treated these meetings like an obligation, visibly counting down the minutes or bristling at questions they felt shouldn’t need asking. Some were curt with her, others condescending, as though her work were a minor inconvenience rather than the shape of their child’s days.

Nanami listened as though every word mattered, as though she did. And she found herself speaking a little more carefully because of it.

“There’s one thing I’m concerned about,” she spoke slowly, choosing each word deliberately, “...not even concerned, really.”

At that, Nanami straightened up a little, clearly worried.

“I don’t mean to be rude, and I don’t want you to feel bad…” Y/N said, trying not to fidget with her hands under Nanami’s concerned and focused gaze. “...and I adore Yuji. Truly. He’s not been a problem at all in class…” she was rambling, and she could tell it was making Nanami more nervous. She decided just to say it plainly. “...I just think he should be tested for an attention disorder.”

There was a pause where Nanami looked stunned, silent in his seat, and Y/N felt like she couldn’t breathe. 

“Again, it’s seriously not an issue. I just think it might make his life easier going forward if he were to get tested.”

Nanami rubbed a hand over his face, his eyes distant while his gaze was directed down at the desk between them. Y/N thought she was going to die of embarrassment. She reminded herself that she was just doing her job. And part of that included the responsibility of watching out for her students.

Then, after a moment of him thinking that felt like an hour, he simply said, “I knew I wasn’t going crazy.”

“Huh?” Y/N almost slapped her forehead, wondering how she could’ve let that slip out of her mouth in the middle of a meeting.

“I’ve been considering it. He definitely gets it from his mother.”

Y/N paused, guilt rising in her throat. She’d spent all these weeks harmlessly crushing on Nanami when he had a wife this whole time. He’d never worn a ring, but then again, Y/N had just assumed that meant she wasn’t in the picture. She felt like an idiot for even getting her hopes up. About her student’s parent, for fuck’s sake. 

“Does he get along well with her?” she asked, feeling slightly guilty about prying, hoping for something to disprove her belief, but ready to accept the loss. “I’m very similar to my mother, and it sometimes drives her crazy.” She chuckled as if it would relieve some of the awkward tension that had been building inside of her.

Nanami smiled softly, looking down at where his hands were folded together on the table. “She passed away shortly after Yuji was born. I doubt he remembers her at all.”

Y/N felt even worse. First, she’d flirted with the man, then thought she had been imposing on a marriage, and then made the poor guy trauma dump about his dead wife. If she wasn’t fired for this, she’d surely quit as soon as the year was over and transfer to a new school district.

“I’m sorry to hear that. It must be incredibly hard raising Yuji on your own.”

Nanami nodded. He looked at peace, though obviously quite sad. His eyes looked past Y/N, like he was seeing something behind her. “He’s definitely been a challenge. But it’s one I’d take on a hundred times.”

“You’ve done a great job. Yuji’s helpful and kind, and all the kids love him,” she said, fiddling with the pages of the notebook in front of her. “He includes the kids who can’t make friends on their own. And he’s very smart.”

Nanami chuckled again, this time a little louder. Genuinely amused. “Only when we drill something a few times.”

Y/N took a deep breath in. The meeting had gone better than expected. She felt comfortable speaking to Nanami, and he’d reacted better to her comments than she ever could have hoped.

“I also wanted to mention,” she said, gathering the strength to bring up an odd topic once again. “He keeps mentioning something about a girlfriend for his action figures back home. And saying something about Batman not being able to have a boyfriend…”

There was no delicate way to approach the subject, but she prayed to whatever being may exist in the sky to help her.

“I have my own beliefs, but I figured this was something best dealt with at home, and I wasn’t sure if this was something you’ve heard him say—”

“I assure you I am not some bigot, I just…” Nanami sighed again, rubbing at the bone of his eyebrow. “I’ve talked to him about it a few times. It might take a few more to remember what I told him.”

Y/N laughed a little, partly to ease the tension, and partly because it was so ridiculous and endearing. Nanami smiled at her and laughed as well. “And now I have to find him a Barbie for Christmas because Batman wants a boyfriend but he and Superman wouldn’t like each other enough to be boyfriends.”

“They wouldn’t?”

“Apparently not. But Optimus Prime doesn’t care who his boyfriend is.”

Y/N let herself fully laugh, head thrown back, hand to her mouth. Nanami must have been surprised because his laugh was delayed. 

