Oh.

“Forgive me. I have no gentler way to say this.” His fists tighten, fingernails starting to dig into his very flesh. “Please do not mistake my composure for acceptance."

The creases beside his mouth seem deeper than they had been moments ago. The shadows beneath his eyes sit heavier, carved into him and moulded by deep seated restraint.

“But your potential and affinity for Tengen-sama… Was too high for them to ignore.”

You’re special.

Aren’t you proud? Aren’t you happy? You’re needed, you’re wanted; you’re important. You’ll be everything you ever doubted yourself in.

Yet the weight of it still hasn’t quite sunk in.

“So what happens to me…” If you accept? What happens if you don’t? Do you honestly even get a choice?

It’s funny that you even think you can defy the orders of the Higher-Ups.

"They call it assimilation."

So Masamichi Yaga goes silent, letting the air marinate in the tension that you can taste on your tongue, on this repressed dread that you’ve been storing up all this while.

“You will assimilate with Master Tengen.”

You will become one with them, with the entirety of Jujutsu Society. You will become Master Tengen, and Master Tengen will become you. In other words—

You will die. You will die, yet live on vicariously through Tengen-sama. Someone entirely new, somebody else.

(You will die.)

You, who have always wondered what type of person you’d grow up to be, always imagined just how you’ll grow into the pretty shoes Mama always kept hidden away in her shoe cabinet, how you’ll mature into someone just as pretty, just as beautiful— Just as kind.

But there’s always more to life than that. There were prettier shoes out there, possibly kinder people, possibly more you’ve ever yet to even learn.

You don’t know many things about the world at all.

But that’s the interesting part, right? Nothing will ever go the way you expected it. Nothing will ever go exactly the way you want it, nothing will ever be set in stone that you can predict what comes next.

Because life was just that ambiguous— And you hate ambiguity.

Of course you don’t think you’re throwing your life away just like this. But would you? Would you do it to save the world? Would you do it to save those who don’t deserve to? And those who did?

Will they be like Komori Isamu? Will they be another Mijou Kana? What kind of people will not live to see another tomorrow should you give up on this?

(What kind of person do you want to be?)

You like to think that you’ve gotten used to being a maggot, gotten used to staying at the bottom— Or maybe even floating along the ‘average’ line. You thought you’d be fine with that, you thought you’d be more than okay.

(“Don’t you think that makes me special?”)

Do you? Do you want to think about giving up your life that way? It’s scary, right? So self-sacrificial… So— Stupid.

You’re stupid. What are you trying to pull here? Are you trying to become some sort of martyr? Do you really take so much pride in this aforementioned ‘kindness’ of yours?

It’s disgusting.

You could’ve chosen to not come here, you know? You could’ve chosen to go to a highschool not too far from your home back in Kyoto, just a stone’s throw away from your home.

It could’ve been that simple.

You never had much of an interest in Jujutsu Society, after all. Sure, it was cool to witness sorcerers in all their glory, to watch cursed spirits be summoned, to watch physical wounds close at a mere touch— To behold Gojo Satoru.

But it wouldn’t mean anything to the you who never had the talent or the potential. You possessed the prerequisites to meet the bare minimum, you possessed the skillset needed to harness your cursed technique.

But it didn’t mean that it was something you were good at.

You could’ve chosen to live a normal life. A life away from them, away from all this chaos, all this noise in your head that keeps you awake at night, away from Nozomi—

(“Does it almost look like yours?”)

And yet, you chose to be here anyway. That has to mean something in the end, didn’t it? All your tears you’ve cried, all the blood you’ve split, all your effort— All the smiles and the gratitude you’ve received and will receive.

(“My first wish— Is to become human!”)

You guess all insects really do have fleeting lifespans.

“You will be escorted by Special Grade sorcerers.”

And you know exactly who he means by that when you see the blood red upon his fingers as they dug into his palm.

“I’ll arrange for different sorcerers if that makes you more—“

“No.” You understand that there was turmoil in his head, yet you don’t even want to second guess this decision. “No… There’s no need for that, Yaga-sensei.”

You have a feeling that you’d want them there, for all your selfish desires and purposes, you’d need them there.

“We just won’t tell them.” You want to say the things you want with a smile on your face, to be able to face the things that threaten to harm the peace of your life.

Yet your shoulders still shake all the same.

You don’t want people to look back and view you with sorrow, with pity. You don’t want to be looked at with sympathy or to be mourned for your sacrifice.

It’s not what you want at all.

“Yaga-sensei.” Your throat feels dry if you were to be honest. Honesty— You need to be honest. You need to be more honest than ever before, because this was your life, wasn’t it?

“I want to live.” Is there truly anyone out there selfless enough to say otherwise? Even if they did— They would have had the luxury of that choice.

You want to live, yet you’re willing to die. Isn’t that so unbearably human?

(“Who can hate what they aren’t? Isn’t that stupid?”)

There is no life lived without guilt. There is no other way you are aware of other than this— This is the best choice is it not?

You are selfish, you are childish. You still don’t know many things, you still stumble over algebra, your tongue still slips when you recite textbook excerpts and you still pout when the convenience store doesn’t sell your favourite sandwich.

You are nothing but immature.

“Yaga-sensei, please allow me the pride to say that I chose to accept.”

Please let this lowly insect that you are take pride in the kindness you have, no matter how misplaced, no matter how unworthy.

Please. Please. Please.

There’s no better way to heal your own melancholy and save the world at the same time, is there?

“I will become Tengen-sama’s vessel.” You don’t know how to look him in the eyes, you don’t know how to hide your trembling hands or your shaking voice.

“Would you please permit that, Yaga-sensei?” No matter how selfish it may seem in his eyes. Or— Was it, really?

Because it just means more than that to you. It means more than just sacrificing your life for such a cause, for something like this.

“Yaga-sensei, may I also ask… What you think?”

And you wonder, wonder why he was so hesitant, wonder why he chose to say nothing as you stare at your knuckles that were starting to turn white, at the droplets of your tears that had landed upon your cold skin.

And you finally think you understand.

If he says it, if he tells you what he truly thinks, then this will no longer be an order delivered by your teacher.

It will stretch itself, will wrangle from his throat and crawl out as grief, as desperation, as a plea that so harshly demanded that you have more anger.

But you don't know what meaning there is to that.

So it’s your call, isn’t it? Ultimately, you wish to think so. For you are an insect, an insignificant existence to the bigger picture, to the wider world.

So you’ll be that meaningful pawn, you’ll be that unnamed, unsung sacrifice.

Even when the rain keeps pouring, there will be an end; and this will be yours.

(That’s what being a hero means, isn’t it?)

——

“It’s been a while since you called.” Your mother’s voice is soft, gentle in your ears. “I read your letter, is everything alright?”

“Mother.” Obviously, you want to cry. You want to run into her lap and sob and apologize and tell her over and over again that you’re sorry, that you won’t have enough time to spend with her, that you’re trying to save the world, trying to become stronger, trying your best—

“You trust me, don’t you?” You’re willing yourself to be calm, to be as steady as your voice could possibly make itself. Even if it made it no louder than a whisper, so small and fragile.

This was harder than you thought it’d be.

“Of course, my dear?”

Please don’t agree so easily.

“No matter what I choose to do?”

“No matter what.”

Please don’t be so gentle.

“Okay.” Okay. You’re okay. You will be when it comes, you will be when you have to be face to face with your fate.

You’ll be okay, won’t you?

“Dearest, what’s wrong? If this is about a test or exam it’s perfectly fine to be upset.“

It’s perfectly fine to be upset. Yes— It is, isn’t it?

“No, no. It’s— Not about that.” It’s not about anything that has to do with the arbitrary days you long to go back to. So—

How do you tell your own mother that you had already started counting the days she didn’t know she was losing?

You were only 16, after all.

“Is… Everything alright, my darling? You don’t sound well. Have you been eating well? Getting enough sleep? I can come visit if it’s—“

You taste iron in your mouth, lip torn open from how you’ve been chewing mindlessly on it all this time. You swallow it down, because that is all you seem to know how to do now.

You hope you choke.

“No, no… I just missed you, Mama.” You missed her cooking, her voice, her touch, her presence. You missed being small enough to hide behind her, missed being young enough to think that your mother could fix everything if you cried hard enough, if you clung to her sleeves and apologised enough.

You missed being her child.

Were you still allowed to be? Even now? Even like this?

“I’m just calling to tell you that I’m coming to visit soon.”

——

“Did something good happen?”

You’re blinking— Once, twice. Maybe a few more times on top of that as your vision slowly comes back into focus, blurred colours in front of you slowly sharpen back into the movie playing on the lounge TV.

The only thing illuminating the room is the restless flicker of the television, washing the couch, the low table, and the side of Suguru’s face in shifting shades of blue and white.

You think that movie has been playing all this time. How long have you been mindlessly staring at nothing?

“Not long at all.”

Is he saying that to comfort you or were you actually out of it for too long?

“Is it okay for me to not answer that?” There’s even a chuckle when you pout, shifting your eyes away out of a mix of embarrassment and mock irritation— Before your gaze drifts back to the movie you both were meant to be watching.

…you can’t focus at all.

“What were you thinking about?” He’s asking because he’s worried, you think. And it's because he is that you need to be more careful than ever.

“Suguru,” It feels weird to be so, so highly aware of what you were saying. Even the way his name leaves your lips felt a bit foreign despite the familiarity.

You suppose it’s how you know you were doing something selfish.

“Do I cry a lot?”

“I wouldn’t say so.” There’s his hand squeezing your shoulder as you shift ever closer to face him, peering up at his pretty eyes as he blinks curiously.

“Why do you ask?”

You don’t have an answer to that, not as you choose to hide away by resting your head against his chest, the shift slow and quiet as you sink a little further into him.