There was a brief silence that followed, only filled by the ghost of their laughter and the awkwardness of their tension. Y/N had gotten through her list of comments, glancing down at her watch to see she still had a few minutes left before she was supposed to let the next set of parents in.

“Is there anything you were worried about? Anything you wanted to discuss?” she asked, hoping he’d come up with something to talk about. Something to keep him in that unfortunately small seat for just a little while longer. 

He let out a low hum and shook his head. 

Y/N would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little disheartened by it, but she was glad the conversation had gone as well as she’d prayed it would. She stood and wiped her hands on her pants, offering a hand out for Nanami to shake. His hand was so much bigger and warmer as he grabbed hers, gripping it gently.

“If anything comes up, don’t hesitate to reach out,” she said, still shaking his hand. Nanami thanked her, but his grip didn’t loosen, his eyes still locked on hers. Their hands stopped moving. Y/N didn’t let go until her alarm went off.

She grabbed her phone and turned it off, leading Nanami to the door to let in the next parent. It was noticeable how he had to duck slightly to fit under the doorframe.

“Thank you again for coming, Mr. Nanami. I hope to see you again soon.”

─── ･☆･ ───

The next time she got to chat with him came a few weeks later. She’d been standing outside watching the kids whose parents couldn’t pick them up immediately after the school day ended. It was her turn to stay late, so she swayed side to side against the school’s wall, grateful for the shade that the awning provided her. A parent had just picked up one of the third graders, and she couldn’t wait for the last few to go home. Not that she had plans, but she was excited to get off her feet and get reasonably drunk for a weeknight.

She checked her watch, hoping more time would pass between glances, but it moved just as slowly. It wouldn’t have been an issue if she could have spent the time grading papers or reading, but she had to keep an eye on the kids as they ran around, zoning out only slightly. 

Another kid was being taken home by her parents, each holding one of her small hands and swinging her in the air between them. This was one of the best and worst aspects of her job. Sometimes, sweet moments like this gave her hope for good in the world. Other times, like today, it made her so jealous she got nauseated. 

Once, just a year into teaching, one of her students lost both of their parents just before the winter holiday, Despite how much paper work it would have taken, and the fact she could barely provide for herself on a teacher’s salary, she found herself considering for a moment—just a moment—that maybe she could foster the poor child. The idea was quickly thrown out the window when she got a notification about an increase in her rent payment, which was now nearly half of her paycheck. She couldn’t support a kid, certainly not on her own. 

But why was she alone? She’d only had a couple of long term relationships, which had ended because of the usual terrors of dating men: they were cheating, insecure, disrespectful, and immature bastards who only wasted her time. Still, when she’d moved to this town for this new job as a kindergarten teacher, she’d hoped she might meet someone. She hadn’t met anyone. 

Except for Nanami. And he was her student’s father, who she barely spoke to once a week. Before she could let the thought of him linger any longer, a voice pulled her from her thoughts. 

“What did you do to deserve the after-school shift?”

Y/N turned her head to see the man she’d been thinking of, as if he’d popped out of her mind. Like she manifested him herself. He sauntered up, shoving his keys into his pocket, his suit jacket long discarded, and his sleeves rolled up to expose his arms to the sun.

“Hi, Mr. Nanami,” she said, trying not to smile too widely. “It was my turn this week, but honestly, I think the woman at the front desk knew this would be the week I didn’t want to stay late.”

“Ah…” he said in acknowledgement, smiling dryly, “she’s got it out for you.”

“She’s never liked me,” Y/N said, keeping up the bit.

“I can’t imagine why.” Nanami eyed her, feigning suspicion. 

“I can’t either.” She again had to bite the inside of her cheek to avoid the embarrassing smile that was pulling at her lips. Before she could come up with something clever to respond with, she was interrupted by a growing yell and small, speedy footsteps. 

“—Dad!” Yuji had apparently spotted his father and was running up to where he was standing. Nanami immediately ruffled Yuji’s hair as the boy looked up at him and asked too loudly from where he was at their feet, “...Can I stay?”

Nanami glanced at his watch and considered for a moment. “5 more minutes. Then we have to head home. I think your teacher wants to go home too.”

Yuji hadn’t heard the second half, as he’d already run back off towards where the other kids had gathered around the slide. 