“Just curious.”

And you are. You truly, truly are. It’s not weird, right? He does this for Satoru too, no? He likes everyone. Geto Suguru is caring, the epitome of an adoring friend.

“Why do you always take care of me like this?” Like this— As in, his hand in your hair before it slowly drags down the side of your face to hold your cheek.

A quiet hum as his eyes shift from the glowing blue screen of the television— The once loud and present voices from the movie seemingly turning into blank murmurs as those violets you adored stuck to your gaze, hypnotizing you with that gentle, deep tone.

“Because I love you.”

Oh. You love him too.

“Mm…” You watch him contemplate, watch as his eyes look away briefly before they’re back on your own, how his brows furrow as that little bit of a frown forms— And that easygoing smile takes over once more. “Not in that way.”

“You know it, don’t you?” His thumb slowly grazes over your lip, carefully tracing his way as your heart stutters that little bit. It’s so unfairly— Seductive, the way Suguru touches you.

It’s so slow and contemplative— Edging on a feeling that stirs a heat in your stomach and a yearning to be held tighter in his embrace.

“What I mean.”

“I…” You don’t quite understand love. You don’t understand, yet you know that he’s offering you a choice right now.

You’ve been taking too long, after all. Don’t you owe him a reply? Don’t you owe him closure?

Yet you don’t quite want to disappoint him. You love the boy named Geto Suguru. You love him too much to leave him wanting, yearning for an answer he might never receive.

Was he not handsome enough? Of course not. Too unloving? Too impatient? Too aggressive? Too obsessi— No. Then what was so undesirable about him that you’re hesitating?

Or are you just finding excuses just to not make the decision?

“How about me?” Purple eyes are peering at you. Stare pinned so, so hard that you’re afraid you might be stuck by his side, cuddled together under this heavy blanket forever.

And you think 10 is a bit too young to be stuck forever.

“I fit all your Mama’s requirements, no?”

But insects like you don’t deserve love.

Your lifespans are short; and you are offering him nothing but your cold corpse to hold at the very end. One without life, without warmth— You are only dooming him to the disappointment, to the sadness that you prayed you’d never have to share.

But you’re selfish, aren’t you? You’ll allow yourself to be— Because it’s now. Because this is what you choose to do with this finite time of yours. Kindness is prideful, yet you don’t want to choose it.

You want to swallow your pride so that you can have every last bit of happiness this world has to offer you in these last moments.

Right?

So you can learn— If it was him. Gentle, patient Suguru. The lovely Suguru who will always wait for you. It’s selfish to take advantage of that, isn’t it?

If it’s selfish, then you will swallow it all the same.

“Suguru.”

How do you tell someone that you want to officially agree to be their relationship partner? Is it like… Some sort of verbal confirmation? Do you shake his hand?

Oh— It’s a lot harder to say it out loud. Internal monologues in all those books seemed to flow so naturally, so easily in those gossip magazines and movies.

“It’s just— Um— Suguru, I—“ Your face is starting to feel so hot— Was it always this hard to say something like this? You don’t even want to look at him when you say it.

You can feel him looking at you, though. Patiently, quietly, with his shoulder still close enough for yours to brush against.

So you bury your face into your hands.

“I believe that we can, uh— Start dating with the intention of marriage in mind…?” Wow. That is so embarrassing to say when it’s not just a scenario in your head.

And you pray, pray that this silence doesn't become so loud. Your ears burn. Your fingers press harder into your face, as if you could hide the whole of yourself behind your palms, as if the dim lounge and the flickering television could somehow make you disappear.

And he so gently pries your desperate hands away from your crying face, so softly lifts your chin to see your near teary-eyed expression.

“You’re cute.”

And you watch him laugh— So handsome even as he does it, so carefree and… Pretty.

“It’s enough to tell me that you agree.”

“So if you’ll have me,” He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, the softness of his lips against your skin doing little to cool your rampaging head.

His thumb stays over your knuckles after, warm and steady and holding the answer you were too embarrassed to give properly.

“I’ll gladly be yours.”

——

“You look happier.”

Maybe it’s love.

“Shoko.” And love makes you want to address people with all your being, to tell them that you love them before you can’t.

“You’re cute for noticing that.”

You can hear the roll of her tongue over the treat when it clacks against her teeth.

“Cuter than Satoru?”

“Mm…” That’s quite a tough matchup. But it is cute that Shoko cares so much about you till this point.

“For now.”

And, you just happen to be the type to want to leave no regrets behind. When the wind whispers into your ear and brushes your hair, when the night air kisses your cheeks and wills you to close your eyes. You don’t like lying, you don’t like unsaid words that get stuck too far inside of you.

You want to be honest.

“You’re always so unconcerned.” You smile through it, your chin resting on her shoulder as your arms wrap around her waist from behind.

“You really do have a terrible personality.”

“Is that so?” Her shoulders slump, a hand reaching up to twirl a strand of her short brown hair as the other rests upon your arm around her waist. “How do I take that?”

And you smile, nodding into the bend of her shoulder as you hug her tighter, the scent of her minty hair mixing with the sour smoke that clung to her clothes.

“As my confession of love to you.”

You can hear a huff as her shoulders slump. “How unromantic.”

Is it? You don’t think you can get anymore romantic than this; a loved one in your arms as you both stand upon a balcony, with the moon and the city’s lights as your witness.

Maybe you need more confessions?

“Shoko.” You let her go to lean over the railing beside her as you watch those unmoving stars so brightly twinkling into her eyes through your half-lidded gaze.

“I don’t like it when you do smoke.”

And she shifts the lollipop in her mouth.

“I don’t like it when you scold me for smoking.”

Touché.

“Then I don’t like it when you’re tardy on purpose.” You want to hide the smile starting to twitch onto your lips, lest she starts thinking you’re joking.

“Huh. Then I,” She stresses the emphasis as her head lolls onto the top of yours, strands of her hair beginning to unwittingly intertwine together with your own. “Don’t like it when you wake up late but scold me for doing the same.”

A pause, and her eyes flicker to the you who squeezed her hand even tighter, your eyes watching the shimmer of your reflection in her gaze.

“Pfft— Shoko.” You close your eyes as you laugh, the sound spilling generously from your lips as the night wind steals every last breath, your hands growing ever warmer with her touch. “You really are so precious.”

A lovely, lovely girl.

“I love you, Shoko.”

“Mm.” You can feel her lean towards you, so, so gently warm, so

“I love you too.”

And you want it to stay this way forever. Is that a little too much to ask for?

“Shoko,” You can hear the ‘pop’ of her lollipop as she finally pulls it out, can just imagine the grimace on her face from the sweetness of the treat that she had probably forced herself to try.

Imagine. Because you don’t think you can bear to look at her as these horrid words leave your lips.

“What do you think will happen if I die?”

A pause as you hear the crack of her lollipop’s stick, followed by a slight choke as she hurls her head to the side towards you.

“Are you sick in the head?”

“Am I?” You nudge her elbow with your own; laughing when she repels the same action back at you— Giggling even more as you both began to exchange these soft blows.

“Shoko.”

“What?”

You let out a hum at her response, choosing to stare up into the night sky instead of her eyes. It’s not wrong to ask, right? Or maybe it is. But—

You just feel like it.

“Do you like me?”

“You’re being really clingy today.”

“Do you?”

You hope she answers honestly.

“I love you.”

“Mhm.” You can feel the press of her shoulder against your own now. “That’s the best Shoko response, isn’t it?”

You don’t think there’s anything else you would’ve accepted.

“Were you expecting something else?”

“Do you want me to?”

And she narrows her eyes at you, furiously prodding at your cheek as you take the onslaught of her mild irritation.

“Ahh— Shoko that hurts…”

“It’s to make sure you don’t grow up to become weird like the other 2.” She’s still prodding viciously, your cheeks getting abused on both ends as her fingers angrily push into the softness, her furrowing brows and scrutinizing eyes all you can see before your own eyes are forced to retreat.

“You won’t, right?”

“Shoko—!”

——

“Anything for my cute underclassmen.”

“Woahhhhh!” There are practically sparkles in his eyes as Haibara Yu’s hands close into excited fists, pumping the air with excitement, with joy— Anticipation.

It’s not everyday your senior offers you a free ‘wish’.

“T-Then I want a hug, (last name)-senpai!” His ears are tipped red, the colour having overtaken most of his face as he stares at you head-on; eyes practically dizzy with anticipation, confusion— And excitement.

“I want to have the teenage experience of hugging a pretty girl at least once in my life!”

How determined. You’d like to honour that spirit of youth.

(It must be really nice to be so young.)

“Please don’t openly be a pervert in front of our upperclassmen.” Nanami Kento has to fight back the embarrassment starting to twitch onto his features, finger trying to soothe the stitch in his furrowed brows as he hides his face.

“It’s okay, Nanami-san. I don’t mind at all.” You really don’t.

Especially because Haibara Yu resembles a puppy far too well. An oversized, just as eager and cute puppy that had practically jumped you the moment your arms opened, inviting him into your embrace.

So you just can’t help but pat his head as he clings to you, his arms gentle around your back and careful to rest respectfully on your upper back.

There’s even a suppressed squeal before he stops.

“Eh?” There’s a shift in your arms as Haibara twitches, pulling back to curiously peer at you, his eyebrows scrunching up momentarily as his nose flared slightly, taking a whiff of the air.

Hm?

“(last name)-senpai, you really don’t have a scent at all!”

Indeed, you do get told that a lot. Is it that strange or weird to him because he’s an Alpha? Or maybe you just smell bad…?

“No, no!” His arms circle around you tighter. “(last name)-senpai, I swear you smell really, really good!” His face scrunches up in thought, eyes squeezing shut before they blink open, alight with an answer.

“I just never imagined you would smell like this, y’know?”

Oh, that’s a relief to hear. So you go back to patting his head as you nod to yourself— Even the smile on his face as he leans down is cute.

Even if he has been hugging you for the past 3 minutes. Or no— Is it better to describe it as him going back for seconds and thirds?

“O-Oh, sorry!” There’s a sheepish chuckle as his face is alight with that blushing redness, awkwardly scratching at the back of his head. “I think I got a little carried away there— I-It didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything, right?!”

He’s so quick to reassure you. What a pleasant child.

“Eheh… You’re making me really shy, (last name)-senpai…!” His shoulders sag as he turns away, bashfully trying to hide the embarrassment setting him aglow with the likeness of the strawberries you saw atop the whole cake Satoru had bought recently.

But he isn’t the only one who was offered a free wish.

“Nanami-san, what about you?” Your gaze lands on the neutral expression of Nanami Kento, the stern gaze kind of reminding you of Yaga-sensei.

He really does feel quite mature for his age.

“Is there anything you would like from me?” And you smile, letting it settle gracefully onto your face as you await his reply.

“I—I don’t think I would be comfortable with that, (last name)-senpai.” His eyes shift away, deep browns awkward and unsure. “But thank you.”

“Eh?! Nanamin, you said you also thought (last name)-senpai was “exceptionally beau—“!”

“What’s with the sudden offer anyway, (last name)-senpai?” It’s Nanami Kento who’s choosing to cut the chattering, secret spilling Haibara off, quickly turning to you now, arms crossed and face deadpanned into that stoicalness to hide the growing red upon his cheeks.

Is it really that weird to dote on your juniors just a little bit?

“For lack of better words, yes.” His eyebrows are stitched together so harshly, coughing into his fist as he recovers quickly. “And, to be honest, going around and offering anything just because you know us is dangerous, (last name)-senpai.”

(Ah. He’s lecturing you.)

And you watch as he stiffens; watch as he scratches at the back of his neck as he lets out a sigh.

You suppose that that stems from how you’ve been acting as of recently. It must be weird, right? To have an upperclassman who had avoided you until now suddenly approach with intentions you can’t put a finger on.

But his last comment rubs you the wrong way. You know he doesn’t mean anything bad, know that he doesn’t want to cause any harm. But… Didn’t that come out a little too easily?

“Why is that so, Nanami-san?” You’re smiling through it again— Can feel the corners of your mouth lift as your gaze sharpens that little bit to meet with the blond.

Why is it that he sees it that way? Why is it that he feels that he’s taking advantage of you? Why is it that— He feels as if he was holding himself back in front of you?

And you see the answer.

“Nanami-san.” So you keep it; this smile upon your face that has met many who have ever doubted you. “I don’t fault you for saying that.”

“Thank you for looking out for me.”

It’s not odd anymore, isn’t it? To be condescended upon for the way that you are. It must not be hard for them to notice, after all.

You’d like to think secondary genders don’t mean anything in the Jujutsu world, you’d like to think that being an Omega meant nothing in the very end.

But do you have that mentality just because you’re from a side that can’t compare? Maybe Alphas like Nanami and Haibara just don’t see your point of view.

Or maybe, you already know what they think of you.

You’re only Grade 3, and a ‘Beta’ to boot. Compared to your classmates, their other extraordinary seniors— You must look severely lacking. How embarrassing, isn’t it?

They pity you.

“Senpai, say— Uhm, how do I put this? Nanamin doesn’t mean any harm, but we just— Uhm—!” There’s an awkward scratching at his neck as he throws a glance towards a glaring Nanami who chooses to elbow him in the gut.

“Ack— S-So I shouldn’t ask it?!”

Another elbow straight to his middle as the cuter of the pair starts to recoil back in pain.

“So I should?! Nanamin, I can’t tell if you just hit me!”

“It’s a rude question that shouldn’t be entertained, Haibara.”

“B-But you said you were curious too—“

“I don’t mind.” You cut in just before they break into another squabble, letting the dread you’ve been trying to hide bloom into a practiced smile upon your face— You hope they don’t mistake it for you encouraging violence in their relationship.

“So I— I can ask it, right?!” Haibara Yu is far too confused after getting pummeled and affirmed all in one go. And probably nearly out of commission, from the way he was so fervently rubbing at his tummy to soothe the pain.

Yet, you're so sure you already know the question.

“Please do, Haibara-san.”

And you watch. Watch as he turns to Nanami again for support as the blond just glares back, watch as the brunet gulps and release his hands from his stomach in favour of wiping gathering sweat on his uniform pants.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, senpai! We really, really do respect you and admire you and think that you’re super pretty and smart and very very pretty and—“

“Get to the point, Haibara.” There’s a grit in his teeth as Nanami tries to swallow down the awkwardness that was starting to form around the trio of you.

“It’s just that—“ He’s speaking through panting breaths and clammed words . “We can’t really help wanting to protect you— Sometimes? Uhm— It’s really— Like, uhm— That… (last name)-senpai really reminds us of—“

“An Omega?” The voice that completes the sentence is by your ear, arms going around your waist as you feel cool breath against your ear, a popsicle prodding at your lips as a chin rests atop your head.

“Tsk, tsk. You really shouldn’t be sayin’ stuff like that out loud, Haibara-kyun.”

Ah. It’s just Satoru.

“Just Satoru?” It’s said with a huff, enough for you to feel the icy breath fan over the curve of your ear.

But with the way he said that… He must be offended, right? You should apologize—

“If you apologize it means you were trying to offend me, ya know?”

He makes a good point. So good, that you choose to ignore him for now.

“Haibara-san, Nanami-san.” You gently push the slow melting popsicle away, remnants of its icy sweetness lingering on your lips as you feel a shrug from behind you; followed by the crunch of the cool treat.

“Being seen as an Omega isn’t bad.” Your voice is steady, yet your fingers thread together as your gaze slowly trails from the floor to meet anxious browns.

“So I don’t see any issue even if I remind you of one.”

“And so what if others see her as an Omega?” A quick swallow. “If I spend enough time around you, you’ll be able to smell like the bessssst Alpha possible, hm? How’s that sound?” His cheek nudges against your own, offering you another bite of his popsicle— Only for you to gently reject it once more.

“I don’t like the way you smell, Satoru.”

And it’s silent for a moment. A moment, because you don’t even get much time to react before—

“I know this.” He pinches your nose, ignoring your nasally whines and how you were lightly tugging at his arm, trying to pull away the offending limb before he permanently takes away your already weak sense of smell.

“Doesn’t work.” He lets go to tap a finger against your nose, the sore appendage stinging lightly as you hurriedly rub at it in effort to soothe.

“It’s not good to tell lies, cutie.”

Satoru can be such a bully at times.

“Say, senpais…” Haibara Yu is watching the both of you bicker, mouth agape in realization as he has to come to terms with the fact that he could potentially be in trouble for touching someone that wasn’t—

“Are you both dating?”

“No.”

“Yep!”

And you hear the brunet hiccup in response as the blond lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching his eyebrows as he turns around, grabbing a hyperventilating Haibara by the collar as he starts to drag him off.

“We’ll be taking our leave first, senpais. Please don’t let us hold up your conversation.” A polite bow as he takes his leave.

“Nanamin—! I just— Gojo-senpai or Geto-senpai or Ieiri-senpai mi—might kill me!”

“If we get involved with them any further we’ll die from stress first.”

And you can hear the cracking of the wooden popsicle stick as your waist is grabbed to gently turn you right around to be met with glaring blues.

“What? You won’t date me?”

Well it’s not that— It’s just that you would be betraying Suguru’s trust like that, wouldn’t you? Should you distance yourself a little more from Satoru? Is that how it works?

…eh? But it’s just Satoru, isn’t it? But at the same time, what if Suguru got jealous?

(And what if Satoru himself got jealous at the fact that Suguru got jealous?)

Gojo Satoru is hard to please, after all.

“I would date you Satoru.” You even pat at his shoulder, getting up on your tip toes and petting his head.

“Yeah? Then why don’t we—“

“But I already have a boyfriend.” You even pat at his chest as you say it, as if trying to soften the blow of your words. Unnecessary, because his hands had immediately slackened, jaw dropping as you tilt your head curiously to the side.

“…huh?”

——

You’re not one to tell lies; or so you’d like to think.

Your heart might even pound out of your chest as you sit here, their shoulders pressed against your own on either side as you try to ignore the side-eyes you were getting throughout this entire mission briefing.

(You truly wish to dig yourself into a hole right now.)

“So? Any questions?”

A polite raise of his hand— And you hope, pray that he doesn’t pry too much. Suguru is annoyingly perceptive; almost suffocatingly good at nothing the underwhelming, the overlooked.

He’s so disgustingly meticulous.

“Suguru-kun.”

“I’d like to ask,” His voice is as put-together, as smooth and soft as usual.

“Why is a Grade 3 accompanying us on this mission?”

Oh— That’s fine. You like that question; just because that base has long been covered, after all. Isn’t it funny that your self-deprecation demanded to be addressed? Haha.

You’re pathetic.

“The briefcase is sensitive to cursed energy and its outputs. The Higher-Ups requested specifically for gravity-based curse techniques to handle it with care.”

Masamichi Yaga’s stern gaze shifts as his arms cross, turning his body from the blackboard to face you all.

“And by extension, protect (last name) (name) at all costs.”

It’s a straightforward command, a simple one. Simple enough that it almost sounds insulting when paired with the names Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.

Yet you can’t help but feel the ever growing dread in your chest.

“This is also a chance for (name)-kun to get promoted to Grade 2.” Masamichi Yaga glances towards you, his gaze lingering for only a moment before it returns to the others.

“Do well enough, and perhaps even Semi-Grade 1.”

It really does sound convincing. So terrifyingly so that you could only pray that this was true, you know?