Y/N straightened at Nanami’s side, fixing her posture as she realized she was finally getting the casual conversation with Yuji’s father that she’d been imagining in her head for weeks. She willed the awkward part of her not to ruin this moment. She failed almost immediately, as her curiosity overcame her.

“I have to ask,” Y/N said, “Is his hair naturally pink?”

Nanami laughed loudly, putting a hand to his stomach and letting his head drop back a little. Y/N took the moment to appreciate the stretch of his neck, the expanse of his skin. It looked smooth, especially where his jawline cut through the sun and cast a shadow over his collarbones. His laugh was as deep as his voice, though with slightly more husk to it.

He lowered his head back down, the muscles in his neck flexed, and she forgot for a moment that she shouldn’t be looking at him so intensely. When his gaze returned to her, she felt caught, her pulse loud in her ears, heat rising beneath her skin. She looked back to the kids, taking a deep breath.

If he noticed, he didn’t let it show. “It is. The doctors ran every test on him, but it seems like a genetic anomaly.” 

“Really?” she said, astonished. 

Nanami only nodded. “Sometimes he tries to use Kool-aid to make it more pink, so I had to stop buying it.”

 “That sounds about right,” Y/N said, staring amazedly as Yuji rediscovered a basketball that had rolled under the ladder. “I thought maybe he was eating something he shouldn’t.”

“He’ll eat anything,” Nanami said, watching as well, occasionally glancing back over at Y/N as she continued to analyze his five-year-old. 

“Is that why he’s so strong?” Y/N asked, to which Nanami furrowed a brow and cocked his head.

“You’ve noticed?”

“Of course, I’ve noticed, the kid is as strong as I am.”

As if to prove her point, Yuji threw the basketball he’d managed to pull out into the ground, and it hit so hard that the ball exploded. It was so powerful that it knocked Yuji backwards with enough force that he fell. 

“Oh God,” Y/N said, flinching slightly at the loud pop.

Nanami also flinched, his face grimacing. “Not again.”

Usually, Yuji would pop back up after a fall, wiping away the dirt from his hands (sometimes licking it) and establishing that he was fine before running off and doing something entirely different.

This time, his face scrunched up, and he began to cry. He hiccuped with the effort of trying not to let it out, but he couldn’t seem to calm himself down.

“Oh shit,” Nanami said, running up to Yuji and squatting down next to him. He grabbed under Yuji’s arms, which were held out to him, and picked him up. As Nanami cradled Yuji to him, a hand to the back of the boy’s head, he swayed softly. His eyes were closed, saying something to Yuji, who was burying his head in his father’s shoulder.

The sight hit her harder than she’d expected. The steadiness of him, the softness that came out so easily and layered so naturally all of his stoicism and strength, the way his touch was both gentle and certain… it sent an unmistakable heat through her that left her feeling at the same time overwhelmed and guilty. Not enough to stop looking at his hands, or the curve of his muscular arm around his son, the way his body seemed to become shelter the second Yuji needed it. 

As Nanami walked back to where Y/N was waiting, she averted her eyes, embarrassed by how long she’d been watching him. 

“I think that’s our sign to head home,” Nanami said, walking up with a sniffling, but no longer crying, Yuji. There was a wet spot on Nanami’s work shirt. It was endearing and almost amusing, but Y/N knew it wasn’t the moment to bring it up.

“Are you alright, Yuji?” she asked, tilting her head a bit to look at his wide eyes from where his head lay against Nanami’s shoulder. He nodded and sniffled, comforted by the attention and the way Nanami held him solidly, a hand at his back.

“He’ll be okay. Just a bit scared,” Nanami said, his cheek smushed slightly against the top of his son’s head. 

“Well, I hope you have a good rest of the day, Yuji. You as well, Mr. Nanami.”

“Please, call me Kento.”

Y/N’s stomach warmed, and she smiled widely before she remembered to play it cool. She brushed her hands against her pants to hopefully dry off the sweat that had accumulated from clenching her fists together.

“Well, I’ll see you soon, then, Kento. You’re the parent helper next week, right?”

“Yes. I’ll see you next Friday.”

“Something to look forward to.”

Maybe it was a bit forward of Y/N, but it felt like she’d explode if she couldn’t get some of the yearning out. Like letting steam out from a kettle. Yuji yawned widely, staring off at the wall with blank eyes. 

Nanami glanced at him briefly and smiled. “And Yuji will see you tomorrow. Say goodbye.”

Yuji smiled and waved, his arm fully extended as he did so.

“Goodbye, Yuji. Have a good night.”

She watched as Nanami walked away, asking Yuji what he wanted for dinner and making jokes to make him smile again. 

─── ･☆･ ───

Friday finally came, and Y/N dropped the kindergartners off at their music class before heading to the front office to pick up this week’s parent helper: Nanami. She adjusted her midi skirt and ensured her top was properly tucked in before she turned the corner, finding him making awkward small talk with the woman at the front desk, Mrs. Leslie. 

She noted how he was dressed more casually than usual, at least for him. His white linen shirt was oversized with a tab and button to keep the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, and he was in his usual khakis. He turned and gave her a grateful smile when he sensed her presence in the room. 

“There you are.” His voice was gruff, as if it were too early in the morning and he hadn’t spoken much yet, 

She nodded her head to signal him to walk with her. “Hi, sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Nanami.”

“Kento.” He corrected as they made their way down the hallway, whose walls were covered in kids’ drawings and projects. 

“Right, sorry, Kento…” She nodded, trying her best to think of something to say as she forced herself to stare forward. When she’d imagined this day in her head, she had hoped she wouldn’t be so fucking awkward. 

Fortunately, he saved her by speaking first. “So, I tried to get to the bottom of Mrs. Leslie’s vendetta against you, but it seems she’s sticking to the nice old lady front.”

She laughed, trying not to be so charmed by the fact that he remembered their joke from earlier that week. “She knows we’re on to her.”

As she reached the door of her classroom, she stopped, realizing he wasn’t behind her anymore. She looked back down the hall, seeing him stop in front of the kindergarteners’ most recent art projects that she’d hung on the wall yesterday. The kids did a project, while learning different family words (sister, brother, father) where they were supposed to draw their family and label them. A frown appeared on her lips as she slowly walked back over to him— he was looking intensely at Yuji’s. 

It was… abstract, as she liked to describe students’ artwork that was hard to garner an image from, but she could tell that the pink blob in the middle was supposed to be Yuj, and the yellow and blue to his left was likely his father. The other side of the drawing was an explosion of color she couldn’t glean anything from. 

“Did you…” Nanami’s voice was more vulnerable than she’d ever heard it. “I’m sorry for asking, but did he seem to care that the other kids have bigger families than him?”

She sighed, touched by how much he cared about his son. “No, there are other students from single-parent households. And I always tell the kids that they can include anyone they want in their family projects, even if they’re not blood relatives.”

He nodded, his eyes still on the drawing. “I see. That explains why you’re there.”

Her stomach dropped. “What?” Nanami pointed to the rainbow squiggles, which did seem to be topped by a blob that somewhat resembled the shade of her hair. “Here. He always mentions that you wear ‘rainbow clothes.’” 

“Kento, I am so sorry, I assure you I did not say anything to make him think—”

“Don’t worry about it, he just really likes you. Talks about you a lot.” As if her nervous reaction pulled him out of his thoughtful daze, he put his hands in his pockets and turned towards her. “So, what do parent helpers normally do?”

She shook herself out of her thoughts, trying not to linger too long on the idea of Yuji thinking of her as family. He was just a boy who didn’t have much family; it really didn’t mean anything. She guided Nanami into her classroom as she spoke. “Oh, I normally would just have you read to them at story time, help me prep activities, stuff like that. Nothing too hard.”

He nodded, looking around the room, seemingly curious about any detail of his son’s life at school. He wandered over to Yuji’s desk, visibly cringing when he saw how messy the inside was, and the marker stains that covered the wood on top. “I am so sorry he is such a handful.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “He genuinely is the sweetest, Kento, just a little messy, like most five-year-olds. Quiet time can be tough for him, but he tries really hard.”

“You don’t have to say that because I’m the struggling single father.”

She tilted her head, her voice soft and concerned. “I’m not, you’ve raised him well. He is kind and smart.”

Nanami shrugged, looking back down at the desk, but she could see the slight flush that appeared on his cheeks when she praised his parenting. It seemed he needed it. 

After about thirty minutes of having him cut pumpkins out of paper for their upcoming autumn craft, she brought him with her to go pick up the students from their music class. As they approached the doorway, she put her hand on his upper arm to stop him in his tracks. 

“Sometimes I wait by the door so I can hear them work on their song for the winter concert. They have to start early to get it to be listenable.” She mumbled as they walked up to the door, peaking in on the group from the small window on the door, their faces just inches from one another. 