“Like how Mei Mei was guiding Utahime ‘round, huh?” Satoru’s hand is on his chin as he whistles at the thought, content with the imagination cycling through his head as he changes his tune to a hum.

So, please act convincingly.

“I can’t wait…?”

And you’re horrible even at acting. So you fight the urge to smack yourself silly as you swallow, letting out a nervous laugh to supplement the enthusiasm you were meant to feel in this moment.

It’s silent for a moment before you feel a hand against your back, sliding up spine as you freeze up, shoulders stiffening as you feel an elbow rest upon your shoulder.

“Sure ya can’t! Cause your promoter’s gonna be me.”

He says it like it’s already decided, like your promotion was just another inevitable thing waiting to happen beneath his guidance, because Gojo Satoru would never speak such words with cruelty— Never stopped to learn to doubt himself first.

Because he could guarantee you that.

“Ah— Thanks, Satoru…”

“Soooo~ How about breaking up with your boyfriend to be with—“

“Okinawa then Kyoto and then back to Tokyo? Is this some sort of holiday trip?” Suguru immediately cuts him off, flipping through the mission brief with a quiet rustle of paper, his brows drawing together the longer he looked.

“There’s interference so far in Tokyo.” Yaga taps a finger against the edge of the mission brief, his expression set into its usual severity. “The Higher-Ups have requested you all to lay low.”

A short silence follows before he continues, each word delivered with careful finality.

“Escort the briefcase to its final destination.”

Suguru’s gaze shifts, not fully toward you, but close enough that you feel the weight of it pressing at the side of your face. He is not suspicious, you think. Not truly. Merely curious, maybe about how you feel, or how nervous you were as his hand squeezes your own.

“Yaga-sensei,” He says, polite as ever, which somehow makes it worse. “With all due respect, if the object is sensitive to cursed energy output, would Satoru not be the worst possible person to assign to it?”

“Oi.”

“He has a point,” Shoko’s cutting in from the chemistry lab’s side windows, her head tilted curiously as she forces herself into this conversation.

“And I don’t even have to go on this mission to know that.”

“I’m incredibly delicate when I wanna be, ya know?”

“Yea, tell that to the times you forget about the veil.”

“Suguru forgets too!”

You should laugh. You should laugh because it is funny, because they are acting like themselves, because this is exactly how a normal mission briefing with them should sound.

So why does it make you want to cry?

“The briefcase is to remain under (name)-kun’s handling,” Yaga-sensei has to cut in with a stern warning and his hands angrily at his hips. “All of you need to keep in mind that keeping the objectives and each other safe is the top priority.”

There is no use in a spoiled vessel, is there?

“So basically babysitting.”

Your fingers subconsciously twitch. There it is— You should’ve expected at least that, huh?

Maybe to him, to them, this really was nothing more than babysitting. A Grade 3 being escorted around by 2 Special Grades, a fragile little thing with a fragile little technique and a fragile little promotion waiting at the end of it if you behaved well enough.

You wish it was as humiliating and as simple as being babysat.

“It is an escort mission,” Yaga-sensei says, voice even and on the brink of churning into frustration.

“Yea, with a briefcase.”

“That’s right, now plea—“

“Yaga-sensei, didya not type this up yourself? It’s not like your usual stuff.” Satoru tilts his head, looking far too comfortable for someone who was supposedly being briefed on an important mission; even going as far as to be mindlessly twirling a strand of your hair as he skims through the printout. “Soooo many fancy words, not enough actual info— That’s probably how the Higher-Ups like it too.”

“Those old fogeys should allll~ get fired for making this the most vague and useless brief ever~!”

Ouch. You think your heart is starting to sting a little as you sweat, your fingers curling tighter around the fabric of your uniform.

Maybe you and Yaga-sensei both need to improve on faking official missions better…

“But a vacation does sound rather nice this time of year, Satoru.” Suguru chimes in from your side, folding the mission brief back into place with a small, thoughtful smile.

“Okinawa’s beaches are popular.”

“Right?!” Satoru lights up almost immediately, the earlier complaint forgotten as quickly as it had come. “I wanna get shaved ice by the beachside!”

You blink at the thought. It would, wouldn’t it? A place full of boundless sunlight and a blue sky that stretched further than your eyes could see. The tropical paradise for getaways— And the final resting place of a boy you hope to pay your respects to.

So your head turns toward the chemistry lab’s side windows almost hopefully. This would be a nice opportunity to make up for lost time with the ones that were still here, no?

“Shoko, are you comin—“

“Shoko-kun.” Yaga’s voice cuts in before she can answer, his gaze narrowing toward the window. “What happened to the medical license exam you were studying for?”

“Ugh… So troublesome...” Shoko clicks her tongue, leaning heavier against the window frame. “I know, I know. The exam comes first.”

Then her eyes drift back to you, a little softer this time.

“But when you make it to Kyoto, I might be able to catch a break.” Her lollipop shifts against her teeth. “I wanted to see your mom again anyway.”

“Then let’s get going already.” Satoru stretches his arms over his head, the mission brief crumpling slightly in his hand before Yaga’s glare makes him straighten it out again, the hurried crinkles filling the air momentarily.

Suguru folds his copy neatly, tucking it beneath his arm as he rises from his seat. “We should prepare before leaving. Okinawa is still quite a distance away.”

“Eh? Why bother?” Satoru grins, far too pleased with himself as he leans closer to your side. “I can just fly us there.”

Would it be too much to say that you're scared of flying?

“You’re no fun.” Satoru clicks his tongue, though the grin on his face says otherwise as he flicks a strand of your hair out of your face.

Suguru only lets out a quiet sigh, his hand brushing lightly against your back as he guides you toward the door. “Then we’ll take the normal route.”

Ah— The plane. You’re fine with that. You may have the utmost trust in Satoru and may have a lot more trust in Suguru’s curses— But a plane is very safe too.

“Satoru, if you run in the lab you’ll break something.”

“Can’t hear ya! I wanna go pack some of my holiday shirts!”

Pack— What do you pack? Do you go light because you aren’t exactly going to make it back? Heavy because you don’t want to miss wearing something?

Yaga’s voice reaches you just before you can step out to even make that decision.

“(name)-kun.”

When you turn, he does not speak right away. His gaze settles on you with something too difficult for you to name, something seemingly ambiguous.

Yet you feel it all the same.

“Know that I am, and have always been proud to have had you as my student.”

(“Aww, Yaga-sen! Ya getting sentimental now that our Grade 3 is finally getting a promotion?”)

——

“It won’t be too hard, right?” Satoru has his head on your shoulder as you stir lightly from your nap, his voice muffled slightly by the fabric of your shirt.

The low hum of the plane fills the silence between you, broken only by the occasional chime of the seatbelt sign and the soft rustle of passengers shifting in their seats.

Your arm is awkwardly pressed against the armrest, knees tucked close in the narrow space, with Suguru sitting on your other side by the window. Sunlight spills through the small oval pane, catching on the curve of his cheek as he glances over at the both of you.

“My girlfriend can handle it,” Suguru's quiet reply, putting just enough emphasis on the word to make your face warm despite your sudden awakening. "Wouldn't you agree, Satoru?"

It’s kind of embarrassing doing this kind of thing in front of him.

‘Thing’ as in how Suguru was taking advantage of every moment to hold onto your hand— Threading his fingers through your own at every moment that allowed him to.

It would’ve been fine; cute even. But you do worry about how he’s kissed you so often that your lips seem to be permanently stained with the flavour of his honey chapstick.

Not that you’re complaining— But you don’t know if Satoru was okay with the sudden amount of PDA.

“Do it again.” You’re pulling at his shirt, tugging him closer to you as you glower, eyebrows stitched so harshly that your expression was much too akin to an angry glare.

(It’s not fair that that kiss was too one-sided! You’ll make it fair for him! Even if you were sat in the middle section of this trio of plane seats.)

Hours later, beneath a sky so blue it almost hurts to look at, you're still thinking about it.

There’s wind in your hair and sun on your cheeks, there’s the warm, salty scent of the sea curling through the air, there’s the distant chatter of tourists and children and shopkeepers calling out from their stalls.

Summer has truly begun.

“Oiii! I found a spot by the water over here!” Satoru is wrestling with a beach umbrella that refuses to cooperate, nearly getting smacked in the face every time a gust of wind catches it. Suguru, meanwhile, has somehow ended up doing most of the actual work. Towels are spread neatly across the sand, bags tucked out of the way, sandals lined up where they won't be swallowed by the tide.

“Stop standing there and help!” Satoru shouts as the umbrella nearly takes flight.

“I'm helping by supervising,” Suguru replies without looking up, humming as he turns another page of The Ito Saya Travel Journal: Okinawa Edition, his attention seemingly far more invested in the magazine than the beach setup.

You suppose you should make yourself useful. Some sodas can’t hurt, can it?

…you think that horrible pun book Satoru was reciting on the plane is starting to rub off on you.

And it’s surprisingly easy to slip away, given how distracted they were with the setup— So you’re accompanied only by the trudge of your sandals and the way the fabric of your looser, more relaxed clothes catching against the briefcase in your hold.

It’s peaceful here in Okinawa. So much so that it felt almost unsettling. You’re surrounded by the hustle and bustle of tourists and locals alike, enveloped by the wordless conversations you can’t quite catch.

The air is clear, carrying little more than the scent of salt and sunshine.

But you know better, you know better when your senses just start to tingle, that chilling creep entangling your spine as you physically lurch towards the sound of that distant scream.

“No! Get away from me!”

You’re a bit frantic now— Especially because no one in this large crowd reacted to it, no one in this swallowing mass of people even offered a second glance towards the distressing noise.

“Save me! Anyone!”