Their rendition of “Let it Snow!” sounded exactly like you’d expect from a chorus of five-year-olds: off-key, off-beat, and extremely loud. It always made her heart melt, so she came a few minutes early to listen. 

Nanami chuckled as he caught sight of Yuji, whose mouth seemed permanently opened as wide as possible as he shouted the wrong words to the song. “He’s definitely not the best singer.”

“But he is the loudest…” She argued, a laugh in her voice. When she looked over at him, she found his eyes already on her, his lips forming a smirk. 

“I am not sure that’s a good thing.” 

They both looked back into the classroom, only to see Yuji pointing back at them through the window, shouting “It’s my Dad!!!!” loud enough to interrupt the song and make the music teacher give up on playing the piano accompaniment and come open the door. 

Her face turned apologetic as she came face-to-face with the clearly annoyed music teacher. “I’m sorry, Mr. Brown, I was trying to give Mr. Nanami here a sneak peak at the concert…” 

“Sure, sure, Y/N, just take the monsters away.” Mr. Brown responded, walking away and going back to the piano. 

Y/N shook off the cold shoulder from her fellow staff member and just focused on the kids, who had erupted into a chorus of loud conversations the second Yuji had yelled. “Kindergarteners, where’s my line leader?”

Yuji came speeding up to her, almost tripping when he came to an abrupt stop at her feet. He tried his best to keep his eyes on her and pay attention, but he turned to his father, just for a moment, and whispered loudly, excitedly: “Dad, I’m the line leader this week!”

Nanami nodded, a smile pulling at his lips as he whispered back. “So you’ve told me every day since Monday.”

She held back a laugh as the rest of the class scrambled to get into line. Then, she reached into her bag for the rainbow rope she made them hold onto when they were headed outside, passing it down the line until it reached Nobara at the end, who was adjusting one of her butterfly clips. She turned to Nanami. “It's recess, and I am going to take them to the fancy playground a block away because it's so nice out. Can you be the back of the line for me?”

She watched as Nanami nodded obediently and walked to the end of the line, crouching to the same level as Megumi and Nobara, who shyly shook his hand when he offered it. 

Yuji’s voice pulled her eyes back to the front of the line. 

“That’s my dad…” He said proudly to the boy next to him, giggling. “Its funny cause he’s in the back, and I’m in the front because I am the line leader.”

“I know you are.” She nodded. Yuji brought up the fact he was the line leader in nearly every sentence. “We’re gonna go to the big playground with the dinosaur slide, but only if everyone is really good on the walk there. Please listen to me and Yuji’s father, Mr. Nanami.” 

The walk to the dinosaur playground was quick and painless from her perspective, and soon all of the children were running around the playground. She sat on a bench, hoping this might get rid of some of the kids’ excess energy before story time. 

Nanami came and sat next to her, out of breath. “That Nobara girl, she’s…”

She watched as he searched for the right word, finishing his sentence for him. “A menace.” “Yes” He nodded, an exasperated look on his face. “She captured a pigeon on the way here, and I had to pull the poor thing out of her hands.”

“Oh, not the pigeons again. I’ll talk to her later.” She laughed, watching as Nobara made both Yuji and Megumi push her on the swing. “I’m sorry, I should have made her come to the front of the line before sending you back there.”

“No, it's fine. I don’t feel as bad about Yuji’s energy now.” He just shook his head, laughing breathlessly. “And…well, I’ve always wanted a daughter, and with how Yuji’s turned out, I imagine she’d be similar to Nobara if I ever got my wish.”

That sentiment made her stomach flutter. He was already attractive for being such an involved father, but the idea that he’d like a daughter, when so many men treated them like a burden, warmed her heart. Why couldn’t he just say something weird to ease her ever-growing crush on him? 

She turned her body toward him, speaking honestly. “You’re great with the students, Kento. Normally, if a father comes in, they’re totally out of their depth. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

They returned to the school after an hour and spent the rest of the day doing crafts, and finished the day off with storytime. She let Yuji pick out the book for his father to read, and the pink-haired boy quickly reached for The Rainbow Fish. 

Normally, she would spend storytime on parent helper days at her desk, preparing her lesson plans for the following week. This time, she found herself getting too distracted by the low, gentle tone of Nanami’s voice as he read the story to the children, even lulling a few of them to sleep.

─── ･☆･ ───

“Dad, look!”

Y/N turned at the sound of Yuji’s voice to see him running up the sidewalk to her, his father jogging after. She squatted down to give him the hug he had his arms widely open for. 

“Hi Yuji! What are you doing here?” she asked, hoping he couldn’t smell the alcohol on her breath. Yuji played with his shirt, lifting it over his stomach and pulling it back down excitedly as he shifted between his feet.

“We went to a restaurant,” he said, his eyes wide, “and it was really good.”

“Yeah?” she said, encouraging him with a genuine smile. He really was so cute. “Are you going home now?”

“We’re going to Grandma’s, but—”

“Yuji, don’t run away like that.” Nanami had finally caught up, holding Yuji’s hand, though he had to bend down a bit to keep his fingers in his grasp. Y/N stood, wobbling slightly in her heels, and in that moment, she was awkwardly aware of how much of her skin was exposed. She tugged at the hem of her tight dress to pull it lower over her thighs, but that only exposed her chest more.

“I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to interrupt your night,” Nanami said, looking down at Yuji as he continued to bounce on his heels and fiddle with his jacket.

“No, it’s alright. I’m always glad to run into you,” she said. As soon as the words left her lips, she realized how flirty it must have sounded, especially with the alcohol buzzing through her body and her words slurring slightly. It wasn’t helping that Nanami was dressed in a pressed suit shirt, his long coat well-tailored over it. His hair, as flawless as ever, was pushed back, a single strand falling in front of his glasses no matter how many times he pushed it back. 

In short, he looked good. And Y/N needed to keep it together. 

“Do you have any stickers?” Yuji asked.

“She doesn’t have any right now, but I’m sure when you’re back in class—”

Nanami stopped speaking when Y/N began rummaging through her purse, pulling out a few stickers and squatting back down to show them to Yuji.

“Which one do you like?” she asked. Above her, Nanami chuckled. She looked up at him as Yuji stared at the options in her hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling softly.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered back, watching as Yuji grabbed the sparkling Kerropi sticker from her open palm. He thanked her, then turned to Nanami and stretched up to show him.

“Very nice,” Nanami said. He looked back at Y/N, his eyes flicking down her body briefly, and she swore her heart skipped a beat. “What are you up to tonight?”

She stood, pulling the bottom of her dress back down. “It’s someone on staff’s birthday so I’ve been drunk since seven thirty, and I’m not really sure how I’m going to survive the rest of the night—”

“I’m going to Grandma’s house for a sleepover!” Yuji interrupted, as if unable to restrain his excitement. 

She laughed. “That’s awesome, Yuji.”

Nanami let his eyes drift over her dress. His expression was difficult to describe, especially after the last green tea shot that Y/N had almost thrown back up. She hoped he saw her the way that she saw him.

“We’ll let you get back to your evening,” he said, his grip on Yuji’s hand steady as the boy tried to pull Nanami back down the block to follow after a man and his dog that had just passed by. 

Y/N chuckled at Yuji and shifted her coat over her shoulders. “Thank you. I’m hoping tonight doesn’t kill me.”

“Well,” Nanami said, leaning down to scoop up Yuji and hold him to his front to keep him from escaping. Y/N’s stomach was warm watching him do it with ease. With one hand, he grabbed his wallet from his pocket, holding it close to the hand that held up Yuji. He shuffled a few things around and pulled out a business card. He replaced his wallet and held the card out to Y/N.

“If you need a ride, let me know.”

─── ･☆･ ───

The night was longer than Y/N expected. After dinner and the bar, she watched her coworkers stumble through the streets, laughing loudly as they tripped over curbs into the road instead of focusing on arriving at the next place alive. She sobered up, chowing down on a basket of fries and chugging water as if she had just survived the desert.

People were throwing back shots like it was their last night on earth and disappearing into the crowd shortly after to dance with some suspicious-looking characters. Y/N was the one keeping them all alive. The older and generally more responsible faculty had left after dinner, leaving her to wrangle the rest.

After the third bar, and the birthday girl emptied her stomach in the bathroom, she threw them all in a taxi and handed them the last stack of cash from her wallet to get them back to someone’s place. She didn’t really remember who.

Her coworkers waved out the window as the taxi took off, leaving her standing in the cold, feeling it for the first time that night as the stress adrenaline wore off. She tugged at the edges of her coat, folding it over her front as if it would keep the wind from seeping through the thin fabric.