And you’re already hurriedly muttering apologies, yelling ‘excuse mes’!’ and trying your hardest to not trip on the strappy sandals that were becoming far too much of a bother.

“Hey! Watch it!”

“I’m sorry!”

You don’t know when you broke into a run, eyes hurriedly scanning everything your gaze could possibly touch, every surface your eyes could take over. The sun beating its rays against the

“Miss? Are you lost? You look frantic.”

No. No— You’re fine. You’re fine— But you’re in a hurry so you can’t explain at all. You can’t explain anything, not when those sobs for help were starting to churn into disembodied cries.

“I never asked to be able to see— I never wanted this…!”

And you come to a stop just before a dark alleyway, your bare feet covered in cuts and bruises, stained with the nicks of your blood as you pant, sandals long gone as you stare into the endless black.

You have to save her. You have to save this girl who was crying her heart out, this girl who was begging to be saved.

So you have no time to be scared. It’s not something to break a sweat over, not as you walk into the darkness, letting it cloak you with its chill, greeting you with a low hum when you’ve been completely engulfed.

“Please… Please…!”

You stretch out your hand, grasping onto the walls of black as you feel the pulsating breaths of the curse. It’s… Surprisingly warm. Uncannily so.

Perhaps that was how this poor girl was lured in. Truly, a dirty trick that you hold much disdain for.

So you focus. Channeling every bit of this feeling into your palm as your eyes flutter to a close. You imagine the summer wind in your hair, the glow of the sunlight against your skin. You imagine the laughter thrown to the sky, the clouds clearing to welcome the blue sky.

And the darkness dissipates with the glowing sunlight.

“Kuroi…! I won’t run away ever again, so please— Anyone…!”

In the sunlight’s wake, you find a girl. So terrified was she that she had curled into a ball, too horrified to even lift her head to face the glowing rays that were eagerly waiting to greet her with their warm embrace.

“Miss? Are you okay?”

“Senpai, say— Uhm, how do I put this?” There’s an awkward scratching at his neck as he throws a glance towards a glaring Nanami who chooses to elbow him in the gut.

“Ack— S-So I shouldn’t ask it?!”

Another elbow straight to his middle as the cuter of the pair starts to recoil back in pain.

“So I should?! Nanamin, I can’t tell if you just hit me!”

“It’s a rude question that shouldn’t be entertained, Haibara.”

“B-But you said you were curious too—“

“I don’t mind.” You cut in just before they break into another squabble, letting the smile you’ve been trying to hide bloom upon your face— You hope they don’t mistake it for you encouraging violence in their relationship.

“So I— I can ask it, right?!” Haibara Yu is far too confused after getting pummeled and affirmed all in one go. And probably nearly out of commission.

Yet, you're so sure you already know what they were wanted to ask.

“Please do, Haibara-san.”

And you watch. Watch as he turns to Nanami again for support as the blond just glares back, watch as the brunet gulps and release his hands from his stomach in favour of wiping gathering sweat on his uniform pants.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, senpai! We really, really do respect you and admire you and think that you’re super pretty and smart and very very pretty and—“

“Get to the point, Haibara.” There’s a grit in his teeth as Nanami tries to swallow down the awkwardness that was starting to form around the trio of you.

“It’s just that—“ He’s speaking through panting breaths and clammed words . “We can’t really help wanting to protect you, you know? Sometimes, (last name)-senpai really reminds us of—“

“An Omega?” The voice that completes the sentence is by your ear, arms going around your waist as you feel cool breath against your ear, a popsicle prodding at your lips as a chin rests atop your head.

You’ve seen death before. It’s not a stranger to you, not something you’re unfamiliar with that you can’t sit with it in a room and force small talk; you can tolerate the presence, can live with its ever whispering loom.

But it’s odd.

It’s odd to see yourself; to see others in this manner. Aren’t heroes meant to be revered, admired? Aren’t they meant to be honoured for their bravery, their sacrifice?

You always thought being a sorcerer always meant being something more than you could ever imagine. You always thought that being a sorcerer meant that

But it’s sad, isn’t it? Laying down your life just to be treated like the forgotten scum nobody bothered to clean. As if your lives were crumpled balls of paper to be disposed of when you’ve been used to your fullest capacity.

Because Komori Isamu wasn’t remembered in any significant way. Not even a funeral you could even attend as you stare so blankly at that old plastic bottle of water.

“It-It’s my thank you…” A sniffle as you kind of— Awkwardly sit next to him, the packet of tissues placed inbetween the both of you on this bench as he blows his nose again.

“I’ll buy— Buy you another bottle of water to make up for it!”

(It should be wrong to get rid of that, shouldn’t it?)

“What’s wrong?” Geto Suguru is muttering questions into your shoulder, fingers tracing your skin as he continues to hold you, his arms wrapped tight around your waist as he nuzzles into your neck.

“You haven’t been talking much.” He pulls you closer, head making itself comfortable on the bend of your shoulder as he so quietly mutters out his concerns. “I’m worried.”

Nothing. It’s nothing.

“It’s not nothing if you’ve been so out of it lately.” He lets out a breathy sigh as you catch the peek of half-lidded amethyst watching you.

“Is it about that boy we met at the goodwill event?”

Suguru must’ve at least known about his—

“What about him?”

Oh.

“…it’s nothing, Suguru.” Your grip around his arm tightens just ever so slightly; you don’t know if you’re shivering from how his soft voice was so gently cooing into your ear—

Or trembling from this indescribable lump in your throat.

“I—“ What do you want to say? “I’m just thinking.”

You should start compartmentalizing, shouldn’t you? You’re a sorcerer, you’re someone meant to be looking forward, facing onwards. You’re not meant to be like this; not allowed to dwell on such feelings.

(Think about how many more would suffer the same fate if you did.)

“We could all go to that family restaurant you like later…” A yawn as his bangs fall over his eyes once more, shifting with him as he so gently coaxes you to lie down once more.

“I’ll treat you.”

(You don’t know how to feel.)

“…sure. Thanks, Suguru.”

Is it silly to think that you thought he would care a bit more? Geto Suguru likes saving humans, after all. He will understand, won’t he? Surely, if you just explained how you felt— All of this will go away, won’t it?

But he wouldn’t understand, you think. Because you truly; absolutely— Feel nothing.

(And you want to cry because of it.)

But maybe it’s because of that that you don’t want him to know. That you can’t let him know; because what point are you trying to prove if you did?

Coming to terms with this breathless feeling, with this swallowing emptiness. How much of it do you dare to confront? How much more do you think you deserve to suffer?

You hate this. Of course you do. You’re a coward, a weakling. You can’t achieve the same things your friends can, can’t deny their talent and skill.

(You’re jealous.)

You used to love the story of the ugly duckling who soon became a swan; that working on and believing in yourself was the true path to happiness. Hard work always pays off, doesn’t it?

(You once thought you’d be just like it.)

But what you failed to realize; was that the premise of the very tale was that the ugly duckling was a swan.

The ugly duckling was already predestined to become beautiful, to become loved. A destiny sealed from the very beginning, a fate that was already set in stone.

(Why would you think that hard work could ever match up to talent?)

It’s so obvious now, isn’t it?

No one remembers the ordinary ducklings.

——

There are sayings, you know? Many alike the tale of the Ugly Duckling. Many that continue to drill themselves into your head no matter how hard you try to forget—

It doesn’t really help that Yaga-sensei tries his hardest to drill idioms into all of his classes.

It’s gold that always glitters. A diamond in the rough. A pearl amongst oysters.

It’s funny, isn’t it? For you to nitpick such common sayings just to dwell in your head a little longer.

To be a precious material, to be a person worth remembering; you must already possess that very thing. You must already be someone of value. To have all the luck in the world of being born special—

“What’s wrong with you?” Gojo Satoru stares up at you from his position on your lap, shiny, glittering eyes glowing past the forearms he had folded, kneeled on the carpet of his room as his head rests upon your thighs; tilted so innocently as he watches your every move.

But you don’t think you have anything to say.

“Satoru…” You don’t even know how to continue past his name, your fingers tracing his jaw as you mindlessly stare into his gorgeous, diamond-studded eyes. You’ve always known that he was special— But you’ve never really let that thought settle in; not until now that is.

What did you even used to talk about? What do you say? What can you say?

“…have you eaten?”

And Gojo Satoru actually frowns in reply. Narrowing his pretty eyes at you as he grabs your waist, pinching the skin and glaring when you don’t even give him even the smallest yelp in reply.

“Have you eaten?” He pokes at your torso, jabbing fingers into the fabric of your pajamas as you barely even groan at the sudden pressure.

“Ah… Please don’t do that, Satoru…”You press your palm over his hand, easing it down before it can prod you again, turning your face away from the way his eyes seem to catch every little thing.

“Your thighs aren’t as comfy if you keep skipping meals, ya know? Did you even eat anything today?” He squeezes the flesh on your thigh now, poking and prodding and squeezing through the layer of clothing.

Maybe you should tell him to stop lying on them.

“Nope.”

Of course he won’t listen. Why should he, right? You’re an insect, a paragraph meant to be skipped over, an ordinary person. Why should he listen to you?

“You’re unfair, Satoru.”

You envy him, don’t you? That’s why you trace the lines of his face, linger your touch on his soft cheeks despite all the muscle he claims to be made of.

“I hate it.”

And you say it with a smile, so threatened by this disgusting, vile feeling that’s been haunting your very self. You say it as you so gently pat his hair, thumb tracing beneath his eye in a touch that feels far too soft for something this ugly.

“Why?” It’s his reply to you as the air goes rigid all of a sudden, so uncomfortable, so awkward. You can be proud of this, can’t you? It’s a feat for someone like you to have some sort of control over how this conversation goes.

So you continue to smile, to let it grace your lips no matter how wrong it felt, no matter how strange it may look.