It was around 1 am, the bar behind her was soon to close, her place was too far away to walk, and she’d just given her cash to her coworkers. She was a fucking idiot. 

“Fuck.” 

As she thought about what to do, she shoved her phone back into her pocket, rediscovering the business card she’d been handed earlier. She stared at the card, considering her one option. If it were any other night, she might’ve taken the loss and found a way home, but she was exhausted. And cold.

She dialed the number, holding her phone up to her ear as she stepped back from the curb to stand under the awning of the bar, swerving between patrons as they left.

“Come on,” she said, bouncing on her toes as if it would warm her up. “Please pick up. Please, please, please–”

“Hello?”

“Kento!” she said, a little too excitedly. So much for playing it cool. “I’m so sorry for calling so late. Did I wake you?”

There was a noise on the other side of the line, the flick of a switch or the turn of a knob as Nanami groaned slightly, like he was stretching. “Not really.”

“I’m sorry for calling you on your one night to yourself.”

“Seriously, don't worry about it. What’s going on?”

“Oh, shit,” she said, completely forgetting why she’d called. “I was wondering if there was any way I could take you up on the offer of a ride.”

She kicked her foot out, listening to the bottom of her boot scrape against the pavement below her. Part of her was embarrassed to not have anyone else to call for help, other than a students’ father. She knew they were at least friends, and it wasn’t as pathetic as it looked, but she couldn’t help but mope over the fact that it’d been so hard for her to find friends in this new city. Even with the group she partied with tonight, she was a total outsider, just trying her best to match their energy and fit in. She prayed Nanami didn’t find the request as weird as she worried it was. 

“Yeah, of course. Are you alright?” He answered calmly, as if it was nothing, soothing the nerves in her stomach. 

“I’m fine. I just used the last of my cash to send my coworkers off.”

“I see. Text me the address, and I’ll be there soon.”

Y/N smiled to herself, resisting the urge to celebrate loudly. Like she’d just gotten asked out to prom.

“Okay. Thank you,” she said, pulling the phone from her ear to hang up until Nanami replied.                                  

“Anything for you.”

The call ended before she could do it herself, her eyes wide and staring at her screen. His last words struck a chord within her. Anything for her? What the fuck did that mean?

They had been friends for about a month, and if she’d been reading him right, flirting practically since they met. But maybe he was just being polite? He’d never seen him interact with anyone and not be a perfect gentleman, except for the way he rolls his eyes around Megumi’s father, Gojo. And most of the time, it was deserved. 

She started at the concrete in front of her, trying to think through every possible meaning behind his words. Maybe he just appreciated how patient she was with Yuji, or that she helped him with the Barbie and Batman debacle. Or…he cared about her, and wanted to make sure she was safe. The idea made her skin warm. 

A car pulled up, a sleek yet reasonably sized SUV, that stopped right in front of her with the side window pulled down. Inside, Nanami sat in the driver’s seat in a hoodie and pajama pants, smiling out at her as she ran up. As quickly as she could, she opened the door, slid in and closed the door behind her, rolling up the window to keep the warmth in.

“Thank you again,” she said breathlessly as she tugged at the seatbelt. She was desperate for something to do to distract her from the way Nanami looked and the fact that she was in his car.

“It’s no problem. Really,” he assured, watching her move, pulling off her coat and settling it over her lap. She was all too aware of the path his eyes took from her coat, up her arms, then to her face.

She took a deep breath as she settled into the seat, noticing he’d already had the seat heater turned on for her. Frank Sinatra’s “It Had to Be You” was playing over his car radio, and she genuinely thought she might be hallucinating. The car began moving slowly, and she focused her eyes out the window, trying desperately to think of something to say. Luckily, he beat her to it. 

“How was your night?”

“It was pretty good. I haven’t been out in a while, and everyone survived so I can’t really complain,” She rambled, looking over at him as they came to a stop light. “God, I don’t know how you do it as a parent with so little sleep. I’m crashing over here….Thank you again for getting me.”

“Anything for you.”

She straightened, her brows furrowing in confusion. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“What do you mean?”

“You keep saying you’d do anything for me, but I really don’t understand why. I’m just the kindergarten teacher. You don’t even really know me.”

He absorbed the comment for a minute, nodding and looking out the windshield as the light changed and the car began moving again. Eventually, he responded, but it was slow, deliberate, as if he was carefully choosing each word. “I tried to date again. After Yuji’s mother passed….He’s such a happy kid, but I know there will be a time when not knowing his mother is going to hurt.”

She stared at him as he looked out the windshield, admiring the color of the streetlights as they tinted his skin and reflected off of his glasses. She knew he was building up into something, so she didn’t say anything. 

“...I never introduced him to any of them because that’s no way for a kid to grow up.” He continued, his voice more vulnerable than she’d ever heard it. “They were all very nice and willing to help me with Yuji, but I just knew they weren’t right for him. Sometimes I worry he needs a mother.”

“He loves you so much,” She assured, a bit concerned. “Honestly, Kento, he seems happy even without one because he knows you care.”

“That’s the thing. I know he’ll be fine, but none of the women I dated really cared. It was like I was their partner and Yuji was a weird side effect of dating me. At least it felt like that.” 

“I appreciate what you’re telling me, but I don't really understand where I come into this.” She said, trying not to rush into any conclusions. She took a deep breath, watching as he pulled into the driveway of her apartment building. 

“Yuji loves you. He talks about you all the time, the way I–” He stopped, hesitating and looking over at her. She wore a gentle, understanding expression that convinced him to continue. “The way I think he would talk about her. At least on good days. I tried to date, but every date just reminded me that I am a father first. I’m not upset with that. I’d live this life over and over and over if it meant I got to be his dad in every lifetime. But you remind me that I’m not just a father. You remind me that I’m a human. A man. That I can dream and want and hope.”

She looked down at her clasped hands, trying to process everything he’d just admitted to her. Praying it meant what she hoped it did. “What do you hope for?”

Nanami looked down too, like he was nervous, which was a state she hadn’t seen him in before. “That you like me too. And I know I don’t know you that well, but I’d love for you to give me the chance.” He finished, looking over at her to find her staring at him with wide eyes. 

“I…” She felt her heart pounding. “I definitely want to. If we try, it has to be honest—and patient. I don’t want to be someone who drifts in and out of his life.”

Nanami nodded slowly. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want Yuji, or anyone to know until…”

“Until you were sure. I know.” 

“But we can try?” He asked hopefully, glancing back up, eyes wide, shining in the low light from the parking lot.

“Yeah, we can try.” She smiled at him before unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car. 

He rushed out of the driver’s seat, walking to her side of the car to help her into her coat. She watched Nanami as he watched his own hands, adjusting the collar for her as he asked, “When can I see you again?”

“Drop-off on Monday?” She joked, smirking.

He sighed, glancing at her, then chucking nervously and running a hand through his hair. She ignored the brush of his skin against her neck. “Funny,” he said.

“Soon,” She corrected. Then, she stood on her tiptoes to place a peck to Nanami’s cheek, her eyes locked on him as she slowly lowered herself down, grinning wildly. He stood shocked, his eyes wide, and his mouth open, bringing his hand up to touch at the skin she’d kissed. Warmed slightly by her touch. “The next time Yuji wants to have a sleepover with his grandma, I guess.”

He grinned, brushing some hair from her face and behind her ear, and letting his hand linger to cup her jaw. “I’ll ask her. Next weekend, tentatively…?”

“Tentatively…” She laughed softly, watching his eyes as they flickered down to her lips. 

For a moment, neither of them moved. The night was quiet, and she could hear her heart beating in her ears. His thumb lingered near her jaw, not quite touching, as if he were asking for permission without words. 

She suddenly felt very aware of the time, wishing she weren't. That she could spend more of it in that moment where she was shivering through her coat and little black dress instead of her colorful sweaters and patched skirts. And Nanami, with his responsible salaryman facade melted away in front of her, in sweatpants and worn glasses that look a little too old. “I should—”

“Tell me not to.” He murmured, his eyes moving from her lips back up to her eyes. “Please.”

She didn’t, refusing to deny herself the opportunity she’s been waiting months for. Instead, deciding to close the distance herself, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss—not rushed or hungry, just certain. 

When she pulled back, his hand on her jaw kept her close, his forehead resting on hers as he looked at her through fogged up glasses. 

She smiled, seeing exactly the effect she had on him. “Goodnight, Kento.”

He watched her glance back and smile as she walked toward the building. Nanami stood, still somewhat stunned, his hands falling at his sides. 

“Goodnight,” He replied quietly, already counting the days. 

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