“Because you’re just too good at all you do.” Your words trail off as you watch that spark in his eyes flare up even more, staring so deeply into yours.

There’s a weird feeling of clarity when you stare back at his heavy gaze, your fingers faltering just for that moment as you let yourself get lost in the starry abyss of sky blue.

How unfair.

“Uh huh. So what do you hate about that?” A huff, an impatient tapping against your thigh now, so hurried, so off rhythm.

So agitated.

And that was enough to satiate this sick, disgusting feeling inside of you, dispelling that stupid lump in your throat. Stroking at your ego and sating your heart as you fight against the tears that threatened to well up before they became visible.

(You’re repulsive.)

“Too many girls keep asking me for your number.” And the tension dissipates all in one breath. That look in his gorgeous eyes disappears altogether as he plops his head against your lap once more.

“Right? Way more ask for mine then Suguru’s right?” He grins up at you when you stop patting his head, nudging lightly against your thigh to get you to continue. “You should praise me more first if you want me to do something about it, hm?”

Of course you can. You can because Gojo Satoru was just too strong, Gojo Satoru was just so incredibly smart, Gojo Satoru was everything everyone wanted to be.

And doesn’t that make you angry?

Of course not. You don’t have that kind of anger in you, don’t have that type of reaction that will let you unleash all these ugly, ugly feelings within.

(Pathetic.)

“Hey.” He’s talking again, even when your hands are mindlessly combing through his hair and so, so unfocused. What was it this time? Was he going to pry? Do you want him to? What if you aren’t ready to have this conversation? What if—

“Can you fly?”

…huh?

“Actually, even if ya can, don’t do it.” He hums as his fingers trail up your shirt, light touches brushing over the fabric before stopping just at the hem, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.

“Yaga’s gonna be pissed if you activate your cursed technique on school grounds, y’know?” He nuzzles a cheek against your middle as he hums again, completely ignoring the look you were giving him.

What does that have to do with anything right now?

“I like that confused look on your face.” A hand reaches up to pinch at one of your cheeks, pulling at the skin as he grins at the way your eyes were starting to flitter about nervously, how you were sprawling through your words.

“At least it’s not that mopey look you’ve had stuck on the past few weeks.”

You should be able to mope if you want to.

“Yea, yea. And I should be able to complain about it if you do.” A pat to your waist. “Now let’s get started, shall we?”

And you barely have any time to react before he scoops you up into his arms, the sudden shift of weight knocking the breath from your lungs as he lifts you clean off the bed, rising from his kneeling position in one smooth motion.

“Wa—Wait, Satoru— What are you—?!” You’re pushing at his chest now, confusion starting to settle in when you realize he’s not letting you go. And that was enough for you to struggle even more as he starts to hush you, grinning so innocently, so adorably that it was somehow enough to rope you into his endeavours.

“Do me a little favour and enjoy it, ‘kay?” You can feel a short burst of his cursed energy as his windows fly open, letting the cold night air trickle in into the once warm room, the sudden chill brushing against your skin.

You can hear how his heartbeat was staring to pick up its pace with your head against his chest, his arms supporting the bend of your knees and your shoulders as you gape up at him in disbelief, the steady rhythm loud against your ear.

“Satoru, please just tell me—“

“Oh~ Almost forgot!” He has the audacity to wink at you as his stupid grin grows ever bigger. “Feel free to hold on tighter if you’re scared.”

“Satoru—!”

And you can barely even squeeze the scream of his name out of your throat before he takes off into the sky, laughing at your near-horrified expression as your eyes quickly shut, your hands coming to cusp over your own face out of instinct, the rush of wind tearing past you as the ground disappears beneath his feet.

When you finally open your eyes—

Everything looks different all the way up here. There are twinkling city lights reflecting off of your eyes, glimmering beneath the canopy of night sky clouds surrounded by a sea of stars.

It’s beautiful.

“See? Ya happier now?”

You can barely make out the shapes of humans from all the way up here, can barely even fathom that there were others, that there were individuals with their own thoughts, their own feelings; all of it reduced to nothing more than flickers of light below.

“Helps forget your troubles, right?”

Nothing else matters, no one can matter when you’re all the way up here. Held so tightly in his arms as you both stare down at the glittering city below, the lights call to you, every shimmer beckoning you with their beauty.

Everything looks minuscule. Everything looks redundant, far below you— Everything had lost its meaning.

Was this what it felt like to be at the very top? To breathe in air so thin, so suffocating, so cold it hollowed you out from the inside, to exist somewhere so far removed from everything else?

You’re being too literal.

(Are you?)

“Isn’t it pretty?” His cheek is pressed against yours as you hear him huff out a laugh, so warm against your skin as he nuzzles against you, the feel of his hair starting to tickle your cold skin.

“Maybe we should drink some hot milk when we get back.” You can hear how impatient he had gotten when you lack a reply, can feel how his gaze was just so fixated on you despite the view just below.

Below. It would be so easy for him to just let you go, wouldn’t it? It would be easy for Gojo Satoru to kill you.

(You’re being weird.)

“I’d think you’re definitely being weird if you just sit here in my arms and continue to ignore me, y’know?” You can hear him huff as he pushes his face closer to yours, his warm breath fanning over your lips as you watch his eyes narrow into a glare.

“Sorry, Satoru…”

But it would be easy, wouldn’t it? For him it would.

To stop caring, to stop feeling. To let everything that once held weight slip quietly through your fingers without even noticing it.

Isn’t that terrifying?

And it’s because of that, that you think you’re okay with staying at the bottom.

——

It’s a cycle, you think. One that repeats over and over again until it makes you physically sick. It’s grating, it’s choking; only ever full of misery that you can’t repress any further.

And it hurts, doesn’t it? You want to convince yourself that it does, for all that it is worth, for all that it will ever be.

Because you are an insect.

And insects are different from animals, you’ve noticed. You don’t need to gain their trust, you don’t need to bribe, to compromise with them.

They simply crawl upon every surface ahead of them; trusting, accepting whatever was in front. They can take to the skies, yet they can’t go far.

And it’s because of that that you want to understand.

Maybe that’s why—

“Are you able to speak?” Your feet land on the ground just as you dodge another blast, the force of it grazing past you as something shifts in your periphery—

It screeches a reply in turn, so ugly in its appearance, so misshapen in its form. Carved out of fur and muck, of tree bark and trash that littered this forest floor, its body twitching with insect-like rigidity, segments uneven and jagged as bits of plastic and rotting leaves cling to it, mandibles clicking through clumps of dirt and decay.

(Maybe you’re just being too little, a little too much.)

“Do you want to understand humans?” It’s a question posed to the screeching, snake-like form of the curse, towering over you as its mandibles vibrate in place, the motion restless, erratic.

(Or maybe you’ve already lost your mind.)

Its body jerks, splits, segments tearing apart with a wet, splintering sound as pieces of it break away, dropping to the forest floor in uneven clumps that twitch and writhe on their own. Limbs unravel, mandibles snapping loose as they scatter, multiplying, reforming into smaller, crawling shapes.

They hurriedly surround you, piling, clawing over each other to reach you, animalistic shrieks rising all at once as their bodies collide and scrape against one another, closing in from every direction.

Your steps skim just above them as you shift back, then to the side, pushing yourself up in short, uneven bursts that never quite become flight, only enough to keep their grasping limbs from catching hold as they surge beneath you. It’s shallow, inconsistent, more like drifting than anything else, your footing never fully there as you move, as if the ground itself keeps slipping just out of reach.

You try to keep up with their bodies stacking and clawing over each other, forcing themselves higher just to reach you, their numbers closing whatever distance you try to make as you continue your retreat.

You tear at the space around it, disjointing the gravity just enough for the mass to rupture, the swarm breaking apart midair as pieces scatter in all directions, limbs and segments flung outward.

Even before the fragments can fall, they begin to pull back together, twitching, dragging against the distortion as if something unseen is forcing them into place, segments snapping back with a strained, uneven motion until the swarm reforms into something whole again, resisting what should have torn it apart.

It snatches you from the ground, the force of it knocking the air from your lungs as it coils tight around your body, their spiked, elongated abdomen jabbing into your flesh and pinning your arms, crushing in just enough to keep you still.

And it hurts, it hurts as you feel thorns rip apart your flesh, digging deeper into your skin as you grit your teeth, not wanting to give it the satisfaction of a scream; yet the tears well up in your eyes all the same.

You hate pain. You hate feeling helpless, feeling less than what you are. You hate this feeling of hopelessness, you hate how you’re so pathetic, you hate how you’re so weak, you hate being a sorcer—

(Is it worth it?)

And you hate it when your inner voice talks to you during these times, hate it when it keeps asking you questions you don’t want to answer, simply because—

You don’t know. You don’t know, yet you try again and again and again and again and again and again—

Until it doesn’t hurt anymore.

Your breath stutters, your body straining against the hold as you force it again, closing your eyes and concentrating on tearing at the space around you without care this time, without precision, dragging the distortion through yourself just as much as through it as something in your chest lurches, wrong—

It doesn’t hurt when you don’t matter anymore. It doesn’t hurt when you can’t care anymore, doesn’t it?

There’s wind screaming in your ears as you release the gravity around the cursed spirit, blasting it away as it succumbs to their injuries, fading into dust as you fall to the ground.

(Maybe this is your anger.)

Your legs give before you can steady yourself, knees hitting the ground with a dull, unceremonious thud as the last remnants of dust and wet blood settle around you. Your hands follow after, bloodied red and pressing weakly into the dirt, fingers curling into loose soil as if that alone might keep you upright.

It’s stupid, it’s dumb to hurt yourself just because. There could’ve been other ways about it, could have been a backup plan. Yet, you can’t help but revel in that feeling, as blood continues to pour from your wounds, can’t help but think that you deserve it all the more.

“I’m sorry.” It’s choked, almost in a cry.

But don’t know who it’s meant for, don’t know what you’re crying for as you fight the wail that threatens to escape you, the tears stinging your palms as you weep and grieve.

(Pathetic.)

Yet, you’ll want this, you think. You’ll want to be gently lulled by a sobbing human on their knees as your corpse gets left to rot underneath the orange sky. You’ll want to decompose watching the clouds as the earth eats away at any remnants of your liquefied flesh.

And you’ll be okay with it. You’ve long since come to terms, haven’t you?

You’re just an insect.

——

It’s always the same. The same days, the same hours, the same. You can’t differentiate anything, can’t seem to fathom the concept of time passing as you simply get pushed along.

But today— Today was different.

“Thank you all for being here… My last live really does feel quite different. Is it the air?” There’s a sniffle, and her pretty eyes were practically twinkling under the stage lights.

Ito Saya is graduating from her activities as a news reporter as of today.

“It has been a wonderful run with AKGG Productions, the staff, all of my fans—“ She’s choking on her words, spotlights fixated on her as her emotions hang in her throat.

“And I couldn’t have asked for a better as your newscaster…!” She dabs at her cheeks, handkerchief already soaked in her tears as she hunches over slightly to hide away her red eyes.

“I don’t want to face all of you with a sad face.” Because she never had before, because she had always stood there smiling for the beloved fans in the audience, for everyone's smile that she wants to see.

“Because you all deserve to see me at my best… But I’m so—“She’s trying to stop herself from letting her voice break, from falling apart in front of the very people she had always promised to stay strong for.

She lifts her head, and despite the tears still clinging to her lashes, despite all this heaviness in her chest as she shakily drags the microphone to her lips, overflowing tears and shaky voice.

“Truly, from the bottom of my heart—“ Another sniffle as the crowd continues to cheer so, so loudly, the voice that had been caught in her throat finding its rightful place. “Thank you all for everything!”

“We love you, Saya-sama!”

“I'm going to miss you!"

“I swear I’ll name my firstborn after you!”

“Let’s say it one more time, everyone!” Tears stream down her cheeks, resembling streaks of comet tails in the illumination of the stage. Her microphone points towards the sobbing crowd, cheers of her name reverberating louder and louder as she cups a hand at her mouth, as if it would aid in making sure her voice wasn’t drowned out.

“Thank you all for tuning in to Astro~Cast!”

You applaud. Of course you do, right? In this thundering concert hall where it feels like there’s no one but you, in this aching emptiness that you just can’t seem to bear.

It’s unfair, you know? Unfair that you can’t seem to feel even the littlest bit of sadness despite the event, unfair that you know you want to be sobbing, crying over this.

(But you’re selfish, aren’t you?)

“Are you upset?” You notice how tightly you’re gripping his arm, how your nails were nearly digging into his flesh as you hurriedly let go.

“It’s okay.” It’s whispered into your ear to battle against the thundering crowd, his thumb gently grazing over your pursed lips, nearly wet with blood with how hard you were biting down.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Relax. You need to relax because you’re—

On a date. You just remembered you’re supposed to be on your second date with Geto Suguru.

He watches as you stare at the new dress Shoko had bought you, so listlessly tracing the soft fabric as you quietly admire it in your hands.

You think you wanted this.

“It’s pretty. Shoko told me she saw you eyeing it in that magazine Saya-san was featured in.” You feel your bed dip as he settles next to you, your hairbrush in his hold as he starts to comb out the mess upon your head.

“Do you want an opportunity to wear it out?”

You don’t know if you can feel anything at all. Maybe it’s the numbness of it all, or maybe you just don’t like the way you look.

Saya-chan must’ve looked way better, right? It’s pretty, and probably in tune with the season. What issue was this even from again?

“It’s ending.” The crowd was beginning to disperse, to exit even when you’re still lost deep within your thoughts, even as Suguru slowly guides you out and through the crowd.

Did— Did you already miss the encore?

“Don’t feel too down about it.” Geto Suguru is still patting your head, leaning down to meet your eyes as he fixes his scarf around your neck, so softly tucking looser ends in as he smiles so serenely. “I heard they were going to release an Ito Saya special on DVD.”

You don’t feel like talking. Yet, you don’t like how he patiently waits for you to say something,

It’s unfair because you’re not trying.

“Maybe we should… Get some crepes, Suguru.” And you like the way he lights up, like the way his hand goes to find yours as he entangles your fingers together.

“Of course.”

You like Geto Suguru. That’s a given, isn’t it?

But every step forward feels just so, so heavy even with him. It feels as if there were shackles around your ankles, the crepe in your hand just looks… Strangely unappetizing despite its glossy toppings and gleam.

You like sweets. Maybe not to sugar-crazed extent of Satoru; but you’ve never viewed them in too much of a negative light. But now—

You want to vomit.

But you force it down anyway. It’s so you don’t disappoint, right? It’s so you don’t make him sad, don’t make him frown.

This was your idea.

You endure every chew, every resistance bubbled with sweetness. It clings, syrupy and thick, coating the inside of your mouth no matter how much you try to swallow it down.

It's not... Bad, per se. But you don't know if you can stand anymore of it as you fight the urge to retch at the vile texture.

(You're being disgusting.)

"Ah, you have some cream on the corner of your mouth." He reaches over, thumb brushing gently against your lip as he wipes it away. And you feel horrible as he does, watching the way his smile had grown so, so soft.

You want to feel something. Anything. In this sunset glow, on this park bench that overlooked the city’s horizon and cast your shadows longer and longer until they intertwined together.

Together— Indeed. You’re not here by yourself, after all.

“Suguru.” You stop him just for this moment, tugging at his sleeve as the sun begins to slumber, glowing so bright, spilling gold across the sky and blanketing you in its warmth.

Yet it feels so, so cold.

(One day, you hope that ray carries you far, far away.)

“It was fun today.” You don’t think you even want to do anything anymore, really. It’s too much to think, to act, to feel, to be. Yet, you lie all the same. You lie, you cheat and you pretend because—

(Because you don’t want to disappoint him.)

Will you regret it? Will you like it? You want to feel something, want to take a bit more pride in your kindness even if it’s embarrassing, even if you were to face such stark, awkward rejection.

(But it’s what happens on dates, isn’t it?)

“Could you… Kiss me, please?” And you smile through it, you let this unsteady emotion blossom in your chest as you meet shy amethysts, forget yourself as you stare so, so deeply into genuine amaranth.

It’s a kiss that’s meant to be gentle; fleeting and light. There’s sweetness far more appetizing than cream-filled crepes, a lulling comfort meant to soothe your grieving heart.

It coaxes out your tears, your sorrow. You want to melt into his embrace, into his very being as you squeeze his hand tighter, your eyes wincing with the words you just can't bear to face. His breath is warm against your own, so heavy with the brush of it, so close it almost steals yours away.

But you ache, you mourn. You want it to swallow you whole, you want him to take and take and take everything you are; hands gripping his shirt as you press your lips back harder, feel the warmth that was him against your own.

It’s horrifying, despite all this gentleness. It’s so soft, so careful with the way he was melding them against yours, the light groans sending oddly comforting through you as you hold him closer, tighter.

So much solace for your weeping heart.

But you don’t think you can even feel a thing. You don’t think you know if you can relate to that starry-eyed gaze, don’t know if you dare to face that look that was too heartbreakingly gentle.

(You hate i—)

“You’re a good kisser, Suguru.” You stare into pretty purple, the way that they were so focused on you, so shiny and lovely and beautiful as they slowly trail their gaze down to your lips, letting you watch every second of his admiration before he had to reluctantly pull his eyes upwards.

“You give me too much credit.” His hand is on your cheek, so slowly stroking the skin as your own hand rest atop his.

(So warm.)

“Is it too greedy of me to ask for another?” Your eyes slowly blink open as you feel how his palm was now gently pressing into your skin, holding your head and letting you sink into his gentle touch.

“No.”

So you smile, smile at how he was so desperate for the feel of your lips against his own, how he had clutched at you, held you so close and so dearly.

You can’t feel a thing.

——

You somehow noticed that Yaga-sensei was unusually forgiving today.

Yet, you somehow don’t even notice the way Suguru was coughing; slowly nudging his notebook with the answer scribbled so hastily on the corner closest to you, ink pressed so hard that there was a hole within the poor notebook.

Oh. You should apologize later, but, well… You don’t kno—

“It’s fine if you don’t know the answer.” You can see how his eyes avert away from your own, choosing to flitter back to the worn textbook in his hands, the edges of the pages softened from use as he coughs to clear his throat.

(Huh?)

“Satoru. You answer instead.”

The shift is immediate, abrupt in a way that doesn’t quite match the earlier leniency, like the moment resets itself before you can process it.

There’s afternoon sunshine in your lunch as you take another bite, the warmth spilling across the table and catching faintly on the edges of your vision. You sit there, so listlessly listening to chatter you can’t quite decipher, voices blending together into something distant and indistinct as you eat… Whatever it was that you had in your hands, the taste barely registering.

“Is Yaga-sensei off his meds today?” Gojo Satoru has an arm around your chair as he chews at the melon bread.

“You might’ve annoyed him too much by existing. Did you even submit his assignment?” Suguru’s stuffing another helping of rice into his mouth through the conversation.

A pause as Satoru fixes sunglasses that didn’t need any adjustment at all.

“Oi Suguruuuuu, let me copy yours.” Hands pressed together as he snuggled his head onto the boy’s shoulder, trying to appeal his cuter side.

“Are you asking me or demanding, Satoru?”

“Either way you loveeeee me enough to hand it over, righttttt?”

“Maybe we should start making this idiot eat Yaga’s meds.” Ieiri Shoko has little to say to the duo of troublemakers, choosing to watch them bicker.

But, there is something she’s been wondering about as her eyes wander over to you. Watching as you barely even let out a peep, and when you finally notice her gaze on yours— Your only reply is that smile.

It’s silly of her to look too much into it, right? Because your smile is so, so sa—

“Senpais! We’re here!” The classroom door slides open to reveal your smiley underclassman, paired and contrasted together with the ever brooding one.

(It’s a funny combo.)

“Haibara-kyun! Didya buy ‘em?” And she watches as you turn away, tilting your head curiously as the duo enters the classroom, that empty smile on your face ever present.

“All ready and still cold just for you, Gojo-senpai!” A salute as he dumps out the contents of the plastic bag; ice cream bars and popsicles tumbling out in tow. “I made it back safe with the objectives!”

“Oho! As expected of my favourite junior!”

“Please do not treat us as your servants, Gojo-senpai.” Nanami Kento can barely hold back the twitch of annoyance as he drags a desk to conjoin with the quadruple of you. “Haibara-san is far too naive to even realize it.”

“Ehhh? Me?! Nanamin, you’re so cruel with your words!” A pause— And a slow turning of his head towards the blond. “What does naive mean?”

And Ieiri Shoko watches. She watches the twitch of the corners of your lip, watches how the quiet giggle you let out doesn’t quite reach your far away eyes.

And she chooses not to pry.

——

You don’t remember leaving the classroom.

“Sorry for calling you in all of a sudden.” Yaga-sensei looks unusually… Broody today, it seems. But to be honest, you think he’s always been like that.

You don't even remember making your way here either, so you don’t think you can find it in you to give much of a reply.

“Mhm. Is it about my next mission, Yaga-sensei?” Your eyes are still blank as you stare down at the steaming cup of tea that was placed in front of you, taking interest in the small ripples forming, folding into each other, breaking apart again as your homeroom teacher shifts in his seat across from you.

“…indeed.”He pauses, fingers tightening ever so slightly against the edge of the table, like there’s something he’s weighing whether or not to say.

“Has Satoru ever told you about Master Tengen?”

An unfamiliar name. You can’t exactly count on Satoru of all people to explain things very well, after all.

(Shoko... Would be a no go either. Was Suguru really the best option you could count upon? Oh— You shouldn't compare your friends like that.)

“Tengen-sama is—” He pauses, like he’s choosing his words more carefully than usual. "To simply put it, an immortal sorcerer that has existed since the Nara period. The very foundations and structure of Jujutsu was shaped by them.”

You watch him tap his fingers against his desk.

“The barriers maintained by this institution, as well as those deployed by Assistant Managers, are extensions of Tengen-sama’s technique.”

(That must be nice. To be so important, to be so revered. So… What exactly is this mission meant to be?)

“To be clear,” You can see how his fists clench, how his fingers fold over each other with a stiffness that wasn’t there before, the tension gathering in his hands before it ever reaches his voice.

(Ah.)

“I would have preferred that you were never involved in this.” You tilt your head curiously as you watch the wrinkles on his face, the crow's feet near his eyes. They seem more pronounced like this, pulled deeper by something you can’t quite place.

Did Yaga-sensei always have that many grey hairs? Maybe it was the stress of having to deal with the six of you.

(Maybe you should get Kimiko-chan to recommend you a soothing tea for him.)

“(name).” You notice the seriousness in his voice, of course. Yet, you don’t quite understand the weight of the situation.

“That is no longer a choice available to us.”

Oh. What… Is happening right now?

“In order to maintain Tengen-sama’s immortality and their humanity, they need to merge with a suitable vessel every 500 years or so.”

The explanation comes out steadier now, like he’s forcing it into something structured, something easier to say if he doesn’t think about it too much, that he won’t hesitate anymore if he just forces it out.

You don’t quite care about the silence that envelops the room, but you don’t think you like it either.

“The Higher-Ups have determined that you meet the necessary conditions.”

…huh?

There is tension. In his shoulders, in his words, in his eyes. There was tension that threatened the noise in your head, in your mind.

You hate it.

“You have been selected as the next Star Plasma Vessel.”

——

Mission Assignment Notice

CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED / TOP PRIORITY

By order of the Higher-Ups,

Special Grade Sorcerers are to be assigned an immediate escort mission.

Objective: Ensure the safe transport of (Name) (Last Name) to Master Tengen.

OPERATIONAL CONDITIONS:

Subject integrity is to be maintained until point of delivery.

Subject autonomy is not a consideration in mission execution.

Any and all interference is to be eliminated without delay.

Mission completion supersedes all secondary priorities.

The target has been confirmed as the designated Star Plasma Vessel. Due to the nature of this assignment, interference from external curse users and affiliated groups is highly probable. All threats are to be neutralised accordingly.

NOTES: The subject is to be regarded as a necessary component in the continuation of barrier stability and jujutsu infrastructure.

Deviation from protocol will be considered dereliction of duty.

Further details will be disclosed upon deployment.

the trio of those lovely older ladies meet on a weekly basis to have a small chat over tea and snacks.

kimiko usually is the one bringing absurdly expensive tea brands with the label purposefully ripped off and the can coincidentally already banged up so no one can tell

(and because she doesn’t want them to feel bad)

geto-mama actually hosts the sessions at her house. they’re usually in the garden that happens to have a lot more ferns and leafy plants instead of flowers to accommodate your mother better

your mother is the one usually bringing snacks. geto-mama does provide more savoury ones like senbei and some fruit, but ultimately they usually snack on your mama’s baking

despite appearances, kimiko enjoys things of a much sweeter nature. you can always catch her eyeing the treats your mother baked even after their little catch-up tea session

(there are always extras left after every session bcs your mother has taken noticed of this. somehow, geto-mama always has a to-go bag ready)

“O-Oh my— If you would allow me to do so, I would happily take these home…”

geto-mama is more neutral towards those. prefers fruits and spicier flavours, but will still finish her plate just because

(she does it because she thinks your mother’s baking is crazy good. tries to guess the recipe before your mom reveals it to her)

“Maybe there’s a dollop of apple extract? Vanilla? Watermelon? What do you mean I should stop guessing? I’m nearly there, aren’t I— Oh! Ginger?”

your mother, contrary to your own belief; doesn’t like sweets at all. she just makes them because the other 2 seem to enjoy it.

but their conversations always fall into certain topics

their kids, gardening, their kids, the weather, that new discount at the department store, their kids, photo albums of their kids, neighbourhood gossip, their kids

did i mention their current troubles with their kids?

“Are teenagers just so much more… Cold?” Your mother is nursing a cup of tea as she voices her concerns aloud, blankly staring down at the tendrils of steam.

“Young Master Satoru has always been the same way,” A shake of her head as she takes another sip. “And it truly only seems to be elevated with time.”

“Hahaha! It’s much alright to call that child spoiled, Kimiko!”

And Sasaki Kimiko nearly chokes on her tea. Hurriedly slapping a hand over her mouth to prevent the dastardly sight of chamomile spurting out of her nostrils.

“Oh my. Are you alright?” Your mother has a hand over her mouth— Half in disbelief at the usually put-together Kimiko having a waterfall of chamomile, and the other half trying to stop her laughter at Geto Akari’s comment.

“Young Master Satoru just has certain… Quirks.” The youngest of the women has to cough as she dabs at her lips with a napkin, hurriedly nodding at your mother whilst clearing her throat and airways of tea.

“Akari-san, Suguru-kun just outclasses him in that aspect.”

“Oh, please. You don’t have to compliment my Suguru so much! He’s quite the troublemaker in his own regard!” A shake of her head as she waves her off— Was the tea too hot or were Akari-san’s ears starting to turn red?

“He can barely even meet the eyes of people he likes!”

(A humble mother, seemingly.)

A polite giggle as Kimiko swallows another generous helping of cake.

“Surely, it can’t be as bad as Young Master Satoru. As wonderful as he can be… He can’t even begin to confront his feelings.”

It’s frustrating, isn’t it? To have to watch the romantic advances of their kids unfold right in front of them.

“Though, I do believe there is a clear choice when it comes down to that kind of topic, Akari-san.”

Especially when it involves the cute little kid who used to spout all sorts of strangely adult-like nonsense.

“The choice is far too obvious. I’d think even (mother’s name) here would agree.”

A clink of her teacup.

“Oh…?” This isn’t a new topic by any means, not even as your mother tries to fight back the smile upon her lips.

“You both may say that, but I don’t think there’s a clear choice at all, though?”

“That would obviously be Suguru-san—“

“Satoru-kun, of cour—“

Silence. A sugar cube topples off and over the edge.

A duel has been requested, nay, forced to begin as silence overtakes the table, the tension suddenly rising as your mother takes another hearty sip.

“Suguru-san has a lovely personality and demeanour. His gentleness is a plus point alongside his beauty that (name)-san greatly appreciates.”

“Oh, please! My son is far too popular with girls and can barely give them a proper rejection! Do you know how many of Valentine’s Day chocolates he’s given to his father when they were made just for him?” A shake of her head as she lets out a sigh.

“I can’t imagine the thought of our cute (name) having to deal with his cold rejections. So Satoru-kun is a perfect match since he’s so forward!”

“Young Master Satoru barely has any tact at all.” A somewhat angry bite of her cake as she chews hurriedly, politely swallowing in a hurry. “I’d rather not see him break (name)‘s soft heart on accident.”

Sparks seem to already begin to fly.

A turn of their heads as they snap their gazes towards your unhurried, unbothered mother. Fire blazing within their gazes as they call out her name to allow her the final say.

“The obvious answer is that my (name) should be with whoever makes them happiest— So, Ieiri-chan, I suppose?”

(“Should we look at the baby photo albums again?”

“We should.”